by Justin Teoh
If the whole point of activism is to get our voices out in hopes of sparking change, then we all start from articulating words by default. For every word we make, we are its first authors and first readers. What happens when no one hears it? Or what happens if our doubts take off right in front of our eyes?
Growing up as a child till now, I get uneasy at seeing others or myself being at the short end of misunderstandings. Adults and Instagram business accounts advise that youths should make many mistakes and learn a thing or two because no one really remembers every single fault; but what is dismissing a painfully curated set of words, words that we could identify with, if not discouraging? I think that all writing, beyond any other obligations, is ultimately contemplative in nature. While they are closer to personal truths—truths from how we see the world around us—they are also harder to concisely express out loud, especially ones that are virtuous and non-destructive.
Even if we do put our words out there—after drafts and double checks—there would still be some risk involved. Mutuals may retort with doubtful explanations. One worldly issue piles on top of the other, not waiting for a satisfactory census. A heartfelt Twitter thread becomes viral while the wrong ones get the clicks for all the wrong reasons, as if new accounts had sprung up out of nowhere. The lines between right and wrong become blurry. Social media burnout becomes a commonly used term. The question of “what can I do now?” comes not with an eager curiosity but with an inaudible sigh.
I think I know now why people look out for cosmic evidence: because close friends and family may not follow their circumstances in every step of the way. If an act of quote-unquote social justice, personal or extrapolative, aims to guide at least one person back to a natural, more harmonious balance, then a small expectation of positive weather could come instinctively. Maybe I am talking smack and maybe divine interventions don’t exist, but there is probably a reason why religions up to this point write about miracles.
At the same time, I also think about comets, rare icy balls that leave beautiful trails in their brief wake. While they are visible from Earth every 20 years or so, they commonly occur throughout space, just beyond human visibility. Being able to see one at all is the stuff of movies: a mere speck in the empty sky has the capacity to remind you of things that you didn’t know you remembered. As quoted in Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer, scientist and poet Jeffery Burton Russell wrote that “as the sign of the deeper truth, metaphor was close to sacrament. Because the vastness and richness of reality cannot be expressed by the overt sense of a statement alone.”
This starry metaphor might as well be the answer to all of our questions. Whatever your journey and circumstances are, as long as you get closer to truths that you sought out to find, you will eventually find profound impact. It might really take us 20 years to get there, and it might appear hopeless, but as the creative process goes, everything up to this point, in deliberation or not, feeds into our present capacities. And retrospective assessments propels us out as much as prospective goals, for what are our efforts meant for if not the overarching aim of a better future?
The good thing about activism, even at a micro level, is that there is no shortage of resources at our disposal. There are rich histories to which we can help reignite its spark, even if it comes from an elder relative. There are many people like us to whom we can interact, especially on the internet, albeit under healthy measures. More importantly, there is an ever accessible, ever expanding literature of words that we can react to, enjoy, and stand with, possibly adding our own catalog of experiences in the process. What’s more fleeting than being part of a meteor shower?
I took an astronomy class the past semester, and the one thing that I remember my professor stating is that we living creatures are made of star stuff, with a bunch of itty bitty atoms and molecules coagulating into what is your body and mind after millions of years of circulation. Slowly but surely, we can get where we want to be. Up there in the stratosphere, with your words intact, end not with a bang, not with a whimper, but as a streak of natural inspiration.