This helped me, but it's going to confuse you.

I've stopped writing. I've stopped journaling, blogging, and I've even stopped ranting on social media. I tell myself I've stopped due to lack of inspiration. Am I being honest with myself? In short, the answer is no. On the contrary, an honest statement would be that I have become lazy. I spend hours at a time scrolling through Instagram, Facebook, and Pinterest. Not to mention the countless episodes of Netflix I pride myself in watching every week. I don't mean for it to sound like I am making social media out to be a useless pastime, because I do spend much of my time researching thought provoking and mind-stimulating articles and videos. However, why have I convinced myself that this is enough? How is skimming, scrolling, liking, commenting, pinning, and watching, mobilizing my vision?

Inside my head, my life is separated into two parts: before my gap year with TBB & after my gap year with TBB. I distinguish between the two based on the experiences which shaped the perception I now see the world around me through. But, here's the thing. I've been home now for almost two years. It has been over two years ago that I left on the adventure in the first place. This is a lot of time; considering the dilemma I am facing by catching myself referring to timespans as "before I left", "while I was gone", and "after I got back". Why am I still finding it difficult to merge the two together? Sure, I'm a different person. I've made different life choices, and now have different preferences and opinions. But, I'm still Savannah. Right? Why does it have to be "Savannah" and "Savannah: The Sequel"?

You probably think I am looking too much into this.
Wrong.
Because, I know I sound crazy.
But, here's my point.

I'll be 21 in less than two months. I'm a sophomore at a University that I, nearly, hate everything about. I've dropped two classes this semester, and even though I am listed as an Agriculture Science major, I'm taking a total of zero agriculture courses this semester. I'm currently in the process of changing my major to Journalism, and I do plan on transferring Universities in fall of 2016. I have a short term plan to make myself happier, but I still cannot help but feel bogged down. It's as if I'm constantly trying to cohere the two parts of my life. When in reality, I know there is no real line of separation. I'm really, really, struggling to put my life LEGO set of 45,670 pieces together. And for the record: when I look over a piece, and then step on it later--it hurts like a bitch.

I'm so frustrated with myself that I know this writing is not going to flow when I reread it. But, I'll still click that publish button, because its the most writing I've put together in six months. Which really may not seem like a big deal to you, except writing is where I feel the most freedom. It's the only place I can tell the truth without fear of consequence or judgement. Writing is the only way I know how to sort through my emotions, and the only way I know how to process. My words are really the only thing I can stand behind with assurance. And not just the words themselves, but the way they come together to make ideas and proclamations in a way that words from my mouth simply cannot.

This is why I am so bewildered by my own will to have stopped. Because, what if this is the only way to connect my two parts together to make one life. If time is on a continuum then there really is no such thing as a sequel; and the first one is usually better left open-ended anyways. 

Sometimes, I Get Tired of Being White.

"America has always turned a blind eye to what we have done to our own. We look out to the world and judge. We hear about the concentration camps but these camps went on for two hundred years right here in America."

I just finished watching the film, The Butler. When I came across the movie on TMC I was skeptical about starting it because I had heard it was a little heavy. But, after being unsatisfied with the remaining movies to choose from I started it over from the beginning. I'm not entirely sure what it was I was expecting. Maybe a heartwarming story about a former cotton field slave who worked his way into an influential household where he answered the door and served tea? I really knew nothing about the plot, obviously. Needless to say I was taken by surprise as the storyline unfolded. 

In relation: We, as a nation, recently recognized Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday. If I were to be completely honest (which I intend to be), I would tell you that I celebrated accordingly. I took advantage of the opportunity to go out on a Sunday night as well as the opportunity to sleep in on a Monday morning. I even went as far as to post one of my favorite Dr. King quotes on my Instagram page. I thought these celebratory actions to be sufficient for my support of the importance of civil rights then and now.

How could I have been so nonchalant towards a holiday that not only honors one of the world's greatest revolutionist, but also towards a day that carries so much of our nation's history. 

As a white woman in the United States of America, not to mention a woman from the South, I was given the gift of privilege the minute I took my first breath. I can honestly say that I did not recognize my privilege as privilege for at least the first eighteen years of my life. Thats the funny thing about it, if you are of the privileged elite no one ever tells you that you are. I grew up being handed everything I ever asked for. I'm not referring to material things, even though I was handed those as well. I was given the right to an education. I was given the right to vote. I was given the right to sit, and walk, and stand, and lay down, and work, and shop, and drink, and use the bathroom where ever the hell I want to. Not to mention whenever the hell I want to. 

I was brought up to know I could do anything I wanted to do, I could be anything I wanted to be. Why? Because, I'm white. Because, I'm privileged. 

I recognize what a blessing it is to be an American citizen. I recognize what a blessing it is to have parents who give me anything and everything I ask for. I recognize it is a blessing to be educated. However, I am most thankful for the blessing it is to recognize that I am privileged. I will seldom have to worry, God willing, where my next meal will come from, or whether I will find a job after I graduate from college (which is a privilege within itself). My outlook on life has become a limitless realm of opportunity. 

That makes me slightly bitter.

I don't say privileged the way one would brag about accomplishments and prizes. The word leaves a bad taste in my mouth. 

Why? 

Because, why does my skin color make me different? 

African Americans were beaten for their skin color, tortured for their skin color, killed for their skin color. How ridiculous is that? There are countries in the middle east where ISIS would beat, torture, and kill me because of my skin color. How ridiculous is that? 

Did you catch that? I guarantee half or more of my audience was able to relate to my last comment. I can guarantee that just by mentioning the middle east the attention of many of my readers has been drawn closer. If you have forgotten the quote I copied at the beginning of this post, here it is again: 

"America has always turned a blind eye to what we have done to our own. We look out to the world and judge. We hear about the concentration camps but these camps went on for two hundred years right here in America."

ISIS continues to release videos to youtube of terroristic slaughter. How awful. How evil. How inhuman. 

Ponder this.

When the KKK slaughtered hundreds of African Americans, the ONLY difference was there was no youtube to proudly post their videos onto. There were no computers and flat screen TVs sharing the news with the rest of the world so people could sit on their couches and say, 

"How awful."

"How evil."

"How inhuman."

Every. damn. day. We sit and watch as people are killed based solely on their skin color and cultural heritage. We sit back and judge, complain, rant, sigh, and bless their hearts. We must have carelessly forgotten about our own civil war and our own civil rights movement. We must have carelessly forgotten that discrimination based solely on skin color is still happening right here at home. There are still people dying in America based on skin color. There are still people being discriminated against based on privilege in a nation who claims equality and freedom for all. 

How awful.

How evil.

How inhuman.

Throughout the movie I found myself crying, but not from sadness, I was crying from anger. I went through US history class. I know about the civil rights movement, I know about the marches and the protests and demonstrations, and I know about the white retaliations. All of those graphics rightfully included in the film were no surprise to me. I was angry because race and civil rights is still an issue today. There are still Americans being denied their basic rights. There are still citizens being discriminated against. Racist jokes still fill Hollywood's dialogue and racial slurs can be heard on any radio or television broadcast. Our media, our society, perpetuates the systematic stereotypes. No matter the skin color, we can not let go of the physical difference of skin pigment only truly acknowledgeable by sight. 

There is no justifiable difference between me and another human being except for those given by that dirty word privilege. Honestly, sometimes I get tired of being white. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to know struggle and suffering. Sometimes I don't think I deserve to be white or privileged. I didn't have to fight for my rights, and God willing (again) I will never have to. 

There is something my heart truly admires about those who are underprivileged. There is something truly powerful about a group of oppressed people who rise up together to fight their oppressor.  There is something truly noble about starting a revolution. 

I'm tired of carrying around enough privilege to free an army. I'm tired of watching as discrimination is carried out in the twenty-first century. I'm tired of claiming to be a citizen of a free and equal country, when I most certainly am not. 

There are a handful of movements going on in our society right now working for equality. These movements are crying out to humanity that we are all human. White, black, lesbian, transgender, male, female, Christian, Asian, Muslim, Ethiopian, gay, bisexual, Hindu, Canadian, Latino, Haitian: WE ARE ALL HUMAN. Our social movements literally consist of humans having to remind other humans that they are humans. How ridiculous is that? If this is not notion for a revolution, then I am unsure what is.