For so long now I’ve been hesitant about writing. I mean, sure I’ve been posting here. Once every few months. It’s not enough for me. I crave writing, I long for the words to spill out, for the thoughts to become permanent, for the feelings to become everlasting. I’ve been writing since I was about 7 years old. I was bought a vibrant orange Disney Mulan diary with a gold padlock. And I just started to write; About how my mum made me go to that function I didn’t want to go to, about how my dad told me off for eating another biscuit, and about how much I hated my sister simply because we were siblings. Mature topics, you know.
I didn’t stop writing. I kept journal after journal. I kept secret after secret. Until… I met people, special people, who I thought could keep all my secrets instead. Of course, that never works out. And the only person I had at the end of the day was myself. So I had to learn to trust myself again. I think I’m there. It’s taken me a while; it’s been a fucking journey that’s for sure. I am hesitant still about writing this. For me. To you.
The things that I’ve held so close and have hurt me so deeply, I’ve felt I could never write about. I reserved them in my thoughts, temporary transitory ideas that could never cause harm, because they were never made real. They were only really hurting myself. Because not talking about race is only ever going to hurt myself.
Yeah. Fuck. I’m talking about race. Racism. Prejudice. Discrimination. Power. Privilege. Everything. It dictates my life, it directs my decisions and it seeps into my being.
I’ve been hesitant about writing for so long now. I’ve been avoiding writing for so long now. I knew that it would come up. Like word vomit. Racism. It makes us retch. The disgust. The fear. The power. ‘In our society? In this day and age? We’re still having to talk about racism?’ Yes, we are and that’s the fucking scary thing. And we’re having to talk about it with everyone, it’s not just about white people. It’s about people of colour (POC) and POC erasure. It involves all of us.
What am I really talking about? GOSH. There must have been something that’s really irked you Smash. Come on, be honest. No one just suddenly starts writing after two pints and a long weekend. I’m talking about something that’s been going on all summer. That never should have started. Looking back at my previous post, I’m heartbroken. It meant fucking nothing. It means fucking nothing to be a trans person of colour, and to stand up for that. I should have just picked one theme right, I mean, Trans Pride Brighton happened right. It happened for trans people, for the trans community. It was about trans people. It was only about trans people. I guess I was asking for too much to be recognised, for our history and our community to be recognised when I brought up race. How is this going to end?
Fuck. Where do I even begin?