Anger is

exhausting; exhaustive; 

extinguished.

I struggled to find my defining quality. I had recently immigrated to Edmonton and I desperately wanted to change how I was perceived - anything other than studious, smart, nerdy. But that meant sacrificing grades for something superficial, something temporary that may or may not work out in my favour.

My second year at high school provided an opportunity. I was to put together a project that focused on one key issue in my community - local or national. This was my chance to shine and display my passion for-

for...

For what?

I spent three months brainstorming topics to showcase on presentation day. It had to be quintessentially me while relating to the local community, but I was not yet part of the local community. I had spent more than a year in Edmonton and my roots were already parched for home.

The night before the presentation was due, Papa suggested I choose that same feeling. Racism, the Invisible Monster he called it. The Monster diverted nutrients from my roots to feed a new plant growing from my feet. It made me itch and shiver at times, but it wasn’t all that painful. It gave me new names, replaced old parts of me with new, but Papa said it wasn’t always for the best. I suppose the new isn’t always meant to throw the old out.

I could not tell you how the actual presentation went. I could say that I was impressive and prepared, but I was reading material I had written the night before. My words tumbled clumsily from parched lips, my fake Canadian accent turning them into mumbles, then gibberish. Yet, I seemed to be having an effect.

I received an unexpected package in the middle of the presentation. There, as I stood in the heart of a maze of trifold posters, a Canada Post worker, escorted by a concerned receptionist, handed me a box.

“Open it.”

Trembling, excited fingers tore through the tape. I was the center of attention because I got a special delivery During School Time™. It felt exhilarating. I suppose I was trembling more than I remember cause out of the box spilled stickers. Hundreds of colourful handprints with the phrase SAY NO TO RACISM stamped upon them. I handed them out to visitors, thrilled to be making a visual, aesthetic, physical change in the crowd of students and teachers. 

"Oh it's like you're advertising your presentation!"

The initial excitement passed quickly as I realized that my fellow peers were more interested in seeing if they could sticker the whole school in stickers rather than what the stickers represented. After the same group of boys passed by the third time, I stopped handing them out readily. When they tried to distract me so the others could steal some from behind my back, I put them back in the box and held them to my chest.

No one was going to turn my passion, fueled by my Papa’s determination to see me succeed, and turn it into a littering contest.

I was one of five students that was selected to present at the legislature in a few months. I was less excited now - the gymnasium at my high school was filled with familiar faces, if not always friendly. I knew the teachers, some of my friends had their posters near the back, their parents came by my booth to congratulate me on my courageous topic. But the only people at the legislature would be my fellow competitors, now smirking at each other from across the aisles.

My anxiety kicked in and I was unable to draw crowds to my booth as before. I shyly dodged questions, and my tumbling words and mumbling accent was considered a negative, not a positive. When my parents arrived, it only pushed me further to seek out comfort within their companionship. I had never expected to make it this far, so none of us really knew what was expected of us.

I didn’t get selected for the next round. But I was happy to make it this far anyway.
 

I never gave much thought to the topic until years later. The monster peeked zir head up from time to time, but I had gotten so so so used to zir that ze just blended into the background. Even if I saw instances of the monster destroying lives and wrecking the souls of humans in broad daylight, collectively me and the onlookers would shrug and continue on with our days. It - 

 haaaaapppppeeennnssssssss,

it’s part of the tax we pay to live here.

I would swallow down the emotion every single time. But if you mix anger with frustration, add a dash of hopelessness and apathy for extra zest, and cook it until it comes to a rolling boil, all you’ll get is a pot full of the need to do something.

So I had a pot full of the need to do something. I ate it; licked the plate, pot, spoon clean. It settled into my stomach and burst out in the form of

"Whooosh"

When the time came for me to DO something, to HELP someone, I couldn’t. I was too full of the need to do something and to be honest,

I just wanted to nap.

A nice long nap to heal my body of the trauma it had been dealing with for so long.

He wasn’t my friend, but I knew his children. I spent an entire evening begrudgingly entertaining them because there was no other way to keep them from curiously going through and disrupting knick knacks. They were annoying but all they wanted was attention and love. Their father used up so many parts of himself to be the top contender for the position and in the end, he had to sign it all away. That scene in movies where the protagonist must sign away his rights to save his life, his family, his everything, always struck me to me as odd.

That would never happen to me. I would never do that. I would have never done that.

But it happened to him. He had to do that. He did that.

There are newspaper articles detailing that white supremacy is on the rise in the city. Posters proclaim their claim next to advertisements for guitar lessons.

Someone’s turban is pulled off their head.

A hijab is ripped elsewhere.

They were raped because that’s what their kind deserve.

They were killed because they’re taking over our jobs.

They need to go back from whatever hole they crawled out of.

The Monster that diverted nutrients from my roots to feed another plant had created a tree. The tree had its roots deep underneath communities, creating entangled, interlocking crossroads and pathways that allows hatred to travel miles, exchange hands-minds-hearts, until it takes over their souls. 

It took over their souls and now ze can blend in better.

The monster is in the fear flashing in the eyes of strangers.

The catcall creeping after me, coiling around my ankles until it trips me on the sidewalk.

The laughter that turns to a low growl in the throats of humans when they don’t get what they think is rightfully deserved of them.

"It's awfully dark to be out walking by yourself,

isn't it?"

This happened so long ago and it’s happening now too. The time to DO something comes again and again but fear wraps its hands around my courage and tires her down until she can only speak in squeaks.

She’s tired. I’m tired.

Maybe, a nice long nap to heal my body of all the trauma will help.