Navigate a New Normal: Canada

What its like to be the angry feminist.

I'm probably one of the loudest people I know.

Danm. I'm loud.

And with all this volume, it takes a very short amount of time for a passerby to realize I am the Angry Feminist.

We all know it. My family knows it. My boyfriend knows it. No one doesnt know this about me.


To be the angry feminist means growing up hearing how great of a mother and wife you would be to a hard working husband. Hearing men have special communication with god that you don't need, because motherhood is a gift in itself. Hearing no one would want you if you were a chewed stick of gum. It means sitting across from your white male bishop and explaining what happened in your bedroom as he decides the course to then proceed.


To be the angry feminist means to be the daughter who is told to be good when company comes for dinner. It means your siblings temporarily stop talking to you because "you're just so angry". It means a boyfriend saying he cant imagine marrying someone who would come home angry every day.

It means getting compared to those who assisted in mass genocide of an ethnicity and religion.


Being the angry feminist means your pals telling you that guy who just catcalled out the window at you is just one bad guy. It means  hearing someone say that a woman dressed like that is asking to be raped. As if that's what she hoped for when she put on her clothes that morning.

She is the one who has to sit across from a rich, white, straight cis male who says their just aren't any strong voices for the black community, and continues to rattle on about his new rap album in production.

The angry feminist must listen to men argue about a woman's accessibility to abortion. As if they have ever bled for 9 days straight. As if they have ever been told they were asking for it. As if they have ever sat on the bathroom floor for two minutes wondering if they want to spend the rest of their life in partnership with the father, wondering how to tell their mother, wondering what names they will be called, wondering how they will pay for all of it, wondering if they will ever finish their degree, wondering if they will ever live for themselves.



Being an angry feminist is recognizing oppression 342 times a day. And biting your tongue 341 times a day.


Being the angry feminist means everyone hears you are angry. But no one ever asks why.

Im not mad at men.
Im not mad at white people.

Im mad at those who see injustice, and dont get mad too.

Make America Great for the first time ever.

You know how we all know of  Donald Trump for how impossibly outrageous and offensive he is?
Like there is all this media circulating on how nuts he is, and how perplexed we all are that he's gotten this far?

How does that happen? Because Ive never actually met a real Trump supporter, online or IRL (could be because I deleted 2/4ths of my friends after Caitlyn Jenner)
Yet we are all posting about how we wish we didn't have to talk about Trump.
Its as if we all stopped talking about how much we dislike trump, or the last outrageous thing he did, his name in no way would be trending, and Americans would be just as ill informed as they are on the other republican Candidates.

The thing is, our facebooks are our platforms.
We get to post all the best of us. Our straight A's, our work out routines, and best of all, our beliefs.

So we post about how sour this country is going (regardless of your political ideology).

Most recently, there has been a social current of islamphobia or xenophobia.
And my facebook friends are just sick of it!
My friends know some of the nicest, most caring Muslims you've ever met.
And if reading a sentance is too time consuming, they offer instead a meme.

While I can see how you may be getting this idea, this piece is in fact not a critique on facebook slactivism, or how annoying that darn generation Y is with their internet gizmos!

This is instead a critique on the bestest country in the world, the United States of America.

While it is incredibly important to use privilege positively, and standing with Muslims in this harsh time is vital; I'm more concerned with how we are here than how much you dont hate Muslims.

Because you don't have to tell me I shouldn't be afraid of Muslims. I know that. That's why we are facebook friends, Cuz we're similar!
That's why I like all your stuff without reading it.

Today NBC released this poll , many outlets paraphrasing it as "Majority of people oppose Trumps Muslim Ban"

Y'all. Just 7% above half of the United states (in this 1,000 person study with 495 respondents) are woke, by those numbers.
Don't even get me started on the research methods, or the terminology that 57% is gleefully portrayed as majority or that 495 people can speak for a country, or that we know nothing of their social identities.

What I'd rather see on my news feed is how we can live in modern day united states that is so far surpassed every other country (Im being sarcastic) with incredible everything (math, sex ed, gun control) and our inhabitants don't have the critical thinking skills to realize prejudice.

There it is folks. Prejudice, or hate, or oppression, or racism (any ism, truly.)
The problem is not Donald Trump.

The problem is that we still live in a society where outliers can stand for a whole, and individuals are then held responsible. A society where hate crimes can be easily justified because of manufactured fear.

A public schooling system that clearly isn't teaching critical thinking, because we all hate nazi's, but its really hard to trust a Muslim.

So what can we do besides posting the latest buzfeed on the latest social identity Donald Trump chose to slander (aka perpetuate the oppression of).

Be active in knowledge production around you. Take opportunities to self educate (or academically educate if its a GWS course) on the historical miseducation those of us who attended public school underwent. Thanksgiving was not a fun day!
Critically think about why "they" are the bad guys and "we" are the good guys.

Give validity to the experiences of people. Do not negate someones experience claiming they are playing the race card, or that they saw it the wrong way. What makes how you saw it "the right way"?

Use your new, awesome knowledge to make decisions about leadership!
Stay informed and self educated on local and federal elections, and vote wisely! Do you wish Maricopa Community Colleges still had funding? Me too! That's why I didn't vote for Doug Doucey!

Outrageous things happen, like defunding (or shootings) of planned parenthoods and we all look up and think "HOW DID THIS HAPPEN!"
Well, where were you when your representatives got voted in?
Probably on facebook.

Become educated on Candidates in the various levels of elections AND join their campaign in some way, or if that's unrealistic, talk to your social circles about a candidate you approve of , or if that's unrealistic VOTE. That is if you are legally able , which excludes undocumented inhabitants as well as felons (GO USA #1 in da wrld 4 incarcerations!!!) and until the 1970's various men and women of color!

But voting doesn't make a difference! Can I just complain on facebook instead? Or just make jokes on facebook instead?

Actually, voting impacts a great array of things here in the USofA. Like what kind of knowledge production educates humans! Like if Texas has to call slaves slaves or workers! Or if kids in the Mesa public school district learn that roads they drive were dividing factors for who had to be forced into a Japanese internment camp and who didn't! Voting can do lots of things! And so can advocating for less white supremacist patriarchal knowledge production!

As a nation, our critical thinking can start today! Think about the difference your next facebook post is making.

I'm so gifted at finding what I don't like the most

U of A should feel a lot of pressure with everything I gave up to be here.

I did not have low expectations.

So far, Ive had a professor say racism is biological.
I've heard a white women say shes "tired of being politically correct" in a 400 level class.
I've been addressed by countless professors as "you guys"
I've had a professor stare down my shirt.
I've had a professor make a joke about women being unimaginable without bodies.


If it wasn't for one class, Id have nothing but an eye roll for U of A.

My feminist theories class blows my mind about 7 times a week.
I hurry home to do that homework.
Its truly my favorite.


It is the only class that makes me think "This is why I'm here"

Everyday things get a tiny bit better.

My sociology classes are pretty disappointing (especially for being the "best program in Arizona")

But my Gender and Women Studies classes are giving me life.

So.

I mean.

I might switch majors, whatever.

Now what what does that say about me

I've been joking "I have nothing to eat but get to eat oreos for dinner" describes the current phase of adulthood I'm in. 

But the reality of the current phase could better be compared to" tripping so violently your arms flail and a small, awkward squeak like scream slips from your lips as you fall forward flat on your face into a gutter of dirty water in front of the entirety of the passing student body."

I have been preparing for this move since October of 2014. 

I have spend countless hours lost in thought of what it would be like. 

Many nights had tear filled moments with my best friends in anticipation of our upcoming separation.

But I wasn't prepared.

I am extremely emotionally stoic. Before August 12th there were about 4 people who had ever seen me cry.

The morning of August 12th I lost count. 

I truly blubbered like a weaning toddler. 

I have been through many hard days, but that day hurt incomparably to the others.

My best friend sent my tear streaked, red face off with "Look in your rear view mirror as you drive away" as her parting words of wisdom.

I lifted my sore eyes to see my 3 roommates and best friends in the middle of the street, mooning me as the house mother eagerly, and fully clothed, waved goodbye.  

A perfect representation of the houses dynamic.

I know many people who did not find it hard to leave home and go off to university. 

For me it was the hardest thing I'd ever done.

Those closest to me lent many an ear, listening to my overwhelming concerns, and sat patiently every time a came to them with the usual "I'm not going, I'm staying here."

My parents moved my large furniture in my brothers truck for the 118 mile journey, which is a long time to think, cry, and listen to Kanye West.

I think I said "thank you" more in that day than I have in the last year. 

I was overwhelmed with gratitude as so many people surrounding me helped in possibly small ways to them, but genuinely colossal ways to me.

Having my parents there was both extremely helpful and comforting.

Im pretty independent of my parents, but I feel like inner children come out when students move away from home. Suddenly it's not embarrassing to be seen with your parents, and you dread the moment they are going to say goodbye and you'll be left in this foreign room utterly alone with nothing but packed boxes to accompany you.

My first day on campus was lonely.

About every 25 minutes someone would shriek there friends name and run towards them, embracing them in the middle of the student union, while I awkwardly shifted my weight from foot to foot to avoid colliding into the reunion

That was actually one of the worst parts, knowing I wouldn't have that. At all.

That night I forced myself to go to a meet and greet. It was the epitome of a university event. Banks trying to get you to sign up with them, blow up obstacle courses, free food trucks *with food ticket , eager faces appearing from the masses asking if you want to join their club, and a giant marching band that is finally appreciated.

I met new friends, but I wished my friends back home were with me. Dancing to the music, challenging each other to the obstacle courses, swapping clothes with each other as a disguise to get another free ice cream cone.

My first day of Classes had one of the moments affirming why I left all of my closest friends, my job and my home.

I haven't really had time for it to settle in (between paying another neccisary school expense or swapping classes because my race teacher was a stupid idiot who I refused to replace Mona Scott with) but sometimes when the campus is especially busy, or more so when its deserted late in the day and the sun is setting against the deep-red brick buildings I do have a moment of realization that I actually did it. 

I one day decided this is where I wanted to be and I worked up the very large hill to get there.

Also, most people don't know this because of how I am now, but growing up I never imagined going to university. I planned only on an associates.

I grew up in a rather affluent area where most kids grow up knowing they will go to university, like their parents did, they think its just what you do. But I know its not like that everywhere. People work hard to get to university, its an accomplishment many people dont yet have the privladge to even attempt.

So today as I walked up the quiet steps and looked across the grass mall stretching to the end of campus I did have a moment of a mixture of disbeleif, excitment, pride and appreciation for where Im at.

Old as I get I could never forget it at all

Its been about 6 years since I've been to Canada. 

I finally renewed my passport, hopped on a plane then into car with my parents with the intent to center myself before my life gets flipped upside down next month.

Below is a visual compilation of everything that reminds me of my roots.

Day one was 14 hours in a car.

"He thought he was going to prevent his own death by working. He sure gave it a good try."

The house my grandfather built, and my mother grew up in.

My mother grew up mowing the grounds she would one day bury her daughter in

"Make a list of everything you want in a spouse. And be that list."

The field my grandfather would take me on walks to, and the consequential hills I rolled down with my siblings.

Hudson Reunion

The same tire swing my sister would push me on.