Snapshots.

It's come to me recently that people might not know what happened to me.

I left for college a generic, suburban, goodie. I was innocent; a homebody with no idea what the real world looked like outside of white towns, white counties. I wasn't white, but I had no idea what it meant to identify as a "Woman of Color" (and expect a blog on that soon- I wrote one yesterday that got blacked out by the internet). I'd go so far as to insinuate that I had no specific identity, just a bunch of traits gathered together and a few futile attempts to differentiate myself from where I came from that had failed and remained in my back pockets and on the floor of my small bedroom. I was looking forward to independence, but I was also afraid to be far from home, constantly reminding myself that I had been the girl, many times, to be homesick after mere days away and to constantly phone the house. 

This may explain why my friends and family have been giving me incredulous looks at each meal.

I returned home with, first and foremost, a hole in my nose and large, oversized eyeglasses obscuring my face. I was probably wearing scarves and a small bag when they all first saw me again, pulling a lighter out of my purse and recalling stories of frat parties and nights spent in my friends' apartment. I had painted the walls, and learned about myself, and all I wanted to do was tell everyone the evils of capitalism, patriarchy, rape culture, and homophobia. I am persistent now that nobody yell when I'm around, and I've been subtly attempting to restructure everyone's priorities around me so they stop trying to talk to me about cash and the American Dream.

I know what the American Dream looks like, and it's usually at the other end of the Bolt Bus. 

So maybe I'm crazy now, that radical I always dreamed of turning into who wants to tell you about "the institution" and let you in on the secrets of satisfaction and happiness. I know now that the way to happiness is not paved in coins, cash, fame, or glamour- it's paved in love, friends, trust, and the grandeur of making everything public property. I don't do what I do because I hope to become some figurehead with a maple desk and a corner office anymore, because I know that whatever I end up with, as long as I dedicate my life to what I love I'll never regret it.

A part of me feels like the socioeconomic system of rank in New Jersey- and it is one that is visible, alive, and well- is poison. After a few weeks there I'll probably start to reconsider the things I found beautiful when I left this campus, and I'm not letting that happen. I'm determined to remember the real roots of my journey, and they lay in the small dorm I lived in for 8 months as I became someone with a real identity and place. 

I called this blog "The Activista," because I'd love to be defined by how enthusiastic I am about my battles and challenges. Nothing would make me happier than being remembered by those I encounter for how dedicated and passionate I was, instead of what I'm wearing and what I came from. I loved that when I came to college nobody knew my backstory and nobody knew how large my house was, what car my mother drove, and what my family structure looked like. I was a blank slate like everyone else, waiting to be scrawled on.

I guess this is the lame "introductory" post I'd avoided so long. Oh, whatever. I don't care anymore- get to know me.