Red lipstick that paints pain



semefa-signNo, this is not just a picture. Read closely.

As many of you probably know, I have not been in class in the last few weeks. I don’t owe any of you an explantation, except for Professor McCoy. However, since you all are my peers I would rather let you know what I’ve experienced. Through this confession I hope that I can provide some insight.

In the early days of November (after the election), I was walking with my close friend through the walkway on the side of the union, talking about daily gossip and such. As we turned the corner, my friend points out that my name is written on the wall. Now if you were in my position, you would’ve thought your friend was joking…I mean, I even thought she was joking. I didn’t even turn my head at this point because our laughter was overpowering the concern that we should have had. I finally looked up at her and turned my head, still in disbelief.  My friend unthinkably put this picture on social media (i.e snapchat) because of how preposterous this was.  I saw my name written (which is not a common name AT ALL), in might I say not my handwriting with some sort of red paint, although, I later figured out that it was lipstick.

In some of your minds while reading this, you are probably saying “What’s the big deal”? I called my mom a few moments after we found my name. I said in a not-so concerned tone that my name was written. She was appalled. She was afraid. She knew about the after election slurs (Make American Great or White Again) that have been on campus like in residence halls (Nassau). The same color that those slurs were written, my name was as well.  She did not think this was in the least bit funny, like I did at first. At this point, I was terrified because I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know if I should be scared for my life or was this just a prank. Of course I told the people that I trust such as Professor McCoy, my advisor, and my other friends. They all helped me get through this trying time. I couldn’t walk alone on campus at night like I used too. Somehow, the one place I thought was safe turned out to be not what I expected.

I just needed some time off…

With all that has happened last month, within reason, now is the perfect time to reflect. Yes, I have reflected. This reflection has offered me to look at things in a new perspective in such works like Interdisciplinarity. As Moran writes, new historicists claim that by challenging history, they must see “how and why events happen and [why] they lead to other events” (Moran, 125). I have no clue why someone would think to write my name on a wall without my knowledge, but I do know the effect that it had on me and the people closest to me. This alarming event has lead me to move on from the pain that has inflicted me, and fight for things that matter such as myself. This scary incident has lead me to “transform my means of knowing [myself] (Moran, 125), and how my presence represents the world. I am no longer frightened by this occurrence, however, I do admit that I am more aware of surroundings.  I know who I am a little better than I did a second, minute, hour, even a day ago. I’m in a much better place that I was before. With an immense amount of pride I exclaim that I am proud of myself.

The end of the semester is near and I can’t help but think how much I’ve grown and learned. The gray-haired girl that entered Professor McCoy’s in late August is no longer here. Back then, that aimlessly terrified girl didn’t know where to begin, who to meet, and what to say. She was scared.  I have probably mentioned my terror in previous blogspots, but this one is different.

Semefa is back, and she is here to stay. Geneseo, no you did not  scare me away. 

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