Journal entry 1

So, this is my first entry. Odd knowing that it will be public. Aren’t diaries meant to be private, by definition? Well, rules are meant to be broken, correct? Or, more aptly, nothing is concrete and absolute. Things are never simply black and white. Pun intended.

On that note, have you hit the streets to protest lately? I have not. Not recently. However, I absolutely believe in individual and organized acts of self-expression, especially if its geared towards changing the status quo. Anything that helps break apart outdated modes of thinking. Chains of thought that smother us, keeping us blind and paralyzed. Racism. When the fuck will humanity ever move forward as a species and let go of the fear of others? Others, being those who look different, speak different, prefer different music, different foods, have different tastes. Will we ever accept and be comfortable with our differences? Or perhaps we’re doomed to a more homogeneous way of life, where everyone is the same?

Birds of a feather.

I think about this often. It saddens me when i see cultural neighborhoods become gentrified. Small historic hubs, full of character, bought out and converted to clean, well-lit spaces, indistinct from any other part of town. It’s history and all it’s layers suddenly lost. Replaced by a cookie cutter culture.

Perhaps, on the surface, we’ll one day all look alike, whether by force or by choice, much like what has been happening to our cities, and we’ll forget about our individual roots and differences. Is that the only road to peace? I hope not. Because I love our differences. I love how your skin tone contrasts against mine. I love that you prefer the colors that you wear, the way you do your hair, the odd-ball things that make you laugh or cry. Our arguments. Maybe i don’t understand you because i’m not you, but that’s what makes it so beautiful when you reveal your layers. You’re a treasure.

Onion girls and onion boys.

Have you ever peeled away at old paint and found all the hidden layers underneath? A time line. Like the rings of a tree.

I once moved to a studio apartment without any furniture or much of a plan, in a new city where i knew no one. No family. No friends. One night I began peeling away the paint on one of the door knobs, because i hate it when door knobs and latches get painted over. And then i moved on to the rest of the door and it revealed at least six different layers of old paint. I was depressed at the time and uncovering these layers for some reason brought the saddest tears to my eyes. How many people lived there before me? What stories was this studio hiding? I miss having someone loving and patient enough to peel away my layers. The intimacy.

No, we’ll never become a fully homogenous species. Even if vast human or cultural genocide were to happen, or if Artificial Intelligence eventually overtakes our world, and decides to enslave us, we’ll still always hold on to our individuality. I wonder, are cells of the body aware of their individuality. Do they know they’re separate parts to a whole? I think every human is hard-wired to notice how they’re different. Is that just a part of consciousness? If so, then i guess one of my fears is that we’ll one day become unconscious. We’ll devolve and forget the strength of the individual. Our ability to transcend. Our ability to live with and accept our differences. Not just accept, but rejoice, with consideration and compassion.

Well, this is it for journal entry numero uno.