An Awakening
When I left Charleston in June, I promised a lot of people details. And well-written words. And updates. And check-ins. I even had myself convinced that sharing my experience on the road would be easy.
Fortunately (and unfortunately), I got exactly what I asked for. I got my life-changing adventure. And I realized — very abruptly — that I wasn’t prepared for it. But is anyone ever really “ready” when their perception of reality is blown to smithereens?
My first month on the road was amazing. The cross-country road trip, Vietnam, Northern Thailand... Everything was so shiny and new. And the “insta-worthy” travel photos and neatly-packaged captions came easy.
And then we flew to Cambodia. And then we left Cambodia. And something deep within me shifted. And it wasn’t just Cambodia. It was everything. It was vacation not being vacation anymore. It was week 3 in SE Asia, and week 4 on the road.
It was a veil being lifted.
It wasn’t just “vacation” because it was real life. It was observing and being present. Every single day. “Adventure” began fading to the background, and the day-to-day realities came pummeling to the foreground.
I’ve been trying to pinpoint what it was. What made my eyes snap open. What turned me inward. What, exactly, made privilege real. Not a euphemism nor a concept. But real. Tangible. Visible.
Maybe it was the water we couldn’t drink nor run our toothbrushes under.
Maybe it was the pills we took daily for malaria.
Maybe it was the voices of all the people who spoke English, when we couldn’t speak a word of their language.
Maybe it was the eyes of the women at the markets, carrying racks of clothes on their bodies.
Maybe it was the desperation that I heard.
That I felt.
Maybe it was the children. The ones who worked alongside their parents day and night.
Or maybe it was the area I visited where families survive off less than 40 cents a day. Where 200 children die a week from lack of clean water.
Maybe it was an accumulation.
Maybe it was just... reality.
My surroundings penetrating the illusion of my life.
I began to see things for how they are — for how they are outside of me and my life. And because of that third-party perspective, I saw me for who I am. Which is just a lucky, lucky little white girl.
And with that acknowledgement of luck came immense feelings of shame. Of embarrassment. Because what have I done to deserve my luck? What have I done to deserve my life? To deserve the clean water I drink daily? And to have toilets that flush with proper sewage? And to have had access to basic education? What have I done to never have to worry about mosquitoes that could kill me, or land-mines that could explode under my feet in a random field, because they were left there after a recent war?
The answer is nothing.
I haven’t lifted a single goddamn muscle.
Certain things — most things — I have just been given.
Why?
Because I’ve simply been born into a different family. Living in a different country. With a different skin-tone. And because of that, my life has been easier. This. Is. Fact. One I cannot casually ignore anymore. I have seen it. I have witnessed it. And I can no longer excuse its existence.
And trying to reason with this fact while island-hopping in Southern Thailand and eating delicious food in Malaysia and coming home safely on a plane and enjoying an incredible road-trip around Cali and Oregon, etc., etc., has just made the knot in my head grow bigger. The juxtaposition of my experience hasn’t been lost on me. Simultaneously reaping the benefits of my privilege, while mentally and emotionally battling against it. Rueing it. Resenting it. And writing about these things? HARD.
Because writing about how lucky I am, and how beautiful this trip has been, and how easy, and how safe, and how helpful everyone has been to me, and how no one has bothered me (even when I’ve been blatantly breaking the law).. is writing about my privilege. Which makes me feel gross. And like I should just shut up. And listen. And learn. And BE. BETTER.
And because is anyone even listening???
In Thailand, I wrote a post about my day with the elephants. I wrote of their abuse. How they should never be ridden nor used for entertainment. How it’s our responsibility to be more educated, to be more aware, to BE. BETTER. And a friend “liked” it. And another friend did… And then a week later, I saw those same two friends posting pictures at the Renaissance Festival...riding elephants. And then when I got back into the States, I read through a vicious thread on my mom’s Facebook. People (including some of my family) were defending Trump and the ignorant shit he’s said.
And then on my road-trip, I got into an argument with my dad about the situation at our borders. Simultaneously mind-blown that it was even a discussion. Mind-blown that we even use the term “immigrant” instead of human. Mind-blown that it’s not common sense to offer safety to those whom need it. Mind-blown that children have been kept in cages and weren’t given clean water, WHEN WE HAVE ACCESS TO CLEAN WATER IN THIS COUNTRY.
And then, after two months on the road, somewhere along the coast of Big Sur, by myself, in the woods... it all hit.
The privilege, the poverty, the politics, the deaths of the children in Cambodia, the genocide, the eyes of the children at the border, the rampant racism, the broken system, the generational trauma, the pain, the history, the hurt, and... I broke. And cried. And I wanted to apologize to whole communities of people. To all the children not in school. To anyone suffering injustice. To every family who’s been torn apart. To anyone without clean food or water or shelter. To any person of color I’ve ever known.....
but then.....
I also know I don’t have the right to.
Because who the fuck am I?
Because I don’t understand.
Because I could never FULLY understand.
Because at the end of these tangles, I’ve still got nothing. I don’t know why the scales stay tipped, why the playing fields remain uneven, why a mountain for one person is merely a hill for another. Why the cluster of cells that created me wasn’t formulated elsewhere, in a different woman, of a different color, in a different country, living a different reality.
So many of you have asked me how my trip has been. And now you know how loaded that question is.
It hasn’t been a “trip” nor an “adventure.” This has been a rude awakening. This has been a shit-load of internal work. Asking myself the hard questions. Looking at what’s hard to look at. Not being afraid to see myself for who I am. Not being afraid to see myself in another.
The level of empathy and compassion I have for people — especially the people who don’t look or sound like me — hasn’t just expanded inside of me; it has exploded. It’s allowed me to have that same compassion for myself. For my family. Friends. And everything in between. Past, present, and future.
I’ve spent the last 4 months nestled in the silence of the redwood forest trying to process it all. And this is what I currently know to be true:
If we cannot clearly see our own circumstance for what it is, then we will never clearly see the circumstance of another. Ignoring is always easier. Worrying about yourself, and nothing else, is always easier.
“You have been born to privilege and with that comes specific obligations.” ( - Drew Barrymore)
I HAVE been born to privilege. And because of this, I am obligated. I am obligated to be aware of it. To not ignore it. To dig at it. To work with it. To use it for the benefit of others. To take what I’ve learned internally and express it outwardly.
I am obligated to untangle these thoughts about privilege because I was (and still am) very ignorant. Because remaining quiet about it, no matter how heavy it may be, does not serve me nor anyone else. Because “exposure creates empathy” ( - Jedidiah Jenkins). Because more people need to travel and see the world and interact with people whom are different from them. Because our generation has the unique opportunity to heal the generations of our past and propel the generations of our future.
And because talking about how I feel and what I’ve seen may not fix all the problems... but maybe it can change a mind. Heal a heart.
Or inspire just one person
to be more educated,
to be more aware,
to BE. BETTER.
(Written: August-December 2019)