“How can I be privileged if sometimes I feel sad?”
I saw a feminist cartoon satirizing the conceit of cis white male privilege that said this. Even though I consider myself to be multi-racial, I understand how I read to most. Because of the color of my skin and the understated nature of my epicanthic folds, mentioning the tribulations in life is prohibited, or are disfavored in this time and place. Society commands me:
“Shut up and count your blessings”
that’s generally good advice anyhow.
They are many. My children are healthy and doing well. My fiancee is smart, powerful, beautiful, and loves me. I have my health.
So I won’t complain. Nevertheless, at some point in our lives, getting older is no longer a celebration, it’s a source of bemusement… Until you are so old that it’s a celebration again. Isn’t this sentiment universal? Can’t we all agree that wary melancholy is okay?
No? Shut up? Okay… Lyrics:
And my lawn gets wet though I’ve withheld my consent
When this grey world crumbles like a cake
I’ll be hanging from the hope
That I’ll never see that recipe again
As I think, I’m using up the time left to think
And this train keep rolling off the track
Trying to act like something else
Trying to go where it’s been uninvited
It’s not today
It’s not my birthday, so why do you lunge out at me?
When the word comes down, “Never more will be around”
Though I’ll wish you were there, I was less than we could bear
And I’m not the only dust my mother raised
Discreetly I should pour through the keyhole or evaporate completely
But there’d be no percentage, and there’d be no proof
And the sound upon the roof is only water
And my lawn gets wet though I’ve withheld my consent
When this grey world crumbles like a cake
I’ll be hanging from the hope
That I’ll never see that recipe again
It’s not today
It’s not my birthday, so why do you lunge out at me?
When the word comes down, “Never more will be around”
Though I’ll wish you were there, I was less than we could bear
And I’m not the only dust my mother raised
I am not the only dust my mother raised
...All my darkest hours talking like this... 