Monday, May 30, 2011

You

You.

I miss you, and your ridiculous face.
The way you laugh at nothing. The way I do, too.

You.

I miss your criticism.
The skeptical look in your eyes. The way we’re opposites

You.

I miss your laughter.
The way your presence makes my day. The way you make me smile back.

You.

I miss your creepiness.
The way we out do each other. How weird it must look to anyone watching.

You.

I miss your shortness.
The way you’re so patient amidst our craziness. The way you keep us straight.

You.

I miss your tallness.
The way I hate you so much. The way we finish each others’ thoughts.

You.

I miss your honesty.
The way you make sure it’s all fair. How we balance each other out.

You.

I miss your sweetness.
The way you always cheer me up. How you’re my partner in crime.

You.

I miss your bluntness.
The way you’re not afraid. How you’re strong despite it all.

You.

I miss your eagerness.
The way you need to help. How you help people keep believing.

All of you.

I love you.
The way we were, the way we are. The things that lie ahead <3

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Who Cares

You don’t wanna be perfect
You just wanna be everything to him
You don wanna have it all
You just wanna have happy
All you need’s a little time
To get where you’re headin
Maybe 20 is the magic number
But then I’m just guessin

You look into the mirror
And the shadow is queerer
Of who you thought you were
Before you’d come so far
Nearly around the world
And you got what you deserved
You turn around no body’s there
You wonder why you try to care
About the things that
Always let you go

You don’t have to be little
You just want him to hold you and fit
Perfectly
You don’t need a whole nation
But out of it isn’t there a future for you?
You cant find the next rhyme
To sing what you’re feelin
In the meantime you shoot looks
To try stealin’… at least something


You look into the mirror 
And the shadow is queerer
Of who you thought you were
Before you’d come so far
Nearly around the world
And you got what you deserved
You turn around no body’s there
You wonder why you try to care
About the things that 
Always let you go 



The things that chase you, you push out
The things that leave you, you follow
You write songs on a dark summer night
Getting out all the pride you have to swallow


You look into the mirror 
And the shadow is queerer
Of who you thought you were
Before you’d come so far
Nearly around the world
And you got what you deserved
You turn around no body’s there
You wonder why you try to care
About the things that 
Always let you go 

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

No song title, movie quote, of feeling can capture this

These are just trains of thought that I've had today. I do not mean it to offend any reader. I have the utmost respect for all of these people I encountered.


So many small children run around in rebellion. A middle aged man with white hair and blue eyes sits in the end chair, wearing a green polo and holding a binder- he looks conspicuous. A tiny Filipino woman eats a bag of chips, adding to her stack of wrappers. Eating for two, maybe?
An older black man sits with a bored expression- he's been here before. Habit has made him weary of the stark walls resounding with squeals and ill coughs. Numbers are shouted out by stern women who wrinkle their faces as if they PMS every day.
The people go one by one. First the girl about my age- pregnant, bleached blond, wearing Fubu. Then the man who seems that he was laid off- he smiles with his joyful eyes, from behind his tan skin. He seems honest.
I sit here, on a blue chair with my own paperwork. Me, with my flip flops and sun-kissed arms. Me with my phone. And my dad. I feel like everyone is staring at me- not because I'm beneath them- but because I've had it easier, and they know it. For a second I wish I could trade places with them. Give the little girl with beads in her hair my year of college, and my faith. Selfishly, I wish I were like them because maybe they'd accept me instead of judging me because they project superiority into me. In reality, we're all here for the same reason.

I've heard it said that to be white in America means never having to think about it.
That's so false. I think about it every day. Minorities walk on eggshells around us, almost like they're afraid... but they don't fear each other. Yet I have to be careful with ALL of them. I don't differentiate based on heritage. I see people as people. God made us, and God has no race. So why should race separate us or make us treat each other specially or with partiality?
To be white in America means watching your tongue and opinions every second, just to fight a nationwide opinion. To be white in America means having to fight even harder to be an individual. It means having to be a minority in and of yourself.

Saturday, May 21, 2011

There Are Three Boys Playing soccer, in the ruins of what was once home.

There are three boys playing soccer, in the ruins of what was once home.
None of them are older than twelve. Running in the rubble and broken glass, somewhere in Tibet. There's a girl, maybe 16, crying behind her jewelry- her father on one side, her best friend holding her shaking hand on the other side. You can see she does not want to be led to this man she must marry. So many Indian girls live this life- it is their duty.There is a couple nestled on a park bench in China, holding each other for who knows how long, as an older woman knits on the other end of the bench. There's a father laying in a hammock holding his giggling little boy in the air. They are the only objects inside of four chipped brick red walls in an unspecified corner of Colombia.

Steve McCurry, world renound photographic journalist, states that he's often amazed at the fact that no matter where he goes, people are so much the same.
From looking through his impressive and seemingly endless galleries, I've come to appreciate this statement and agree with it. McCurry has been to every place I've been forced to dream of. His work portrays people and environments in ways that most Americans never think of. We are presented with these cliches and stereotypes that rule our perspectives on other cultures.

In my nineteen years of life, Asia- especially China and Japan- have been presented to me as cold, industrialized, and shallow. I've never liked their food much, and I've never really been close to any individual that has lived in that hemisphere or even descended from it. I've always found Eastern religion and faith very foreign in concept- being a Christian has removed me even further from it. On that note, being in a conservative Christian environment in America has led me to judge these cultures for their parenting styles. So many commercials, organizations, and guest speakers have ingrained this sense of how horrible these people are for abandoning their baby girls- I've considered adoption in the future, because of this situation.

Everything I've been told about the world I live in is a lie.
Every view I've had of any people group is about to change. Am I responsible for my attitude previous to this day? Perhaps. But now more than ever, I'm driven to prove myself wrong.
People are the same everywhere.
In short, God has designed us for so few simple things- the desire to love, and be loved. The need to believe in something and have faith. The drive to understand our world more, and to create (However, we fall short of God's glory, and all we can create is meaningless- buildings, phones, and cars. They are useful, but not necessary. We can only reproduce what God has already designed.). Can we agree that there is not one person who does not center their life around all of these things?
From this need for love springs romance, relationships, heartbreak, family, friendship, and every perversion thereof.
Grasping for an origin, we have stemmed into hundreds of religions and created unrest in society. We have wars based upon it. We have countries based upon it. We die based upon it.
In trying to create, we have stumbled upon painting, writing, music and singing. We've navigated, explored, delved, and cut into ourselves. We look outwardly into the galaxy, and inwardly through medicine and psychology.
Show me one culture, one race that hasn't struggled to find all of these things. In America, we are no better off. Our "Christianity" has succeeded in both shutting others out and in making itself trivial. When people other other religions encounter us, they see denominations and disagreement. Not peace, and a light that indicates truth and love that Jesus has brought to those who are willing to see and experience it.
No matter what religion or social background, people all search for themselves, and their reasons. They all laugh when they are in love. None can resist the smile of a baby, no little boy can keep himself out of the mud, and off of the field- none can make him stop running. No mother desires to give up her child.


Another photograph stays in my mind. I can't recall the location, but I think it represents a global problem: a very small girl- maybe six or seven- with jet black hair and watery brown eyes wearing a blue and white dress. She's standing in front of a man. She's holding a rifle. She's a soldier. She's not old enough to read- but she is allowed to kill.
I don't understand how this is acceptable- much less a reality- anywhere. Yet it is.

So who am I to walk out of the door of a house with air conditioning, and be aggravated by the hum of a lawn mover. I've never heard the firing of a gun, or had to drink water that wasn't crystal clear.
So why on Earth do I feel to restrained and unsettled?
The fact is that we are not only ungrateful, but we also have misplaced our values. I am fortunate as a US citizen to have an education and to have rights and property. However, these are obviously not the things that satisfy human beings. People in much greater poverty than me have much greater joy than me.
Only love, exploration, and a relationship with Jesus Christ can satisfy. My unrest will never leave except through these things that every individual craves.


"I gotta get out of here
...I'm afraid that this complacency is something I can't shake...

I am a hostage to my own humanity
Self-detained and forced to live in this mess I've made...
and I'm begging you to be my escape..."

-Relient K



Friday, May 13, 2011

The Sky Is Peeing. No, seriously you guys...

The sky is peeing. No, seriously, you guys, it's been pouring for an hour. The clouds took away the mid afternoon rays, and brought forth torrents. Lightening split the city sky, and thunder irritated every chihuahua.
Now it's reduced to a drizzle. Gutters and flowerpots overflow, and street lights come on prematurely.
I sit here on this cool porch. Goosebumps on my legs. Birds chirp and flitter around, as if gossiping about their discombobulated nests- as we do about our precious vinyl siding.
I hear my sister's wailing saxophone out of our dining room window. I can smell the neighbor's lilac bushes. Sweetness. Like a dark, curly haired child wearing a lacy dress in front of an old blue Victorian house. Maybe even playing with a Cocker Spaniel puppy. It's that sweet.

I'm never disappointed by this porch. I've written songs on the wall, been broken up with on the swing. Enjoyed laziness,  sitting in the plastic chair late in July, watching fireflies and drinking Snapple. I've talked for hours on the phone, dreaming up restaurants, and concerts, and lifetimes.
Sometimes when no one is home, I sing. I sing improve, rhyming things in desperation and thinking aloud what I'm always too afraid to say. As a child, I wished that one day I would sing a song and in the distance hear the voice of my one true love finishing the verse- just like Snow White.
When I sit on the white painted wall here in the heart of Akron, I can't help but imagine him walking my way, down the cracked sidewalk. Hands in his pockets. The breeze would toss his shaggy hair, and he'd look up at me, and... smile.
Somehow I don't think I'll ever see this inner city fairy tale come true. But I'm alright with that. If it did, it would likely be indicative of us not going to school together. In all fairness, he could be anywhere. The other side of the tracks, or the other side of the world.
What a thought.
What a longing, pathetic, stupid, teenage dream. Hah. I'll probably find some young, tall, Caucasian, doctor who's a baseball fan.
But I'm really not worried about that right now. I'm just gonna sit here, eating my french toast.
I'm going to make myself a promise: I'm going to enjoy this front porch without thinking about boys, or school, or the world, or working, or how messy my room is. I won't live here much longer. I won't have this swing forever.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

All Poor

Hundreds sift in to the florescent-lit gym, holding blue ticket halves.
Less than half are Caucasian. Less than half are African-american. Most are somewhere in between. A handful are Latino. A smaller handful are Asian 'Tiger' mothers, dragging along two or three small children wearing uniform pants and having bobbed jet black hair.
All poor.
We're all poor here.
We are Akron, Ohio.
We sit in this old building, gathered from many bloodlines and situations, to watch our children ignore the walls we put up. The speakers crack because the city won't pay for better ones.The walls echo to their corners, where the paint chips away, leaving half of a profane phrase brazenly scrawled upon it.
Out of this, rises their innocent voices. For months, they have practiced and memorized these songs that take us back to times we'd forgotten. They practiced them in classrooms where they are outside of their family bubble, in classes which lend them to opportunities where they can interact with people different than them.
They all stand in those rickety bleachers, beaming at each other as loving friends. Some are bigger, some are scrawny. Some have wrinkled clothes- some went all out, even having had their mothers take them to get their hair done. Some have a dim countenance, knowing in a few short minutes they will go back home to the abuse and the drugs. Some smile, never knowing of these things.
Being away at college, I forgot these people existed. I became aware of the suffering in other parts of our world, but I forgot about what goes on in my town, in my home.
Everything is handed to us at the university- our food, our beds, our water. We play, stress, walk, date, hurt, and laugh on less than a square mile of land, on a hill looking over a highway. (Oh, I forgot- we study, too ;)
I don't fit with the rich kids. They don't get me, either. I'm not one of them. I never will be. In relation to other countries, we may not have it that bad- but it still hurts individuals. Emotions still are toyed with. Akron is where I come from. Those are my people. Only those who have lived the way I have lived and seen life transpire there will ever understand me, and my mindset.
It's not even a complicated thing. It's just... a life some people will never see. Whether we are better or worse people for having seen it or not... we will never- and can never- know.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

last night was weird. I went to my sisters school concert. They were all well-fed, caucasian children with light brown or blonde hair. All in their Oxford uniforms. At their little private, Christian school. All the dads in their khakis (spelling?) and company polos. All the moms with their toddlers, struggling to keep their bleached hair straight and their earrings from being ripped out. They gave fake smiles toeachother, behind fake tans, covered by real designer labels.
 it was the picture of the seeming American Dream. The thing we all get hopelessly pulled towards, or trapped in.
 If we're fortunate enough to be the middle class.
To marry into business, or have connections.
 But with that cliche, redundant life, comes security. Security that you WIL get by, that your name WILL go on.. that you WILL find someone to love you, or at least spend their days with you.
 Part of me would feel relieved walking into that, but part of me would feel like I'd let myself down. While I want those relationships and that frustrating, doctor appoinment, soccer practice, and late dinner filled life- I think part of me will always wish for the risk, the exotic, and the new.
This is what I mean when I say I don't know who I am.
I can't choose between dreams and comfortable realities.
 Sorry for the rant- I'm just thinking out loud.

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Clothed With Christ

Ok. Let's start off by talking about your favorite pair of jeans.
They are made so well. They make your butt look awesome. The name brand is stamped right on the pocket, so everyone can see that you can afford them. They show off your shoes perfectly.
On a bummer day, they make you feel better, and your perfect pair of jeans can even make you feel empowered.
Now let's talk bout your underwear. Awkward, right? Nonetheless, you depend on them. You have them every single day. No matter what. (Or I hope you do at least...) They are a given, and a habit.
Enough said.

How often do we treat Jesus like our favorite pair of jeans? How often do we let him come around when it's convenient? Or we FEEL like we need him? Often we use him as an excuse, or a trophy... never really believing completely in him. We hide behind him and try to make ourselves look better. Then when the next cool pair of jeans come along, we put him in a drawer.
So why don't we make a habit of him? Why don't we practice having faith, and being faithful? HE should always be the first thing in our hearts and minds, every day.
He might not always make us feel like a million bucks, and sometimes it feels like he's not even there. But he is. Always. Eternally. He loves us. More than a boyfriend or girlfriend. A mother or father. He wants us to meditate and cling to him day and night.
I think I've said enough :)

Observations

Brisk. Chilly. Not yet colorful. September at Malone. The sun falls on the pathways between brick buildings. At seven thirtsy, you watch every footstep, careful not to trip in your own sleep-drunken stupor. You inhale the scent of grass, cafeteria food, and cologne as you pass the mens' dorm. A waft of toasty air greets you as you reach your destination- along with fresh-smelling grey walls. Your class room is emtpy for a few minutes until you are joied by guys in sweats and girls carrying coffee, still checking their makeup. No body likes a class anytime before nine. You look at the boy beside you. He appears to be more awake. His eyes are in the shadow of his shaggy dark hair, but you can tell they are beautiful. His jeans stretch tight across his knees, as comfortable and familiar as his old Etnies. Not short. Not tall. Not skinny, or fat. He's just an average boy. Not deep, not high, not simple, or sly. Just an average voice.
An etenrity passes, as you nod off, shivering. Finally, you can leave.
And go back to your room and sleep some more.

What I Love About Fall

It is said that every knee will bow, every tongue confess
that Jesus Christ is Lord
and so leaves of every tribe, every tongue, every nation
submit to the wind when it's bored
when it musters it's strength and hollers in our ears
plays with girls' curls and scarves
the birds sing every range, belting "go home"
as the breeze moans a hollow alto

the boys laugh, wrestling in the remainder of the grass
which will dissapear next month in a blanket of snow
then lovers will stroll hand in hand
wondering at kisses, feet in heaven's sand

the smell of smoke lures us to a warm fire's glow
like a gentle reminder of June fieflies' show
back then the blades were covered with dew
now frost lightens them when day breaks anew

a plethoric array of languages exclaim the beauty in stillness
when dorm doors open each morning
only November's splendor fulfills this
with an amber sun. December's warning.

This is the Day that the Lord Has Made

Sunlight. It files through the slats of the bunkbed. My eyes cannot resist it.
Flash forward. One hour and twenty-two minutes, to be exact. I look at my coat and smile to myself. Sorry old friend, I won't be needing you today!
I burst out the door and inhale the scent of... dirt. But dirt, nonetheless. Squishy, earthy, roughed up dirt. It stares at me from all sides, stripped of its snowy mask. The frail golden grass cuddles the dirt, drying to gain some warmth from the brisk wind across The Quad.
Five thousand stairs. Well, ok. More stairs than I'd like. That's how many I must climb to get my meal. I scan the cafeteria for some good seating, find a good spot by... oh nevermind. I do, however, look for Him. Hah. He's not there.
However, all the football players are. They plow about, swearing carrying their... aura... with them. I feel slightly sympathetic towards them, for having practice before sunrise.
I sit and read my Bible (sadly, not quintessential of me), and drink my coffee. It appears to fit so many cliches that I hate. But I didn't even care. It was far too beautiful outside to care if I looked bookish and goody-two-shoes.
I finish the Psalm, and pack up. Time to walk down five thousand stairs. I wave at a friend, pass by a girl I don't know, and avoid eye contact with a boy who creeps possibly more than I do.
I shake my head at the boys who are donning flip flops, and judge the girls wearing tank tops. I'm sorry, it's still February.
However, mid fifties bring out the Spring in the souls of Malone University. I envy my Brazilian friend, who's winter is this warm. I look ahead to our own Summer. Oh, the adventures that await.
Sadly, it will get cold again. It is Ohio, after all. Yet this day had given me hope. Hope for new life, and opportunities. Hope for love and memories. Hope for global warming.

March 6. Dreary.

I woke up to creaking stairs and slamming doors. The ustle of Sunday morning had started without me. Disappointed in my fate, I dragged myself from my warm rice sock. An hour later, I'm sitting in Sunday School. It's not that I don't WANT to be there... well, yes it is. I'm cold and hungry and tired. A mother's retort would be "Then put a coat on and eat breakfast!"-however, I just don't feel like it. After months of cold, the coat ceases to be your best friend and is more of a simple mar on your spirit- a sign of lingering death and bitterness. It puffs out it all the wrong places, making one almost look pregnant.
I don't feel like eating either.
After church, I stand at the table peeling potatos. They are cold, hard, and slimy. I feel the crumbs and water droplets under my stiff, bare feet. Cats and dogs work on them, yet they still stick to my soles and make me cringe. I can hear the faint voices of Avalon below me, and more presently, the tickling, monotonous pluckings of Phil Keagey. The same ones I have heard every Sundy afternoon my entire life. 
Every time I look outside, I see the dusting of snow on the ground and remember there is no escape. 
Someday there will be. Someday I'll travel the world. In the next season of my life, I'll go to Africa and Australia. I'll follow the Amazon river to it's source. I'll walk along the golden coast of California. I'll see the wonders of Alaska and the mysteries of India. 
The sunshine. The smells. The heartbeats of alien souls. The smiles and music that make us all equal. 
But as of now, I'll watch El spill water and food everywhere. I'll watch the dogs clean it up. I'll tuck my feet underneath me to warm them up. 
And I'll keep listening to the same old track, insanely waiting for it to someday be different.

For the Beauty of the Earth

May.
Sixty glorious degrees, waking us from our paling, depressed Ohio winter.
Snowflakes still fall. No, petals. The breeze stirs the branches, and they let go of thousands of soft, white petals that float to the ground. A few land in my light copper hair as I walk by.
The sweet smell of grass rises like coffee on Christmas day. Everywhere, a plethora of color bursts forth in the gardens of older women. Each bud seems to smile, nearly laughing at the cold that has seemed to abandon us.
Even here in Akron, Ohio, God has reserved beauty. We don't always walk around seeing it.
Sometimes we gawk at parrots in cages- as if the black squirrels of Canton and Akron weren't wondrous and fascinating in some way. We look at rain in terms of games being cancelled, instead of the number of puddles we can jump in. We look at the faces of those who tear us down, instead of the cloudless sky, where His face looks upon us with love.
We aren't even aware of how intricately our lives are attached to Him. In our art, we celebrate His own creativity- a gift he's shared with us. In our invention of sport, study of medicine, and practice of sex, we celebrate the human body and what He has made us capable of doing.
Just a few weeks ago, I walked around a well- kept, calm college campus. On days when the sun would shine, you could almost see God smiling. There's nothing like walking ten feet and being able to see a microcosm of everything he intended. On a campus, you catch a glimpse of how everything we live around combines. You see the geeks, and the musicians, and the writers. You come across the athletes, the doctors, the teachers, and the people who simply smile and make your day. It takes all of this. It takes all of these shades of skin, all these languages, these lives, these stories, to see any of how we've all made it so far.
This, the idea of college in itself, is a gift. Where else can you get any idea of how people other than yourself live? I consider this to be the most tremendous gift God has given me- or any of us.

This day is over now. After failing at making a pizza, squishing two spiders, and complaining because I was cold, I've come to realize just how small my problems are. We feel belittled when others cheapen our burdens, but in keeping our pain valid, we stop seeing the pain around us. We don't even hear the mother cursing at her children in the grocery store. We don't give a second thought to the couple who walks all the way across town because their car was taken away. We're too busy thinking about what the heck plan B is for dinner.
I have strong opinions about American mindsets. However, I refuse to believe this is our problem alone. All around the world, people are hurting and there are just as many people who are bickering over pointless things and so selfishly absorbed in their own drama that they give no thought to anyone but themselves.
I don't want to be like that. Maybe that desire and consciousness in and of itself is indicative of my self-centered soul and society. 

In fact, I have no idea how the first half of this all relates to the second half. It may not. That's the beauty of thought, and will. There doesn't have to be a reason. There doesn't even have to be an end.

What's Wrong With Us?

I was home schooled  until seventh grade. At that point,  I left the living room and walked into a feeding frenzy of smelly, self-conscious pre-teens(The public school system). In Akron, I found a plethora of shades of skin. I picked up on slang that many Caucasians never grasp. Then I came to college. After being accustomed to African American culture, fashion, and music, I was thrown back into a Caucasian world that I never really had to experience before. This was a culture shock. I was unsure how do deal with...well, white people.
At Malone, I have met students from all around the world. Finland, Australia, Brazil, Colombia, and South Africa. They all have different reasons for being in America. However, not all of them hold it in the same regard that we do.
My friend  from Brazil is a very unique person. He’s tall, dark, and handsome- a soccer player. He looks like he would be arrogant and full of himself. However, he’s not like that at all. He laughs at the same things I do. He has a family he looks forward to seeing during breaks- just like anyone else. He makes mistakes and gets frustrated. Even though he knows a completely different world than I do, we have similarities. However, what I did not expect was his attitude about the education that we get every day- and MY culture, in general. He detests the American viewpoints that he feels forced to learn. I tried to explain to him that he has an advantage and gift, as an asset in his classes, to share his view of the world and people. He then told me that if he did that he would “Just get mad and talk shit about America”.
Everything I was taught my whole life in the conservative Baptist church, the public high school, and the Bob  Jones school videos preached America. I’ve heard our story a thousand times. I’ve been brainwashed into believing that the United States is a haven. That the dream is shared by all, and that it will solve all problems. The American Dream, in fact, has turned in to an American Nightmare. Somewhere along the way, we ceased to be a beacon of hope and became  and a shame. Our pride led us to a mental complex of being superior. This over-reaching, condescending, Jack-of-all-trades- attitude is what you called Hubris. We think that our military can fix all conflicts, and that our people can do the most good in the world. This is the condition I have been raised in and naturally accepted. It never occurred to me just how flawed our judgment was. In these last two semesters, my mind has changed completely. My world has become so much bigger.
Steven Spielberg’s 1986 film An American Tale is a fictitious and symbolic story of a family (of mice) who come to America in search of safety and a better life- free of the proverbial ‘cats’ that antagonize them and burn their villages. The song they sing in the movie says “There are no cats in America, and the streets are paved with cheese... there are no cats in America- so set your mind at ease.” When they arrive, the family finds out that there are, in fact, cats in America- and that there is still hardship and trials- only in a place that is unfamiliar and cold.
From its beginning, America had been a symbol of hope and future for people all around the world. Millions have come here in search of freedom from religious persecution, poverty, and political strife. In the Colonial period, some 175,000 Englishmen came to the East coast of North America. The first settlement in 1607 by the Virginia Company, Jamestown, barely survived the harsh winters. Over time, colonies were established and began to offer an alternative to the life that didn’t always appeal to some Europeans. Scottish, English, And German indentured servants came- to help on farms and plantations. They could work in exchange for lodging and food- they would gain the skills necessary to live independently in this new land of prospect. During the mid 19th century, many immigrants came from Northern Europe- Belgium, Denmark, France, Germany, Ireland, Norway, and Sweden. At the turn of the 20th century, most came from Southern and Eastern Europe- Greece, Italy, Hungary, and Poland. Jewish people were also a large immigrant group.
It was during this time (1892, specifically) that Ellis Island came into historical significance. Over 12 million European immigrants were poked and prodded, questioned, examined, and filtered into the now United States. Most then lived in ethnic neighborhoods. Often families were split up between continents, and living with people of the same culture and background aided in helping them to cope. In 1965 the Immigration Act was passed that let in immigrants from third world countries. Over 40 million have flooded in since then- mostly from Asian countries and Central and South America; India, China, the Philippines, Mexico, Cuba.
During the great depression immigration dropped to zero. No one had the desire to go to an economy in a state of crisis. The same thing is happening today- our economy has caused a decrease in the number of people who decide to live in the United States. From 2000-2005, 8,000,000 came in. Half of them did so illegally, but were granted amnesty. The events that occurred on September 11, 2001 made Americans wary of who they let live alongside them- they believed that tighter controls on immigration would aid in national security. Despite this, 8% of children born in the US during 2008 were born to parents who had immigrated illegally. It is predicted that by 2050, non-Hispanic whites will make up only 47% of the US population, 29% will be Hispanic, and the Asian population will triple. Some theorize that The US will become so populated by Hispanic people, that it will essentially be a Latin American country.
While we have always allowed others in our country, it has not always been without giving them a price to pay. One of the many things that they encounter here and also in their countries of origin, through American media, is racism. Race itself is an idea invented by society in order to sort people. The ideals held during the age of European exploration and imperialism helped to support it. When people like Columbus colonized and conquered areas such as Asia, Africa, and the Americas, they put people into categories which laid the foundation for an ugly barrier of race. Before the slavery of Africans in America, people were generally classified according to wealth, religion, and lineage. Over time, physical differences became the determining factor. In America, Africans and Native Americans were on the lowest level of society. Native peoples were driven from their lands, and African-Americans were segregated from European-Americans. Even the ‘science’ of race claimed that non-whites were biologically inferior.
Today racism is still an ugly scar in our nation’s history, despite our efforts to erase it. We have come a long way in our thoughts about education, marriage, and employment in relation to minorities and how we view them.  However, stereotypes and racism still exist to haunt us and drive us apart. We still somehow explain gaps in intelligence, athletics, health, employment, and housing as natural. Privileges are still subconsciously given or withheld due to skin color. Most of the prejudices are towards Blacks, Asians, Amerindians, and Jews. In surfing the Internet, I found an exhaustive list of racial slurs- 90% of which I’d never heard before. It is shocking how many degrading things that we still say to our fellow Americans because we either judge them or are completely ignorant about our world and theirs as well.
This ignorance leads up to a global attitude of Anti-Americanism. Centuries ago, Europeans found Americans to have “No taste, grace, or civility”.  We were also accused of being voracious, preachy, mercenary, and bombastically chauvinist. We held double standards- as Samuel Johnson put it, “How is it that we heard the loudest yelps for liberty among the drivers of Negroes?”.
The events of September 11th are considered quintessential Anti-American acts. Although most middle-eastern leaders condemned the attacks, Saddam Hussein stated that “The American cowboys are reaping the fruit of their crimes against humanity.” We must ask ourselves if he was right in his response. So many countries in Asia have poor opinions of us- as well as Canada. Today Europe almost pities us due to our obesity, ignorance, debt, and mindless wars.
However, there is some hope for us. Australia doesn’t hate us (They actually are pretty chill about everything. That’s why I love them). We have fairly decent relations with South American countries that have right-wing governments, such as Colombia, Peru, and Chile. On the inside, we are also working to fight this view. Twenty-two percent of Americans have a relative that is in an interracial marriage. Our schools and work places are becoming more accepting and integrated in many areas. Changes in immigration, economy, and intercultural exploration are allowing more students to have opportunities for education and success- evening out minorities and helping to deface stereotypes. Still, we aren’t there yet. The world in not ready to forgive us. On the same token, we still are chauvinist and believe we live the best life, and are the best at everything. We think that our armies and religions can solve everyone else's problems. We still hear the echoes of hatred and racism.

I now have a clearer understanding of the reasons the world looks down on America. I now know why Anti-Americanism is so prevalent outside of our United States Bubble. Now I comprehend why my Brazilian friend harbors such disdain. Now I get why the activist and musician Yoon Min-Suk would write protesting, semi violent song entitled “F*cking USA”. It disturbs me, but moves me at the same time. I makes me ponder the question: an I party to these sins? Have I personally helped to re-enforce the foreign opinion that Americans are idiots, as the punk rock band Green Day would put it? As a Christian, this makes me feel fearful that I AM partially at fault. America has always existed on a premise of Christianity. The face of Christ must look unforgiving and dangerous in the images of Katy Perry, Halo, and House. We wonder why so many people reject the concept of God, and a loving savior. Could it be because our ‘Christian’ nation fails to exemplify anything resembling love and acceptance towards other people. There are cats in America, and the streets are not paved with cheese.

Charles Dickens once said “The heaviest blow ever dealt at liberty will be dealt by this country (America), in the failure of it’s example to the earth.” I do value my education, my opportunities, my friends, my state, my freedom, my right to write. I am grateful to be an American. However, I am unsure if I can ever be proud to be one

Monday, May 2, 2011

Ok, here it goes.

I suppose as a first post, I should make a disclaimer that I'm not sure if I'll be good in this. I probably won't post again for another two years. Weird. But we'll see :)