I write to tell you that I give up.
Also me I want to be happy and enjoy all moments almost as though there’s no further consequence. I want to be silent and enjoy the timed freedom we have and the access to the ocean regardless of the privilege that make this space not accessible to all, I mean does it even matter that my nieces could grow up with their beings policed, mid inequity of voice in a colour blind world that tells of rainbows and imagined pasts that don't quantify how the ocean is not accessible to most Black people today?
Each time the fatigue grasps me by the neck, the idea of not engaging this swirls my head often, the idea of not ‘saying what I said’, the idea of smiling at things that make me shudder for peace sake, and as much as my mind tells me things will change in time, my heart asks when is ‘in time’ and by whom will the change come.
So here we are.
Saturday the surfers protested, Monday the President opened beaches, fantastic for Ocean humans but the ugly of the weekend still sat in my heart, the words that had been spoken by nice well meaning people. It wasn’t something I could just ward off, perhaps it needs cleansing by the sea because the girl is emotional.
So why was my joy not palpable? Because the possibility that this opening corroborated the belief system of the surfers and the protesters. Whether the opening of the beaches was due to the capitals disapproval of government actions or not, I found myself wondering what this says to the protesters, and the mirror being held up to me.
Things about equity of voice, class, dominance, white being right.
Let me go cleanse my soul in the sea, it needs a good scrubbing.