Monday, July 4, 2011

2nd 30 Day Letter Challenge: Day 17--Letter to a Politician: Freddie D and my thoughts this 4th of July

Dear American Politicians,

This letter contains excerpts from Frederick Douglass's 1852 speech, "What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?" 
1. "This, for the purpose of this celebration, is the 4th of July. It is the birthday of your National Independence, and of your political freedom. This, to you, is what the Passover was to the emancipated people of God. It carries your minds back to the day, and to the act of your great deliverance; and to the signs, and to the wonders, associated with that act, and that day. This celebration also marks the beginning of another year of your national life; and reminds you that the Republic of America is now 76 years old. I am glad, fellow-citizens, that your nation is so young. Seventy-six years, though a good old age for a man, is but a mere speck in the life of a nation. Three score years and ten is the allotted time for individual men; but nations number their years by thousands. According to this fact, you are, even now, only in the beginning of your national career, still lingering in the period of childhood. I repeat, I am glad this is so. There is hope in the thought, and hope is much needed, under the dark clouds which lower above the horizon. The eye of the reformer is met with angry flashes, portending disastrous times; but his heart may well beat lighter at the thought that America is young, and that she is still in the impressible stage of her existence. May he not hope that high lessons of wisdom, of justice and of truth, will yet give direction to her destiny? Were the nation older, the patriot’s heart might be sadder, and the reformer’s brow heavier. Its future might be shrouded in gloom, and the hope of its prophets go out in sorrow. There is consolation in the thought that America is young. Great streams are not easily turned from channels, worn deep in the course of ages. They may sometimes rise in quiet and stately majesty, and inundate the land, refreshing and fertilizing the earth with their mysterious properties. They may also rise in wrath and fury, and bear away, on their angry waves, the accumulated wealth of years of toil and hardship. They, however, gradually flow back to the same old channel, and flow on as serenely as ever. But, while the river may not be turned aside, it may dry up, and leave nothing behind but the withered branch, and the unsightly rock, to howl in the abyss-sweeping wind, the sad tale of departed glory. As with rivers so with nations."
 So today I ask, is America still young? 235 years is much longer than 76, but cannot hold a candle to thousands, as Freddie D suggests so eloquently. So do we still have time to work things out and became a nation whose values are not, in any way, hypocritical? Do we still have time to develop the backbone to stand for things we believe in rather than fall to popular opinion? Do we still have time for popular opinion to become informed? Do we still have time to care, to see the bigger picture, to remember the meaning of the word democracy? Or has our window for greatness closed? If all the masses do to observe today is barbecue and drink and watch some fireworks, who will remember the gritty history and the gritty details of the present? Sometimes I feel like we as a nation are hungover after having gotten drunk on our own ideals, and now we're too out of it to do anything but lay in bed with a cold compress and watch it all play out. We need to wake the fuck up and do something. That's the meaning of independence. In that vein:

2. "We have to do with the past only as we can make it useful to the present and to the future. To all inspiring motives, to noble deeds which can be gained from the past, we are welcome. But now is the time, the important time. Your fathers have lived, died, and have done their work, and have done much of it well. You live and must die, and you must do your work. You have no right to enjoy a child’s share in the labor of your fathers, unless your children are to be blest by your labors. You have no right to wear out and waste the hard-earned fame of your fathers to cover your indolence."
 Next I say that having never really experienced any other part of the world, I am patriotic almost to a fault. Though I hope to do some traveling eventually at some point, the US of A is the end-all be-all for me, and I'm okay with that. There's nothing I'd rather be than American. There is nothing I would rather be than a black American, but that means that, like Freddie D all those years ago, I would like to call attention to the things America overlooks as we celebrate ourselves today. He calls attention to the peculiar institution of American slavery:
3. "I shall see, this day, and its popular characteristics, from the slave’s point of view. Standing, there, identified with the American bondman, making his wrongs mine, I do not hesitate to declare, with all my soul, that the character and conduct of this nation never looked blacker to me than on this 4th of July! Whether we turn to the declarations of the past, or to the professions of the present, the conduct of the nation seems equally hideous and revolting. America is false to the past, false to the present, and solemnly binds herself to be false to the future. Standing with God and the crushed and bleeding slave on this occasion, I will, in the name of humanity which is outraged, in the name of liberty which is fettered, in the name of the constitution and the Bible, which are disregarded and trampled upon, dare to call in question and to denounce, with all the emphasis I can command, everything that serves to perpetuate slavery-the great sin and shame of America! "I will not equivocate; I will not excuse;" I will use the severest language I can command; and yet not one word shall escape me that any man, whose judgment is not blinded by prejudice, or who is not at heart a slaveholder, shall not confess to be right and just. But I fancy I hear some one of my audience say, it is just in this circumstance that you and your brother abolitionists fail to make a favorable impression on the public mind. Would you argue more, and denounce less, would you persuade more, and rebuke less, your cause would be much more likely to succeed. But, I submit, where all is plain there is nothing to be argued. What point in the anti-slavery creed would you have me argue? On what branch of the subject do the people of this country need light?"
I would like to call attention to its lasting effects, as well as to the lasting effects of the fourth value this country was raised on: 'life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness[, and patriarchy].' I want to ask you, America, whether you are celebrating poverty and the disproportionate percentages of women, children, and people of color [and their women and children most of all] who fall below the poverty line in this country. I want to call attention to the wage gap between men and women. I want to call attention to the fact that, according to multiple very-well run audit studies by one of my professors, Devah Pager, it is easier for a white man with a criminal record than a black man with no criminal background to get a JOB in this country, and that was BEFORE the recession hit. I want you to remember the founders' cries of "No taxation without representation!" and ask yourself who exactly our legislators represent. Is the nation's best interest those of its richest or its poorest? America, are you celebrating our failing public schools? Our inability to truly separate church and state and recognize love in all its forms? The tightening and tightening of border control and anti-immigration sentiment in a land that once proclaimed 
"Give me your tired, your poor/Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free" --Emma Lazarus, "The New Colossus", mounted inside the Statue of Liberty
America, have we EVER truly been the land of the free? Certainly not when my man Freddie was talking to you, certainly not now while we have the highest incarceration rates in the entire world. Certainly not now when getting caught with a bag of weed can lose not only your liberty, by sending you to prison, but also silences your voice (as many states ban ex-felons from the ability to vote), and makes it impossible to break the cycle of poverty and self-destruction (as you cannot receive federal financial aid or welfare).
"What, to the American slave, is your 4th of July? I answer: a day that reveals to him, more than all other days in the year, the gross injustice and cruelly to which he is the constant victim. To him, your celebration is a sham; your boasted liberty, an unholy license; your national greatness, swelling vanity; your sounds of rejoicing are empty and heartless; your denunciations of tyrants, brass fronted impudence; your shouts of liberty and equality, hollow mockery; your prayers and hymns, your sermons and thanksgivings, with all your religious parade, and solemnity, are, to him, mere bombast, fraud, deception, impiety, and hypocrisy—a thin veil to cover up crimes which would disgrace a nation of savages. There is not a nation on the earth guilty of practices, more shocking and bloody, than are the people of these United States, at this very hour.
Go where you may, search where you will, roam through all the monarchies and despotisms of the old world, travel through South America, search out every abuse, and when you have found the last, lay your facts by the side of the everyday practices of this nation, and you will say with me, that, for revolting barbarity and shameless hypocrisy, America reigns without a rival."
So I ask you, how much has changed? I don't want to feel like I've abandoned my people--American women, American children, American people of color--by wearing my red, white, and blue today.


Maya

Adventures

Fact: There is absolutely no reason why my life has to stop feeling like one. I can make my own damn adventures. When did I forget that? 

Music to this effect: 



Sunday, July 3, 2011

I hope this is the end of posts about this. This one gets REAL.

I find the intensity with which I can feel various emotions for short periods of time to be incredibly interesting. I guess I just give in very easily to wallowing or celebrating, depending upon the nature of the emotion. I let myself get carried away by feeling. 

I guess what intrigues me about this right now is the question: how much of the feelings those moments of intensity are based around is legitimate? If I can put so much energy into feeling angry, or feeling sad, or hell even feeling love or happiness, that when the moment of intensity passes I just feel...sort of used up and like I need to recharge, then what becomes of the emotion once it has consumed all of my energy? It makes me wonder how much of a flame was there in the first place, and how much is just some part of my brain leaking gas to feed it. Even if the emotion is negative, a large part of me very much enjoys letting myself be overcome by it: it's like lighting something on fire and watching the fire burn itself out. Except the something is me. 

But I don't think it's healthy. Realizing it makes me not trust myself more than anyone else. If I keep shooting myself in the foot by feeling things so intensely it scares people, I am going to always be lonely. This habit gets me into all kinds of bad situations. 

I'm going to put even more of my business out here than usual and walk you through a recent example: a little under two weeks ago, I got really scared that my then-boyfriend [who I am still in the long-process of trying to let go, though I still can't say I want to fully. I wish we could just change the nature of things and leave them as they were. But this isn't about that.] didn't think I cared about him like I should. He called attention to a mistake I had made in a previous relationship that I talked about here and without letting him explain himself at all or what he thought we should talk about about that post, I freaked out and I sent him an email of things that were (I still believe) entirely accurate about how I felt about our relationship and how I felt about him and I hoped that was enough. But that fear about what he might be thinking just kept gnawing away at me until I couldn't stand it any more [living alone and taking 4 trains every day and working in an environment where you have very little human interaction means you have WAY TOO MUCH TIME TO THINK] and I started writing a letter full of frilly romantic things, which I now believe to have mostly been exaggerations of how I actually felt. Throughout our whole relationship, he had been the frilly romantic one and I had been the one who kept how she was feeling to herself until it had to be let out in little bursts--this was a big burst and though I believed it then, I can't look back at it now and feel like it was real and/or legitimate. Love was the emotion I got carried away with then, and I think I could tell that I was unsure about everything I wrote (I don't even remember most of it) because I almost didn't put it in the mail the next day. But then I remembered our "open and honest" policy and how in the previous letter I'd written to him, I stressed that I wanted us to be able to tell each other anything. So I drew little hearts on the envelope and left it in my mailbox for the postman to pick up. And what clues me in that it was an emotion wave is that by a few days later, I was worried about us growing apart while he was gone and I had this terrifying thought of what if we get to the point where saying I love you is a habit as opposed to a truth, and that came with a sister-worry of whether we were already there. He pointed to other things that made him realize it was time to end this, not just that letter, but I can't help but feel like these stupid emotion waves ruined this for me. 

Except the more accurate culprit is my apparent inability to voice my feelings about a situation with a person to that actual person. If we had just really talked and really listened none of this would have happened, I think. I'm beginning to believe that neither of us was completely open or honest or fair to the other for a very long time. And I think that's the reason I can latch onto for why I have to let this go. I've been struggling for days to solve this puzzle: 

lust < x < love
What is x and how am I supposed to feel about it? But wondering how one of us is supposed to feel or what the other expects/wants us to feel is what got us into so much trouble in the first place. 

So let's instead ask the radical question, how DO I actually feel about it? And the brutally honest answer is that as good as it has made me feel, and as much as I have an incredibly strong desire to just make it more casual and not stop, it is [very] possible that any improbably feasible course of action that involves lowering expectations and just enjoying each other for a while such as I have been privately entertaining over the course of the past few days wouldn't leave me feeling good in the long run. Where is the line between enjoying each other's company and using each other? I don't want to find out. I would rather this be over than find out. That's the first time I've been able to say this being over is not an entirely cruel happenstance. 

So now it's time to perhaps buy a new vibrator since mine doesn't vibrate anymore, and figure out how to not get overwhelmed by the desire to have his (someone's? his? someone-I-trust-and-am-physically-comfortable-with-which-describes-him-more-accurately-than-anyone-else's? Door Number Three sounds like the winner.) hands and mouth all over me, so that I don't have to go back on my statement that I want to be friends come the fall. I will find a way to stand not being able to wrap myself around him and a way not to miss the warmth and protection of his arm around me while we sleep, because more unbearable than either of these is the idea of yet another mistruth between us.

And while I'm doing all these seemingly-impossible things [preferably without doing any of the aforementioned things with someone who doesn't deserve me, because the best way to get over a guy is definitely not to get under a new one...], I will also learn to keep myself in check. I will learn to take a step back from whatever situation I find myself in and say 'Maya, how much of this is real?' Because I just don't have the time/extra energy/desire to keep putting myself through these waves, no matter what they're related to. And more importantly, the other people in my life who are affected by these waves DON'T DESERVE THEM.             

2nd 30 Day Letter Challenge--Day 16: Letter to the Last Person who Complimented You

Dear Greeter Lady at the Zimmerli Art Museum,

Way back in a time that seems like eons ago but was really probably less than a month and a half ago, while I was at home trying to come up with summer goals because my then-boyfriend had asked me about mine, I made note of the fact that your museum was free on the first Sunday of the month. I evidently even had the foresight to make an event on my Google Calendar for the hours the museum is open on the first Sunday of July and of August. And thus, today when I was recovering from a relapse in okay-status, I decided to put on a push-up bra and a low-cut dress and do my makeup and my hair and take myself on a date to visit the museum. I hadn't yet embraced doing things by myself in New Brunswick like I did in Chicago last year, and as I have to get used to being on my own again generally, now seemed like high time.
I walked the 8 minutes from my house to the museum and came inside. I knew today was a free day, but I wasn't sure if I was allowed to just stroll on in, and you weren't at the desk when I got there. But I was only confused for a moment or two, because then you walked out of the little back room, cheery as ever, and welcomed me to the museum. You told me I looked "so pretty" and asked me to please check my [make-rainy-days-fun! sunflower] umbrella because they weren't allowed in the galleries. Then you put a sticker on my hand and said today was a free day, and told me to enjoy. I realize you're a customer service employee and it is actually your job to be nice to me [been there, done that], but I want you to know you made me smile today. I wanted to treat myself to something and take care of myself, and you noticed, and that just...felt nice. 

So thank you for your sunny disposition on a grey and drizzly day. You made my mood less grey and drizzly.


Maya

I thought I looked cute too. :)

2nd 30 Day Letter Challenge--Day 15: Letter to the Last Person who Surprised You

Anyone who's been paying attention knows this letter is going to be to Erykah Badu.

Miss Badu [I don't feel worthy of addressing you as Erykah],

If Baduzium is a state of being similar to nirvana, I think I encountered it last night. I didn't care that I was tired or that my feet hurt or that I wanted a drink but they cost more than WHOLE BOTTLES OF ALCOHOL I have purchased...I would have stood there listening to you in awe for hours. All night if you'd wanted to keep singing for me. You made me feel like a living girl. If I can get my soul to radiate half as brightly or a strongly as yours, my life will be phenomenal. I was expecting to have a good time...I wasn't expecting to feel enlightened. I was expecting fun, I wasn't expecting joy or an overwhelmingly intense peace. To put it simply, I wasn't expecting you. 

You kept thanking the audience, but I want to thank you. And you have my word I will see you again. 

Maya


PS I give a small badly-recorded piece of my experience with you to the world to enjoy:

My life is a series of progression and relapse.

B told me on Friday night that he thinks I'm taking this all very well. I didn't have the heart to tell him I'm just trying to hide how much it hurts, even from myself. 

Dear Universe,

It's like, okay, all cocky/snobbish/self-centeredness aside, I know that I'm a pretty awesome person. I like me. I think I have cool ideas and I have a big heart and I'm kinda cute and most of the time I'm an interesting person to be around. I take pretty good care of myself. I have a pretty good self-concept. I can do all the self-affirmations in the book and I believe them. I do. 

But is it too much to ask for a little external validation? Like, damn, no matter how hard you believe, if no one else can see something, maybe you're just wrong? I don't feel like I'm crazy. But sometimes I feel like I just give and give and give and don't get much in return. I spend my life trying to share myself and my time and my energy and my love/affection/admiration with other people and I'm never quite sure they're sharing back with me equally. I don't know how to hear what basically boils down to I wanted to give you more but I just couldn't without having serious qualms about whether I will ever be enough for anyone but me. I don't wanna hide myself away and give of myself sparingly, but unless I see some proof that reciprocity is possible, I'm going to have to. I see no other way to avoid destroying myself through the process of simply trying to live. [Although I suppose in a really morbid way, that's all life is--a process of self-destruction.] 

Universe, maybe this is an impossible thing to ask for, but I'm going to ask anyway because I'm running out of other ideas. I just want a little bit of confirmation that I am, in fact, lovable. That it is possible, even if it won't happen for a long time. That anyone besides my Daddy--whose kindness and support this week have been unbelievable and unprecedentedly appreciated--can see me as a priority. I just want to know I'm not holding out for an impossible dream. You made me believe in love, Universe, and then you snatched the foundation I'd built right out from under my feet, and I thank you for not letting me continue to build my life around should-be-truths, but I feel like I'm at Square Negative Two right about now. Knowing that someone can go through the motions of loving and cherishing me and succeed in making me feel like a treasure without having his heart actually in it...I don't want to turn into a pessimist but I don't know how I'll ever shake this shroud of doubt. I want to make it clear that I don't feel like I was trivialized, but I do feel...trivializable, almost. 

It's really and truly my goal to try to be friendly or even friends, because I still think he's an awesome person and someone I'd like to have in my life, but...a) it's going to be hard to leave it at just that, and b) I have lots of friends already, goddammit! Yes it is infinitely better than people not wanting me in their lives at all, but I'm scared I'll never be enough to cross that line from an interesting friend you care about and want to keep around to a person you want to share your life with, even for a while. The last thing I'm looking for is forever at this stage, but I want...the temptation of wanting forever? And that temptation to be real on both sides. I want something REAL. I'm an intense person and maybe my candle is burning at more than just both ends and I am willing to light myself afire in even more places if someone will just burn with me. Maybe this is just a showcase of my immaturity or all the reasons why now isn't the time for this to happen for me, but I just want to know what it's like to be important to someone. I want someone to feel like they can give of themselves freely back to me. I want organic reciprocity. If I have value only to myself, am I not worthless on the open market? 

I know I'm not. But I want proof. Because if insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result, then I'm...worried, because nothing's changing. Do I have to change? I'm happy with me though. I don't think the way I'm doing things is fundamentally wrong. 


What say you?

Maya 

#truth

Reblogged from my friend Lauren over at http://inyourafterglow.tumblr.com/

Grown-Folks' Business

A lot of my Atlantic City adventure yesterday with K, A, and I revolved around grown-folks and the concept of being/becoming one. 

Like all trips to AC should, ours started with blowing lots of money hitting up sales at the Outlets. We went to H&M and G by Guess, then K wanted to check out the Gap, Ralph Lauren, [side note, I'm lolling at Oxford's attempts to get rid of the Oxford comma and WILL NEVER LET IT GO. NEVER.] and Nautica, then my aunt hooked us up at Banana Republic (the whole store was 50% off and we got 30% off on top of that!), and I am not embarrassed to admit that I went to Old Navy on the way back and got some good deals there too. But K had never been to the outlets before, so while we were walking around he kept asking me what kind of good stores they had. I told him to tell me where he usually shops and I can tell him if it was there or not, but he said he doesn't even know where he usually shops anymore. This led to a conversation about fashion styles growing, changing, and maturing as we get older. We are 21-year-old about-to-be-seniors at Princeton who are destined for big wonderful things in the very near future...is it time we started dressing towards that future? Is the era of the graphic tee coming to an end in our lives? Does it have to? This conversation reminded me of a post on one of my favorite blogs, Black Girl With Long Hair a couple weeks ago about "Buying Grown Woman Clothes". And I just don't know how I feel about this whole change I'm evidently supposed to be ready for. Clothes from the stores that K wanted to browse felt either unnatural to me or like they belonged to 10-years-from-now-Professor-Maya, not 21-year-old-student-Maya. One day when I have a real job in the real world (let's pretend academia is the real world for a second), I can buy a $40 shirt and a $52 skirt and not feel as though I've committed a crime against my wallet. Until then, however, I will do my best to stay under $20/article of clothing even if it means I replace things a lot. I'm not ready for a wardrobe that'll stay with me forever. But the question, I guess, is should I be? And if the answer is yes...do I care? 

Then fast-forward to the show itself [which was phenomenal, see the previous post]. The first words out of K's mouth when we walked into the House of Blues were shock at how adult an environment the venue is. It's a standing room only, dark, interesting blend of Harlem-Renaissance-era and crazy-shit-from-the-70s black art on the walls, painted ceilings, three bars. It's the kind of place you dance during the show. This was a grown-folks' music hall, and he didn't feel old enough to be there. I said K, we are grown folks, and he said he felt like he was skipping school. The four of us were definitely some of the youngest people in the crowd. This was the kind of show people got dressed up for--onlyforthegrownandsexy dressed up, not slutted up--and I felt a little like I should have brought a dress to change into like originally planned. The DJ called out: "If you 25 plus make some noi-ise" and I swear we were the only people who didn't. [Side note: it was weird making noi-ise when the DJ called for single ladies too. K shot me a look like damn. What can I say? Fact: I'm not in any way happy about the reapplicability of this status to my life, but #Iwasjusttrynahaveagoodtime? I know what he meant though...it didn't feel right. Maybe I'll think twice next time.] What really made me feel young was the fact that drinks at the bar were RIDICULOUSLY EXPENSIVE ($13 for a Long Island. $14 for a rum and coke. BITCH PUH-LEASE.) but people were getting them like they were free! A noted that the guys standing in front of us bought so many drinks that they spent more on alcohol than on tickets to the show, and evidently someday that will not be ridiculous to us. It was weird being surrounded by people in their 20s/30s/oldheads and realizing that a) you are actually a part of that first group of people, even if you don't feel like it, and what really struck me was b) we'll be doing things like this for the rest of our lives. Someday some other youngins will come in and see us and wonder if they're old enough to be here. I guess most of the people in our range of this generation were at the Rick Ross concert...we have a grownandsexy musical taste. Going back to the day's earlier thoughts, I loved looking at the range of styles sported by the women around me and wondering who I'll grow up to be. In semi-related news, never in Jersey have I been surround by so many naturalistas! I guess it takes some grownandsexy funky eclecticism along the lines of Erykah Badu's amazing voice to bring us out of the woodwork. 

Anyway, I'm pondering this: I can accurately say that I feel like an adult most of the time, especially more recently as I've done all sorts of adult things for the first time (note to self: I have a utilities bill to pay), and I can say I'm a grown-ass woman, but last night I felt like I was around ACTUAL grown-ass women and thus wondered if I'm really there. I wonder if that wondering ever goes away. My mom says even she doesn't feel like a grown-up sometimes...

I'm exhausted but cannot go to sleep without talking about:

Erykah Badu's voice!

So small confession time: I wasn't the hugest fan of Erykah Badu when I somewhat nonchalantly suggested that K and I go see her when she came to Atlantic City. I was still excited when he wanted to turn my suggestion into a reality, and planned to bone up on my Badu-knowledge before the show, but with all the craziness of my past week that just didn't happen. So I was expecting to know the hits, be generally pleased by the rest even if I couldn't sing along, and enjoy myself for the most part. 

I love those experiences where reality exceeds your expectations. Blown away can't even begin to cover it.

HER VOICE. I CANNOT BELIEVE HER VOICE. 
30 seconds into the show she had me and K both going "MMMMM!" and it got better from there. Her voice made me wanna touch myself, in both senses of the phrase. Every time she showcased those chords of hers by doing a fancy trill or hitting an impossibly high note, I had to clap my hands or snap my fingers or stomp my feet to help all that energy pass through me cleanly. I found myself grabbing at my thighs, my neck, digging my fingernails into my collarbone, out of a need to both hold myself together and a desire to rip myself apart and let all that spirit into me. (I wonder if that's how people feel when they "catch the Holy Ghost" at church. Hmm...) I mean, I've always loved her sound, but hearing the raw talent and beauty amplified over a small dark grown-folks space (and being one of the grown-folks there!)...it was all I could do not to sink to the floor and revel in it sometimes. Never have I been in awe of a performer like this. I almost want to say that her CDs don't do her justice. She is a performer, not a recording artist. I wish I could bottle the energy she had tonight and the beauty and the talent and the attitude and the ass (to quote K: Erykah Badu has ass for days. DAYS.) and just carry it around in my back pocket every time I need to be reminded of love and magic and truth and beauty and the knee-weakening power of peace. Maybe I'm just particularly susceptible to beautiful things right now, but tonight I feel like I witnessed greatness. She is so...herself and like no one else. It's inspiring. She may not want to be a role model, according to a little song she sang to introduce herself, but dammit I will see her as an inspiration. The strength of her soul pours out of every pore. I want to be radiantly me in the same way. I don't feel particularly chained, but she makes me want to seek liberation. She makes me want to be...greater than everything I am, but also makes me feel like the only thing I need to do to be greater is to BE thoroughly who I am. I hope that makes some kind of sense. I'm rambling. It's 3 am. Something wonderful happened here. I will post videographic evidence once I get home tomorrow to my own computer to upload the files.     

Friday, July 1, 2011

2nd 30 Day Letter Challenge: Day 14--Letter to Your Favorite City





Dear Chicago,

I have to be honest, I was worried about meeting you. Before I left I wondered who I had become, how I could agree to spend so much time with you before I even knew you. I'd had bad experiences with cities before and didn't think I could grow to be that kind of girl. I'll admit it, I used to discriminate against cities; I talked shit about y'all all the time.
And then I met you...and for the first two weeks or so, I hated you. I was scared and I was lonely and I thought all my stereotypes about places like you were coming true. Then I stopped being a little bitch and decided to get out of my comfort zone of home and work, even if that meant exploring by myself, which was a RADICAL concept at the time. 
And a few weeks later, you had totally and completely enchanted me. Suddenly I was using Google Maps to take a series of trains and buses like you were my turf, exploring your countless festivals and street fairs and museums on free days. I went to your parks and swam in your lake--which, btw, totally revolutionized everything I thought of lakes as being--and made a bucket list I didn't come close to finishing. You gave me friendships like I'd never had before, showed me what happens when you play along with random somewhat sketchy guys you meet in public places, taught me to be entirely comfortable with public transportation (who knew you could like standing on the subway? It reminds me of what I imagine surfing would feel like...), gave me my first club experience, got me to experience art, and taught me to be less afraid of the dark. KO told me once about his "DC-face," a serious look he had to put on to ride the train to work in that city, and I guess you inspired something similar in me, Chicago: you taught me to look uncertainty in the face bravely. You taught me to make short-term plans and act on them. You taught me how not to look lost and how to understand North, South, East, and West finally. You taught me to be okay doing things by myself, which is invaluable. You also gave me the second experience of my life in which I was surrounded entirely by strangers and had to make friends. You introduced me to artisan jewelers, Arts Districts, FARMERS MARKETS, and taught me to make earrings and bracelets and to belly dance and to salsa and opened me to the fact that naturals had a real-world community off the internet. You gave me free concerts and strange pizza and Greek, Indian, and African foods for the first time. Oh and brie! You gave me a rich mentor who had a part-time apartment bigger than my house in NJ, along with my first country club experience and a VIP pass to visit the Natural History museum after-hours. You made me stop giving a shit about rain. You introduced me to BLACK schools with black teachers and staff, a concept that blew my mind. You got me to talk to high school kids without feeling totally awkward. You gave me my first real-world work experiences. For the first time in my life, I felt totally independent, and I will always treasure you for that.  You made me feel GROWN.
I can't wait to see you again, Chicago. I was so jealous when KO got to visit you. Perks of living in corn-country, I suppose. We will meet again. Maybe for grad school if I can build up a tolerance for snow...

Affectionately,

Maya

PS: Don't tell New Brunswick, but it just can't compare to you. 
PPS: Oh, how I wish I had been 21 when we were together... 

2nd 30 Day Letter Challenge: Day 13 [About a Week Late]--Letter to Your Closest Friend at School

One of the reasons I was originally avoiding this letter was because I couldn't possibly pick between the two of you, K and E, so now I've decided I'll just select a King and Queen of my school friends and write letters to each of you. So there. 

Ladies First:

Dear E,

GET YOUR ASS BACK FROM CALIFORNIA. JERSEY MISSES YOU. Or at least, I miss you. It's beautiful football-throwing weather today and I have a 4 hour break between my two shifts at work, but no one to football-throw with. Not being able to talk to you when my life was falling apart was JUST PLAIN WEIRD. It's funny, I guess I didn't realize how close I'd gotten to you when we were roommates sophomore year. [Confession: I had been a little concerned about sharing a bedroom with you because you were the roommate I knew least well upon moving in. That went away pretty quickly.] But then we talked a lot over the summer and every single day when you were in Oxford [until you went into I-have-to-write-my-JP-in-a-week mode, that is] and people (read: K) kept teasing us about it, but I realized that you had become one of my closest friends somewhere along the way. 
We don't agree on a lot of things a lot of times. We have radically different viewpoints on so much. Our friendship kind of makes me think that opposites really do attract sometimes. I like having you around to balance me out. 
I'm not gonna spread your business on here, but I hope you know how difficult it is for me to not be able to help you with _______________________________. I wish I could have given you better advice about it. I wish it hadn't happened to you. I wish there was a clear path to full recovery. I wish a lot of things. 
I also am really really wishing that when you move away to Florida for med school we don't lose touch. Somehow you think being busy running a tournament in California is a good enough excuse not to talk to me...being busy living your life in Florida (or anywhere else for that matter) won't be. Fyi. So get ready for the long haul, sister. 
<3,

Maya

PS Get ready to go oh so hard on your birthday. We're gonna party, well, like it's your birthday. 
PPS I'm still amazed by your ability to combat small-Azn-female syndrome and actually hold your liquor. Well, I'm amazed by you in general, but that's another story. 

*******

Dear K,

I find it really interesting that in the span of an academic year you went from being like, a familiar face I was glad to have in my Initiations group to someone I spend time with or talking to nearly every day and who I'm just not afraid to open up to. You always yell at me and threaten to stop studying at Quad with me because we get sidetracked into really great conversations that minimize the amount of actual work we get done, but as much as I tell you I'll try to do work and not be distracting, I really really value those talks we have. Even if I can't actually imagine you in Fubu and being called by your shortened name, I understand that you're one of the people who is from where I'm from [in lots of ways that aren't a physical space]. I can count on you to either have had similar experiences to me or totally feel me on mine even if you haven't. I'm continuously surprised by how easy it is to be real with you. You're also a really good listener and I have recently realized that you're a good judge of situations when I'm blinded by _______ and I should take your opinions of things into higher consideration sometimes. Don't think I don't value your opinion though, because I do...I just sometimes can't see that right away. Did you know in the course of a day once, both T and Ms. Renee referred to you as my other half? I laughed so hard, especially because you were not the one who should have had that title at the time, but it's a fairly accurate description of the amount of time we spend together as Dranglers. Like, how did I start waiting for you to eat dinner every night? I don't remember, lol, but I like it. I like how we laugh at the same places in movies. I like convincing you to have a little bit of fun every once in a while; I might even enjoy all the poking and prodding it takes to get there. You are HELLA RUDE sometimes but I've come to appreciate it most of the time; I like that I can play around with you. But then I also appreciate that you know how to be serious when the time calls for it and can bring me back to earth when I'm freaking out. I also think you're kind of just an awesome person: so smart, so driven, such a give-it-your-all kind of individual.  You work so hard all the time. You're freaking working on CANCER RESEARCH. Give yourself a freaking pat on the back once in a while, k? 


:D,

Maya 


PS I still owe you a drink.

#Iwillnotbebitter!

K says nobody likes a bitter black woman. #truth 

And so, I love Roger's and Hammerstein's Cinderella as much as any other black woman of my generation, but this song has got to stop trying to insert itself in my head like it defines my life. Because lots of songs do, but this doesn't:

 

Confessions:

Small font because I'm whispering this:the hardest part about not hating him is that I have no reason not to still like him.

There. I said it. I know I'm not supposed to. I know this isn't a positive step forward in the healing process. I [think I] know it's a waste of my time. I know all my hardcore feminist friends are shaking their fists and lamenting my lack of pride right now. But silly hearts, they don't listen to heads very well. And my silly heart keeps wondering exactly how wrong it is to continue to be lovers if you aren't in love. K says married people do it all the time. Idk which option is sadder.

But then I remember that everyone deserves relationships that are equal partnerships, in which each partner is getting as much as s/he is giving and visa versa. Everyone deserves equal rankings in the priorities hierarchy. So even though right now I almost feel like if we had just a) listened to each other and b) been straightforward with each other from the beginning, we might have been on the same page the whole time, you can't go from trying to reach grown-person concepts like love and devotion to just trying to have fun and enjoy each other's company. #Lifedoesn'tworklikethat #That'sjustnothealthy

But [insert womp-womps here] #Knowingthatdoesn'tchangehowIfeel  

More songs because music makes the world go round:

 #WhatI'mtryingtobeabletomeanwhenIsayit
(I just mean the goodbye part. He's kind of intense.)


#ExceptmaybeIshouldbesayingthis

#AndwhatIactuallymeanisthis

Even smaller font because I don't even like admitting this to myself: It was easy to say that even if I knew then what I know now, I would do this again. That's still true. It's a lot harder to say that knowing what I know about everything that happened here, I'd still rather not let this go. But, silly little heart, you a) have to stop being selfish, and b) can't always get what you want. 

Continuing the confessions that are really hard to make: I'd never been treated so well in my whole life. That will be the hardest thing to let go of, I think. 

Look Out, World!

So I had a random idea when Skyping with KO last week, and then I mentioned said random idea when on the phone with my mom the other day, who seemed generally supportive. Then last night while I was "work"ing I found myself perusing the interwebs in search of the closest DMV (which is evidently called the Motor Vehicle Commission now) location to my house in NB and/or to campus, and evidently it's not bus-able [which is ironic, imo], but nonetheless I will find a way to get there, because (drumroll please):

I'm gonna get my learner's examination permit!!! (That's evidently what it's called when you're a first-time driver aged 21+.)

Fuckyeah stayin on that grown-ass woman game. If I can live by myself in a house, pay rent, pay bills, commute to work, be getting ready to graduate, and try my hand at grown woman things like falling in love, I should be able to drive myself places. My little sister is learning to drive before I am, and that's just not cute. So I'ma get on that. I have to retake my written test because my passing score expired a little over three years ago...[and I just don't remember any of that shit anyway]. So let's add that to the list of things I'm studying for this summer, in addition to thesis and perhaps the GRE. Furthering the modes of independence=I'm excited!   

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Is it ludicrous to reblog myself?

Oh well. I think Baby Duck Maya reared her fluffy innocent little head to bite me in the ass again here. I want to spend some time trying to readdress her (read: figure out how to get rid of her once and for all).
Image is so perfect. Click the link if you're confused.
"An abstract idea should be a tool; it represents a conception which may be used in a great variety of situations. If the individual cannot use it as a tool, he is used by the idea. The abstract idea may be a very dangerous tool." --George Herbert Mead,  1914 Lectures in Social Psychology
#Loveisanabstractidea

I May Not Have Been Loved...

...but I have been

romanced.

The distance between the two is great,
but not terrible. 
It's not a bad thing to have been.
In fact, I rather enjoyed it.
So no regrets, no what-might-have-been's,
no boxing my heart up never to try again. 
Who can be mad at romance? 

INSANE WHIRLWIND OF EMOTIONS cannot begin to accurately describe the past two days.


Extreme sadness. Hurt. Fury that almost scared me. Fear separately. Deep confusion, or maybe simply a profound lack of understanding.



All of those feelings are done now. Well I'm still sad that it's over, because I wanted to snuggle into this and stay there for a long while, but I feel nothing like the overwhelming _________ I was feeling. I feel surprisingly good right now. I feel like nothing was as bad as I'd thought/imagined/suspected/worried/feared. I am not a bad judge of character, and I would like to come out and publicly say to all of you who know me in real life and know the other person involved in this situation--he is not the villain here. This situation doesn't have a villain. It has two good people who made some bad choices and that's it. #theoppositeofpubliclyflaming


I'm not gonna list out all the terrible things that have been running through my head. They don't need mentioning, as they're all either flat out wrong, unwarranted, invalid, or have been deconstructed to the point of my being content. It may have felt at first like the world was ending, but up is still up, down is still down, and I don't think anything permanently damaging happened here. 



I have, however, learned a lot. And the things I have learned can be listed:
  1.  It is entirely impossible to undervalue honesty, especially when you know the truth is going to hurt. 
  2. Wanting to mean something is entirely different from meaning it. Changing your definition of something so that you can mean it isn't being honest either. 
  3. Relationships are based on a lot of assumptions. It's probably a good idea to talk about things rather than assuming you're on the same page about X issue.
  4. It actually shocks me that these words are about to come out of my mouth, but maybe it really is the thought that counts. Intentions mean something, even when they lead down unpredictable and hurtful paths. Sometimes people deserve the benefit of the doubt even in the most unfortunate situations.
  5. Anger is actually an essential part of the healing process. 
  6. My friends are awesome. But I already knew that.
  7. Pain does not automatically negate all the previous joy a situation gave. Hurt does not erase prior happiness. I'm not saying "don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened," because I think that crying is a healthy part of LIFE in general, and it's important to be unabashedly sad when something makes you sad...but when it's all said and done, everything good that happened still happened. And that's what you should focus on. 
  8. Your world should always be bigger than one person. I think I forgot that mine was for a little while until the support came rushing in from every direction while I was freaking out and I remembered that I have a whole network of people who love and care about me. 
  9. Love is a nuanced, nuanced thing. It has so many layers and components and meanings and strivings. It varies from person to person and situation to situation. There are lots of things that love is. There are also lots of things that love isn't. And I'm still learning the differences, I think. Maybe we all are. 
  10. Don't underestimate the benefits that can come from actually talking to someone who hurt you, instead of just festering in your own emotions. Every story has two sides. 
  11. Analysis of every tiny detail of a situation is pointless and futile. Analysis of what major mistakes were made and what should have been done differently in those specific instances is an opportunity for growth that should not be overlooked. 
  12. It is evidently possible for me to open up to my father under times of complete and total duress. It is also evidently impossible for my mother to let me open up to her during such times. This is unsurprising. Maybe I should be less freely open with my mother and talk to my dad more. 
  13. I have no regrets. None. I might even want to change everything I've ever believed about exes and want to try to be friends. And on that note, I will pick a song:
And I'd choose you again...

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

I wore a green shirt today. Subconsciously channeling:

The two artists I have the most music by are India.Arie and Eminem

As such, the two feelings I'm torn between are:

"And if he ever left me, I wouldn't even be sad, 'cause there's a blessing in every lesson and I'm glad that I knew him at all." --India.Arie, "The Truth"
and 

"when someone seems too good to be true, they usually are. But see, when you're in it it's too hard to see..." --Eminem, "Spend Some Time"

Not sure I'll ever make a decision between the two feelings. Not sure it's even possible. I am not sure how I'm not supremely angry or if I'll stay that way. I'm not sure what to believe about the past four months, except that for the sake of my sanity it can't be nothing. Not sure how long it will take to shake this sick-to-my-stomach feeling or to rebuild the ability to trust. Not sure you ever really know a person. Not sure how to make myself stop caring about him. Even less sure than I ever was before (not including the past three months) about what love ostensibly is. Not sure I'll ever really understand what happened here. 

I am sure I'll waste lots of time and energy trying to. I am sure that I feel humiliated, like I have been made a fool of. I am sure I'll throw myself into my independent work like nobody's business in a thinly veiled attempt to hide the fact that my life doesn't make sense to me anymore. I am sure that I was happy (albeit a different kind of happy) before this and I can be happy again after it. I am sure that there's a lot to be learned from this situation.  I am sure that I will never again undervalue the importance of complete and brutal honesty, especially when the truth hurts. I'm also pretty sure that I am (un?)fortunately too good a person to repeatedly flame him on this blog, because like I don't deserve this, I can't make myself believe he's a terrible enough person to deserve that, so I will try to avoid it (after this).

A DirectTV blimp just passed overhead saying "Change your life." My first reaction? I don't want to. But sometimes you don't have a choice. 

I will leave you with an excerpt from my favorite play, Ntozake Shange's For Colored Girls who've Considered Suicide/ when the Rainbow is enuf:

"My love is too beautiful to have thrown back on my face. [...]
My love is too sanctified to have thrown back on my face.
My love is too magic to have thrown back on my face.
My love is too Saturday night to have thrown back on my face.
My love is too complicated to have thrown back on my face.
 My love is too music to have thrown back on my face.
And you remember that the next time some man tries to walk away with all of your stuff. 
I know that's right. Or says I'm sorry a million times.
...
 It's ok. I asked myself how I could let that happen and I realized that I was missing something. Something so important. Something promised.
I suppose what I'm left with now is me time. More than time to analyze what happened here, I suppose I should go find what I'm missing to make sure it never happens again. Not that I'm blaming myself--mistakes were made on both sides--but something needs to change.

How did I get here?

Sunday, June 26, 2011

On the Road Back to a Scholarly Attitude

The conversation addressed in the previous post helped remind me why the work I want to do is important. This quote just posted by a friend on Facebook makes me want to get to it. 

"I don't really think about you as being black, Maya."

Dear friend,

I know you meant well. Or at least, that you didn't mean me any harm by what you said. I must admit, it was slightly amusing watching you struggle to dig yourself out of this hole you realized you'd inadvertently dug.  It led to an interesting discussion about the differences between "white culture" (after questioning what exactly white culture is and whether it can be separated from mainstream American culture more broadly) and Jewish culture--you tried to draw an analogy between my personality:blackness::Jewishness:whiteness, and really, I want to commend your effort. I guess majoring in Psychology, Philosophy, and Economics makes you more attuned to the reality of cultural sensitivities and how to handle them with finesse more than most of my non-ethnic-minority friends.
And don't worry, you're far from the first person to say this (or something similarly-themed) to me. I just a) hoped I had embraced my blackness enough in college to dispel such observations, and b) can't help but feel as though I should be offended, either on my own behalf, on that of black people as an amorphous group, or both. I cannot blame you--and am not trying to--for your statement because, as I learned during the Black Solidarity Conference this year, even [at the very least some, a concentration of whom I interacted with at Yale in February] of my peers and current race scholars don't see me as fitting into the larger overall picture of blackness either. But don't think for a second I'm condoning this, because I'm not. The fact that lots of people, even insiders, do this, does not in any way make it any more acceptable, or any less racist. So, friend, peers, scholars, larger world, I must again beg you to reconsider the apparently negatively themed definition you give to blackness. Who are you excluding from that group, and why, and what do you presume gives you the authority to make those cuts? I ask you to remember that race itself is a social construct, an idea that our forefathers made up to promote white privilege and deny persons with whom they were uncomfortable (or did not even consider to be persons) the rights of citizenship or even simply the rights of man--sure, it's one made visible by the color of my skin, the texture of my hair, the breadth of my nose, but again, these are all things that human beings themselves defined as fitting the construct of blackness, not inherent distinctions.

We struggled to define white culture when trying to establish Jewish culture's distinctiveness. I would like to raise the challenge that black culture, and (though I know little about it, everything I know about the world as a sociologist or even as an observant member of society leads me to believe that) even Jewish culture cannot be limited to one narrow definition against which to pose some other narrowly defined cultural group. Every mainstream culture has a counter-culture, usually multiple counter-cultures. There is always an underground, a counter-movement, even the smallest of revolutions. There is always someone who is unafraid to open their eyes, see their surroundings for what they really are, and say, "Hey, wait, this isn't what I want. This isn't correct/right/fair/justified/appropriate/normal/what-I-should-be-striving-for." There is always someone pushing for change. 
So, I have more rock on my computer than hip-hop/rap. That doesn't mean I can't spit a T.I. verse back at you, and it doesn't mean I'm not black. I will never fight someone because they scuffed up my sneakers, most likely because I'm in a cute pair of flats. That doesn't mean I'm not black. I have owned exactly two pieces of clothing from a "black" clothing brand in my lifetime, and they were both from JCPenney on clearance. (I can't turn down a good deal.) That doesn't mean I'm not black. I'm not a great dancer--I learned how to two-step less than two months ago and I cannot (and may never be able to) pop or lock (though I can drop it). That doesn't mean I'm not black. Enunciation and complete complex sentences define my natural linguistic structure; while that might make my 6-year-old cousin interrupt Thanksgiving dinner to start the following exchange:
V: Maya, why do you talk like that?
Me: Talk like what?
V: All...proper.

it doesn't mean I'm not black. I am and will continue to become highly educated at very elite universities, where my study of blackness and black peoples should not separate me from them. That doesn't mean I'm not black. I disdain of the use of the word nigg- by any and all persons, much in the same manner that I disapprove of faggot and cunt and a lot of other entirely inappropriate derogatory terms. It doesn't mean I'm not black. I don't like collard greens, but I won't eat macaroni and cheese that hasn't been in an oven and trust me, your sweet tea isn't sweet enough for me. This doesn't mean I'm not black. I don't have fake gold hoop earrings with my name in them, but again...I think you're getting the picture here. 
I guess the more significant way to approach this is to examine what means I am black, besides my aforementioned skin, hair, and nose. 1) My recognition of the history this country tries to hide and the havoc that history and its hidden status wreaks on the black population even in 2011. 1b) My disdain for the term post-racial, no matter how you're defining it. Like my homeboy Brother West says, Race Matters. 2) In my house, Santa and Baby Jesus were both black, and though I didn't grow up to believe in either of them, I learned to see the world from a black person's perspective. I learned about the black tax (which I still believe in), and I learned the importance of remembering where you came from, because no one else is going to. I learned Kwanzaa and sweet potato pie and the foods you have to eat on New Year's to bring good fortune. I learned everyone from the Temptations to India.Arie. So I would like to take this time, world at large, to throw your assumptions about my cultural background back in your face. 3) In line with your mainstream negatively-themed ideas of blackness, world at large, which I do not agree with but feel the need to address, I am no stranger to struggle. I know what it is to be on food stamps. I know what it is to have the electricity/water/cell phone cut off due to nonpayment of the bill. I know what it is to not have food in the house. But knowing all those things taught me to dream, taught me to work towards a goal, taught me dedication and resilience, and combined with a lot of luck, those things have made me successful. Fact: either success nor lack of it are definitive of status as a racial minority. 4)  R&B/Neo-Soul is my favorite genre of music, which is just as rooted in the black community as hip-hop. 5) My ideal breakfast features grits. 6) AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, I am black because I SAID SO. Honestly, that's the only reason you should need. Because this is an identity I have adopted as belonging to me and people like me and lots of people who aren't like me in many ways EXCEPT for their adoption of this same identity. If the work I'm just beginning on racial identity and college students has taught me anything, it is that beyond being a social construct and a category that people will try to place you in no matter what, race and your identification with your race is a choice. Whether that choice is manifested through organizational involvement, circles of friends, or something as simple as being the little guy's advocate in a classroom debate, it is an active decision. It is a decision I have made, it is an identity that is important to me, and while I certainly don't want it to be the only thing you categorize me as, I do want you to stretch your notions of blackness to include me. In fact, today, tomorrow, and every day until you concede, world at large, I will do nothing short of demanding it. 

Friday, June 24, 2011

2nd 30 Day Letter Challenge--Day 12: Letter to a Sibling You Didn't Write to Last Time

Dear Kids A and W,

First off, I'm sorry I still think of you as kids. At 16 and 17, going into your junior and senior years in high school in September, you're not anymore. I remember when I was that age, soooo many of my daily struggles were to be treated like I was a real person, and so I promise you that I'm going to do my best to remember to treat you like real people, because you're not children anymore.  That doesn't mean I won't still try to give you advice or check in on you--that's a siblings thing for life. I am always going to care about you (even if we go weeks without speaking sometimes), and I'm never going to stop acting on that caring--that's a promise (please don't see it as a threat), but I will try to be less patronizing/seeming like I'm on a high horse.
Now, I'm going to be honest: I'm worried about you. I have this vague sense of danger whenever I think about you, like something is on the verge of or in the process of going horribly wrong. Part of that worry I can address to you both simultaneously: college is right around the corner, you guys. I know college is the last thing you guys like to listen to me talk about because I raised the bar to this ridiculously high level, but fact: I don't give a fuck if you guys don't go to schools like Princeton. Neither does anyone else in our family. I am an exception, we all know that. I don't care if school isn't your thing like school is my thing. I don't care if you don't want to go to graduate school. I don't care if you want to major in something that will turn directly into a job and then do that for the rest of your life. I just need you to understand that you have to go to college to make it in this world. Hell, in this economy, even going to college can't secure anything, but you're damn sure not going to get anywhere without it. And, another fact, just in case you somehow weren't aware, our family does not have the money to pay for you to go to college. If you don't qualify for scholarships, you're going to be either a) unable to afford school at all and wind up at community college, b) in debt up to your eyeballs for the rest of ever, or c) some unfortunate combination of both. I don't want to see that happen to you, but you are the only people in any position to prevent that, and I need you to see that. I don't know what's going to happen to you if you don't see that. It terrifies me.  You both seem to be so oblivious to this process and the fact that you're running out of time, and that scares me.
Okay, now for the separate parts: A, I'm entirely uncomfortable with this boyfriend of yours and the fact that our mother doesn't know about him. I'm entirely uncomfortable with the fact that he wakes you up out of your slumber to talk on the phone at damn near three in the morning. I'm vaguely uncomfortable with the fact that he's up then--what has he been doing? Mostly, I just want to meet him, or at the very least for our mother to meet him. I feel like you're hiding him and this relationship and that worries me to my core. I also want you to know, however, that I've thought long and hard about this, and I'm not going to rat you out. But I'm not ratting you out on one condition: I want you to know that you can come to me and talk to me about things, things that have to deal with him or anything. You seem to think I'm prudish and boring sometimes, but I have more experience with these sorts of things than you'd probably expect. I don't want you to feel like you're alone in our family. I remember those days. 
W, I want to know what's going on with you and school. Well, okay, school is actually probably a symptom of a larger issue and not the issue itself. What's the issue itself? My mind instantly jumps to these hoodlum friends of yours. I hate saying that, but it's true. The vast majority of them are just no damn good. Whether or not you recognize that is not the issue I want to dwell on right now, though...what I want to dwell on is the fact that you don't have to be just like them to be their friends. If their friendship is contingent on your conformity just based on you being the same as them, then you can do better than that. I remember when you liked school. I remember when you came home with the star-studded report cards and A was the one I had to worry about. But W, you FAILED a marking period in Honors Biology. Brought an F home to our mother's house. I don't know what I believe less, that you did this or that our mother barely punished you for it (in comparison to the punishments I used to get). But again, I don't think the root issue here is that her standards have softened since I left the house; a) they were near-impossibly high to begin with and meeting them stressed me out every second of the day for 10ish years, but more importantly b) there again seems to be something larger here. I want you to talk to me, I want to know what's wrong. I don't want to call this acting out, but it's a significant change and I want to know what is causing it. 
Back together again: I've had enough of this you-two-against-me shit. We've been playing that game for about 14 years, it's time to do something new. Especially now that you're not a united force anymore regarding anything else. I would like us to try to have conversations like adults. I would like us to try to not let the smallest things blow up into the biggest arguments. It has recently come to my attention that other people, normal people, people I know and love and am convinced aren't crazy, are friends with their siblings. I would like to give this a try. 
But I guess first that would require feeling like I could ever, in a million years, say any of this to either of you. I don't think there's much hurt I could do to our relationships by trying, though...we barely interact when we're not in the same physical space anyway. So, #declaration: I'm going to try. Maybe I'll start small, maybe I won't say it all at once, but I'm going to call you and try to talk. Please do me a favor and try to listen.

This is all to say I love you,

Big Sis 

"I don't read books. I devour them."

An interesting character on the train today (actual real-life character, not one from the book I was reading) reminded me today that we, readers, bookworms, bibliophiles, are a rare and perhaps dying breed. Maybe we're just being replaced by these newfangled Kindle/Nook e-book readers. [Sometimes I wonder if an alien who was coming to observe our planet would think humans derived their energy from portable electronic machines, the way we're all so dependent on them--myself included. (Think about it, our headphones are chargers. Music on, world off, *regains strength*. Anyway...)]

So I'm sitting on the train, I put lipstick on and then pull my book back out of my bag. [Currently reading How to Read the Air by Dinaw Mengestu. I read his first book, The Beautiful Things that Heaven Bears last summer and loved it, so when I saw this at the library, it had to be mine for two weeks.] Out of the corner of my eye I notice this guy (middle-aged, overweight, semi-broke-down looking black man) drinking what appears to be a 1.5ish L bottle of Arbor Mist straight from the bottle alone on the train at 4pm, half roll my eyes, then open my book and continue reading along. A few minutes later, I have the distinct suspicion that I'm being watched, so I cautiously raise my eyes at the next page turn, and sure enough, Mr. Cheap-Fruity-Wine-o [I can't hate too hard, though, I love Arbor Mist, haha. Fruitiness+alcohol=my favorite] is looking at me. *does not acknowledge him in any way, returns to book* Minutes go by, and the next time I happen to glance up to see where we are in my journey to Princeton, I notice that Mr. Cheap-Fruity-Wine-o is speaking, and looking in my direction...oh, is he trying to talk to me? *cautiously takes out one earbud* 
This is a paraphrase of his spheel: "I was just looking at your book there. I was just saying how nice it is that you're reading. Don't think I'm some pervert, it's just, that's not something you see everyday on the train, a young girl reading. And I know you're actually reading too, cuz you're turning the pages, that's how I know you're reading. Otherwise you'd just be sitting there on some stupid shit. *realizes I might be offended* Oh I just--that's just how I talk. These just my words, man. Yeah, but you readin. That's, that's what's up." Me, interjecting in my faking-being-sincere-voice: "Thank you!" *tries to put headphones back in* He beats me: "I could tell you some real good books to read. Books that'll flip your mind. Cuz I read them a long time ago and they flipped my mind..." His phone rings. It's his mother. I escape back into my book.
First off, what is it about me that makes strange men think they can just talk to me? Is there an invisible sign above my head saying Open to Conversation? Someone teach me to turn it off. 
Secondly...he's right though. I take the train to and from Princeton everyday, and I see lots of people on their cell phones. I see lots of people listening to music. I see people on their laptops. I see people sleeping. I see people chatting and drinking coffee. But I'm not sure I've ever seen anyone else reading. I even have friends at Princeton who simply do not, under any circumstances, read things that aren't for class. And I mean, okay, guys, we are the raised-by-TV generation, but come on now. I love movies and music just as much as the next girl, but I've never reacted to any tangible object the way I react to a good book. I love the chance to be inside someone's or someones' head, to have their thoughts presented to me as if they were my own. I love wrapping myself up in their relationships, applauding their successes and dreading their downfalls. I love both being able to predict what happens next (because real life rarely works that way) and being surprised by a plot twist (because real life works that way). I have learned not to read series, because when they come to a close I feel almost as though I have lost a group of friends. I may never travel to India, or Pakistan, or [insert name of some random small Midwestern town here], but I can know the lifestyle and culture and feel of these places and their inhabitants from the comfort of my...wherever because a book is entirely transportable and will never run out of batteries or overheat. I love the ability to get lost in someone else's life, even if I'm in love with my own--no other medium of entertainment can give me that. 

Long story short: read. Evidently it sets us apart from the train-riding masses. Maybe it says you, sir/madam, are an intellectual. Maybe it says you're a thinker or a dreamer. Maybe it just serves as an icebreaker for sketchy middle-aged men. Regardless, read. It will serve you greater purpose than solely being interpretable, I promise. 

This link is simultaneously why I was really excited for Undercovers at the start of last fall's TV season, and most likely also why it failed so spectacularly that the producers didn't even let it carry out the season. #IwannaseemoreblackpeopleofcoloronTV

Wordles are fun

Wordle: teh bloggg