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  • You lead

    a tough life, squad leader, but you’re a tough person too. For better or for worse, you’re making it. It’s hard at times, I know, but you’re making it all the same. Ask yourself who you are compared to who you were 5 years ago. Ask yourself if you like the changes, or if you’re a better person for all your struggles. Where will you be in five years? Who will you be? You’ll be you, probably wiser and more-likely-than-not older. You’ll have survived a lot more, and you’ll have seen many new things, and you’ll have seen the old things again and again.

    That aside, or rather, to talk about what you’re talking about, it’s tough. Plain and simple. The world is an exclusionary place. It’s wrong though, how you’re rejected (if that’s the right word to use). I know we see pretty eye-to-eye on the whole PC issue, and how it makes everyone a target for more hate, so I won’t rehash that, but I will say that I understand your struggle. Not well, maybe. I’ve only had a few experiences with it myself (though one or two lasted a period of months to a year) but I’ve seen it happen a lot. I see injustice in how you’re treated now, but you cannot expect just treatment from a person with a distorted world view. You take a hate monger, or their diametrical opposite — the PC fiend — and you show them a person, and one will hate you and shove you into a box, and the other will pity you and shove you into a box. The roles become reversed too. Imagine me, a white male in a black school, for a while. Many the white person was happy to make me their own personal martyr for the persecution of whites, while being hate mongers, while many black people I knew preached and praised PCness, while hating (opaquely) myself.

    Ever hear someone stand up for themselves as an “african american” in the same day they call someone a “cracker”? I have. Moreover, I was the one being called cracker, and my African science teacher laid down the smack about just what it meant to be an African-American.

    Unfortunately I’m realising now that I have too little inspiration for you.

    Just remember, juli, I love you, and more over, we love you.

    Hang in there.

  • *holding you*
    I have no idea what to say about that, though some of it I understand from other situations…

    It’s one of the things I remember from my childhood as not having a group of people to call “my own”. The closest I ever found was a small group of outcasts, who, throughout my lives and theirs, expanded, shrank, or, whenever I’ve moved, mutated completely to include brand new people.

    I try to think of the group of friends I had in high school… What did they all have in common? I can’t really think of anything, then or now.
    I try to think of my friends when I was at the community college in Davenport… We did have a common thread — the collectible card games we played, but once we all grew out of that and then we didn’t have anything in common, yet we still kept our circle.
    Having moved here to Des Moines, I actually joined into an existing group. I was introduced to it by my co-worker and good friend Hippi. But what does this group of Des Moines freaks have in common? Little…

    Were I to move… whether it be to Minneapolis, Madison, Wichita, wherever… Who would I meet… what people would I bring together, or be brought into? And would there be a common thread?

    I think that is the difficulty… People band together because of that “common thread,” when the only way to truly acheive diversity is for there to be no “common thread”… for the people to juyst be brought together through the brilliant string of coincidence… Now, for some people to have similarities is okay, but in anyplace where there is a “majority” commonality… I think that would just be… for lack of a proper wording, “wrong”.

    I’ve lost any coherence I had when I started this.

    Suffice it to say that my thoughts are with you, just as they always will be.