Apple decided to
rape destroy Spotify et al by coming out with iTunes radio recently, and so far it’s working. I just searched “sad radio” and I’m feeling the blues.
I wonder, can you try too hard to be happy? I know it’s literally been forever since I last posted anything original on this baby of mine (and I always say I’m gonna post more frequently, but lezbehonest, I’ll do my best), so I’ll do a little update.
I’m studying abroad this semester at University of St Andrews, a wonderful little town in Scotland. The North Sea is right there and there’s so much nature, my lungs hurt from the freshness. But I got sick as soon as I arrived, and have been sick since (it’s laryngitis, fyi). And as a third year living among excited freshers, it took me awhile to get back into the swing of making friends. On Facebook, I had some serious FOMO while looking through my friends’ pics at Yale, and I missed my family even more.
I kept my spirits up by forcing myself to talk to new people, and I think I’ve made some good friends. The problem is, we’re in such different parts of life, university speaking, that I don’t know how to make it last. They’re fresh out of high school, and still immature. I like to think I’m a wise junior, and I’m so over playing games in any type of relationship. Honesty is the key for me.
What I’m trying to get at here, in this stream-of-consciousness-thank-you-for-reading this post, is that by trying to be happy so much and trying to make the most of everything, I’ve been finding myself getting sad. And that’s exactly why I decided to leave Yale for a semester, to get over this depression. Mental health is a taboo subject, and often if I say I’m depressed, people will think I’m just being dramatic. And maybe listening to sad iTunes radio while writing this isn’t the best way to get over the sadness, but I’m really missing my friends right now.
I miss being able to go my suitemate’s room and talk about any and everything. I miss the anytime talks my roommate and I used to have. The songs we would laugh and cry to. I miss being able to hear someone’s caring voice because Skype doesn’t do anything justice, especially when the UK wifi is the worst on the planet (where I’ve been). I miss dropping everything and going for ice cream and forgetting the unhappy things. I miss hugs.
Because I’ve built these friendships up over two years now, and I know them and they know me, and here, I just feel very much alone. I can’t hide behind the smiles and the jokes anymore, watching others make their best friends. I’m just here temporarily, right? No one comes to me to cry, and I won’t have anyone to go crying to either.
The bigger issue with Miley Cyrus is her complete obliviousness to the differences in public reaction when it comes to herself versus black people. When Miley Cyrus plays at ratchet, we get three reactions: fangirls/fangays spooing all over themselves telling the internet how much they love her, non-fans giving deep eyerolls and moving on to the next, and middle-aged white people making vague statements about how they’re “concerned” about her state of mind. The reaction she does not get is that if she were shot by a neighborhood watchman, then she deserved it because she flips the bird and does drugs and glamorizes hoodrat behavior.
That’s my problem. My problem is black kids like Trayvon Martin play at being ratchet everyday and the rest of America looks at them like they’re all budding criminals. The defense in that case put Trayvon Martin’s character on trial, by wanting us to infer that he was headed down the wrong path to prison anyway. Because of a few Myspace photos and a toxicology report, we should be glad we got that thug off the streets. They turned him into a thug for doing the exact same things that Miley Cyrus and Justin Bieber do, the exact same things that millions of little white kids do in their gated communities, driving around in Daddy’s SUV listening to old-school NWA and rolling spliffs and bragging about it on social media.
That is what white privilege looks like. If you are a white apologist who continuously doubts that white privilege exists, ask yourself if Miley Cyrus or any other 20-year-old white girl would be put on trial posthumously if someone shot her for walking around in a hoodie. That is the definition of white privilege."
Such an excellent post weaving popular culture, current events and white privilege.