sometimes the bus ride is too short.

i figure i should put this down before i lose the receipt i wrote this on (it was a long-ass receipt related to the new jack nicklaus 5 pound notes put out by scotland, which by the way, are a bit difficult to acquire.)

i am forever criticizing this, that, or the other. there was a woman reading Lolita at a bus stop. beyond wondering what the allure is of reading about a supposed love affair of an old man with an adolescent girl (rave reviews notwithstanding), seeing this woman made me think of the conversations i've had with friends about Lolita in Tehran. rather, not much conversations about that in particular, more than a reason to speak more generally about representation. for much of what is written, my question is whether or not the writer has questioned power and privilege deeply enough. is something really feminist if one is still holding on to the ideal of white bourgeouis womanhood (consciously or no)? is something really radically anti-racist if one is silent about the oppression of women or explicitly women-hating? i think not. is something rational merely because it assumes, without acknowledging, white male power? i misunderstand rationality if that is the case.

when i write, this is one of my greatest fears; one of my greatest impediments to writing - that reading something i've written, if reading from my critical lens, will cause me to frown at the end because of its incomplete/dishonest attempts at truth. my insecurity about writing that others see has everything to do with my ego, but it's really my criticisms that are the most debilitating. those are the ones that cause me to set down my pen.

so i remind myself to always be cognizant of my roots and where my relative privilege comes from. and i wonder sometimes how that is possible, having spent most of my life deliberately dis-engaging myself from memory. it is unclear to me still what parts are mere imaginings, and which are memories. as in, this happened at this particular time, i felt this at this particular time, i did this at this particular time, etc. and i wonder what the difference is. how to delineate that difference. and i question my ability to see myself in the lives and experiences of others. which lives and experiences i choose for myself. i fear my co-optation of someone else's living so that i can better understand my own. or perhaps, so i don't have to understand my own on the most intimate level of self-awareness. i fear that i use others as a metaphor for myself. this is, of course, beyond forgivable.