Some Things You Hear

"Walking on the Moon" by The Dream

...cause I'll pull down a cloud for you / i'll circle the stars and bring you one back...

I would like to preface this whole blog entry by professing my romantic love for The Dream. You know, the girlhood love you had for El Debarge or New Edition? And you knew you were going to marry insert name of your lover here no matter what? That is how I feel about The Dream: as though I am 12 years old and everytime I hear a song of his I daydream about our life, a house, and kids.

Well, this time around, it is better than just a schoolgirl crush. I think The Dream is kind of a genius. Both albums that he has released were some kind of magical. I love all that 80s infused music. And not even good old 1980s R&B and soul, some straight 80s rock.

Why do I admire it so much? It is something different. His music and his sense of style is different but obviously somewhat natural to him (he is still from Hollyweird and there is a sense of inauthenticity about all of them in the fraternity of celebrityhoood).

It's exciting, however, because I often hate what I hear on the radio from rappers and singers alike. A handful of artist have appeared with better music and some artist of previous fame are coming out with different, more aesthetic, more artful sounds as well.

I just want Black men to see the artfulness of their existence. I am so tired of baggy jeans, saggin', t-shirts, kicks...my goodness. It is totally fine to dress like that sometimes. It is part of a culture that we should be proud of. However, why not mix it up with some slacks? A button up? A cardigan maybe?

I am not saying being Black or subscribing to hip hop culture is a problem. But I want Black people to diversify their expressions of identity. We let the media perpetuate a very monolithic presentation of us. Our Black men are always presented as 'gangsters', dealers, deadbeat dads, pimps, athletes, financially irresponsible, bottle poppin', stuntin', kind of annoying, ignorant to the issues of the world, materialistic, uneducated coons. Yes, this is how I feel our wonderful Black men are erroneously depicted, with a frequency that far outshines their innumerable qualities.

And, so as not to lose my mind, I cannot discuss how Black women are depicted by the media. Jesus, take the wheel.

Black men, Black people, can be whatever they want to be. We do not have to be uniformed. Of course, Black culture (culture in general) connect all who subscribe, but it does not dictate. We should all be individuals and be accepted in whatever condition we come in.

So, The Dream, do what you do no matter what they say. Kanye, you too. Don't let them silence your art. Don't let them stop seeing you as Black men, but change, for the little Black boys after you, what it means to be a Black man so that we include everyone's style and expression.

Back to reality, regardless of what anyone says, I'm going to marry The Dream, or at least have a summer fling with him. Or he could just give me a hug and read this blog son.

Wasted Space

"Walking on the Moon" by The Dream

I love The Dream. His music is so amazing and it is so different. Hip hop is really buggin' right now. I hate what I hear on the radio. Even the R&B is saddening.

The Dream, Keri Hilson, Chrisette Michele, and Kanye West need to work on some musical mending because our music is taking on a semblance of idiocy.

Imprison Souljah Boy Tell 'Em.

I broke my phone, finally. And filed an insurance claim and was sent another one. It is also a Samsung Glyde, the newer version son. Dope.

The other phone was so frustrating. And this new version allows for more manual manipulation of icons and applications. It loads faster and it listens to me. I got stuff.

It is a little disappointing however because none of my ringtones could be transferred. Oh well.

There is music elsewhere.

My old lady apologized to me. She bought me chocolate and made my favorite breakfast yesterday. It made me upset mainly because I wanted to stay mad at her. She never, ever recants or apologizes or even slightly suggests that she could have been wrong. Therefore it was only right that I ackowledge it.

And I am trying. She is not a horrible person. She is just still angry (like I still am) and she has a bad temper which allows her to say very mean things that I don't think she always means.

That said, it doesn't heal me. It hurt my feelings enough to remind me that I have never had her sympathy and frustrated me into submission. It will always be this way. She will always be this way. We will always have very different versions of this same production. So I won't share my version anymore and won't ask for hers either.

Lastly, dammit, my mouth. Usually, my mouth causes me trouble as the relayer of my thoughts. Now, it hurts. My adult teeth came in later than usual. My wisdom teeth have only appeared in the last few years. It hurts when they protrude, but it is resolved quickly. That is what I thought this was. It's not. I have been in pain for over a week, the gums around the wisdom tooth on the right are highly inflamed, I can't chew on the right side and even the chewing on the left has to be slow and soft (so that my food is not being chewed that well), smiling, swallowing, or any strenuous movement of my mouth is painful. The general bullsh*t.

I have been awakened by the pain for the past 4 nights now and must take some Tylenol Extra Strength in order to return to my slumber. This morning was the last damn straw. I went to the dentist office that our insurance has suggested and made an appointment for 4:30p this afternoon. This dentist better be Jesus of Dentistry and make it good or I will take out the right side of my mouth by myself.

Until Just Then

"Baby I'm Yours" by Shai

...Realize girl that my heart is kind of torn / Watch you step girl, because my heart is weak and worn...

Ain't that nothin' but the sho nuff? I used to love me some Shai. That's the kind of music that needs to make a comeback.

My Daddy has boarded a plane to Brussels as of 45 minutes ago. He will then catch a flight to good old Freetown, Sierra Leone for a month. My poor mama doesn't know what to do without her man, her right hand. She whined about how she misses him already.

I hope that my marriage is just like my parents. I have always found marriage to be a peculiar thing. How can people love each other for all of their lives? It seems so impossible, maybe because many of the people in my life are fleeting. I hope that after 25 years of marriage like my Mommy and Daddy, I'll still miss him when he goes away.

Anyway, this is a griping blog entry. My Mama cooked earlier this morning and we all ate lunch together before we dropped my Daddy off at the airport. After eating, Daddy announced that we have to support each other and be here for our mother. We're a family and family members stick together and do anything for one another (*side eye*). Then he directed his attention towards me and talked about establishing a routine with my little brother Lima. Lima has Autism and severe obsessive-compulsive disorder, for real. So do I and we work as a good team to get all his chores and homework and things done in an efficient, sparsely OCD decorated routine.

Now, this is not a problem because I love my youngest brother and I am quite adept at taking care of him, managing his outrageous tantrums, convincing him to cooperate on his moody days, and all of that. I have always been very in tune with Lima and what kind of encouragement he needs in particular situations to get things done for him and with him.

However, I have no intention of spending my summer in Richmond, VA with my parents. It is not because I don't like them or they treat me bad, but it is just not what I had planned. Nine months ago, when the walked away and decided to let me be, I cried and cried and cried (and still cry some nights). I have been taught my whole life that you need family. Your family is who you are. You don't even need friends (which I always thought was bogus) because you have your family.

But what happens when your family does not hold up those tenements and gives up on you when they feel you are being too difficult? Well it sucks, just so you know.

I dealt with it though. I continue to cry but I realized that no one can go on with my life except me. So I returned to school on my own dime and I set plans in motion to assist me in entering graduate school, getting grants and scholarships, and doing things that I love and make me feel purposeful. Those plans did not involve my family and did not involve The Commonwealth.

Now, I am to change my plans to accommodate the desires of the family that thought I was more trouble than I was worth. And to top it off, it was suggested in such a way that I felt guilty for not wanting to change my plans to accommodate this family.

I love them and I would do anything for them if need be, but the need isn't truly there. I do not trust them anymore as parents. I feel as though their love is strong, but conditional and when I am not doing what they want or the flat out don't like what I am doing, the admonishments are too fierce. It is as if you are not allowed to make mistakes.

I think back, sometimes, on the things I pulled when I was 15, 16, 17...the things that worried me, the things I focused on. I was a kid. I was doing exactly what is typical of that developmental stage. However, my parents and family help me accountable for every little indiscretion as if I had murdered another person. And when I think about it, it makes my blood boil. I was doing very normal (bad) things, but nothing that would really ruin my life.

Whatever. The point is, I was learning to live without a family. I was redefining my purpose and even some of my identity to make sense of the mess that was my domestic situation. I know that my issues were heavy and complicated and clouded in secrecy (because I don't confide in my parents, although someone else did for me), but I am still their child. I felt and continue to feel disposed of. And I cannot be too sure that it won't happen again. To prevent that altogether, I have resolved that I have to do all things for me by myself.

Nonetheless, I miss my old life.