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Why did I search for you. 

Why didn't I just let you go, let you be a distant memory. 

Why didn't I just leave it alone, stop looking for you, you don’t matter anymore.

I found you.

I forgot everything that's happened. 

But then I read all of our shit; all the notes I found about you, the posts I made, and songs I wrote about you. 

I loved you, as much as my 15 year old heart was able to comprehend. 

Why didn't I just leave you in the past. 

Like many of you, I too had “the talk” with my parents. It didn't start as planned whatsoever, but it happened. I waited for either of my parents to bring it up, say something about what was happening in America, and the world. It all started when my dad turned on footage of the looting in Santa Monica.  “Black lives matter,” he scoffed. There it was. The opportunity, and the clear disgust with the movement.  “Yeah, they do.” And away we go. Our talk, which honestly turned out to be more of a screaming match, took four hours and 23 minutes. 

It was clear to me my parents disagreed with the riots, the protesting, the movement. They were shocked, appalled, infuriated. 

And unbeknownst to them, I was on social media hours at a time. Researching, reading, posting, signing petitions, sharing my findings, educating friends and clients! I had donated my time and services to an auction my company started! All proceeds going to BLM Toronto, and the Black Health Alliance of Canada! 

We were going head to head, and it was about time.

“Why do you care about them! We’re not black! Are you saying our lives don't matter?” 

No. See, there it is. The misconception everyone has. That only black lives matter to the black lives movement. But I don't agree. The movement is focused on black lives because the amount of disproportion killings, abuse, arrests, beating, and prejudice they face. Yes, all lives matter. We know this. This is common sense; all human life is sacred (except pedophile, animal abusers, and the like - fuck you). But for some reason, that common sense doesn't often include minorities, especially not black lives. And right now, the last thing that needs to be said is “all lives matter”. In case you haven’t seen the million and one posts, the “all lives matter” movement directly impeded on BLM, and is disrespectful in its entire concept.

If you had lost a family member, friend, anyone and were giving a eulogy about who they were, and what they meant to you, imagine someone standing up and interrupting you with, “well, my x died too so idk why your so upset”. Thats fucked up. We can share experiences, and not break one another down. When we throw words in retaliation, it is not kindness. It is not love. It is not understanding. 

I told my father that the looters were what they were: looters. That the protestors were different groups all together, that the media didn't cover. I showed him footage, albeit from Twitter and Instagram. However, that was the real protests, the peaceful protests. He had never seen the footage. He didn’t know about it. 

“Well, that still doesn't make sense. Why are the white people there?” Because dad, they see the injustice. Innocent lives were taken, for nothing. For walking, for running, for unfounded suspicions, for having skittles, for wearing hoodies. For nothing. Things we never have to worry about because at the end of the day we are white. 

We talked and talked, and he finally said:

“I see myself in you. But you don't understand. Things will never change. I protested, I rioted, I did that same things as you when I was your age. They never changed.”

Our conversation ended, and I went back home. 

I was malding, I was angry. I cried in the car and when I got home. How could they be so blind? So passive? How could they let me down so fucking hard. 

It took me some time but I thought about what he said to me constantly. And I understood. 

My parents are scared. 

My parents immigrated here in 1999. And like many other immigrant parents, they were escaping war, violence and death. They brought me here when I was four to attempt having a better life. A free life. A chance at happiness, and not having to worry about being arrested or killed. 

My parents were born in, and grew up in the Soviet Union. There is a lot we do not know about those times because of Russia secrecy, and lies. I never realized it. My parents were part of a resistance against the government back when they were my age, before they had me. They didn't want their future children growing up in that environment, so they fought the government. And ultimately paid hefty prices. Ive never met my father’s father. He was arrested on espionage and trying to overthrow the government. My parents were gassed, arrested, beaten. 

I didn't know. 

I had no idea what he was talking about. 

But that's why so many immigrant parents are against the protesting, rioting, and ultimately the Black Lives Matter movement. Out of fear. 

They didn't come here for this. They came to escape this. To protect their children from the absolute horrors of the world. 

I understand now.

But I will not back down.

I understand my parents love me, and want me to be safe. But people are dying and I will not sit in the ignorant silence of my home and do nothing. I have privilege, I must use that to good. I need to use my voice, my resources, and - god damn it - my body if I have to. 

I care about the Black Lives Matter movement for my friends, and the people who I have chosen to call family. I cannot rest during a time that will change history forever. I cannot sit idly by and let the world pass me by. I want to be proud of the history we are living right now in this very moment. 

I cannot let history continue to repeat itself. And although my platforms, and pockets are limited and small, I will scream and shot from the roof tops if I have to. 

What the police are doing in the US right now is appalling. They have militarized, instead of admitting wrongdoing and excessive force. No one is asking to be put on a pedestal. They just want to stop being killed for no reason. 

Black Lives Fucking Matter.