Missionaries

"Money to Blow" by Birdman featuring Drake & Lil Wayne (I had no idea this was Birdman's song)

...no particular lyrics / I just feel like missionaries and churches have money to blow...

I hate missionaries.  I hate the idea of missionary.  I hate the idea of any persons representing a religion going to a developing country, especially, to go and preach their Truth.

It's absurd.  For one thing, the idea of missionaries is nourished by a sense of cultural elitism.  Those going to spread their Truth are typically under the impression that their way is right, that the the 'natives' are pagan, poor, unhappy, and have no idea what they are doing (despite the fact that most of these 'natives' have a history far longer than the few hundred years of these uppity White and Western nations...you really think you discovered the Native Americans?).

It's absurd!!  Additionally, these missionary trips are made somewhat successful due to the poverty of the people who are being preached to.  I know if I were starving and some White lady said she'd feed me if we talked about some man born to a virgin and read some leather book, I'd be all about it.  I'd do it now, even though I'm not starving, if only it would get me out of class and get me a free lunch before I go to work.

I don't say that to belittle the Messiah or the Holy Bible.  But to a starving child, that's what the situation is reduced to when your basic needs are not met.

Why aren't these missionaries lobbying for free trade? Education? Finding a way to bring electricity and clean running water to people?

I have always felt like the issues missionaries have the clout to correct are left unaddressed.  The soul and salvation of a people supercede their physical and material needs.  Heaven is all the compensation you need for the misery (or bliss, depends on who you ask) you currently live in.

I once heard a pastor say, "If you wanna go to hell, you got a right to go".  I love that quote because it's the realest thing they ever wrote.  Religion, believing, God, reading holy texts are all optional activities.  If there is a God, She ain't finna strike you down the minute you decide you don't believe.  We all have free will.

So if religion doesn't come to a people, that is okay, as long as there is a moral code that works (because being religious does not denote being moral).

How about helping people procure the basics for survival and introduce religion in a time of comfort and not as an 'alternative' to their duress?  I think it's cruel  It is the most unappetizing aspect of organized religion, but especially Christianity because Christians go hard body for some missionary stuff.

Don't let me catch a missionary on the streets of Freetown, Sierra Leone.  You are likely to catch fade.

Tunnels and Staircases with No Balcony

"Doin' My Job" by T.I.

...so before you go judgin' us lovin' us won't hurt / if you're under 25, stayin' alive is hard work...

Life and death are the two things that unite all us living things. If you are given life, you are guaranteed death. There is no escaping it, no matter who or what you are in this life.

People spend their lives chasing a life (money, the things that money can buy, love, commitments, faith, culture, etc.), now knowing that they are really just running towards death.

And death scares us sh*tless doesn't it? By us, I mean all living things. While we humans may be the species with the cognitive ability to describe or express our fear, all living things fear the big sleep. All living things have internal mechanisms and processes, down to the smallest cell, meant to battle death, to encourage survival.

Those who are in situations in which they are starving experience their bodies depleting fat storage, and in extreme cases, muscle tissue too, in order to survive to keep alive.

It is as if we live in two dimensions all the time. We are in the "living" dimension, trying to enjoy ourselves, be productive, procreate (Do you wonder about how a tree enjoys itself? I have no idea). And then we operate in this dimension that is meant to fight death, delay death, and protect life, simultaneous with efforts to live.

We make decisions about our lives based on our deaths. Will this kill me? I shouldn't do it. Will this move help me make more money? I should move so I can live comfortably while I have the time on earth.

Not that we actually think that way out loud or even consciously. We make those decisions to enjoy our life. But death is our life too. So we make the decisions based on the life we want to live hoping to influence the death we have to endure...delay it, make it less painful, etc.

Still, we have to die. And if death were a person, I don't think it would be skeletal man in a black cape with a sinister staff, waiting to collect people. Death would be a plainly dressed man or woman, serious and diligent but unemotional. I'm just doing my job. Everyone has to go sometime. I have to be here to pick them up.

We, the living, dread this death. You spend all this time living, learning how to live, learning what makes you happy, learning what makes the ones close to you happy, learning. You get so comfortable. Then you have to die.

Of course the uncertainty is the big drawback of the whole situation, otherwise dying would be like any other milestone of life. You do it because you have to and then you move on. But no one really knows what is going to happen next. No one can come back and tell you what it is like, what happens. Does it hurt? How's the temperature? Do you eat? Where do your thoughts go? Do you have thoughts? Are you you? Is anything going on at all or have you ended?

That's what I wonder. All this cognitive ability, all this thinking and feeling I do, what happens to that when I die? I can't think anymore? I can't have opinions anymore? I at least can't express them anymore.

Even some of us "saved" by religion are not saved from the fear of death. I can't lie, even though I believe in God, I'm not sure where I'm going when my life is over. Not because I'm a bad person and fear I am going to hell. It is just that sometimes I wonder if there really is a place after this. A realm. It seems so fantastical. But then again I need to believe because I simply do not want this to be the end.

Lastly, I wonder about legacy. What determines legacy? I think it is a combination of how you lived and who you were and how you died.

Last week I was convinced I had the swine flu. I texted Christina everyday with a new symptom and I knew death was imminent! She told me to go see my doctor and shut up.

Then I talked to Ravi the following week when I no longer thought I was dying. I told him I was not only afraid of dying, I was afraid of dying of something as generic as the swine flu. Can you believe it? I was worried about dying a generic death. Typical Zainab.

Anyway, I thought to myself that I may leave behind a complicated legacy. It is already complicated by the tumultuous and strange life I have had to participate in up until now, but then I would die of the swine flu? WTF? I would just be a health statistic, taken down by a disease causing new distress for the human race. No individuality in my death!

I feel like people would be distracted from my sad, tragic, happy, interesting life because I died of the swine flu. Then it would just turn into ridiculously sad news that a vibrant 22 year who old died of the swine flu, which we may all die of eventually. Who knows? I would be forgotten maybe and the details of my death would take over memories of me.

I have left no children, no classic art, no fantastic cause, no blossoming foundation. I would have left just a body that died of swine flu.

I need a more original death than that. And the death must come much later than 22. Please give me time to at least correct myself and my situation.

Only Ravi would be shallow enough with me for a few minutes to discuss the reasons not to die of swine flu.

And I write this as I wait for my plane to arrive. Damn it Zainab. I would delete it all but keep in mind I'm an artist and I'm sensitive about my sh*t.

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.

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.