Did Dr. King die for that?

I saw a post saying we (People of Color) should not concern ourselves with the trivialities of an awarded statue, or ceremony, because that is not what Dr King died for.

Why do some people feel, when it comes to art, artists don’t need/deserve/shouldn’t want the same accolades of those in other fields? If this were a corporation, and their ratio of POC promotions:White promotions were so skewed, it would be an issue (for most, if not all). Artists deserve the same recognition.

MLK didn’t die so that people could get a trophy…? Really? The scope of what he died for is wider than you think. And, is it not possible to be impassioned by different things at the same time? Can actors/directors etc, along with consumers of the craft, not be concerned about racial diversity in film as well as the water injustice happening in Flint?  Or, do we have to choose?  Why do I have to choose? 

Tasty Treats Not Allowed

I don’t eat dairy free ice cream to be healthy or cool.

Apparently today is National Ice Cream DayDairy Free While I see endless posts on various social media sites,and news outlets, the only emotion I feel is that of jealousy rather than elation. To see the world, well I’m pretty sure this is an American gluttony thing, so to see America rejoice on a day celebrating a tasty cold treat, on an unforgivable, hellishly, hot day, in July while I sit on the side lines hurts here( points at my heart) and bruises here (points to the area just underneath my eye…where tears would fall).

As someone who can not have dairy products, I’m the kid standing on the sideline who never got picked for a team; I am on the outside looking in at all the deliciousness. I didn’t always live this life; it was about three years ago when I had to stop eating dairy. At least I grew up happy.  Now, there are dairy free ice creams out there and once you make your way through the tasteless and/or disgusting you’re left with something just short of sumptuous and every bit of heaven- hello So Delicious cappuccino flavor. But while everyone else is out having a gay old time, at the ice cream and frozen yogurt shops, I am reduced to heading over to my local grocer spending rent on a frozen treat.

Do you know what it’s like not being able to have dairy? Two words…Blue Bell

**Blue Bell ice cream (aka the Ruby Rose/Beyonce of treats) was recalled a couple months ago and pulled off shelves until further notice. Can’t say it doesn’t make me happy that no one else can enjoy it either.

Clearly I am in my feelings a bit. Everywhere I go there are gluten free options. It’s not that I don’t believe or even sympathize with the people who say they have a gluten allergy, I just find it interesting that all of a sudden this is a “thing”. This is where my feelings come in. Not being able to have dairy has been a legit thing for longer. It may have never been cool, or trendy, or a way to lose some weight but we’ve been around. We are the wife that has been there for thirty years;these gluten people are the 21 year old yoga instructor mistresses. Show some respect.  So one would think that I would be able to go into a non vegan restaurant and request dairy free *insert anything here*. Or go into a frozen yogurt shop and there be more than one flavor of dairy free froyo. But there’s not.

So, when I buy pints of ice cream for 6.99$ and don’t want to share…don’t judge me.

Do you see what I see?

Do You See What I See

“The less you think about your oppression, the more your tolerance for it grows.” – Assata Shakur


 Over time, it is easy to, in my case, subconsciously become okay with the malignant regulations in place to keep an individual or group of people in a state of disadvantage. Despite anything and everything, America is one of the nations that tries, albeit at times painstakingly slow, to ensure some of its citizens are equal and are safe to live their life as such. America, the home of the brave and land of the free; the nation whose very ideals were built on the concept of being a melting pot turned out to be, in some ways, the complete antithesis of the ideals it was striving for.

But nevertheless… Continue reading “Do you see what I see?”

The Agony of December 7th

Anniversary- the date on which an event took place in a previous year.

Anniversaries are most commonly associated with times of immense joy and memories one would like to remember; so much so that they’re celebrated for various reasons every year. When I hear the word…anniversary, my mind automatically runs a cinematic film of happiness and joy. I think of faces smiling, planning parties months in advance or even a gift all in the name of that precious date that comes once a year.

There are two sides to every coin.

Equally as common but perhaps less discussed are the anniversaries of events that have left us scarred and broken. The ones that we would much rather forget, and do away with altogether, rather than have a yearly reminder. I neither celebrate nor anxiously await these “times” instead, for 364 days I wish for them not to come. I wish that these moments never happened and there didn’t need to be a moment in time that makes me relive the worst days of my life. December 7th, 2009 and four years later on December 7th, 2013. I think there needs to be a different word. I shouldn’t have to say, “December 7th is the anniversary of both my parents’ deaths”. Anniversary, it’s misleading.

As if living with regret and guilt everyday isn’t enough, one day is highlighted, every year, to remind me of what isn’t and what unfortunately is. One day highlights what I no longer have and a very different movie plays in my head. This movie shows pain, tears, and sorrow… lies and lessons learned. I often wonder what wrongs I committed in another life to deserve the fate of losing both parents so young and ironically on the same date. Lifes malevolent nature towards us makes depression almost inevitable and substances sometimes necessary to make it through the day. I don’t want condolences from people that have understandably moved on, and I definitely don’t want to decorate graves. What I want, is them back; because the truth is, no matter what I say & no matter how I act, I am not okay without them. I haven’t been, and I probably never will be.

 

My Closet

Behind these french doors you’ll find a few different things. When I walk through these closet doors, I am in the midst of memories and emotions of pain and joy. Attitude and personas are tucked away here; a smorgasbord of personalities if you will. Some days, I just sit in the middle of my closet floor and look around at the girls that live here: I’ll introduce you to a few! Reema is this young bohemian girl without a care in the world. Free Spirited and colorful, a lover of prints and color embody who she is. Tribal prints, reds, blues, greens, vibrant yellows -to name a few- & different patterns adorn her. The fabric of her clothes drape her body with ease and flow wherever the wind sees fit. Scarves of pashmina galore and different hair accessories complete her look; and a bag…a big one!  Elizabeth. Elizabeth is the young professional. She loves/envies Reema for what she stands for and represents, however believes it necessary to be more about business and looking the part for corporate America in order to advance in life. Neutral. Brown, grey, black, white, cream, assertive red. Inside Lizzie (as Reema calls her) is a boho chic girl waiting to be free, so to offset her neutrality she accents herself with bursts of color! She’s never met an accessory she didn’t like. Did I mention she LOVES color and a big bag!

Maci is a fashion conscious girl’s girl. She too is envious of Reema although one would never know it. Her goal is to look great without the spotlight being shown on her for fear of her imperfections being noticed.  She loves flouncy skirts and dresses especially of floral print. Pastels of every shade, copious amounts of cable knit sweaters, colorful tights, accent pieces, and of course she can never forget a big bag! Now, let me introduce you to Issa. Issa is neither conservative or girlishly chic. Her mind set is that of a individual thinker, and she dresses as such. Issa dresses for comfort above all else. The difference between Issa & Reema is Reema is comfortable not only in what she’s wearing but also WITH what she’s wearing. She needs no one to validate how she chooses to express herself in anyway. “Comfort doesn’t have to mean drab”, Issa constantly tells herself while getting dressed. What Issa envies about Reema, is her assurance. Issa wants to wear sweat pants, and jeans with a graphic tee. Sneakers and Dr Martens, plaid shirts of different colors and head out the door. Not forgetting of course, a big bag.

When I open these doors, I see parties and drunken nights, interviews and funerals, brunches and date nights, errand runs and movie trips. I see girls who collectively want to express themselves the best way they know how but only one who is truly comfortable doing so. I see shame draped over Elizabeth, Maci, and Issa; I see three young women who aren’t comfortable in their own skin and with who they truly are. I see Reema on the outside encouraging them to come out, BOLDLY; I see the girls taking a few steps forward only to take a couple steps back.

This closet is filled with color, vibrance and uncertainty. It’s filled with people that are, and with people that want to be.

Heart Attack

I hate nights like these, nights filled with intense emotional turmoil from the back and forth banter with the one I love most. Its ended with me sitting at my window watching people shuffle violently down the streets below me daydreaming, about the guilt and regret that consumes me. A part of me is thinking I should pick up the phone and make amends however my pride vetoed that thought. Continue reading “Heart Attack”

Worst Fear

Nothing that I can touch scares me. Of course birds and anything else that flies will cause an arrhythmia in my chest, but those moments are fleeting. They come and go and to be honest I know the realistic-ness of those very real fears are little to none. Growing up I felt fear was a sign of weakness;as I got older, weakness a sign of fear. Today,I believe fear to be motivation. Perception is everything but when it comes to what I relate fear to be, some might consider acting due to fear to be a bad thing. Yes, people act out of fear… sometimes rather recklessly; there is blackmail, acting out of desperation or due to betrayal but there are two sides to every coin. For me, fear keeps me from being the one thing I fear most…mediocre.

Mediocrity is my worst fear, an unfortunate state of being that I can not even begin to wrap my head around partially because it can affect many areas of life and means different things.   I equate mediocrity to failing;not failing anyone else rather failing yourself. If you have allowed yourself to become completely immersed in a complacent mind set that no one, save for Beyonce, deserves to find solace in, you may find yourself in the mediocre category. Far too many fall into the trap of complacency ,whether consciously or subconsciously, when living a life of routine. As a person who is a creature of habit, I live for routine. Knowing what is coming, when and how it’s coming make my movements throughout the day seamless and comfortable however, it also makes it easy to get caught up. In no way am I saying routines are bad, but if you are not in a place in life that you want to be, and you settle for a routine, that in no way can benefit you.

Fear of being decent or forgettable is part of the spark inside me that keeps me going. I will not settle for an easy life that does not challenge me and has no excitement,  only predictability thus rendering me useless to the world and my future children. I want to be great and greatness does not come with being expendable. I fear mediocrity because I know that directly affects everything I want to do in life in a negative way. I want to make an impact, change things about this universe and give back; being an ordinary citizen will not get me there. Continue reading “Worst Fear”