Earth, Wind, & Fire

"Come to My Window"

...I would stand inside my hell / and hold the hand of death...

Usually, I adore the end of the year and the excitement of a new year, the newness of a new year. Currently, I am not excited. I gather that my lack of excitement is due to the fact that I am wholly unsatisfied by my life. The new year will not change my life. Only I can change my life.

In my youth, I had this idea that the new year and its majesty would be enough to change my life. Somehow, these new digits on the date would carry a momentum of change strong enough to drag my life along and into greatness. And for many years, such was the case.

After some time, my life became too heavy with things like anger, depression, broken hearts, etc. The momentum of the new year was no longer enough and I would stay in the same wreck that worsened over the year. When the next New Year's Eve came around, my life was heavier than the last year and again unqualified to ride the momentum.

I don't know why I feel differently this year, but I'm tossing my life up and believe that it will make the momentum this year. People tell me all the time that I am so beautiful, I am so intelligent, I am so caring, I am so considerate, I am so funny, I am so aggressive but none of the those things have done anything to improve my life in last two years. So next year, each of those aformentioned qualities will be put to good use. I want to really be beautiful.

Egyptian Fast Food

"Party Life" by Jay Z

...when you blue / got nothin' do...

I read an article on CNN under the Living category on the home page. It was called "Why Women Shouldn't Say 'I Love You' First" and I found it to be quite provocative.

This wasn't a subject I had a strong opinion about, if any opinion at all. But the explanation provided in the article made me understand.

Basically, despite our post-feminism movement era, there are still [environmentally induced] differences between men and women. Men tend to process their feelings slower than do women, so even though the relationship may going very well, he may not have arrived at the same emotional destination and would not be able to reciprocate equally.

For that reason, the article's author suggested that we females hold off the declaration of love so as not to risk hurt. As she poignantly explains in the article, she is not trying to be anti-feminist. Asking a gentleman out on a date or even proposing are acceptable things for a woman to do in this day and age. But an "I love you" has a specific rewarding reaction and there is no way to gauge accurately if that person loves you or not until you say it and brace yourself for the response.

I agree. Not that a man could not feel love before a woman and be subject to the same heartache, but it seems that it does not happen as often as it does with women.

The article tripped me up. I have no idea how to manage relationship business, emotions, communication of emotions, etc. I have no mature experience in relationships. [I have even been betrothed already and I have no clue on the makings that sustain a long term relationship].

My brother Richard and my best friends tell me I behave and think like a man in the romance department. I have been called emotionally detached, unavailable, and even rigid.

They point out, however, that I am quite warm and emotionally available for friends and family but I shut down for the man in my life. I express almost none of what I am thinking, I do not encourage them to share with me, but then I complain that I feel alone and cut off.

I know that I am doing it, as I have just formally diagnosed myself. However, it has become so elementary to my behavior that by the time I realize I am being "emotionally unavailable," it is too late and he has already pegged me as impenetrable. I honestly hope that I can watch myself more closely and stop my self sabotage (I cheated myself / like I knew I would). I hope to exorcise my immature demons and demonstrate a higher degree of normalcy in my courtships, especially with the 30th Century Man. This one, I really don't want to fudge. A glimpse of hope: another friend informed me that it just takes the right person. When the right person comes along, I will be able to grow up and make a genuine change.

In the meantime though, I'll still let him say "I love you" first.

Static Swag

"Bed" by J. Holiday

...watch the sunrise peak over the horizon / the sun ain't the only that's shinin' / now I'ma send you out into the world with my love...

I used to watch a show called Absolutely Fabulous on BBC some years ago with an aunt of mine. I loved that show because the two female main characters were dysfunctional, alcoholics, inappropriate, socially retarded, embarrassing, and other bad adjectives.

One of them had a grown daughter that was intelligent and was the keeper of her drunken mother and best friend. They were constantly humiliating the poor girl.

And they were absolutely fabulous. Sometimes I wish I could live their totally useless and reckless life. They do not care about anything whilst I fret of everything.

I also used to wish my mother was like one of the women on the show when I was younger. At the time I didn't understand the implications and complications of having a mother with a disease such as alcoholism. I just wanted to have a mother who I could be close to. Despite their dysfunctional behavior, the fictional mother and daughter pair were quite close.

My beautiful Mommy was just this person that I did not really know nor identified with. She was like an old camp counselor that gave birth to me almost but we had no real connection. It never occurred to me to go to my mother for help, advice, conversation, consolation or anything of the ilk. She bought me things when I needed them and punished me and that was the extent of our relationship.

But I always wanted more from her. I tried to get her attention in many stupid ways. It ended up backfiring on me when she couldn't stand me at all and we basically lived our separate lives.

This situation is how I learned how miraculous and inadequate language is: dealing with my mother. It was always interesting to see what she garnered from something I said and what I actually meant. The discrepancy sometimes would be amazing.

I just wanted an affectionate, playful mother. And she kind of was but not as much as I would have liked her to be. My father is. I always wanted my mother to be just like my father. It wasn't that my father wasn't enough, but it was because I was a girl and I wanted my mother. And all my friends and cousins throughout my life have had such great relationships with their mothers while we have tried not to kill each other over the last decade.

Then one day, I was watching an episode of Celebrity Rehab on VH1 (isn't Dr. Drew Pinsky so fine. Make me wanna get right). Rod Stewart's son was a patient in the program and was explaining the pain of not having his rock star father around enough and their family not being the normal, nuclear American family he wanted so.

Dr. Drew said something that hit me hard and even made me choke up a little bit. He explained to Stewart that our parents are human beings too. They are people with flaws and shortcomings who do bad and wrong things just like we see ourselves do. The image of our parent that we have created and the person that parent actually is are two different things. They parent according to the person that they are as well as what the have seen.

My Mommy is an introvert, quiet, pensive, serious and mature. Therefore, she probably wasn't going to be the bubbly, playful, sunshine-all-the-time kind of mother. Life wasn't all that good to her and it continues to bother her and here I was making trouble in her house trying to make her be the mother I thought she should be which was oppositional to the person that she is.

It made me cry, I think, because I realized that I had been fighting a futile fight. And I haven't been fighting my "mother". I have been fighting this woman with feelings, with tragedies, with sorrows, with insecurities. An actual person. But I thought she was just my Mommy: this empty person who just collected my insults and disappointments and remained unaltered.

Kids are such idiots. And it's a lot harder growing up than they said.

Face in the Dirt

"Summertime " by Fantasia

...your daddy's rich / and your mama's good lookin' / so hush little baby / don't you cry...

I lost my darling make-up bag over a week ago. I have been using my little sister's make-up instead, but it hasn't been the same.

I hated make-up when I was younger. I didn't want to be a shallow girl. But loving make-up, as I have discovered, doesn't make you shallow.

I was using Revlon Color Stay Eyeshadow and I really loved it. It was a smooth, gentle, and epidemically cooperative powder that accentuated my eyes but did not overdress them. And the combination of colors for the palette I picked were perfect. Make-up/skin compatibility for us dark skinned girls can be some work (and I have quite a lot to say about that in a later entry).

And I lost her. Along with my Revlon Color Stay Eyeliner, my Mac Smoke Signals, my battery operated eyebrow shaper, my eyebrow pencil, my Cover Girl Fantastic Lash mascara, my Beauty Rush lip gloss, and my Mary Kay glitter. Shoot.

So of course I had to go and buy some more make-up. My sister wears purple and other such flamboyant colors. I can't pull that off well.

My new bag consists of my staples: the same mascara and eyeliner mentioned above. I also bought L'Oreal Infinite Eyeshadow (804 Autumn Leaves color).

It's beautiful. It's appropriately dramatic too. I usually wear tones that are identical to my skin shade but have some glitter or something in it for simple effect. This L'Oreal Eyeshadow is very creamy, silky, and brilliant. The color almost appears to be foundation for my eyes with a subtle suggestion of gold in the compartment for my eyelid.

I put on my face every morning so that I feel like somebody. Sometimes I feel like I'm not here, like I'm watching and not living. When I think about my life, the future and such, there is so much haziness. There is a paralyzing anxiety about the "what ifs" and I have no way of calming myself down.

But my vanity is always nourishing. I can look at myself in the mirror and see this beautiful face of a person who is also beautiful inside. I doubt that I am a good person sometimes but I am. I don't do everything right all the time, but to be honest, I do it more often than your average person. The sadness I am accustomed to feeling only makes me want to help people all the more.

I always want people to know that I am someone that they can come talk to at any time. I am very giving of myself, of my things, of my time and anything else. I am very accommodating to those around me. I am hyper vigilant about the needs of others in particular situations and in life in general. I am intuitive like a mother about those around me. I call my best friends "my babies" and I'm nicknamed as mama by all of them.

I am the resident go-to-girl.

At times, it frustrates me because I feel unable to go to anyone about my insecurities or my life frustrations. Most often, however, I relish being the emotional safe net for my friends and family that I wish I had for myself. I feel as though if I cannot find solace myself, I can be solace for someone else.

So I talk through these lips, newly conditioned with my Artistry Lip Care Kit, and make them laugh, give them perspective, encourage them, tell them I love them, and whine and cry about my own life sparingly. Because I love them and it hurts less if I am focused on how much I love them than how unloved I feel.

At Last

"Piece of My Love" by Guy

...you can have a piece of my love / it's waiting for you...

A few nights ago my two brothers and I stayed up until 6:00 in the morning discussing our histories. We discussed our experiences coming to America, the circumstances about our emigrations, the reunions with our families, etc. [They are not my biological brothers, but in our culture, any cousins you are close to will be given such positions in your life].

Our eldest brother, Richie arrived in the States about a month after the war in Sierra Leone had started in June of 1997. It was before the people of Sierra Leone themselves knew that anything was going on.

Listening to him discuss it made my heart hurt so. There were a few killings, but in an unstable country such as our own, people thought it was just another coup committed by some seriously disgruntled countrymen. It turned out to be a bloody civil war that almost almost depleted our population and diminished our national spirit.

As our soil was dirtied with the blood of our people, those who had emigrated sat on their couches in the States and in Europe, crying for Mama Sa Lone and the family they left behind.

It was an incredible feeling of powerlessness that I saw my parents operate under for the duration of the war. In the rare times that a family member got to a phone to call us here in the States, there was a sense of relief that they were still alive, dread about the report of who had been killed or what had been torched, and more anxiety for the certainty of more deaths that had yet to come.

I have several cousins, aunts, and uncles who survived the war and made it to the States and to Europe. Their stories are too real. The hallways of our Virginia house would sometimes turn to bush and I'd see people running, barefoot and desperate away from the rumor of approaching rebels.

I would want to cry but kept my face dry for fear of ridicule. With all the suffering that they endured, rarely do you see a broken spirit or a teary eye. Disgust, anger, disbelief, yes, but no break downs.

The most interesting stories are those told by the children and by the young adults. Their accounts of the war are decorated with funny traditional Sierra Leonean games while hiding in forests, tricks they played on each other, and upbeat songs about the dreary circumstances and fear of the rebels they were running from.

You know my imagination is quite the machine. Everytime I hear stories, I swear I am there. I have consumed, totally, these stories and the emotions and the comraderie of war. I meet relatives all the time who do not realize that I emigrated to the states when I was only two years old.

I apparently have an understanding of the cultural operations and speak Krio like one who is Fresh Off the Boat (FOB). And I honestly think that this is because I soak it up so whole heartedly (not to be corny because I hate it when people say this) into the depths of my soul.

Despite the war, the rogue government, and the continued medical decrepitude, I am so proud of Sierra Leone. I am so proud to be a Sierra Leonean. I am so proud of what my family has been able to do despite treachery on all sides. I am Sierra Leone.

But along with my pride comes some disdain. After the tragedy of war and displacement, we arrive here to a new country, a different culture, alone. The move literally rips families apart. There is a severe disconnect between parent and child.

Our parents want to raise us as Sierra Leonean children, immersed in the culture and they want us to behave as typical Sierra Leonean children do.

However, we are not immersed in the culture. No matter what our parents, aunts, and uncles try to teach us, they are not our only teachers. We have our fellow classmates, the media, teachers, mentors, coaches, etc. that are imparting different and often oppositional cultural values.

Therefore, the rules of operation within each of us is a hybrid of two cultures and each individual chooses the elements of each they want to make their own. The Sierra Leonean culture at home is then left unsatisfied.

The biggest example of this disconnect is the emotional relationship between parent and child. In the United States, culture stresses bonding and connection from day one. The discussion about breastfeeding is given foundation by the concept of bonding with the child.

In Sierra Leone, such a thing is not stressed. Not that people don't bond back home in Sierra Leone, but it is different. If one is not close to his or her mom or dad, there are aunts and uncles in the same compound (neighborhood) who they identify with. There are also older siblings and cousins who they may also be close to. The culture does not stress the nuclear family in the way that Western culture does. Your parents are not the only people you can go to.

But here, in the States, we immigrants are often alone and the idea of a nuclear family is new and even hard. So the children must bond with the parents. This new American culture stresses family bonding (remember in elementary school when they were teaching you about having family dinnners and such?), children need to bond with someone, and now, the parents are unavailable and there is no family/neighborhood to fall back on.

My brother feels like it is up to the parents to compensate for this change and he resents it that they don't. They bring us here and try to raise us in our Sierra Leonean culture completely oblivious to the fight we enter when we go to American schools and make American friends and watch American television.

He also feels that they don't meet us halfway when we feel alienated as foreign children with our foreign accents. We come home to our foreign parents to relay our social grievances and they don't understand. Lef dem pikin dem. If you wan halaki, falla dem pikin dem. Focus pan you book. Na school go mek you bette.

No one says that is bad advice. Our parents do what they can and how they know, but they don't understand that socialization is just as important as the books to an 8th grader. Yes, we want to do well in school but we don't want to be miserable at school and often times, we were. Assimilation is hard damn work. There is much work required to make friends and "fit in", more work than is required of us back home.

But cultural difference prevented/prevents our parents from understanding why socializing is so important and we fail to understand why our parents don't understand.

As if social alienation is not enough, there is no real relationship between parent and child. Our parents are working too much and flat out don't care much about extra curricular activities or hobbies. Many of us complain about our parents missing out on sports games, art exhibits, award ceremonies, etc., because of being at work or being uninterested. Na ball de gi posen eat? Na painting de pay rent? Oos satificate ge fo pay insurance? Bo duya...

So they don't go and harbor resentment for years to come. We live our lives, we love our families, we get along. But a time comes when we children grow up and can do for ourselves. A trend is surfacing in which once the financial umbilical cord is cut between parent and child, there is no real personal relationship there to continue.

In discussion with over a dozen cousins about to go to college, in college, out of college (almost everyone goes to school), or out working on their own, I have discovered that they don't feel any obligation or need or desire to maintain a relationship with their parents.

I find that to be so sad. We have such a wonderful culture and such a wonderful family. We take such good care of each other, despite our emotionally inadequate relationships. We have the great potential and makings of amazing relationships, but we continue to fall short.

I feel that way at times. I have had a serious brand of "falling out" with my parents and when I think about that which I feel they have done wrong (and I have done much myself, trust), I fill with anger and resent of unmatched height and want to forget abou them totally. However, in that same moment, I feel an immeasurable tenderness for them and the happy girl I was growing up. I do the love the culture that we grew up in (aside from some disagreements about gender role, which I shall save for another entry).

The situation is viscous, complicated, painful, and omnipresent in our interactions. I have no idea how to fix it now because all of us who are complaining of this situation are grown now. I guess we just have to be aware and try not to repeat the situation with our own children. And in the meantime, we just hang on.

Anderson 360

"Silly" By Deniece Williams

...silly of me to think that i / could ever have you for my guy / how i love you / how i want you...

I walked off the plane very calmly and very familiarly. He walked directly in front of me in his long, gray tweed peacoat, black slacks and starched white button up, accentuated with his red scarf that so bravely pointed to his completely gray hair. He was a brand of beautiful that required a long, dramatic description. Walking behind him, he seemed larger than usual and I tried to imagine him in his jeans and t-shirt ensemble. He looks strong to me in his jeans and t-shirt. That is when I feel safest. His humility is loud but his swag is in close concert.

I stopped thinking about him once we got to the elevators. I just watched him. I watched him so intently that I only saw his reflection in the elevator door. We stood perpendicular to one another, our right angle created by our interlocked hands. He turned, insignificantly, and touched my right cheek with the back of his right hand. It made me smile so hard I felt as though I would cry. I realized I was wearing the same red scarf as he was with a jean jacket, what seemed to be a black body suit, and knee high black boots. That was all the attention I payed to myself for a while.

My attention was lost all together. After what seemed to be a long blink, I opened my eyes and found myself sitting near the baggage claim. He walked up to me, hurried and excited to deliver a message.

"I'm getting you a passport sweetie. I'm sending your picture to the Margage State and they'll process a passport for you." I smiled at him. I was excited just to have him talk to me. It would only occur to me later that I was going to love him because he was going to take care of me. He was going to reorganize the mess that was my life and show me happiness and take away my worries. I was relieved already simply from the idea of impending relief.

He didn't introduced the dark haired woman next to him. I knew he knew her but I innately felt that she wasn't a threat and that she was there to do something for me.

Later, while I was emptying our luggage while sitting on the bed in the hotel room, he and the dark haired woman came back in. She had changed from her business attire to a blue, bell bottomed one piece suit with a large, silver star on her left breast.

"Baby, this is Suki. She is going to protect you. She can run amazingly fast and cause enormous pain with what appears to me the slightest touch. When you are bored, even, she can play the radio, any station you want, out of her mouth. You can watch TV in her eyes as well. She will stay with you during the times I am out and away from you," he smiled while he spoke.

I replied, "Don't you need her more than I? I will just be sitting around while you go introduce the world to itself."

He paused but ultimately decided that Suki would stay with me. Suki left to return to her room across the hall. A small walkie-talkie like gadget was left in my room. It transferred sound and video to a sister gadget in Suki's room that alerted her if I was in danger.

We threw the things on the bed and left the room for a walk. Everywhere we went, we held hands. I felt his hands were in my heart the whole time. I was so relieved to be relieved.

Brought to You By...

"Video Phone" by Beyonce

...on your video phone / make a cameo / tape me on your video phone / I can handle you...

I believe in Evolution. I am a scientist by nature and the evidence of evolution is innately unequivocal.

I don't know if I am right but it just makes sense and it is difficult to argue with tangible, sensible evidence such as fossils, carbon dating, and the other processes used to identify the age of fossils.

I am also a Christian but I cannot encourage that Adam and Eve story. It is a beautiful story; interesting and aesthetic, creative and gentle.

But given the evidence of evolution, it becomes just a good story.

I asked my closest friends the other day if they believed in Evolution and they all said no. To be honest, I was surprised. Then I realized that science and religion have been pinned against each other by some ethereal referee, but in my mind, they coexist with finesse. They oppose each other at some junctions and I am not always able to reconcile their oppositions, but they coexist nonetheless.

I have other friends for whom God and religion mean nothing. Not only do they mean nothing, they are also very antagonistic to the idea. And in some ways, I am too. I am quite private about my religion. I don't testify (and I don't know if I find anything wrong with that), I don't "spread the Gospel", I don't believe in missionaries, and I find outwardly religious people to be annoying.

By outwardly religious, I mean those who have constant discussion about God and religion; those who cannot understand why others do not believe what they believe; those who criticize others who do not believe what they believe; those who fight against the full recognition of citizenship of fellow humans beings.

I feel that religion is private. One's relationship with God is private. You will be judged for your sins alone. I have therefore never understood why people are so interested in monitoring and modifying the lives of others according to their God's rules.

Homosexuality and abortion are the best examples. I understand that homosexuality and abortion are considered sins. For that reason, one should partake in neither. But in a nation that rests on the idea of separation of church and state, why should gay marriage and abortion be illegal? What is the intellectual answer that explains the oppositions to the two aforementioned issues legality?

If we are to separate church and state, whether the church thinks they are wrong or not is irrelevant. Not all people believe in God and not all people care what the church has to say. Secondly, as a person who believes in God, Suzie Q's abortion or her homosexual partnership will not be on my list of sins for which I have to answer to God, so why should I care?

I have this feeling that God gets annoyed with us sometimes. With all the people dying of disease, starvation, war/terrorism, abject poverty, and lack of education, are we really going to argue about who should be allowed to be miserable in marriage and who should not be?

The world is literally coming to an end. Why do we care so much about what other people are doing? If you think something is a sin, good for you. Don't do it then.

Abortion is killing a living thing, I know, but science has allowed us to have such an option. We want a cure to cancer and AIDS and all the other things science can cure in its progression but we abhor things like abortion. It comes with the progress. They can even engineer children.

I understand, but I don't agree that it should be illegal. For those for whom abortion is not a moral question, it should be made safe and standardized. There are some people who do not believe in medicine at all. Should we ban blood transfusions, wart removals, plastic surgery and all the things science provides?

Those things are not totally comparable to abortion as human life is up for debate but I suggest that if you do not agree with abortion that you not have one.

Back to Evolution. Evolution allows for these discussions. When we first arrived on this planet in whatever form you want to believe, we were struggling to survive. We were hunting our food, making shelter in nature, battling the weather and disease...trying to survive.

Now that we have evolved so superiorly, we needn't worry where our meal is coming from, where we shall sleep, how we shall stay well. So now, we get to make each other miserable by ignoring those who haven't evolved into life without worry (developing nations are human beings living in subhuman conditions) and judging people for their differences. People don't worry about what their neighbor is doing when they are hungry as hell and no grocery store in sight.

T.T.Y.N...Possibly

"Closer" by Goapele

...sometimes you just have to let it go / leaving all my fears to burn and die / push them all away so I can move on / closer to my dreams...

Finally [I think it's final] I came to a resolve that I should have come to a long time ago.

I have been "talking" to someone for 18 months now. I don't know what the hell "talking" to means but it garners the least amount of questions when explaining the "circumstance of our situation" to friends and other types of consultants.

Nonetheless, we are just as familiar with each other as we were 18 months ago: meaning, we don't know anything. With the exception of exchanging a few stories about things neither of us remember about the other, we don't know each other.

We have been out in the public twice, a large fault of my own because I am awkward about menfolk and I'm a newly born homebody.

We don't talk on the phone or text unless we are planning to meet up. I have a very elementary understanding of what his daily routine is like, just from the nights I have spent over there. I'm pretty sure he has no idea what I do with my life outside of school.

I like him, am drawn to him, and have a hard time leaving him alone. He hasn't done anything [wrong] that causes me to want to leave him alone. He is always very nice. We have great conversation and a similar sense of humor. He is normal. That is very important.

I like him. I haven't been waiting 18 months for anything. I didn't expect to ever like him or for him to be able to hold my attention this long.

But I like him now and in recent months, I have been very frustrated by the fact that he communicates nothing about what he thinks about where this is going. I just realized the other day how long it's been and I suddenly got really tired.

He's normal. That is very important I told you. I have yet to be attracted to a normal gentleman [though my years are few].

I am accustomed to controlling, mean, immature, obsessive, abusive, dysfunctional menfolk, because for a long time I was largley dysfunctional myself.

I still don't feel totally functional, but I have access to this man who won't hit me, will allow me to have my own life, and won't ignore me, but I can't bring myself to open my usually, big, loud, motormouth and tell him what I think.

I am also really disappointed with him. I am shocked that [or so it seems] he could continue this arrangement forever. I'm not that patient.

And it is not as if I don't have other things to be focusing on. I find myself sometimes allowing the idea of him to usurp my energy in the world. I talk to my friends and consultants to no end about this and it is still the same.

I am not willing to do what needs to be done to move this situation. I am bitter and insulted that he hasn't come to me yet. I am simply not ready to be with anyone, I just wish I was. He is normal and I'm starving for some normalcy in my life. Starving.

So I'm leaving it alone. Maybe I'll pick it up next year or next month or next lifetime or never. It's selfish, I know. I should say something to him but I haven't the language nor the pride to spare. I don't want him to feel bad or be upset or bitter, which is why I should say something, but I'm not going to. I have had episodes like this before.

I always go back and he is always happy to have me. Maybe this time I'll really get it together?

You know I'm slow to learn. But I just want someone to be happy to have me.

First Thing Monday Morning

"I Feel Beautiful" by Fantasia

...I feel beautiful, beautiful / I feel beautiful, beautiful / Could not...touch my soul, touch my soul / Nothin' you could do to me can take away my right to feel...beautiful, beautiful...

For real, first thing on Monday morning, I am packing away all my tears, my frustrations, my worries, my sadnesses, my angers, my impatience, my deferred dreams, my disappointments and all that in a suitcase right along with my clothes, shoes, toiletries, and accessories.

No special bag, no special tag, nothing. I'm not going to be a Bag Lady anymore. I've been a bag lady almost all of my life. I have travelled with the bullshit of my sadness in bags, tangible bags, heavy bags. I am packing them in a bag along with my possessions, getting on a plane, travelling to my destiny, cashing in the check of my fate, dropping off the bullshit, and flying back.

We leaving the BS behind. When I get back, I get to start over. No emails, no text messages, no phone calls will shake me anymore. I don't care about the pain of the menfolk, the parentals, the siblings, the former friends, the current frenemies, the have-not episodes, maladaptive coping mechanisms, or none of that. I am not going to continue to mess up my now with the sadness of my yesterday, but I'll always remember. That's the best I can do.

The Gift

"Where Did You Go?" by Jazmine Sullivan


...where did you go? / must be far away / everyday I come through / just to see your face...

I read an article about an artist who I feel that I think similarly to. His name is Lewis Hyde and he is an author of two highly acclaimed books by the name of The Gift and Trickster Makes This World, both of which I need to read. The New York Times describes his writings as complicated, non-sequential, difficult to summarize, and definitive of what art is.

The Gift is a book that works on "establishing an analogy between the making of art and how objects accrue value in traditional “gift economies,”". People make art, out any material they choose, sometimes worthless, rudimentary, or trash even and sometimes out of expensive material. Whatever the value of the components, the art is a product of a human engineer and by virtue of being art, is invalubale, immeasurable in value, priceless, etc., except in a free market economy like ours.

In a free market economy like our own, "objects accrue value" via a plethora of standards. Media, celebrity, drama, politics, economy, and other elements of culture contribute to the value of an item. Famous artist = famous piece = $$$$$$.

But it's art. I am unsure how to define art for this humble blog,
but we can agree art is amazing. Art is the true universal language. Every civilization that ever existed made art [paintings, sculptures, music]. We all speak art. Art is amazing, connects us, is bigger than us, is important in the discussion of a people, of our world. How then, does such an emornmous, important thing accrue monetary value?

But really, I have no qualms with art being sold or costing money. I think that it is an amazing feat that art can make a person wealthy. It is such a private, ethereal moment, art is. People understanding that private moment and willing to pay money to keep the product of that moment in their possession is beautiful.

The problem erupts in sharing that moment. Some universities own the sole rights to literature by authors long dead who wrote out of art and not empty commodification. But these institutions sometimes refuse those who want to put the literature in other collections to share with others, even if they pay. Why? How are the words, the art to get out to the world? Influence other artists? Validate other artists? Cure people? Help people? Resonate with people? Change people? Sophisticate people? Because art does all that and more.


I must read that Hyde book soon. If you'd like to read the article:

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/16/magazine/16hyde-t.html

Sunshine Band

"Pata Pata" by Miriam Makeba

This is Miriam Makeba. She sang a song called "Pata, Pata" that I heard a lot when I was younger. My father was in my imaginary band and we sang and we danced all the time in our parlor in Madison, Wisconsin.

My Daddy is the reason for my love of music. He used to sing to me a lot and those songs were the soundtrack to our small immediate family. Our music also is what first taught me the difference between African-Americans and Africans. It was what taught me that I was African but it is also what connected me to Americans.

I cannot recall exactly where or when I first heard Miriam Makeba's song, but it sounds like home everytime I hear it: like the home you have always known, as long as you have known yourself.

Funnily, I never knew who sang this song. I never even wondered what language she sang it in because it was happy so it didn't matter what she was actually saying. The song made me happy.

Miriam Makeba died on November 10th. She died after suffering a heart attack following the performance of "Pata Pata", which I think speaks highly of art. I hope to die after a long life of performing my art, whatever that arts ends up being.

Miriam Makeba...4 March 1932 to 10 November 2008

Hegemonic Masculinity

"Mr. Jones" by Amy Winehouse

...nobody stands in between me and my man / it's me and Mr. Jones / what kind of fuckery is this?...

So following reading Betty Friedan's genius, I read another article by Michael Messner called "Sexuality and Sexual Identity".

I liked it. I learned a little bit about the dynamic of male bonding and male relationships and how they strongly influence how a man relates to a woman.

I will admit something right now. I'm a man hater. Yes. Me. I love and I cannot stand them. Yes. I am damaged. But I don't care. And neither do they. Which is why I hate them. The only man I love unconditionally is my Dad. I do not have Daddy issues. My Dad is an incredibly intelligent and charismatic man who was and is very involved in my siblings' and my life. He always told me I was smart, funny, beautiful and all the other things I haughtily advertise about myself. He started it. He told me I could change the world and I believe him

So Daddy is not the issue. Men have just been disappointing. Yes. Because I am damaged.

But I started to feel bad for men a little bit after reading this article. Being a man, socially, can be terrifying and limits the expression of the whole person that every person is. Women still have it harder. I'll tell you why later but read my jawn about the article. My empathy does not shine through very well, but trust me, I see that it is hard to be a guy:

The male version of the problem with no name has been erroneously categorized as having no name. The problem is actually called hegemonic masculinity, a function of patriarchy. Hegemonic masculinity requires a man to demonstrate certain characteristics and behaviors that will socially qualify him as a "masculine man". Failure to do so subjects a man to being called such things as a "fag" or a "sissy" or a "girl", qualifying the aforementioned concepts as negative epithets that are contra-masculine.

The other phenomenon of hegemonic masculinity involves the manner in which men bond. The second article, "Sexuality and Sexual Identity" by Michael Messner, addresses the detrimental affect male bonding and competition has on the intimacy between men and women and the self-image problems it causes for men.

As specifically discussed in the article, sports are an important social tool in portraying masculinity and being accepted as a "man". The aggression, physical prowess, discipline, etc. that organized sports requires and produces identifies athletes as the uber-man. His masculinity is not questioned but he is under more pressure to exert his masculinity. He must be well versed in the language of "getting women" and sexually potent and experienced (or promiscuous even).

The "locker room" culture is a breeding ground for the expectations about sexual behavior and interactions with the opposite sex. Messner poignantly points out that men bond under the condition of "[separating] intimacy from sex (homosocial)" and define their "relationships with women as sexual but not intimate (heterosexual)". This distinction does much to damage potential intimate relationships between men and women. Simultaneously, homosexuality is strictly banned. Homophobia serves as a motivator to more actively demonstrate one's "maleness" by objectifying and hypersexualizing relationships with women.

The Problem That Has No Name

"Breathe" by Anna Nalick

...yeah, we walk through the door / so accusing their eyes / like they have any right at all to criticize...

I read this article about the evolution of the conversation about the plight of the housewife. The bigger theme of the article is how gender roles can stifle and suffocate people. I thought it was interesting because it identified one of my biggest fears: to be bored with my life.

I am afraid that after I have done all that I am "supposed" to do, as is defined by the culture I live in, it won't be enough. I'll wake up and forget I am alive and do all that I do out of complete robotic routine.

I won't feel anything, hear anything, smell anything, see anyting, say anything, think anything that is real. It will all just be the same thing I had done the day before and for several days before that for years.

That's like death: a complete cessation of a life. It is really not death nor is it as permanent, but to the active, dramatic, brilliant, energetic production that I am, it is like death.

So after I get this degree, I get married, I have babies, I buy a house, I buy a gunmetal colored Range Rover Sport, will I be fine? They say the chase is better than the actual thing. If I get the life I am chasing, will I be complete stationary, not having to run anymore?

I'd like to imagine that I'll at least have to walk some in order to maintain the life I have chased all my life. But asking a sprinter to walk in the race is unfair, and stupid.

I just don't want to be bored. I fear marriage because men bore me. The nicest, sweetest men eventually lose my interest through no real fault of their own, most of the time.

Will being a mother become bothersome? I don't want anything in the world quite like I want to be a mother and so it has been my whole, whole, whole life. But will I take my children for granted and be bored with the miracle that I think children are?

The article diagnosed this problem for me: "The Problem That Has No Name" by Betty Friedan. I don't want to have this problem. I read it and I love it and I wrote a little 'essay' about it. It isn't a real essay in the stringent manner I am used to writing them for class, but it's awesome nonetheless:

The problem with no name addresses the incongruency between the cultural expectations for a woman's life and happiness and the personal expectations of a woman's life and happiness.

As is explained in Betty Friedan's article, "The Problem That Has No Name", girls are socialized to want to marry and have children and understand that their service in family life should be the source of their happiness. Pleasing a husband, rearing respectable children, and participating in a larger community of other "Stepford" households becomes the criteria for a woman's happiness and sense of fulfillment.

But the article explains that with educated women, there exists a disconnect between the "happy" lives they are living (by getting and keeping a husband, having children) and the actual happiness they feel. These women have invested their whole lives in the promise of bliss once they are wives and mothers. Magically, changing sheets, doing laundry, cooking dinners, transporting children, attending PTA meetings and the ilk are supposed to complete these women as human beings; their femininity (as defined by Western culture) shall define their happiness.

Unfortunately, the life investment into this perfect life does not make an adequate return to the woman investor. She has waited her life to be a wife and mother and once in the position, is waiting, hand-and-foot, on people who overlook her existence as a human being and request her only when they need something.

Consequently, a universal moment of pause follows in which they ask themselves, "Is this all?" Interestingly, the woman internalize the feeling of emptiness as a feeling of inadequacy. She feels as if she has the things she needs to be happy and the fact that she is not, demonstrates that she lacks something.

The strangest part of the problem is the silence. Many women, living in the same communities and taking their children to the same schools, have these feelings of emptiness and inadequacy but do not speak about them to each other. Each woman suffers her shame in silence. The silence was eventually broken and has now birthed popular sociological conversations about gender roles and a woman's "place" in society.

The Controversial, Presumptive Survey

"Live a Lie" by Jazmine Sullivan

...if a lie gon get me through, I'd rather not know the truth / if the truth gon make me cry, I'd rather just live a lie...

I saw this survey on one of the blogs I blog rolled: Blak Swan. The author is a funny and rather intelligent guy for his age and race, because you know young colored folks are supposed to be dumbest of the bunch...or at least that is the explanation I get when the unequivocal they are so surprised that I'm smart.

1] Do you have the guts to answer these questions and re-post as The Controversial Survey?

Sure. I feel as though it is no longer okay to ask someone if they have the guts.

2] Would you do coke if it was legalized?

No. I have taken enough chemistry and biology in college thus far to know how much of a compromise for your body it is to use narcotics...I am not including mary jane.

3] Abortion: for it or against it?

I support its legality. As a moral question, that is something individuals have to deal with on their own. But for the safety of women, it should be legal so that it is standardized and healthy. Women died trying to perform abortions on themselves. The moral dilemma is something each woman has to deal with and not up to legislators, other people, or men, who never have to make the difficult decision or endure the aftermath. The rights of the chld do not yet exist because it has not been born. The law already recognizes that the rights of the mother supercedes that of the fetus, as in cases where the woman's life is in danger, abortion is automatically legal. Clearly, their is a hierarchy of value of life. Sure, people can prevent pregnancy, but an unplanned one occurs, and she should have the option to terminate it in a safe, hygenic, and controlled environement. And it ain't like any of yall are gonna help her when the child arrives but you sure wanna preserve some life...shut up.

4] Do you think the world would fail with a female president?

What kind of stupid questions is this? This questions is incredibly presumptive and demonstrates a lot of what is wrong with this culture that people would even consider such a thing. No woman is less qualified as a human being to do what is right for the people under her tenure than any man nor does she have less potential to be just as cruel and evil as any man.

5] Do you believe in the death penalty?

No. None of us are qualified or perfect enough to decided when someone else's life should be over. If we abhor murder, we cannot murder to correct it. Even if my family was killed, I would like to believe that I would fight for that person's life whether or not he/she was remorseful or whatever. Death penalty is not a deterrent for crazy and to take the life of another requires some crazy.

6] Do you wish marijuana would be legalized already?

Hell yeah.

7] Are you for or against premarital sex?

I don't really care what people do before or after they get married. I think the more important issue is honestly and wholly informing people about sex, its repurcussions, and all the ways to avoid negative consequences. The rapid and preventable spread of disease is motivation enough to drop this abstinence mess and tell the kids the truth. Sexual ignorance is fatal.

8] Do you believe in God?

Yes.

9] Do you think same sex marriage should be legalized?

Yes and I think it will be. We tend to lag behind the Europeans socially, and since some European nations have already legalized same-sex marriage, it is only a matter of time before America does. More importantly, it is getting harder and harder to argue against it using logic and not religion. Not everyone believes in any kind of sanctity. Marriage is about economic relief and social participation: tax breaks and making medical decisions. It isn't about much more than that and all the opponents hanging on to the "sanctity of marriage" argument are lacking heavily in intellect and stuck on how gross they think homosexual sex is. That's all it is.

10] Do you think it's wrong that so many Hispanics are illegally moving to the USA?

No. Life abroad can be very abject. And people are quite ignorant to the expensive and very involved process it is to enter this country legally. Not that it is not a burden to pay for the lives of people who are not documented, but it is not as if these people are living a luxurious life. They are working hard and living poor, poorer than those who aren't working and receive help from the government, so chill.

11] A 12 year old girl has a baby. Should she keep it?

She has already had the baby. What options does she have? If she wants to keep it, she should. No one has the right to take the child from her. Maybe if we were being honest with students about how to protect themselves and prevent situations like these if they choose not to be abstinent, this 12 year old girl wouldn't have had a baby. Something is wrong with this question. The educational and social systems are incongruent in their solutions to teen pregnancy and the disconnect will continue to foster situations such as a 12 year old mother.

12] Should the alcohol age be lowered to 18?

Yes. You can fight a war. You should be able to get drunk. And then improve the public transportation systems so they aren't driving on Friday and Saturday nights.

13] Should the war in Iraq be called off?

This question is insensitively worded. It can't be "called off" without very serious consequences for Iraq and the countries that participated in its invasion. The war must be ended in a calculated and responsible way that does not risk the lives of those fighting or the civilians. The countries who invaded have a responsibility to see that the infrastructure of the country is repaired and the institutions operate such that chaos does not follow once troops are withdrawn. And there has to be a lot of diplomatic onversation as the main tool to accomplish this.

14] Assisted suicide is illegal: do you agree?

If the person is terminally ill and does not want to suffer the coming affects of his/her disease, then he/she should be able to do it. I think the individual must undergo extensive evaluation and be given the option of being treated for depression, but if the person is cleared, then they should be able to take their own life.

15] Do you believe in spanking your children?

Yessir. A lot of mess in this world might have been prevented had some people been whooped. Ain't nothing like home training.

16] Would you burn an American flag for a million dollars?

Who wouldn't? You can't be that gung-ho patriotic in this capitalist nation. Shoot. A million dollars? Yessir.

17] Who do you think will make a better president? McCain or Obama?

Obama. I like most all his policies, he is a calm, diplomatic, charismatic man who strikes me as actually caring. I feel like politicians and compassion/caring are mutually exclusive, but Obama might be able to change that.

18] Do you think Obama will be killed?

Only if White people are ready for civil war part II. He will not be killed. The world needs him too much and we shouldn't even think like that, for the sake of his wife and children and the future of this nation's station in the world.

19] Should child predators be forced to wear signs identifying themselves?

No. And I don't even think I agree with the sex offender registry. If offenders were properly rehabilitated, it wouldn't be necessary because people wouldn't do it again. Their offenses are atrocious, yes, but they are human beings and deserve a fulfilling life like the rest of us. Doing such a thing as is asked in this questions would not grant them such a life. People make mistakes. People are damaged. People need help and not judgment.

20] Are you afraid others will judge you from reading some of your answers?

No. What are they gonna do about it? Disagree?

The Music (Still Need H.E.R.)

"Strength, Courage, & Wisdom" by India.Aire

...inside my voice there is a soul / and inside my soul there is a voice...

I don't think people love music like we do. I don't think people understand what music does for a body. People think my tattoo is "gay"...You're not a musician Z...You don't sing Z...Why Music Notes?

Because I love Her. I love Her to death. Like other people have tats of their lovers, I got a tat of my lover's name too. And that's fine.

The worst thing in the world could happen to me and I have a feeling that even then, She'll be able to comfort me. And it won't be temporary either.

Because comfort is always temporary. No one can be around all the time to remind you that you will be okay, that you're a champ, that you're perfect (by you I mean Christina), that you're dope, that you're strong, that you're cool. They can tell you occasionally. They can text you sometimes and tell you. But, thanks to mp3 players, music can tell you all the time; always be a comfort.

Courtesy of my best girl, my man, my love...Music...

How to Save a Life

"The Heart of the Matter" by India.Aire

...I've been tryin' to live without you now / but I miss you baby / the more I know / the less I understand / and the things I thought I'd figure out / I have to learn again...

I miss my Mom. I do not have any fancy words or pretty metaphors to say I miss my Mom. Language is not glamorous enough to explain the angst of having a mother but being so disconnected from her.

On days like these, when I can only hear the sad songs, I cry all day about her. I wonder if she thinks about me and I wish I could tell her about how much I think about her.

I fear picking up a phone to call her. I fear feeling the heat of her frustration and anger through the phone. I know she is disappointed, pissed, sad, etc., but I do not want her to tell me that.

I just want to hear her voice. She does not have to say much and we need not have a discussion about anything important. I just want to hear her talk. I want to hear her laugh that is more a gentle cackle. I want to sit next to her and watch the scary things that she watches.

I want to hear explain why she is still upset that Hillary did not win the nomination. I want to hear her teach me about women; motivate me to be a feminist. I want her to make krain krain for me.

I want to lay in her bed while she talks to the television or sends my Daddy to fetch her something. I want to go to sleep with her.

Sometimes I miss her so much I start to wonder if she even really exists. I wonder if I ever had a mother because she and her memory are so distant and fuzzy but near and convivial too. I miss her so much that the tears well up in my eyes and fall directly to my lap. The do not even touch my skin. I miss her so much that I cannot imagine why I was ever mad at her.

Some days I cry so much I feel as though my face has turned ugly. I shower and pull out a black bag full of Mac and Revlon make-up and I paint my face and hide the sad behind bronze eyeshadow and midnight black eyeliner. I erase my puffs with light foundation. I always have to do it twice to cover up the tear trails left while I cry because I want to watch her put make-up on.

And then I look so pretty. I look just like her. The older I have gotten the more they all have said I look just like her. It is like punishment to look like her, see her in my smile and my random facial expressions, hear her in my laugh, but have her nowhere near.

...I've been tryin' to get down to the heart of the matter / because the flesh gets weak/ and the ashes will scatter / so I'm thinkin' about...forgiveness...

The Realest Thing I Ever Heard

"Made Up My Mind" by Lyfe Jennings

Lord they really think they foolin' you by comin' to church on Sunday

prayin' and layin' hands on folks, stompin' and jumpin' around fakin' the holy ghost

but it's a thin line line between walkin' it and talkin' it

livin' it and givin' it or just pretendin' it's alright

and did they really think that they could pull the wool over Your eyes, Lord?

did they really think that by fakin' they were saved they would get the same reward?

this be the realest thing I ever wrote for sure

and after this a lot of folks won't like me no mo'

but after this I gotta go answer to You Lord

so I made up my mind that I'ma go to church on Sunday

and sing a song that may hurt somebody's feelings so that maybe

Thy will, will be done

on earth as it is in heaven

and hopefully the will see

how much they really be discouragin' a little ol' sinner like me...

And Lord who they think they jivin' by singin' these songs full of glory

then out in the world it's a different story

I'm runnin' outta people to pray for me

and I'm not tryin' to act like I'm the perfect man

but if you speak about it, you should be about it, not just preach about it all day

'cause if you do you run the risk of chasin' some of the most beautiful people away

and it is never my intention to discourage you, rather encourage you

to change your life today

this be the realest thing I ever had to say

and after this a lotta folks won't like me no mo'

but after this I gotta go answer to You Lord

so I made up my mind, I'ma go to church on Sunday

and sing a song that may hurt somebody's feelings so that maybe

Thy will, will be done

on earth as it is in heaven

and hopefully they will see

how much they really be discouragin' a little ol' sinner like me...