September 8, 2014
comments 5

Asking Strangers For Money

qv

Before I knew love I knew worry.  As a child I worried about the rent. I remember being 11 years old and worrying about next month’s rent. I resent my parents for not protecting me from this worry. Not only did they not protect us from this worry, they made it a point to let us know. They concealed the things that made me trust the world I was living in and the ground I walked on and showed me the horrors of the world in a feeble attempt to protect me from it. In yogi terms: they fucked up my root chackra.

qv

My ability to feel like I belonged in this world was never instilled in me. My entire life I have struggled to believe I was good enough for my own ideas. Even as a straight A student I hesitated to turn in my papers. Even though I was always the one who finished first and got all the questions plus the bonus questions correct, I was hesitant to be right. I still find myself hesitating to be right. In the 6th grade I received my first 80% in math, because the class had two teachers. One would pass by and help the students while the other would go over the lesson plan. Little did they know that the extra “help” was doing more harm than good as I was so fearful of being right, that my intelligence was held down forcefully by my insecurities. I was not able to own my beauty or my brains.  I did not  felt good enough for the talents and skills that I worked so hard to develop. My aptitudes were double edged high end sharpened swords.  I became great at many things, because I feared falling from a mountain with no security blanket. Yet my fears of getting close to the ground are what led me to climb higher and higher.

qv

I have a nagging feeling that my father sees us as my mother’s property and that my mother’s only goal is to keep us physically alive. Where is the love? Reasons why I love animals like no one else in this world. I know how to hug strangers, yet when I hug my own family I feel like the little girl who quietly counts to ten and then backwards in her head while she waits for someone to tell her that she is not good enough; for someone to tell me that I should fear the things I love.  Although I do know that their intentions are good and their hearts are in the right place, I know now that the love they taught me was fear, and as a child I loved them unconditionally, so naturally I feared them.  It is not the kind of fear where your life is at stake, it is the fear of being told that who you are and what you do is not good enough for something that naturally is, and always will be, unconditional in your heart.  I love my parents. I always will. But we don’t know how to love each other or help each other out.

qv

Now that I have started a GoFundMe account in order to help me obtain my masters in life coaching and counseling, I find myself more vulnerable than ever. I have strangers calling me brave, but to be vulnerable is to be brave. I always feared asking for help, so this is a big step for me.  I remember on all of my report cards my teachers would give me great marks, but in the comment section always wrote that I had trouble asking for help. It would perplex me as a straight A student what I could possibly need help in. But now that I have grown up, and have friends who are teachers, I know what they meant. I needed help in life. I was the child who was always striving to be good enough.  What the teachers wanted was to see me take a nap during nap time; they wanted me to hug them when the other kids hugged them; they wanted me to smile from time to time. They wanted me to know that I was good enough, but all they could do was award me A’s, certificates and make me the student of the month.

I always thought that the ability to ask for help came from not being good enough when in fact it is the other way around. You are only able to truly ask for help when you know that you are good enough and know that nothing will take that feeling away from you.  Now that I have my chackras in line I am asking for help. I am here, I am vulnerable and I need your help.

Here is the link:  http://www.gofundme.com/Anaseducation?utm_medium=wdgt

 

August 27, 2014
comments 79

When I Accepted My Hair, I Accepted Myself

As I walk through the neighborhood I was born and raised in, I hear the word “pajonua” yelled at me from the mouths of old fashioned Dominican men. The Dominican slang word pajonua signifies a woman with messy and unruly hair.

As the daughter of a Dominican salon owner, my mother always took the time to “fix” my hair. Every morning before school she would wake up early and take up to 20 minutes putting my hair in a ponytail or doing some last minute straightening. Because my mother took so long fixing my hair in the mornings I rarely had time to eat breakfast, so every day I would go to school with my hair in a ponytail and my stomach growling. In my culture, having tamed hair is top priority. It is only now that we are witnessing some changes in the way we view curly hair. Change is coming because other cultures have started to acknowledge our Afro-Caribbean roots. However, we ourselves still have a long way to go.

When I was younger, my mother would always take her blow dryer with her every time we went to the Dominican Republic. It never made sense to me that after traveling to a hotter climate, we spent hours torturing ourselves by aiming hot air at our heads. The saddest part about this was that once my hair was straightened, I was not allowed to go into our beautiful waters. While my brothers enjoyed the beaches and lakes of the Caribbean, I sat and watched with the dreaded fear of having to sit under a dryer once again, should my hair touch water. My hair was my prison.

qv

There was one summer in particular where I was so against touching my hair that I did not go outside for 3 days. I was a hostage in my own home. This was all because my mother was adamant against me leaving the house without my hair being in a tight ponytail or having it straightened. When my hair was in a ponytail and a strand was out of place, it was as if I was hiding a secret from the world. I felt like a baby born with a tail in the middle ages. My mother would rush to me and pull out the hair gel, brush and bobby pins. The world must not know of the mess I was born with. The world must be kept safe from it all.

My hair was the first thing that made me feel like I did not belong. Not only did I not have European hair, but unlike other Dominican girls, I loathed the process of getting my hair straightened. I hated the way it looked when it was straight, I hated the daily rituals of maintenance and I hated the fact that I was separated from my brothers constantly and not allowed to enjoy my youth to the fullest extent. My hair was my first realization of the inequalities I would be facing for being a woman of African descent. Inequalities perpetuated by my own culture.

It is Dominican salon protocol that every woman washes her hair once a week. This wash includes three shampoo sessions, one deep conditioning treatment and a lot of heat. If you know anything about caring for curly hair, you know that you should never over-shampoo your hair. I have not shampooed my hair in months. Instead I pre-poo and co-wash my hair. Curly hair needs as much moisture as possible. This weekly wash stripped my hair of its moisture. Every time my hair dried without the aid of a dryer it immediately turned into tumbleweed. It was an endless cycle.

qv

Growing up, my hair was relaxed every year and straightened every month. As I got older I refused to have my hair straightened so my mother made me put it in a ponytail. My hair was rarely loose.

It was only after attending a university where white people made up 85% of the population that I began to embrace my curls. While attending New School University, a campus once described as a “vanilla school” with “very few sprinkles,” I felt like I was constantly having to stand up for my race. As someone who was looked down upon by her own culture for not liking the same music, dressing the same way or “fixing” her hair regularly, this was new to me. My existence alone has always been revolutionary. Being in a predominantly white school made me proud of my ancestry. Who would have thought? After years of feeling like I did not belong anywhere I began to finally be my full self. I began to embrace the clique that is me. After attending a school unaware and sometimes even just straight up ignorant about my racial identity, I realized that it was up to me to create my own identity. I realized that my butt is big and so is my hair. Why should I flaunt one thing and hide the other? That being Dominican, or human for that matter, is about being true to the best that is in you.

Whenever someone calls me pajonua, I now think of my frustrated social studies teacher in junior high. He was well aware of how much physiological harm us Dominicans are doing to ourselves by culturally suppressing our natural hair; in the way we accept and view each other. I remember him telling his students, “Whenever someone asks you if you are Hispanic, Latino or Spanish, if you ever feel any confusion, just know that one thing that you are for a fact is Afro-Caribbean and you should accept and love this fact.”

My hair did not need taming, it needed to be understood, accepted and loved much like a misunderstood child. It was with accepting my hair that I came to unconditionally love and accept myself.

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Featured in Tribe Called Curl : http://tribecalledcurl.com/opinion-accepted-hair-accepted/
Fearlessleon: http://fearlessleon.com/2014/12/when-i-accepted-my-hair-i-accepted-myself/

August 8, 2014
comments 8

Quarter Life Crisis Should Be Less of A Crisis and More of A Life

July 30, 2014
comments 20

The Spirituality of A “non-believer.”

qv

When numbers lie I break them down. I learn to understand the equation that arrived to this conclusion that is a lie. Once I understand, I free my mind.

A huge quarter-life issue is happiness. Scratch that, a huge life issue is happiness. Not happiness in and of itself, but the re-evaluation of that subject matter.  Regardless of how Zen or badass you may be, once in a while you will compare yourself to your neighbors. If the word hater comes out of your mouth to describe people that do not like you, then chances are that you are ALWAYS comparing yourself to your neighbors. Comparison is the thief of joy, but it can also be a motivator, so compare wisely, my friends.

What is happiness? Is it when all your chackras are perfectly balanced? Is it having 100 Facebook likes on a picture? Is it getting your tweets re-tweeted or having 12,000 Instagram followers you’ve worked hard to follow back?  Is it knowing that your parents are proud of you? Or is it having every material wish manifested? Is it being in love? Is it being financially stable? Is it being mentally stable?

qv

Happiness cannot be counted in numbers.  I know this sounds redundant, but as Dominicans say, “nit u te la cres,” meaning, ” not even you believe yourself.”  We all know this, but being raised in the U.S.A, a country that values how good you look on paper over how happy or kind you are as a person, it is easy to get caught up in the mess. We all know that what we see is often not what we get, but sometimes it is good to remind yourself.

For my college thesis I wrote a 68page paper on social media and the way it affects our interactions with each other.  I conducted an anonymous survey with over 300 people, asking them intimate questions about social media. From this survey and extensive research I concluded that:

  1. The more you are on social media, the more unhappy you are.

2. Those with the longest posts, for example 2 paragraphs describing how an event or week went in detail, might actually be suffering from depression.

3. No one believes the bullshit, but most of us agree to follow the unwritten rules of social media in order to “keep face.”

 

  • Face-work: A term used by Goffman (sociologist) to refer to the actions taken by individuals to make their behavior appear consistent with the image they want to present. To keep face is to keep that image consistent and help others in keeping their own image consistent so that your own “Face,” is not threatened in the future.

 

Yes, except for a select few, we all know that social media is a lie. However, it still affects our lives because we no longer value alone time and our brains are addicted to new information (even if that information is useless).

When I feel overwhelmed by what I see on social media I personally have my go-to Facebook friends.  My go-to friends are people who I know are kind and happy, but who do not stress social media or abide by its rules, and thus do not get many likes. Their profiles serve as a reminder that happiness and likes are not correlated.  The numbers of likes or followers I receive never bother me; what bothers me is when people who I know in real life for who they truly are, successfully keep face. It makes me feel as if I am surrounded by impostors and no one else seems to care.

qv

(Imposer bunny posing as a penguin)

I have a strong sense of justice that at times serves as my worst enemy. Why should I care if people are able to hide their true character from the rest of the world? But there are things in this world that are factual, straight-forward and you can put your entire faith on, because these things are real and they exist. These things have been researched extensively and these facts rest comfortably in the universe.

I recently had a conversation where someone mentioned not being able to trust atheists. She said, “Who do they go to when things go wrong?”  to which I responded with the following:

When an atheist has lost faith in humanity, they put their faith in knowledge. They look at the all-mighty scientific universe and realize how small they are compared to the galaxy. How reliable facts can be. So reliable that you can rest your head on them in times of need and feel them comfort you when you are feeling defeated. How philosophy is never ending and how facts are constantly expanding.  If this is not spiritual, I don’t know what is. When you are constantly looking to understand the world, there is no end to its beauty, no end to how much knowledge you can acquire. The faith of an atheist rests on the ability to see the world through the eyes of a child without having to experience the dangers that come with naiveté. It is to see the world in black and white, while knowing all the colors in between.

qv

 

 

 

July 23, 2014
comments 7

Be the Person Others Find It Difficult to Buy a Gift For

qv

I have not eaten processed sugar in weeks and haven’t spent a dollar in days. What does that say about me? It says that I have not eaten processed sugar in weeks and haven’t spent a dollar in days.

The fact that I prefer to do yoga, go to the gym, eat healthy, etc., should not be something that defines me. I understand that we are all passionate about certain things in life, but if you find yourself being called the guy who likes this or the girl who does that then you might have to re-evaluate yourself and the relationships you have with others.

To be well-rounded is a lost art.  It seems that many no longer care about the 360 degrees of the self; they only care about the 180 degrees that are immediately visible.  No wonder many people have difficulty keeping relationships. When what you see is not what you get, both parties call it quits.

qv

You must aim to be the person that is difficult to buy a gift for. This means that you are not obsessed with anything and you do not allow shallow interests or opinions define you. Before your favorite music, television show, eating habits, favorite color, etc., there are other things that make you who you are, such as your integrity (or lack thereof), your energy, the way you make others feel and how much respect you have for yourself and others.

qv

Who you are is important. This is what makes every living breathing thing interesting. Your preferences, while important because they represent your values and guide some of your actions, are not as significant.  Being the girl who does this or the guy who likes that is as shallow as being the person whose only redeeming quality is their looks. And I know what many people might say, “but hobbies and vanity are not the same thing.” If you look at the time, money and selfies most people use in order to be viewed as beautiful by the outside world, you will be able see the similarity. Yes, it is the same thing.  Being known for one thing and one thing only by those close to you is shallow, obsessive, and implies that you are living for others.  It is understandable that your online friends only know you for specific things, but for those closest to you to know you only for your job, workout method or the type of car you drive is superficial.

qv

Getting to know someone who uses their obsessions to define them instead of pure human connection is like walking on muddy shallow water.  It will take you longer to figure out that there is nothing there, but once you step in you are able to see how shallow the water is. Sometimes the water may be so muddy that others are afraid to dive in all together. When  you use illusions to hide the qualities that make you human, it is difficult for others to get close. For the few that do become close, it does not take long for them to feel as If they’ve been deceived.

qv

So the next time someone tells you they don’t know what to get for you, take that as a good sign.