This Sunday I was asked to write about something that makes me mad. I had a hard time with this, I don't usually get very angry. I had to think back to the last few times in which I was really frustrated.
Kotzebue, my home.
Kotzebue, which you spit on. You don't deserve to be here.
You have been here 8 weeks, 3 months, 9 years.
You have 3 birch bark baskets which you keep your car keys and extra change in. You have tried the local delicacy of muktuk once. You spit it out.
You comment on the children, how sad. They run ammock in the muck with no shoes. Where are there parents?
You condemn the streets littered with pepsi cans after snow melt "if people around here knew how to take care of this place."
You walk to work everyday with your synthetic fur ruff covering your eyes. Keep your head down, wouldn't want to damper your day with their poverty.
You will never be a part of this community which you judge through the window of your government housing.
What really grinds my gears, boils my blood, and gets me fired up: we are the same.
But I am different.
Kotzebue, my home. I will not let you spit on it.
You have been here 8 weeks. You refuse to open yourself to any part of this community.
There is bad here, but there is also good.
You wouldn't know. You can't judge what you haven't lived.
Pull yourself up by your boot straps bullshit
I will not let you talk about my best friends brother, my ex lover, or the guy who cheated off my tests in high school like losers.
You remain ignorant to your privilege. Ignorant to the systems built for you and forced on them.
You don't deserve to be here. You don't want to be here.
Go back to the lower 48, you aren't cut out for this.