Author: Sydney Knotts

   What does it mean to be an activist? I’m not gonna tell you how Webster Dictionary defines it, because this isn’t a research paper for seventh-grade English nor is it the introduction to a corny Wattpad novel. I personally think of an activist as someone who openly advocates for an idea that will positively change the lives of marginalized groups, whether that idea involves a social, political, or economic shift. When you read those first few sentences, you probably had the immediate thought of those who are protesting police brutality in our country. Although Black Lives Matter was founded in 2013, it is in the past year that we have seen an unprecedented amount of nonblack people showing support for the movement and advocating for social change. Being an ally to those who do not have the same amount of privilege as you is essential for movements like BLM; black people have been fighting for this change for their entire lives, but nobody listened until nonblack people in power (politicians, celebrities, content creators, etc.) acknowledged the fact that they were fighting anything at all. It shouldn’t be like this, but until it isn’t, as people in a systemic position of privilege, we have to understand the impact of our allyship and make sure we are using the platforms we have, no matter how small they may be, responsibly.

   I assume you know at least one person in your personal life who has shared information about Black Lives Matter on social media, whether they expressed general support for the movement, provided links to petitions, shared educational posts and resources, etc. Chances are, you know a lot of people who have done this…and you’ve probably noticed that many of those people only shared those things during the summer months. We are witnessing an alarming amount of what is known as performative activists, which is a term used to describe those who partake in surface-level activism in an attempt to increase their social status, or simply put, nonblack people who do not show support for black lives outside of online spaces. It is the person who reposts things on their Instagram stories but claims they “don’t want to get political” when presented with real-life discussions about issues surrounding race. It is the person who leaves supportive comments on black activists’ posts but says nothing when their friend uses the n-slur. It is the person who responds to your posts about BLM in private messages, claiming to agree with you but won’t share the resources themselves.

   These people want the attention they receive from claiming to be “woke” about social issues, but are not actually willing to defend black people. They do it to feel good about themselves, because hey, they shared that story and that makes them a better person, right? Wrong. If you are choosing to be friends with someone who believes in All Lives Matter and is unwilling to educate themselves, you are not an ally to black people. If you sit by while your classmates make racist comments, you are not an ally. If you speak on behalf of black people instead of bringing attention to the feelings and experiences thousands of them have expressed on social media, you are not an ally. If you are following influencers who have been radio silent about the BLM movement and refuse to call them out for that silence, you are not an ally. If you can just “agree to disagree” with your racist friends, you are not an ally. You are not an ally. You are not an ally. Stop calling yourself that.

   One major thing that I think is fueling performative activists is the way our society praises white people for doing absolutely anything. That YouTuber you like retweets a single link after months of silence? God, he is such a good person! Your favorite actress says in a livestream that of course, she does not think black people deserve to be discriminated against. Saint Mary, is that you? A band whose account you follow on Instagram liked a comment that said “Like this if you support BLM!” We truly do not deserve the wonderful light they put into the world. This. Is. Ridiculous. Why are nonblack people receiving praise for doing the bare minimum to show support for the movement? Why are nonblack people being praised for their activism at all? It is not a good skill or quality we have; it is us being decent people, so why are we being thanked? Why are some of us acting like we’re doing black people a favor when we express that we respect that basic idea that they are human beings who deserve to not live their lives in constant fear? Why are some of us acting like we are giving black people something by advocating for them? Why?

   If you are reading this blog and you feel that sinking embarrassment rising from your stomach in your chest because you know you’re a performative activist, good. Be uncomfortable. Sit in it. Soak it up. Absorb it. Don’t keep scrolling and act like you never saw this; take accountability for the fact that you have spent all of this time pretending to care and it has done absolutely nothing to aid black people in their fight for justice and change, educate yourself on how to be an effective ally, and do better. Do better not because you want that feeling to go away, but because you understand that it is your obligation as a person to help your fellow human when they are being treated unfairly.

“How can you miss someone you’ve never met?”
“‘Cause I need you now and I don’t know you yet.”

     I heard these lines for the first time when I was in the shower and an ad from Spotify started blaring through my phone speakers. At first, I felt annoyed, because I was expecting another track from my “Serotonin” playlist to begin, but not having the willpower to step out of the acrylic tub at my home with the conditioner running down my hair, I decided to let it continue. I stuck my head back under the warm water being expelled from the shower head, but found myself pausing once the musician, Alexander 23, sang those two lines. I had to physically stop what I was doing in order to process what I had just heard; those lyrics may seem corny, but when I listened to them, I felt seen, in a weird way.

     Recently, I have been experiencing the odd yet comforting sensation of feeling like somebody is out in the world waiting for me. When I come against my anxieties about finding my purpose in life, there is always this sense of warmth that floods over me and reminds me that everything is working out the way it is supposed to. I truly could not tell you why I feel this so strongly; I just do. When I picture this person, I don’t see anything: not a gender, not an age, not a height, no facial features, nothing distinguishable about them at all, but I still see them. I see the colors that remind me of them: green, red, and blue, and I see the way their heart glows.

     I’m not sure if I believe in soulmates of any kind, but I do like to think that when you meet someone who is going to be important to you, you’ll just know. I cannot figure out what type of connection I have with this person; all I know is that it is there and I can feel it in every inch of my body. They could be a classmate I meet in a writing class who likes coffee and enjoys really, really cliché romance novels. They could be an elderly person I sit with at a café every morning who has lived a thousand different lives and tells me all about them. They could be a partner I meet by chance while on vacation in one of those states with “character.” They could be anybody–a friend, a mentor, a lover, but at the end of the day, all that matters is that they just are. I like to think they are experiencing this kind of pull too. Maybe as I’m writing this, they’re having one of those moments of warmth…or maybe they aren’t and they’re just trying to watch that Criminal Minds rerun marathon in peace.

     Either way, I know I’ll meet them in due time.

“How would you describe color to a blind person?”

   I, like most people, used to be baffled by this question. Whenever somebody would pose it, I would find myself stuck; how could you possibly describe something visual to someone who cannot perceive visual things? Recently, there’s been a revival of a classic debate: what colors are the core school subjects? People online are expressing very strong feelings about this, arguing passionately about why the colors they associate with English, math, history, and science are the most accurate representation of the subjects. This really inspired me to explore my own perception of color and the kind of people, actions, concepts, and feelings I associate certain colors with, so today, I’m going to try to articulate these thoughts to you.

   Red – Red is often perceived as being flashy, expensive, and powerful, but more than anything else, it is bold. It reminds you of the girl in your politics class; she usually does not speak unless spoken to, but she never hesitates when defending her beliefs. Despite its ability to blend in, red will never fail to catch your eye and captivate you. Red is the way you feel when you’re wearing heels and walking across an echoing concrete floor. Red is the climax of your favorite story; the intense final battle, the emotional profession of love, the narrow escape from death. Red is the stinging feeling in your throat when you begin to raise your voice during an argument where you allowed your confidence devolve into arrogance. It is the twist in your gut you feel when someone you’re competing against gains the upper-hand by outsmarting you. Red is your head spinning while you are both holding and being held by someone you love. It is the feeling of blood rushing to your face after you trip over your own feet while walking to class. Red is English, structured and consistent but never too exact or restrictive. It has standards that must be met, but your creativity is never unfairly restricted.

   Orange – Orange is loud, like the obnoxious girl at lunch whose excessive storytelling you cannot help but enjoying, because well, this one time… You will always recognize this color when it is in the room, but it is not always pleasing to the eyes. It feels like the carpeted floor of your parents’ vehicle; specifically, it feels the way it does when you hop into the front seat after a long day of school. Orange is the falling action of a story where the main character does not necessarily succeed in the way they wanted to, but they do realize something important about themselves or the situation they’re involved in. Orange is the feeling of taking off a pair of glasses that are a little too tight for your face. It is the ache of your muscles after an intense work out. It is the sensation that travels through your body when you smell the scent of your favorite candle for the first time in a while. It is the feeling in your stomach when you start to realize you’re talking too much. It is the warmth that floods your body when you read a poem you really connect with. Orange is Spanish, complex and even tiring at times but ultimately rewarding. It is a subject where the new material builds from things you’ve already learned, so things need time to develop in order for you get back what you have been putting in.

   Yellow – Yellow is soft-spoken but still expressive. It is the person who sits near your friend group during lunch who you have to strain to hear, so you focus on the way they talk with their hands when they tell you about their day. You only see yellow when you’re looking for it, even if it is subconsciously, but when you do, it makes you feel bright. Yellow might feel like the satisfying ending to a story you truly enjoyed, but more often, it does not feel like part of the story at all—yellow feels like the characters you grew to love while reading it. Yellow feels like the soft, cotton blanket that covers overgrown grass you and your best friend are sitting on while you are having a picnic. Yellow is your heart swelling in your chest when your favorite person laughs at the joke you tell them. It is the smile that forms on your face when you get a notification saying your comfort streamer is going live. Yellow is the excitement you experience when you find a piece of clothing at a thrift store that you immediately fall in love with. It is that glowing feeling of acceptance when your pet comes into your room without being prompted or called to do so. Yellow is health, mostly because it encourages you to take care of yourself and partially because that was the color of the textbook provided to us in eighth grade.

   Green – Green is calm and informal, like the boy who sits near you in art class; he jokes around with his friends during the lesson, but somehow still knows what to do when it is time to do work. He speaks to you sometimes and you usually get nervous, because without your friends, you feel out of place in that class, but he never seems to notice. Green hides in plain sight; you see it everywhere, so most of the time it goes underappreciated. However, when you take a moment to absorb it, you feel almost reassured in a strange way. Green is the beginning, middle, and end of a coming-of-age novel; green is a constant that remains intact throughout the story, rather than something that is introduced or removed at certain points, like a characteristic the narrator never shakes, an article of clothing the archetypal sidekick always wears, or a phrase an authority figure in the protagonist’s life always uses. Many different things come to mind when thinking about what green feels like; an immediate thought is the natural ground—the way the grassy backyard of your grandparents’ house felt under your feet while you ran around barefoot, lost in your own imagination. Green is the feeling of pride and satisfaction you experience when you nurture the houseplants your parents have been neglecting. Green is the queasy feeling in your stomach when you have to give a presentation in your social studies class. Green is the release of endorphins you get while playing your favorite sport in the burning sun. Green is science, overwhelmingly vast and complicated but still consistent and reliable. It can provide an explanation for the seemingly unknown things in life that scare and perplex us.

   Blue – Blue is straight-forward, yet comforting; it is exact, yet delicate. Blue is your friend who excels at everything, even though they are unwilling to admit they are above average in any capacity. They are always just a little better than you at sports and score a few points higher than you on tests, but they never emphasize these small differences to you or to themselves. Everyone likes blue; when you enter a room, it is always somewhere, whether as an article of clothing someone wears, a wall decoration, or even the color of the furniture. Blue is the satisfying rhythm of a lyrical poem you really enjoy, or the point in a story where the protagonist comes to terms with something which they do not have the power to change. Blue feels soft, like the pillows of your bed after a long day at work; it feels like the straps of your backpack when you anxiously tug at them while walking to your least favorite class. Blue is the familiar way your headphones rest on your head and it is also the way your demeanor changes when that song starts to blare from those headphones. It is the goosebumps that rise on your skin when you are sitting in a waiting room, not really recognizing where you are or who you’re seeing, because all you know that you told your parent you throat hurts and they took you here. Blue is math, where problems have one clear, inarguable answer. Although it can be frustrating not now know how to find that answer, you can always find satisfaction in putting forth the effort required to discover it.

   Purple – Purple is demanding and alluring; it reminds you of that one girl you were friends with in elementary school. You know the type: kind of mean and always has to be in charge, but fiercely loyal, almost to a fault. You respect her for those qualities now, but when you were young, you spent much of your time together wondering what would happen if you yanked on that ponytail she always wore. Purple is the introduction of the antagonist of a fantasy novel, who is usually the brooding, misunderstood classmate of the main character. Purple feels like velvet, or whatever material that one shirt you have that makes you feel like a witch is made of. Purple is the suppressed sense of superiority you feel when your work is used as an example in your language arts class, something you would never outwardly express but relish in the feeling of. It is the confidence that floods your mind when someone compliments the new lipstick shade you were trying—you weren’t really sure if it was your shade. Purple is social studies; it might seem repetitive and uninteresting on the surface, but we all have that one era of history we are secretly fascinated by.

   On August 29th, 2020, for the very first time, I entered the doors of Mississippi School of the Arts as a student. It was a feeling I can hardly put into words; all I can truly say is I have never felt such joy from simply walking into a building. This past week has been both extraordinary and humbling, and I’m gonna tell you all about it; but first, let’s talk about how I got here.

   Next up, we have the application process. Two years had passed at this point and I was still religiously checking the school website, looking for a post about applications reopening. At some point in November (I think…don’t quote me on it.) I noticed that the application deadline had been set and I got to work on my literary portfolio immediately. I wanted to give my best and I did not really feel confident in the works I had created at that point, so I started writing a bunch of new creative pieces to submit. It took me a while to get the hang of writing poetry (I had never done it seriously before), but the sonnet and free-verse poems I turned in with that application are some of my favorite pieces I’ve ever written. If you’re planning to apply, don’t get discouraged about submitting art (whether it’s literary, visual, dance, etc.) in formats you’re not familiar or experienced with–it’s all apart of the learning process and you just might like what you end up with!

   About a month and a half later, I received a letter informing me that I was invited to audition! I was ecstatic; I nearly dropped all of the other mail I was carrying back to my house. On February 29th, the time had come; I spent a few hours getting ready, and then, my parents and I made the hour and a half long trip to Brookhaven. I didn’t really feel nervous until I starting seeing mile markers that indicated that the town was only 20 miles way. I tried to listen to comfort music to calm myself, but that was not helping, so I turned on some TMG and started mumbling the words of their most recent release to hype myself up. I cannot believe I actually typed that out, but for some reason, I cannot force myself to get rid of it; so go ahead and get the laughter out. Are you good? No? A little more? That’s okay, I can wait. Hmm? Alright, let’s continue. I arrived at the school about thirty minutes before my interview time and, after taking a few minutes to build up my courage, I walked into the building with my parents close behind. During my audition, I met lots of really great people, including some of the senior literary students who, as you can tell from their individual blogs, are talented and inspiring beyond words.

   During the actual audition process, I first was interviewed by two faculty members; I was so nervous I forgot what classes I was taking when they asked about them. When I was asked what my favorite subject is, I said chemistry. CHEMISTRY. I hate chemistry, but I was so panicked, I just said the first class that popped into my head. After I finished that, I was given a tour of the student life center by one of the school’s Student Art Ambassadors (she knows who she is, even though I cannot give her name here), and I spent some time with students who were attending MSA at the time, as well as other hopeful sophomores who were auditioning for various disciplines. Next, myself and other students auditioning for literary were taken to the computer lab, given a prompt, and asked to write a response to that prompt. All of my worries and anxieties faded away once I began to write; It was the first time that day that I felt truly confident in myself and my abilities. After I finished my piece, I waited for the allotted time to run out and well, that was it. For the next three weeks, I checked my mailbox every single day and, most times, I had to complete the walk of shame–which is what I call the trudge from the end of my driveway back to my house when there’s nothing in the mailbox.

  BUT! On March 20th, the walk of shame was replaced with the twice as shameful “5’10 teenager excitedly skips up her driveway, which is connected to a busy highway where dozens of travelers can see her acting like a dork” because I GOT A LETTER AND IT WAS NOT THIN. Once I got inside, I glided past my family members and went to my room so I could open the letter alone. It’s safe to say my bed took a firm beating once I read the word “Congratulations!” and I let out the most obnoxious squeal you could possibly imagine. The next six months flew by, and absolutely nothing life-changing took place during this time, nothing at all. A global pandemic that cut school short by an entire quarter? Nope. Nothing like that.

   Since I’ve got you all caught up, let’s get into my first week at MSA. I love the classes I’m currently taking (both inside and outside my discipline, but I obviously have a bias for my literary arts classes). When I first moved in, I felt really anxious and I had a difficult time starting conversations with people, but once classes began two days later, that anxiousness fell away and I was able to connect with my peers. I feel really connected to my fellow literary students and I’m looking forward to further building my relationship with each and every one of them. Attending literary classes has really inspired and empowered me as a creative writer, which is something I used to struggle with. I am very humbled by and grateful for the opportunity to study creative writing alongside other students who have the same passion for it and under a wonderful, dedicated teacher.

   That’s all I’ve got for now. I am very hopeful for the future; it’s only going to go up from here and I can’t wait.

   See you next time.