This year I have witnessed magic time and time again.
I have forgiven many who have wronged me while taking away their power by not waiting for their apologies or bothering with their excuses.
I have climbed more than one mountain at a time, by learning many things at once. I always knew when someone said I was stretching myself too thin it was because they didn’t understand the power of baby steps, discipline and passion.
I have reached a point where I am addicted to progress. Or addicted to what many call the journey. I enjoy the walk to the destination so much that at times I just keep walking.
I Learned to use my ‘flaws’ as my strengths and learned to love myself not for the person that I could be but the person that I am.
I have learned to accept love from myself and others.
I have learned that an angry introverted child translates into a passionate disciplined adult.
I no longer regret not being different when I never had the option to be anyone but myself. I would never want to be anyone but me. This being something that I not just know, but understand is the gift of being able to live another year.
To constantly connecting.
To doing more of what you love with the people that love you back.
To understanding ourselves and the world around us more and more each year. Wishing my readers another year of magic! I am grateful for you all.
The quirky girl is a girl who trusts life to its fullest. She is the girl who sits on the floor in the middle of the street because she knows her clothes wont get dirty and no one will trample her. She is the girl who leaves her purse on her chair at Starbucks while she uses the restroom because she knows no one will steal it. The world has her back. There are people looking out for her and she knows it. The quirky girl in our society can only be a white woman.
As women of color, we know better. Have been taught better by life. Not only is it easier for the world to distrust us, but the world does not have our best interests in mind. We never learned to trust the world because the world never trusted us. The feeling is mutual.
Brown girls can’t act on the full meaning of eccentric or quirky. Openly smoking weed and having a messy life is not cool or admirable for us; just careless and disastrous. We rarely leap without looking down, for if there happens to be a heap of nails below there is rarely anyone close enough with the necessary resources to stop our fall. We also know through experience that what awaits us below is more often a bed of nails and not a plush, queen-sized mattress.
We come from a world where not being good at something and trying anyway is not fearless, but a waste of time.
The quirky girl like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s lights a woman’s hat on fire as she carelessly smokes at a party, knowing that someone nearby will put it out with little effort, then proceeds to live her life without even noticing. Or leaves a lit match with articles of clothing. Without the firefighters in her life, the story of Hepburn’s character would have made for a much darker film.
In order for brown girls to claim the quirky girl status, we must start by building a community where we feel safe. And by letting the world know by peace or by force that we deserve moments where we can be carefree without the world collapsing at our feet. We deserve to take small breaks from ourselves before our big breaks without having a sugar daddy to act as an adult security blanket.
The quirky girl is white feminism incarnate. It is living life with the full knowledge that you are living above a safety net surrounded by those who are ready to catch you before you even get the chance to fall.
Those who try too hard to feel special envy the adversities we go through everyday. They preach equality, but never want to do the work. The daily work of uplifting and physically helping those with lesser opportunities for reasons out of our control. Because deep down inside they envy us for being different. They want us to make and do good, but never more or better than them.
Funny how many people have completed the highest levels of education, yet live with poor health or without ever seeing the world
To be important only within the constructs of our society is to be the smartest and most ignorant simultaneously
To have broadened our minds only to specific subjects is to become more aware yet confined
Our bodies can take us anywhere
Our degrees are only valuable in the small construct created by society which in turn was created by the powers that be
Learn all that you can, but do yourself a favor and eat healthy, meditate, move around more, moisturize and take your vitamins
This Sunday Miss USA 2017 was crowned. To think that there was a time where I once normalized this absurdity is odd to say the least. Beauty pageants are the slave trade of the female mind. The most evolved golden cage. The politicizing and capitalizing of the female form.
Just striving to become a contestant in a beauty pageant is enough to make someone forego their responsibilities as an individual. To win a beauty pageant is to be crowned as being the most accepting of the golden cage society has put us in. To win is to have been determined the one who was able to accept, adapt and change drastically to satisfy superficial European beauty ideals. It is to be the slave who gets to live in the master’s house.
Those who attempt to satisfy these unattainable ideals never fully live up to them. Since, the ideals are ever changing and always up to those who are deemed worthy enough to judge for the time. Ironically, often times, those who judge are usually either always falling short of meeting these ideals or never had to abide by them to begin with. To strive to meet these ideals is to live with the never-ending feeling of failure. We age, times change. To put the primary focus of our lives on beauty is to be destined to be a slave. Whether it is to live in the master’s house or in the field matters very little. In the end of it all, a slave is a slave and a slave that is doing well will never do as good as any being who is free. The problem with society is that many young women grow up enslaved never knowing that freedom is even possible. That rather than voting for a misogynistic government and passively hating each other out of competition we can choose to declare ourselves winners.
We are women, we have already won.
She who wins the pageant serves as the example other women should look up to. But why? Why do ‘they’ want us to idolize materials, our features and remain likeable and docile? Beauty standards only enslave those who follow them. Beauty pageants not only praise those who follow them, but create a competitive nature for women. Stripping us of the comradery that boys have as a default. I have always been jealous of that comradery. Because of this fact, I was always the tomboy growing up. However, a tomboy who grows up to be a free thinking women is often labeled a women hater. We must be able to tell the difference between hating female culture and other females. We must know in our hearts that this culture was created by a misogynistic society so that we can be easily controlled.
I have learned to find likeminded females who go against the chains we have been predisposition to wear. Women who do not fall for the sunk cost fallacy trap. Because it has always been this way, doesn’t mean it has to continue to be this way. Hate the slave masters, never the slaves and free those who can still be saved.
We are women, we have already won.
I jumped out of bed every morning when the alarm went off
I was just happy that the nightmare of attempting to fall asleep the night before was over
The anxious tossing and turning
And the occasional getting up to tell my mother to lower her voice
Every night I had to explain to her that as a child I needed eight hours of sleep
That’s what I was told in school anyhow
In the mornings I was the first kid to be ready to go to school
I wanted to leave so badly that I cared little for what came once I woke up
I would rush to put my clothes on just so that I could leave the prison I called home
On four hours of sleep and an empty stomach, I would go to school
My mother never fed me in the mornings
She cared more about the way I looked
So she would brush my hair for 15 minutes and what seemed like forever
So that my appearance didn’t make her look bad
In the 5th grade I started using concealer to cover up my under eyes
My mother taught me how to use concealer
She also taught me how to moisturize
In the 5th grade I realized that although I didn’t understand the other kids
And I had a tendency to count slowly backwards from 10
In my head
I was a great student, but at a class party I also learned that I was a good dancer
In the 6th grade I joined dance
My dance teacher Valerie Rochon saved my life
In rehearsals for “Dancing in the street” she found out that I could sing
She let me sing
I let myself sing
I invited her to my high school graduation
But lost her number before graduating college
In high school I dated a guy whose mother was an ex-cop and now hippie
She taught me to be strong, yet grateful
I stayed with him longer than I should
The admiration I had for his mother was the hot glue that held us together
I am my own parent
I am my own parent
From the 6th grade through college I would tell myself
I am my own parent
I found love from the strong women around me and re-learned how to live
And I keep finding that love everywhere I go
Mothers who are mothers to us all
Even if I no longer need it
It’s good to have wants in life
For once in my life
I am my own person
You are not alone:
Narcissistic Abuse: An Unspoken Reality (Short Documentary)
Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents
Live your truth
Break the cycle of abuse
Wink and sip on that metaphorical tea when you hear passive aggressive comments
And give it right back to them
Know who loves you
Know what love is
Teach yourself what love is
Because it’s never too late to learn about the foreign concept of love
Follow the love
Find your tribe
Love your tribe
Let your tribe love you back
The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb
Photo: Princess Nokia