Geographical Power


The week before Memorial Day, I travelled to Myrtle Beach, in the
southern part of the states 
(for those of you unfamiliar).

I had high hopes of relaxation, reading, the ultimate repose;
however, my hopes 
were soon discovered to be fiction
when 
I was met with an experience that left me only with my plans’ contradiction.

Rudely stepping into usurp relaxation and sit boldly in its place
was not only the debilitating power of the sun leaving me with sunburn through my sunscreen, despite the fact that it was unseasonably cool,
but also an oppressive spirit that arrested my vacation by burdening my mental faculties.

I had accidentally stumbled open, or more like violently tripped over, something else which was still lingering within
a not so distant memory of what the south represents to me.

I too lived in the south, and in that short four months that felt more like an eternity,
it brought my perspective of self to its knees. 

Every part of my being was under a miscrope, my complexion, my culture, my beliefs.
Not for the sake of understanding but as a means to draw a line between me and them
as a means to perpetuate modern day segregation.

It had seemed as though from that point on I experienced constant forms of rejection.

I discovered that we
use our differences to segregate,
a vain attempt to feel justified or superior.

In reality,
it is just an attempt to project our own self hate.
So, instead of taking an opportunity to relax
in Myrtle Beach,

I was forced to reflect that the south still made me feel
unloved, unwelcomed.
The truth, I discovered, is I’m still angry.

Who knew such a power existed in mere geography?

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