For now at least, I know.

I know that I have written this many times before. And I know that I will write this many times again. But I guess, my hope is, that in me writing it down this time, I will remember just a little longer, than I remembered the time before.

I want to go to Africa. I want to address inequalities.

Although I enjoy debates in my International Organizations class, and I am incensed by the racial inequalities in the country where I live now, nothing makes me cry like Africa.

I am very justice oriented. I do not think it is fair that I was born in an upper-middle class family and am now attending a private Christian college. I did nothing to deserve that. I am who I am, partly from my own striving to become who I want to be, but also partly because that is who society has shaped me to be, and partly because that’s who God needs me to be.

My best friend Gillian gave me a placard for Christmas this year that reads “She believed she could, so she did”. My aunt Tracy gave me a card when I left for school with a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson “Be not the slave of your own past- plunge into the sublime seas, dive deep and swim far, so you shall come back with self-respect, with new power, with an advanced experience, that shall explain and overlook the old.”

On and off, I’ve been enchanted with the idea of abandoning everything. Of joining a community in an impoverished part of a town, and just living there, loving people. It still sounds wonderful, but as much as certain policies piss me off in America, people don’t die by the thousands of preventable diseases daily here. Even in my proposed living area, I would not be surrounded by that drastic reality.

Shaine Claiborne is very convincing, and I still might follow his footsteps for a few years. Maybe a few months, just so that I will know.

But I do not think that my heart will let me live my life without also looking at Jena Lee. Without seeing Bono. Without reading Jeffrey Sachs. Sustainable development in third-world countries. Drinkable water for God’s sake. For God’s sake. That is really what its about. How Can I Not?

I don’t understand it. I don’t like it. It breaks my heart.

And this is how I know, for now at least, without any qualms or doubts. That I have to be a part of the solution.

In the meantime I will continue trying to save electricity, ride the city bus, recycle, and turn my printer off when its not in use. But I do that because its easy and theres no good reason not to. I do kinda want a world around in 20 years for me to continue saving. J

But until then, I will keep praying. And I will keep hoping. And I will keep loving. Because that is really all we can do without something bigger to hop onto.

Africa. Fresno. Me.

Last night I didn’t complete my homework. I read the required materials, but didn’t write a response to what I read. I’m not exactly sure why. Some of it is that it is hard stuff to read objectively. We’re learning about the colonialism of Africa. The subjugation of a continent. Its kind of interesting, only because of outside influences did Africa unite. Because of the Transatlantic slave trade, the notion of African Diaspora emerged, as a way to share the experience and the pain. After the slave trade was made illegal, Europeans started to colonize Africa. Before this, they had just picked shipments of slaves up off the coast, delivered by traders or kings in exchange for guns, pottery, cloth, alcohol etc. Then they started to move in, to buy land (either honestly or otherwise) for their own profit. For diamonds. For Gold. For rubber even.

I can’t even concentrate on what the point of this blog was. Its so depressing and disgusting. and truly horrible. gah. blech. eesh. *shiver*

Yesterday in class professor phillips was asked whether apartheid was still a problem in south africa. She responded socratically “how many of your families regularly visit homes of people of any color [other than your own], as friends, or maybe you have them over to eat? hmm? any of you? raise your hands.” There were 3 people in our class of 25+. I couldn’t even raise my hand. Granted, my mother isn’t incredibly social, so she never goes over to anyone’s for dinner, nor do they come here. Except for family. But they’re all white… so it doesn’t help me be able to raise my hand. But we aren’t family friends with anyone who isn’t white. Its ridiculous. Part of it is that all of my moms friends are from Bakersfield from when she and my dad were first married, but even the people she works with and occasionally goes out with, are white. Like white-white, north side of town, Bullard or Clovis areas. And then theres me. whats my claim to cross-cultural fame (or even basic knowledge). I was a goody-two-shoes church girl at a church that did a lot of outreach to “the neighborhood kids” in the areas around palm and dakota. I wasn’t friends with any of them, except Jesse really. I hung out with the other church kids. Next, I go to Manchester. Alright, Manchester was a wonderful environment where we didn’t think about race or differences ever. we all just had fun learning, and never thinking we were brilliant or special. Computech was a little more of the same, there started to be some segregation, but we didn’t notice, because we were friends with our friends. There were like 8-10 of us girls who sat together at lunch, and generally liked each other (in retrospect, again, we were all of different ethnicities. but we were all intelligent too, which was more of a binding factor). Then I went to Roosevelt.
Roosevelt had RSA, and I would not be where I am today if I had not gone there. I would have been afraid, I wouldn’t know that I can do anything that I put my mind to. I don’t know how I could have gotten through the dark years with my dad without roosevelt. Freshman year I was really good friends with Maria and Amanda (uh-mahn-duh, not a-man-da), but then other stuff happened, and I kinda slipped into Bohigians room at lunch, and withdrew socially. I didn’t want to be an RSA girl, like all the RSA-RSA crowd. So I stayed by myself, and wrote poetry on occasion. This continued throughout sophomore year. Sometimes I would eat with Logan and Maddie and Becca and anyone else on those two planters with them. Mostly I remember Boh’s room though. Junior year was more of the same. I didn’t have English with non-RSA kids because I was in Academic Decathlon (another amazing experience for me that I wouldn’t have had at Edison). I was best friends with Logan mostly. (I also had my token African-American relationship/experience with/through Joshua Michael Sims, but that was never more than us talking on the phone at night, praying together some times and him proposing marriage in random classes. Me abusing him horribly, first by only talking about Logan, then when I was finally over Logan, we had a few good months, then I kissed Stuart, and dropped him instantly.) Towards the end of junior year I withdrew from the English classrooms at lunch, and started to eat in the sunshine again with Logan Maddie and Becca. Senior year, all I did was eat with L/M/B, and ditch classes with them too. I was in Calculus with Agripino and Damaris, which gave me some Chicano underground culture. When I went to my Gov/Econ class, I would get some Chicano history sometimes, but I didn’t go very often. I still graduated as a valedictorian. I’m not really proud of that, actually.

Again, I digress.

The point of this was. Our homework last night was to write some observations about what we read, and then ask a question. I was sitting in class, trying to remember what I read last night, and I couldn’t think of anything specific. So instead I wrote something to the effect of “Its horribly depressing reading about colonialism. Apartheid was/is a horrible system, but at the same time I am going to a private Christian college in Spokane, WA, while the city that I come from has the worst pockets of poverty nationwide.

You know? I started looking at the Fresno Unified website, just looking at statistics, only 1 in 4 students graduate from FUSD with the CSU/UC requirements fulfilled.

I really want to change the world. I really want to be of some service to the world. To help and love others. But maybe instead of focusing outwards internationally, maybe there are some serious things that need to be done a little closer to home. How often do we think about the abject poverty of our own town? not homelessness, not the poverello house, not even the marjorie mason center. but the people, who live below the federal poverty line. 26% of Fresno. 1 in 4 people. I don’t really think about it. ever