Weather for Headphones

In my autobiography class, we have been reading the journal of Etty Hillesum. She was an incredibly intelligent, philosophical young woman living during the Holocaust. She died at Auschwitz before she was 30, but her letters and journal were collected, translated, and published by relatives.

I think that, amidst all the talk of numbers and statistics, of millions and millions dead, of remembering and never forgetting the Holocaust, we overlook the fact that, of the 11 million lives lost, every single one was a unique and valuable human individual. These people were not defined by the fact that they died in a war. Long before the war even began, they had their own loves, families, lives, and careers. They thought and breathed and broke bread together and they felt.

Etty was not perfect- she was far from it. She had moments when she gave in to hatred, and she cursed the Germans and wanted every German person to die. But she knew that, deep inside, if even one German person was good, then it was wrong to call them all evil. She believed in the power of hope and the goodness in all of us- one of the last things she left for this world was the message that “we should be willing to act as balm for all wounds.”

I want to be someone who does this. I want to leave my mark on the world- one that lasts and heals. The question is, how? We were all gifted with certain talents, certain advantages and disadvantages that let us see the world in different ways. Some of us write, or sing, or play sports. Some people haven’t discovered their talents yet, but they are there.

We were given these gifts for a reason- to use them. To let talent die and wither away is like cutting off an arm or a leg- it’s just plain wrong. Etty had a talent- her bright and beautiful mind. Somewhere deep inside, she knew that she only had so long to live on this earth, and she knew she had to continue writing. We don’t know when we could die, so we have to try our hardest to leave an impression on others every day.

I think everyone needs to feel that they are beautiful. At the very least, that they are not ugly, and there isn’t anything wrong with them.

I think that a lot of people don’t feel that way these days.

Okay, here’s a really crazy idea.

The other day, I went to my school’s performance of The Vagina Monologues. There is this one part, about halfway through, when the cast begins chanting the word “cunt”. “Cunt” is a terrible insult to womanhood. It even has an ugly sound, beginning and ending with a hard consonant. For a feminist and writer like myself, it is twice as uncomfortable to hear. However, words only have power if we give them power. There is this quote:

“Are there any niggers here tonight? Could you turn on the house lights, please, and could the waiters and waitresses just stop serving, just for a second? And turn off this spot. Now what did he say? “Are there any niggers here tonight?” I know there’s one nigger, because I see him back there working. Let’s see, there’s two niggers. And between those two niggers sits a kike. And there’s another kike— that’s two kikes and three niggers. And there’s a spic. Right? Hmm? There’s another spic. Ooh, there’s a wop; there’s a polack; and, oh, a couple of greaseballs. And there’s three lace-curtain Irish micks. And there’s one, hip, thick, hunky, funky, boogie. Boogie boogie. Mm-hmm. I got three kikes here, do I hear five kikes? I got five kikes, do I hear six spics, I got six spics, do I hear seven niggers? I got seven niggers. Sold American. I pass with seven niggers, six spics, five micks, four kikes, three guineas, and one wop. Well, I was just trying to make a point, and that is that it’s the suppression of the word that gives it the power, the violence, the viciousness. Dig: if President Kennedy would just go on television, and say, “I would like to introduce you to all the niggers in my cabinet,” and if he’d just say “nigger nigger nigger nigger nigger” to every nigger he saw, “boogie boogie boogie boogie boogie,” “nigger nigger nigger nigger nigger” ’til nigger didn’t mean anything anymore, then you could never make some six-year-old black kid cry because somebody called him a nigger at school.”

–Lenny Bruce

Why are slurs, insults, and curses so powerful? There are several reasons:

1. Historical basis – obviously there is some historical baggage carried with such words.
2. Sexual or physical – 95% of curse words are a) sexual in nature or b) degrading some bodily function or body part. They exploit our own insecurities about ourselves- our sexuality, our “size”, even our bowels.
3 (THE MOST IMPORTANT PART). Rarity – You never hear these words. This is because we have unconciously accepted that these words are meant for a specific purpose- to hurt others. If we called roses “shitfucks”, then “shitfucks” wouldnt be a bad word anymore.

So what happens if you get an organized group of people who start to use these words on a daily basis, in non-traditional contexts, with completely different definitions? In the classroom? (Very loudly) In public? In a movie theater? A restaurant? What if you use them so much that, although the history and the insecurity remains, other positive or neutral meanings become attached to them? Will these words even matter anymore?

I took some time off from school because of my skin, and now I am back. It’s a strange feeling.

I can’t really compare it to anything except when I spent a week in Charter Ridge for suicidal thoughts. Most of the kids there were only around for a week or two weeks, and then they left. But in those few days, we became close. There were tears and rivalries. We gossiped about the girls in the other block. I was teased and I had people stand up for me. There was a student there, a young man who understood me and helped me as much as he could. I wouldn’t have survived without him.

And then I left. It was like walking into a new school, or seeing a new country where the people spoke a different language. Even though it was only a few days, I was someone different. I didn’t want to be with the people I was with before. I knew that I deserved something more.

It has only been two days, and this week has been impossibly hard. So many people love me and like me and want me to succeed and do well. There is this immense pressure on me. I am really, truly terrified of letting everyone down. I have had thoughts this week that I shouldn’t have, and it’s because I feel both alone and like there is too much love.

I have come to realize that love is more than just being. Love only works if it has mutual support and criticism. Sometimes, loving someone can hurt more than it helps, because that love puts expectations on the person. Maybe it is just that I need less love…or more love from myself.

I feel like I am someone different. I am not my nickname anymore. I’m not someone who puts up with B.S. and flawed thinking. As I get older, my standards for myself and for other people continue to climb. I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I know that it means my life will eventually be a lot happier and satisfying.

It is hard to explain myself. I’ve never liked talking about myself or what I think and feel, but it seems like it might be the only thing that can keep me going. So I am going to keep going. I know that this feeling will pass eventually, and things will work out. I just need to cry and fall apart and put myself back together.

my sheets will never be silent
whispers trailed between your fingers

i’ve always wanted to kiss people
through windows my astral heart

every birthday i ask for cookies
the cakes are made en masse

i used to draw mountains
but people make better horizons

if you build a sea of night
if you hide beneath the stars
someone will find you