Don't Leave a Voicemail

"A Change Would Do You Good" by Sheryl Crow


...God's little gift is on the rag / poster girl posing in a fashion mag / canine, feline, jekyll and hyde / wear your fake fur on the inside...

Today, I made my way to an open call at American Apparel.  I worked at Old Navy for about half a year when I graduated high school and I swore off retail...FOREVER.  Retail sucks.  However, my "full time" job is fakin' liiiiike...so I need another one so as to save up money.  My mother taught me that saving should be treated as another expense or bill.  Of late, I haven't been saving nearly as much as I should.

I was going to wrap up my teenie weenie afro (TWA) in a scarf and bun it up in the back.  I decided against it and decided to wrap the scarf around my ears and head and let the TWA show.  While waiting at the bus stop, a middle aged Black man stopped me and said that my hair was beautiful and he was so proud to see a sister out and about, rocking her natural hair.

I was elated, to say the least.  I know that my face is pretty, but the accessory that is hair has always augmented my beauty exponentially.  Without the long braids or the perm, I feel a little less pretty or at least less captivating.  I know that part of it is I haven't totally let go of the European aesthetic.  It's almost as if I lost a limb sometimes I have phantom pain/presence.  Sometimes I feel a wisp of something on my ear the way I felt when I had my braids in or when my hair was permed.  Other times, I feel the tightness around my forehead like I am wearing a ponytail when my braided curls get on my nerves.

But I am learning my hair is beautiful nonetheless, without the press or perm or extensions.  And, by proxy, I am beautiful too.

It was great to get that compliment.  And he also said that I was beautiful, apart from the hair.  And I was worried about that.  I am less pretty maybe?  But I am not.

I ran into a blog entry somewhere (I'll figure it out for you later) about the types of men this one young woman used to attract versus the men she now attracts with her hair natural.  She is a beautiful, young, vibrant Black woman too.  I have been thinking that (although I have been afraid to say it).  I have a feeling that the kinds of men I used to entertain would no longer entertain me, which is fine because none of them were worth my hate even.

I am excited about that.  I am excited, that more often, I will run into men (and they will be willing to approach me) that are more conscious, more intellectual, less about scheming, consumerism, fake hip hop, sagging pants, and getting the drawers!  Not that I want any of them, because I'm still uninterested in any men (and I am already betrothen to someone), but it will just be nice to experience a change in conversation and weed out the time-wasters.

I have to work on this African worldview #in2010 (you see how Twitter lingo is infiltrating my formal English?).

Diamonds, Boxite, & Rutile

"You Mean the World to Me" by Toni Braxton

...you mean the world to me / you are my everything / i swear the only thing that matters / matters to me...

To my 6 followers that occasionally read my blog, you should check on this entry periodically because I plan on continuously updating it.

Sunday night, I stayed with my Daddy following the Capital City Kwanzaa Festival.  I got home quite late, but stayed up to talk to my Dad for a while before he fell asleep.  We talked about how much I don't like my brother, homosexuality, whether of my friends is actually my boyfriend, culture, Africa, and the natural occurring minerals of Sierra Leone (hence the title).  It was a good conversation.  My favorite part of the conversation was about homosexuality.

It started when he asked me if one the friends I was hanging out with this weekend was actually my boyfriend.  We have been friends for a long time and he is definitely my best friend, so my parents hear his name often.

So my Dad asked "So, is he your boyfriend Zain?"

"Dad, he's gay."

"He is gay?!  How do you know that?"

**Blank stare.

"Now Zain, I want you to be serious here.  No joking.  Is he really a homosexual?"

**Loud, disruptive laughter.

"Do his parents know?"

"Yes Daddy.  They know."

"And he is still alive?"

**Loud, disruptive laughter.  "Yes Dad. I saw him today."

"Hmph.  America.  But you know what I think?  I think homosexuality is natural.  I don't think it is a choice."

We continued a long conversation about why homosexuality is such a big social issue, how common homosexuality is in the animal kingdom, how organized religion introduced the idea of homosexuality as a sin, how cultures take a long time to change ideology, etc.  He is such an intelligent man.  He was explaining all kinds of complicated anthropological changes that are evidence in linguistic tendencies.  He is sooo smart.  If I explained it to you, it would sound like gibberish, but he describes it in the most elegant and colorful way.

Then he started to discuss his "lesbians of convenience" theory.  In Krio, he said "I suppot dehn gay dem.  Bot dem titi dehn wey say den don ton tu gay?  Dehn titi dem, nah wen dem man dehn don balanse dehn, nah da tem dey dehn dey ton gay.  Noto gay natin! Hmph!"

That translates to:  I support the gays.  But those chicks that say that have turned gay?  Those chicks, it's when men have dealt with them [broke their heart too many times, frustrated them to no end], that's when they say they have turned gay.  They are not gay at all! African interjection!

I was dying.  I was laughing so hard.

So, I have decided to record conversations as the aforementioned described one from now on.  He is hilarious.  Wonderful father.

There's a Brown Girl in the Ring

"Lady" by D'Angelo

...don't think i don't see them looking at ya / all of them wishing they could have ya / and as a matter of fact, uh / a bunch of them are itchin' for you to scratch 'em...





Helloooooooooooo Dolly!

I am going to lock my hair.  I was talking to my friend Valerie, who just locked up her hair and she was explaining why she went ahead and locked her hair.

She said that she wants to make the positive changes of her life before the new year begins, just as she wants to rid herself of mess before the new year begins.

She said that a week ago and it has been a theme in my life toward this end of the year.  I am trying to clean up and restart things in my life.


I'm doing very well.  I am beating this depression thing and finding pockets of happiness in new things and new people.  I am changing while not even meaning to, just striving to live a life closer to harmony and justice.


My boyfriend doesn't like it.  This new life is giving me perspective, revealing to me what I need to be happy and settled, showing me what I deserve, guiding me on a path to healing and forgiveness...because I have a lot to heal from.  I am less vulnerable and more powerful.  I am less of a follower and more in control.


When he met me, I wasn't like this and he does not like it.  And because he does not like it, I am beginning to doubt him.  I feel I must doubt anyone who wants to curtail the progress I am making; who is not excited as I birth my happiness and nurse my purpose.


I am not being obstinate.  I am not being secretive.  And I don't much feel that I need to explain anything to anyone.  To those close to me, that I love, I am happy to include and inform them of the details of my life.  I am happy to.  But I am afraid of those who have a relationship with me, but do not accept any responsibility for anything that occurs in the relationship.


Harmony.  There just needs to exist harmony.  I figured out what I want to do with my life for right now and in the future.  I know what I want, not the material things.  I know what things, what relationships I want to exist in my life.  All of these things require that I work, which I am doing and will do.  And to do this work, I need focus, to be nourished, to be encouraged, to be in control.  I love him, but he is compromising my harmony.

I have compromised my harmony enough.  I have cheated myself enough.  I have made myself unhappy enough.  No one fights for me quite like I can.


This is the proper time to make myself be myself.  I am going to be the kinds of weird I allow people glimpses of all the time.  I am going to do things for myself and not for those I always imagine are watching.  As I wonder about their eyes, I forget about myself.

I'm going to be superwoman, listening to my ancestors lead the glittery way, a path informed by their lives but space enough for my autonomy.


Oh, I am going to be such a marvelous African woman in 2010 and thereafter.

Lesbihonest

"Encore" by Cheryl Lynn

...your love's (your) / so good (good love) / deserve an encore (deserves an encore)...

...for this is my mother's hair, my grandmother's skin, my grandfather's stare, and Africa's kin...

This is day 3 of 'Oh Naturale' and I love it more.  I was semi-frustrated these past few days because it is coily!  It is difficult to comb, however, I can manage it.  If anything, it reminded and reiterated to my soul that I am locking my hair.  Obviously, she is not intended to comb as liberally as I did when it was permed.

My goodness, do I feel liberated.  That is as corny as a phrase can get but it ain't nothing but the truth.  There were so many demons in that hair.  It wasn't the hair itself, but it was the way people (men) responded to it, the way I acted because of it (due to some already existent inadequacies of spirit), the way superficial culture told us all to revere it.

It's making me feel like I need to cut of the rest of my unnatural self.  I need to eat, breath, sleep, love, fight, cry, dance, express natural...ly.  Although it is just hair (just protein filaments), arriving at a place where it is just hair, it is just a part of my body that needs care too translates to a broader intellectual revamping.  Bell Hooks said something to the effect that we (Black people especially) nourish ourselves with lies and are shocked, even upset, at the state of unauthenticity of our lives.  Girl...so, I need to eat some truth...all the time.  And the truth is, I am a growing African woman trying to be deep, not to impress anyone, but so as to be far removed from the heights of superficiality.

It is not that big of a deal.  With age, it is less of a big deal.  Nestled between the place progress has brought me and place hardwork will take me, I cannot be so ignorant.  I cannot be so brainwashed.  I gotta be happy.

The love I have for myself deserves an encore.

Oil On My Hands

"Like A Star" by Corinne Bailey Rae

...still I wonder why it is / i don't argue like this / with anyone but you / we do it all the time / blowing out my mind...

It started as an awesome day.  I started taking my braids out last night but was outdone by fatigue.  This morning I woke up to finish taking them out.  Then I washed them, condition the hell out of them, blow dried it just a little and styled my natural afro.  I look so different.


I felt powerful and centered, simple, and put together.  I even decided to quit that sucker job I have.  I think my boss is quite perverted and he makes me feel cheap, like merchandise.  I am a revolution in and of myself...for Africa.  What do I look like being the corporal colonization experiment of some old White man?  I can't do it.  I'm not losing anything by quitting either.  I haven't been getting hours hardly at all since I expressed disapproval of the behavior of he and his comrades at the last "experiment".


I felt powerful.  I felt mature.  I felt informed.  I felt conscious.  There are some people, places, events I cannot participate in seriously having come into the knowledge of myself as I have.  It would be inauthentic and a serious impediment to my centeredness.


And then the boyfriend called.  We talked on the phone to address something that I am dissatisfied with, although I willingly signed up for it.  However, when we talk about things that either of us are dissatisfied with, it is never a conversation and always a fight.  I'm not always sure how they get started.  Sometimes they happen so fast, I am unable to follow.  

This time, he was getting quite riled up almost immediately into the conversation.  I tried to briefly interrupt him, not to make a counterpoint, but to point out that he was yelling at me and it wasn't necessary so as to maintain some civility.


But that was a mistake.  I should never tell him what I don't like, what is offensive, when he is wrong, when I'm hurt.  It always come back on me, it is always my fault, and I end up in trouble.


He makes me feel so inadequate, so useless.  I feel like I am a problem or a burden.  I get frustrated because I want to do it right, communicate well, be fair, be honest but I feel like such a failure every time.  As such, I have given up talking and confiding.  I feel like I'll get in trouble if I say anything that he doesn't like, so I try not to say anything.


And then I have this habit of becoming emotional when frustrated.  As was often the case with my mother when we would get in a tussle, I get to a threshold of frustration that eliminates my stability and makes me emotional.  I always began to cry and she would always use that to her advantage, call me overly-emotional and defeat me before the argument ever traveled anywhere.  I have observed him doing the same thing. When I reach that level of frustration and the hot water collects in my eyes, I feel ashamed and I try my best to keep it at bay, but I am usually unable.  I release the tears and blubber like an idiot and must endure the vitriol.

I stayed silent and had to listen to litany of things he thinks I am doing wrong and is causing problems in our relationship.  Not once did he mention how he could possibly be contributing to the these problems.  They were just my problems.



I gave up talking at some point in the conversation and recoiled into the corner of Zainab that is most comforting to me.  It is quiet there and there is no one to mock my tears.


After I hung up the phone, I stayed stationary on my bed as I was during the latter part of the conversation and stared at the wall.  I wanted to lay down and sob, but I had a meeting to attend for one of my volunteer gigs and although I could have gotten out of it, I didn't want my issues with him to interrupt the things I am passionate about, yet again.


So I went for an hour or two and returned home, unmotivated and disillusioned.  My roommates returned from dinner in this crazy snow storm.  They invited me out with their friends to go play in the snow, and even though I am quite the diva and don't do physical activity, let alone outdoor activities, I talked myself into going.  I needed something more engaging than my self pity, frustration, and sadness.


We (Sarah, Rick, their friend John, and I) rode around in Rick's car and did donuts in empty parking lots, reveling when the car would lose control and we would just spin.  We returned home to pick up the dogs and go to the park.  We stopped by another friend of Rick and Sarah's, talked, had a few beers, and headed out to the park.  It was mercilessly cold and snowing.  My feet were wet and cold inside my boots.  My hands were freezing.  The snow and sleet were pounding on my face, mercilessly exfoliating my skin.



But I ran around with the dogs, Emma and Magnolia in almost a foot of snow, laughed and fell down with Sarah, and then took a kayak ride down a hill in Forest Hill.  It was awesome.  I was almost frost-bitten when we returned home, but I had so much.  So much fun.  

I thought about him  a lot while out and wondered exactly where we went wrong.


Then I thought to myself, it doesn't really matter where things went wrong.  We both have the capacity to improve it if we both compromised some in our behavior and in our words at any time.  I thought so much: going back and forth about breaking up with him or staying and trying to change him.


I don't know what to do, but going out with my roommates and having such a grand time reminded me that nothing I go through is the end of the world, that their are people that already love me and respect me, that joy is fleeting but abundant.  I cry.  I am disappointed.  I get anxious.  Bad things happen to me.  But as long as I survive it all, it is all okay.


I am compromising my happiness for him.  He is not compromising my happiness or making me unhappy.  I am allowing it.  I have learned so much about myself this year.  I have met such wonderful womyn friends.  I am purposeful again.  I am almost myself again.  Therefore, I will focus on that and being fulfilled.  Therefore I won't take it so personal.


It would be nice to be respected though.  I am unsure love exists without respect.  Actually, I am fairly certain it isn't possible.  I'm tired of saying I love you to people when I'm the only person that means it.

...just like a star across my sky / just like an angel off the page / you have appeared to my life / feel like i'll never be the same / just like a song in my heart / just like oil in my hands...

Scenes Rise When I Give the Word

"Weekend Love" by Dwele

...it's a dream to see / you here with me / and after all this time / you're still fine / for the weekend...

Today must qualify as the first official day of winter break, since December commencement ceremonies all took place on Saturday.  The university is officially closed.

I awoke this morning, with nothing in particular to do, no where in particular to go.  It feels so weird to not have to report to class, to work, to a meeting, or to the library to crank out some work.


I don't like feeling idle and I feel incredibly idle.  All the activity has just been sucked out of my life with the end of the semester.  I read some articles and wrote some pretend reports on them just to give myself something to do.

Tomorrow, I am going to the Elegba Folklore Society office downtown and do some volunteer work, help them organize for their holiday activities bringing enlightenment and culture to the African American community.

On Wednesday, I'm going to the Fan Free Clinic to sign up for some hours to do volunteer work as well.  I don't want to just sit here all break.  My job is fakin' liiiiiiiiike with them hours.  I knew since I worked for the university, my hours would dwindle with the end of the semester, but damn son.

I am bored, but I don't want to waste time, sitting, thinking about what I want to do, planning to do it.  I had a few projects in my head that could not get done during school that I will definitely engage in now.  The most important of these activities will be my volunteering.  Service is the rent we pay for living.  Believe that.


And I need to volunteer to keep myself focused.  I need to see and work with the people who I want to serve for the rest of my life.  It would behoove me to interact, to see what their needs are, to measure the impediments of the lack of resources, and to gauge what I can do.

I never want to "get out", succeed, "make it" and feel accomplished such that I can rebuke those around me.  I can't stand that about people but I especially hate in Black people.  Black Americans and Black Africans are guilty of this and I think it contributes to the meek condition we are stuck in.



This arrogance that accompanies success is poisonous.  I know some people, who have seen the rage of poverty, made it out and done well for themselves, only to turn around and forget the struggle all together, criticize those that surrounded them when they too were trying to get by...Tell them they are less than because they have not made it out where I have.

Any bad thing that happens to me in the context of my interpersonal relationships, on the job, in the street, etc., it motivates me to do better for those I come across.  My misfortune and conquering my misfortunes will never lead me to criticize those still stuck, but lead me to be a leader, motivate and provide resources for them to follow me out too.

Suffering + Overcoming + Zainab = extraordinary empathy and action.


When I suffer, I am aware others are suffering, and it helps me suffer less when I work to help others.  Empathy seems like a logical response to misfortune.  Judgment seems so foreign.

So, for break, I'll be on the new job hunt/volunteer grind.  Inform me if you have any ideas, connections, suggestions, projects, etc.


[Doin' it for Africa]...all day.

I Don't See Myself

"Redemption Song" by Bob Marley

...how long shall they kill our prophets while we stand aside and look?...

I got a 92 on my statistics exam.  This was a cumulative examination that covered 250 pages of material divided into 7 chapters on some really, really hard stuff.

I cried in the library over this exam, frustrated at how little I seemed to know and overwhelmed by how much there was to learn.

I sweated and fretted.  I took the exam and found it so easy, I was sure that I failed because obviously I was missing a lot if I thought it was so easy.

Oh, but I got a 92.  On a math final.  Math.  I have hated math since the 5th grade and always doubted my abilities.

I would like to thank God and my ancestors for a stellar display of discipline and hardwork.

For PaAlhaji, YaMankaprr, and YaZainab.

Because My Tears Fall Into Your Kalabash

"I Can't Get Next To You" by Al Green

...i, oh i, can turn a gray sky blue / i, you see, i can make it rain when i want to / oh i, can build a castle from a single grain of sand / i, you see, i can make a ship sail on dry land, tell him, yeah...

I feel so powerful today.  After I took statistics final, I felt really free.  While at the library yesterday, reviewing the practice final exams, I became so overwhelmed.  I was answering all the questions, completing a page at a time before breaking to look at the answers and correcting my mistakes.  By the third page, I was about to set myself on fire with rage.


I got like 6 questions right in three damn pages.  I realized that I only vaguely understood the concepts I was going to be tested on.  I started to criticize myself.  I got really out of pocket on myself.  The vitriol was just ruminating in my head like an already long iTunes playlist on repeat.


Valerie rubbed my back and reminded me that the world was only collapsing in my head.  We got up and walked around the library for a bit to get my blood flowing and distract me.  Then she said that "looking at all the books in the library always made her think about how much she doesn't know."


And I quickly walked to the bathroom that smelled like a dead body was growing out of the toilets and started to cry.  I didn't cry immediately.  The stench of the room stunned my tear ducts for a moment.


I'm not sure why I stopped crying but I did and then I walked back to the table and decided that I just didn't care.


I would get through what I could and learn what I had time to.  That's all I could do.  At about 1:00am, I called my cousin and asked him if I could crash at his apartment for the night since my exam was soooo early in the morning (8am), walked over to his house, talked to him and his chick for a bit and went to bed.  I didn't even attempt the online extra credit quizzes.  Whatever.


I awoke around 7am, brushed my teeth, sulked, and went to the library.  I studied for an extra hour, deciding to show up an hour late for the exam.  Best decision of my life.  That last minute review was so much more productive, having had a night to rest from my self-deprecation and other negative emotions.  I was more clear headed and I was getting the answers right!


So I walked in my exam at 9:13am, sat down and went to work.  The final was actually much easier than the practice exams she posted on Blackboard and I had learned a bunch of calculator tricks from the textbook.

She would always mention in her emails and in the classes that I actually attended but I never payed attention.  They were a life saver though son.  All I had to do was plug in numbers.
**However, I do feel bad about this because I do think education is more than memorizing procedures that lead to the answer.  I feel like I should truly learn things in order to apply them to my personal life, make them relevant to my human condition long after I have taken the class...but whatever.  It's math.  Eat my shorts statistics.**

I escaped from the exam around 10:40am and rode the bus home, immeasurably relieved that I had completed that crap.

And the rest of my day improved.  I made all these administrative phone calls I have meaning to make for a while but have been avoiding because I expected a reprimand or bad news.  All of them went well.  People can be so nice.


I sold a book for a decent price which saved me from a life of destitution (not, but really, yeah).  My bank disputed a bogus charge for me and refunded my money, so I have some unexpected funds (that are going straight to savings)!  My douchebag perverted boss might be able to get some real hours in the office although he already promised and didn't come through.  I'll have faith though.

I was able to move two of my exams so that I just have one exam a day.  One of my professors personally emailed me my grade for my last assignment in his class because he thought it was so dope.

My Dad is bringing me some rice tomorrow.


And I feel in control.  I feel like there is justice in my life, even if it is delayed or irregularly decorates my world.  I feel that some cycles in my life are okay.  I have periods of pessimism and self-pity and I have periods of high sense of efficacy and optimism.

Honestly, I think I need them both.  The times when I am suffocating under water are made less devastating by remembering what it is like to breath and knowing that eventually, I will exhale.


I even said to myself, at some point today, "I'm in college.  I slack off sometimes.  I'm fragile.  I party harder than the next kid sometimes.  I dilute my potential and sabotage my efforts sometimes.  I'm hungry sometimes.  I'm broke all the time.  I'm crazy and I wonder about the existential stuff too much.  I'm still broke.  And I f***ing love it."

I think I'm powerful.  I got super powers.  I can do everything Al Green says in that song.


That's what I told myself.  Good job self on a day well done.  Remember that I love you Zainab.


Good luck on your exams [everyone].  Hooray for 24/7 library hours.


On some real, they better name one of the damn buildings after me, all the hours I put in this mofo.

Grid Kisses

"Paparazzi" by Lady Gaga

...i'm your biggest fan / i'll follow you until you love me / papa-paparazzi / baby, there's no other superstar / you know that i'll be your / papa-paparazzi...


I have a theory about friendships between females between the ages of 18 and 25.  They are usually quite intense, close friendships that resemble loving sisters of the same genetic line.  After two years, it begins to dissipate, sisters get annoyed, people grow and mature and have less in common, etc.  and the closeness fizzles, the loyalty is compromised, and soon, the friendship is no more.


I fit into the aforementioned demographic and have experienced those intense relationships, only to see them fizzle and feel my heartbreak in the course of it.


My first group of friends in college seemed like they were going to be my friends for life.  We did everything together and I would do anything for them.


These friendships made me weary and mistrusting of people.  I did anything and everything for each of them.  I was so giving, loved them unconditionally.  I constantly had them on my mind and felt responsible for them.  We were so close.


And then they all dropped off.  None of my motherliness was appreciated.  All I did for them went unnoticed.  I even let two friends, She'mone and Jasmine (and her son) live at my apartment at one of the devastating and destructive periods of my depression, rent free.


Now when I see Jasmine, she may or may not acknowledge me.  When I see She'mone, my heart swings like a pendulum between extreme hatred for this selfish, mean-spirited, unkind, unattractive ignoramus to compassion for a quiet, greatly insecure, sad-eyed girl.


And then Will tragedy happened.  And then Shatara fiasco happened.  And then I was thought to myself, "Why do I do this to myself?"


I started to feel like I didn't need anybody.  I didn't want to make friends, I didn't want to maintain friendships and I most definitely did not want to sustain that kind of heartbreak again.


So this semester, I started out with an I-don't-give-a-damn kind of attitude.  I don't want any friends.  I am just going to concentrate on school and get straight A's (not going to happen).  


Then I met some girls that I love, love, love.  I met people who are as giving, kind, loving, supportive, and willing to sacrifice as much as I am.

They love Black people.  They want to fight for Black people's prosperity for all their lives.  They love the gays.  They want to fight for the gay's prosperity all of their lives.  They love all those who are marginalized and want to spend all the days of their lives fighting for the justice the liars want to tell us is not available.


Those girls inspire me so much.  In their power, the remind me of my power.  They support me.  They indulge my happiness, my sadness, my Africanness, my womynness, my powerfulness, my weakness, my everything.  They are so conscious about the world and conscious about the support every human being needs and deserves to be full and happy.


And they are so willing to provide it.  I believe, after Thursday night, we are bonded for life.  I have friends and I have new friends.  I got stuff.



Ariel.Charity.Valerie.Velma.  Thank you.

All You Need to Hold Onto...Is You

"Bag Lady" by Erykah Badu

...so pack light / pack light / pack light / ooh ooh...

This song is the realest song she ever wrote.  I remember hearing it for the first time when I was about 13 years old.  By then, I had enough bags to relate to the song, love the song, cry with the song, sleep to the song.


I wasn't old enough to hear her invoking me to drop my bags...all you must hold onto is you...but I did know she was talking to me.


To do this day, I have yet to learn to drop the bags.  Not to be so cliché, but I didn't necessarily think of the bags as something separate from me.  I hold onto them thinking I am holding on to myself.


With age, I have realized that they are indeed just bags.  It is baggage, dead weight, old clothes, useless gadgets, intrusive memories, broken things, broken promises, and dreams deferred, sagging like a heavy load.


I am not my damage, so to speak.  I am not my pain.  I shall not be a victim of my own victimhood.  Pack light.


...girl I know sometimes it's hard / and we can't let go / when someone hurts you oh so bad inside / you can't deny it / you can't stop cryin' / if you start breathin' / you won't believe it / you'll feel so much better / so much better baby...

Who can argue with that?


And love can make it better.  True love can make it so much better.


I was going to write about how all men are the same.  I believe this.  At some core, existential, unseen place, men are the same.  The react the same to their egos being slighted, because that is only thing that can really be slighted and it is THE thing for which a man will make you pay.


I have seen and heard men do that to me over and over again like a broken record and I still don't know the words (I can't recognize it when I see it).


And I wanted to write about how something is wrong with me.  And something is, but it ain't permanent, and it ain't irreversible, and it ain't debilitating.  I can fight it and change it so that as soon as that record comes on, party's over.


I am packing light.  This entails me expelling other people's baggage too.  People don't talk about that but I have never believe that all your baggage is your own.  That would imply that every man is an island and we create, maintain, and nourish our own pathologies.


Sh-------------------------------------t.

People provide each other with baggage at times.  People pack my bags with their insecurities, their inadequacies, their problems, and tell me that they are mine.


Well I don't want them.


For a little bit, I will have to be selfish and do things for me so that I can be better for you, all of you, everyone I love.


You will notice some distance from me.  You will notice that I don't engage you like I used to.  You will all notice that sometimes, I just don't give a damn and I'm not going to argue, explain myself, excuse myself, restrain myself, or blame myself.


I want to responsible and accountable for creating a space for sanity, peace, and happiness in my life.  I want to be a powerful African woman.  I want to be proud of myself.  I want the cleanliness I deserve to satisfy myself and not to show you.  Hell, if you look for dirt, you will find it.



I am not responsible for any of what ails y'all.


What you eat don't make me sh-t, right?

Disequilibrium

About an hour ago, I was daydreaming on the bus on the way to campus for this tortuous cognitive development class.   I was sifting through my phone but not particularly paying attention when I heard someone call out my whole government.  It was a female voice so I wasn't so much startled as I was intrigued about who could possibly know me in the part of town.

I looked up at the face from which my name came and I didn't really recognize her.  She was kind of tall, slender, pregnant, and in this completely red, typical Richmond "getup".  She looked familiar, but all the contextual information about where I knew her from, when we knew each other, the kind of relationship we had, etc was all lost.  I struggled to at least generate a name so as not to make her feel bad.  I have to know her moderately well.  She knows my whole name and pronounced it perfectly, like it was a comfortable and familiar name on her tongue.



She waddled over to me, pregnant belly guiding her to the seat beside me and plopped down.  I looked in her face intensely and I saw the outline of a little girl I used to know, but this face was so different, it didn't seem possible that this was the same girl.


But it was her, Ci Ci, 10 years later.


We went to middle school together and she was my ride or die.  She and Candi were my two best friends in middle school and everybody knew us.  Candi was an energetic, intelligent, gentle, and kind cheerleader.  Ci Ci was the outgoing, confrontational, brilliant intellectual (with very hoodrat-ish tendencies) trackstar.  I was the cool, articulate, socially conscious, hardworking nerd with no propensity for sports, but attended every sports events because Dee-Dee was running or Candi was cheering.


All of our teachers in 7th and 8th grade thought we were a little troublesome, but we did very well in school, and friends with many different groups.


I remember Dee-Dee to be so brilliant.  She was so, so, so smart.  She was so giving and funny and generous and kind.  She was so brilliant.  When we got in trouble, she could talk us out of anything (even better than I).  In fact, she and I were often the only 2 Black students in the advanced classes in 7th and 8th grade (evidence that the educational system is full of ...yeah, another blog entry at some other time).


She was my ride or die.  She was the first best friend I had in Richmond when we moved.  It was a hard move for me, having completed 6th grade in North Carolina with kids I had gone to elementary school with.


She was the first friend I made and my best friend.


And then life separated us.  I went to  hell on earth a private school for high school and she went to the public high school I should have gone to in wealthy old Henrico County.


Almost a decade since we left middle school and life has brought us so far apart and able to meet again.


She is having her second child.  Her son is 3 years old, born as soon as she graduated from high school.


I just couldn't believe that it was her.  She is 11 months younger than I am.  She was so brilliant that she skipped a grade in elementary school and performed at that stellar level the remainder of her academic career.


All I could think to myself was "What happened Ci Ci?  I feel like she was so full of potential.  I always imagined that she would be doing something phenomenal with her life, up at some Ivy League school just being her royal badness.


But she didn't finish college and she's a single mother.


Where do our little Black children go wrong?  Why are we so susceptible to social pathologies?  I don't even know what questions to ask but something is so wrong my little Black babies.



And I didn't pity when I saw her.  I wasn't judging her.  I was just genuinely disappointed.  And her life is not over nor is it worthless and nor is she less than.  I just know the brilliance she possesses and the worlds she could change.


disequilibrium fosters cognitive development

Solace

"Free" by Destiny's Child

...ain't no feeling like being free / when your mind's made up and your heart is place / yea...

Sometimes it's hard to believe this is my life.  At times, I feel as though I am observing a work of fiction rather than my own life.  The drama can be so intense sometimes, so thoroughly devastating that I cannot even believe it is possible to happen.


Additionally, the people in my life can be so demanding and so unreasonable sometimes, I am trapped in some mental warfare, part of me believing, this is not happening and another part being fully aware that I am sitting in a load of crap.


I try to my best to remember that people are different, handle crises differently, handle stress differently and all those negative emotions that tend to contribute to people treating one another with a compromised level of respect or no respect.


However, I have a hard time empathizing because when I am upset, disappointed, irritated, etc., I try my best not completely lose it on people simply because it's such a painful thing to know you hurt someone you love.


But alas, it seems that only a handful us can refrain hurting a loved one in the midst of anger.  The anger that my parents demonstrated towards me was devastating to my life.  It actually should not be classified as anger but rather as rage.


I'm so tired.  I'm already a perpetual disappointment to myself and the people I depend on for emotional sustenance can be so wholly inadequate sometimes.  It's so painful.


For this reason, today, I asked myself to demand more of myself.  I need to be my own comfort and my own support, at least for now.


No womyn/man is an island so I don't expect to be my own biggest fan for as long as I live, but until I am better and can demand better from those in my life, I'll have to be my own crutch for a while.


Do they not say that if you don't expect anything, you cannot be disappointed.  So I resolve to understand that one day either the people who surround me will one day understand me and be able to support me unconditionally or God will introduce a new network on which I can rely.


Because on some real, I'm doing important work in this world and I need liberation from other people's insecurities and inadequacies.


Ain't no feelin' like bein' free...

Still in Love with You

"Just Friends" by Amy Winehouse

...when we will get the time to be  just friends? / and no i'm not ashamed / but the guilt will kill you / if she don't first / i'll never love you like her...


I'm feeling pretty satisfied today.

It's 47°F outside, it's raining, it's windy, and I have an assignment due that I cannot complete because I lost the tape.

Usually, I would be excessively upset and anxious about this missing tape, this unfinished assignment, and this lack of diligence, but I can't sweat it right now.

I have been in high stress mode everyday for several weeks now.  For that reason, I have been extra irritable, pessimistic, and whiny.  I feel a little disgruntled at how hard I work, how passionate I am, how much I care about the details and I'm not ever satisfied with my own product or the products of others.


It is a little ridiculous, this perfectionism business.  I have never really been that conscious of it as I have been of late.  In retrospect, I have been this way my whole life.


I can remember projects and assignments in elementary school that I worked on like it was going to guarantee my entrance into college.  And I was like 8 years old.


I have always, always been driven by my parents and more so by myself.  And I am seemingly unable to comprehend that the lack of perfection does not equal to disaster and that perfection itself it virtually impossible to attain.


Dearest Sarah pointed out that I have been negative about life, and I have been.  I have been having a lot of existential questions these days.  I'm not totally sure why I am here or what I am supposed to be doing with my life.  Why do we even live?  Sometimes it seems so stupid to be alive.  I often feel like my existence is so shallow and so negligible.  See the pessimism?


Anyway, I think I can find an answer to some of those questions.  I have no idea why humanity exists in general, but I believe that I partially know what I should be doing with my life.  Since I'm here, I might as well do something with it, no?


Last night I was complaining about how I didn't want to go to an event on campus that our organization, Afrikana, had been invited to.  It was being sponsored by a group that represents a lot of shallowness and lack of efficacy, especially in the Black community.


But, I was  so WRONG.  I had a great time, the people were so interested in what Afrikana was about and what we were trying to accomplish, they wanted to join and fight along with us, they were so engaged in the conversation.


I was wrong and I'm glad that I was.  It was awesome.  It was really rejuvenating too.  I didn't feel so purposeless.

It was so nice to see a room full of Black women interested in Black consciousness and African/African-American culture.


And there was food.  Food always brings people together so the Deltas (the hostesses) created a theme called "A Taste of Culture".  I made tola soup and rice for the event and they lapped it up.  I really thought that a few people would try it and I could take the rest home to my apartment to eat as I study through the weekend.  Not.


It was gone way before the event was over.  I always assume that Americans think African food looks weird, smells weird and won't want to risk tasting it.  Not.


I'm a little bitter that I have no tola but I'm happy that people are receptive to novelty.


I say all that to say that I'ma chill.  Happiness is elusive of course and I don't even really seek her fakin' liiiiiike a$$...but I want to live now and make use of this time.  It ain't all about planning and there is always food.


Huge shoutout to Sarah and Charity, who are such great sources of clarity.

Pata

"God Blocked It" by Kurt Carr

...you see my life was spinning out of control / and the fact that i'm still alive today / ain't nothin' but, nothin' but a miracle...

I always have so much to write about. Life happens to me, I notice life and I have so much to say. But my God, my life makes no time for my art.

Really, I make no time for my art. I love art like I love God and I be fakin' liiiiiike...

Last week Friday I was just having a bad, baaad day. I can't remember the details of the badness (which is just a testament to that fact that trouble don't last always). I just remember feeling so out of control, so helpless, so much self-pity, anger, and frustration about still being frustrated.

I thought that my whole life, not just whatever incident I was dealing with, was in shambles and even the good things were just life's way of mocking my misfortune. I lost my VCU ID, which is my whole life on campus. It was the last "bad" thing to happen that day, and you know it's the straw that breaks the camel's back.

I'm a habitual negative thinker. I know, but I'm praying on it.

And that's what I was reminded to do on Friday. I forget that things could be so much worse. This life is bad for me sometimes, lonely, solutionless, and seemingly not worth the effort. But I am still alive which is more than so many can say. And as long as I am alive, I still have some control. I still have some opportunity.

Someone found my ID and emailed me. Slowly, the rest of the messy injustice of my day and life rescinded or just didn't seem as big of a deal as they initially did. I went to the library, less loaded on my mind and studied, my purpose in life for the time being.

I pulled out my planner and was temporarily overwhelmed by my life...tests in red ink, bills in blue ink, more meetings in purple all up and through my planner.

Whatever song was playing on iTunes faded out and I started to open my mouth to complain. "I can't...

And they sang...

The Devil had a plan to kill me, I know
But God intercepted his plan
And told the devil, no
God blocked it
He wouldn't let it be so
No He wouldn't let it be so

And then Nikita told 'em...

Haven't lived a perfect life
Seems I've done wrong more than I've done right
But thank God for compassion and forgiveness
That kept me from a terrible plight

You see, my life was spinning out of control
The fact that I'm still a live today
Ain't nothing, nothing but a miracle

Obviously, I shut my mouth. and no matter how much I study my science, love my science, feel secure in the certain logic of science, I love my God. The fact that I'm still alive today ain't nothing but a miracle. I'm only here because He still wants me to be, because He protected me, because God blocked it.

I got work to do.

For real though, I have so much reading to do.

Worried 'Bout the Wrong Thang

"Gravity" by John Mayer

...gravity...is working against me / oh gravity...wants to bring me down...

Guilt: a feeling of having done wrong on failed at an obligation

Guilt is most definitely one of the most useless emotional motivating tools that can be employed. I do not say this to say that guilt is wholly poison.

It isn't. Guilt is actually quite an adaptive emotion. It reminds us that things are expected of us and people depend on us. It also reveals that we are empathetic. To feel guilt is to internalize the disappointment someone feels with me.

The disappointment someone else feels is external to my own consciousness. However, I can empathize with the feeling of disappointment and feel bad for having caused such an unpleasant consequence in someone else.

I, Magic Woman, feel a lot of guilt. I am obnoxiously vigilant of the emotions and reactions of others. I am also hypersensitive. These two tendencies mate feverishly so while I am observing too many emotions and reactions, I am also calculating which are related or caused by me. Usually, I attribute most all people's negative emotion and reactions to be attributed to me.

For this reason, I operate under an extreme amount of guilt, much of it self-imposed. I already think "It's my fault". So when it is my fault, it is the end of the world. When I make a mistake, like all people do, it isn't just a mistake. It's a symptom of the completely decayed character.

But I'm not a bad person. I do not even really do bad things. My sense of guilt is quite incongruent with that I seem to know about myself. However, I "know" it in the cerebral, intellectual sense. I do not feel it in the viscera of myself, where I think my soul sits, behind my organ systems.

Behind my organ systems sits a large sheet of black construction paper. In ethereal white ink is written what I really think of myself and it does not match what,intellectually, I should know and think about myself.

fmfl.

I Am Your Woman

I been made a fool so much
Too scared to fall in love

Feels so right
Somethin' I been missin' all of my life


The universe is funny. I'm on the train on the way to my aunt's house in Raleigh, NC for fall break, so as to escape the monotony that is the Commonwealth.

I was on the phone with Mr. Bitchass, who I love, who I'm not supposed to love. Current circumstances are not conducive to this love and I feel like such a fool for not realizing what is obvious now. And what comes on iTunes? "Break My Little Heart" by Jazmine Sullivan. The universe is funny.

I brought it up, what I have come to realize and how it makes me feel. I wasn't going to bring it up but I couldn't help myself. I tell him everything, or at least try to, and I'm trying not to be so secretive, so mysterious. I don't think I am but apparently everybody thinks I am.

I think that is so peculiar because I feel like I share my business a lot. Those closest to me say that I'm obviously not hiding things. It just strikes them as strange that I omit a lot of information about myself until asked or until things become to pressing for me to consider on my own.

But that's a whole other blog entry.

We talked about it and he didn't really clear anything up for me. I might be a little more confused now but it's ok.

I do feel like a fool though. Maybe he was very clear but when enamored, it's hard to hear. And he has always been honest. He has always been considerate. He always been kind. Therefore, by no means do I think he is being dishonest or hurtful. I just wish I had caught myself before I did what it is I always do.

And I feel like my sister and my best friend don't approve of this whole situation. Something tells me that neither of them is particularly thrilled with this relationship, but, given that I'm in over my head, they don't want to bust my bubble.

I am also difficult to confront, especially about anything I am passionate about. I think that if they did try to point out the harsh realities of what I am involved in, I would defend it, explain it, excuse it like it's the fight of my life.

But sometimes I feel like it is. I feel justified in fighting for the love of my life but of late, I doubt the fight. The love is certain but love is not always enough.

I think on the phone tonight he told me exactly what I didn't want to hear and I overlooked it again. Somewhere inside myself I heard it but more of myself chose to ignore it...again.

And I know better. Lord, I know better. And now I'm in this place where...

...she needs my love / she says I'm like the air and without she'll die...

I told Brittany that and she almost strangled me through the phone but, my God, that's how I feel sometimes.

I have been waiting, hoping against hope, praying for someone to be able to love me, damage and all, unconditionally, make an effort to understand me, be patient with me, rescue me from myself and my pity. I dealt with people who didn't even deserve my hatred just so as not to be alone. I feel like I have just what I prayed for but it ain't mine.

So I sit and wait some more. I am supposed to wait in limbo some more until...who even knows? I can't do anything but love him and wait for the next available room in Heartbreak Hotel.

A Wrap on the Door

"Baby I'm So Confused" by Syleena Johnson

...and darlin', darlin' it's all because of you / you put a hold on my heart and soul...

My Verizon contract expired on Sunday. I didn't realize the time was approaching so soon. It has been a year since I got that phone. A lot has happened to me since I had that number, some good, some bad.

I met some good people and some bad, life as usual.

I thought about keeping my number to avoid the task of informing people of the new one.

Then I considered the past I want to leave behind, the people who need to stay in the past I am walking away from. So I changed my number. I promise this is the last time I will change my number. As I said in an earlier entry, I am a lot more scrutinizing of the people I allow in my life. I deleted some numbers and preserved some to use at my discretion.

Mostly because of the Will fiasco, but also because people in general have revealed themselves to be disappointing. There are even some family members I don't much want anything to do with. I have decided to confront the aunt that spoke such vitriol about me.

I rationalized I have nothing to lose if she already thinks I am so horrible. I have found out that this aunt is kind of a gossip predator. She apparently loves to talk about people, sometimes outright lie about people, and turn around to befriend them. She even talks about her older sister quite meanly (another aunt of mine is a talker but she's so nice) and acts as though she says nothing.

None of those people get my new number. I'll keep in contact with the kids because they are kids. It is important to me that my cousins have an older person to candidly discuss things with to keep them out of trouble. I can imagine the trouble I could have avoided had I had someone to consult about some controversial topics.

This African family has a lot of "untouchable" conversations and can lack emotional connection (between parent and child). Most of my cousins are younger and at too dangerous of an age to assume they know right from wrong.

Anyway, R.I.P. Verizon. I do looooooooooove my new phone. Sprint is pretty awesome. I love that I got stuff.

P.S. I got HBO and Showtime at my apartment and I absolutely cannot study here. I am banned from my own living room. Damn.