2nd 30 Day Letter Challenge--Day 26: Letter to Your Bed

Dear Beds,

As part and parcel of the fact that my life is broken into various pieces in various places and none of them feel very permanent anymore, I have three of you, and will address you each separately.

Bed in Mays Landing, we've reached a stage where you don't really even feel mine anymore. I'm just as comfortable sleeping on a couch in the living room as I am in you--the room you're in is A's now, not mine or even ours. Despite the fact that you're covered in my pillows with my teddy bears, I feel like a guest in you. [I sometimes feel like a guest in that whole house; a crazy feeling considering it's the best candidate for the title of house I grew up in.] As far as beds go, you've led a pretty dull life: you have had exactly 1 minor two-person adventure, one night when I was 18, my family was gone, and I was feeling brave. Now you're rarely even slept in. Someday in the not-too-distant-future you may officially become a guest bed in a house that almost never has guests, unless I steal you to come live with me and be mine again when I need to have a real place of my own. We'll see. Maybe you'll get to lead an exciting life yet. 
Bed in New Brunswick, you don't actually belong to me, but rather to the girl I'm subletting from, so I can't speak to your history of adventures (though we've had some fun times on our own ;) ). Your frame is too big. You aren't spectacular in any way, but you get the job done and I'm grateful to have been temporarily given you. You are very uncluttered, and our first few nights together being all alone in you was driving me crazy. [It still is to an extent, but I'm trying to pretend it's not.] I guess our time together is about halfway over (hmm, I should change your sheets), and during this first half I have given you a lot of sadness, and for that I apologize. The rest of our relationship should be comfortably neutral.
Bed in Edwards Hall, you are the only of these three beds I have ever made impeccably; a place that required invitation, you needed to be presentable. You're one of the things I worry about when I get into dreading September mode. [I've never dreaded school starting in my entire life. This feels weird.] This will be my last Princeton move-in day; part of me wants it to never come so that my last Princeton move-out day doesn't have to come either. One of the reasons I chose to stay in the same room next year as I lived in this past year was to help me deny the fact that time is passing and effectively running out. It was a strategy to pretend that nothing had to change. But now...sooooooo many things happened in that room, and you supported adventures on the regular. Adventures and sweet whispers that I am torn between remembering fondly and cringing at the thought of. You're a crime scene I'll have to return to every day for months and months, and I'm scared that getting back into you will make me relapse. I'm terrified of places like you--things that felt like home that might now become thoroughly uncomfortable, possibly even unsettling. How can I lay in you without thinking about all the history?

 "Every day begins with an act of courage and hope: getting out of bed." --Mason Cooley

-Maya

Some things don't change

Like the fact that this is good advice:

 I wasn't being calm about love for entirely different reasons when I ordered this about two and a a half weeks ago. [insert sordid details of what went down here] When it came in the mail last week, part of me wanted to chuck it right into the recycling bin at the student center and keep it moving. But something stopped me, and ever since then it's been sitting on the far corner of the desk in my room taunting me to figure out why I kept it [besides the fact that I spent $8 on it]. And today it kind of hit me: when I bought this, I saw it as a way to remind myself that I was going to get through Situation A and everything was going to be okay. There's no reason the same reminder can't be applied to the current Situation B or future Situations C-Z and beyond. Since I live according to the inalienable rights of love, liberty, and the pursuits of happiness and nappyness, this is solid life advice. A brave little footsoldier, my heart can never go into hiding. I care too much about everything, okay...but that's me and I don't really want to change it, even if it hurts. It's my philosophy that transience is no reason not to enjoy something--to the contrary, it's more of a reason to give yourself entirely to things, because you may not always have the luxury. So I will keep using the l-word liberally, with an understanding of its many varied levels, and continue to live with my heart wide open. Above everything else, everything that happened here showed me how dangerous it is to not actually be open about my feelings in real-time. So cheers to love and carrying on with it.  

I want to start meditating daily again.

It's that time of the summer again...

Eeyore mood.

That time when I realize that I spend way more time alone than I'm comfortable with. If my co-worker handles the one person who wanders into the library during our four-hour shift, I don't have to say a word to anyone besides my mom when I call her to say I got home okay and possibly ask for directions on how to cook something. Splitting my awake-time fairly evenly between Princeton and New Brunswick means I don't really have the time to hang out with anyone in either location on a regular basis. Remind me to never work nights again--it's terrible for one's social life. Part of me feels like I should "meet people"...then I begin to wonder how one successfully does that if one doesn't have a seed group to start from. And (rather ironically since I'm a sociologist) social interactions with new people really really intimidate me. But my big empty house in this small anonymous city is starting to feel really lonely. I think this is what I'm most worried about after graduation: the sudden disappearance of a social circle to fall back on. I'm a small intimate circles kind of person; I'm the kind of person that can easily happily devote all of her spare time to one person or a very small group of people. My ideal party has ten friends, a few bottles of alcohol, and some board games rather than a bar/club scene or anything involving a keg. So what do I do in a new place? I miss having people around to just hang out with. I guess that as a person who has shared a bedroom for the majority of her life, then lived in quads Freshman and Sophomore year, and then began spending her every waking moment at Quad Junior year, solitude is something I am neither used to or comfortable with for extended periods of time. 
In somewhat related news, I am craving physical contact sooooo strongly. Y'all know that I'm a very touchy-feely person: in the course of my normal (read: on campus [or previously, in high school]) life, my day is full of small touches in the midst of conversations, hugs and/or arms around shoulders, resting my head on others' shoulders, massages, people playing with my hair, etc. Now, I go days without hugging anyone. I'm the only person who plays with my hair on anything close to a regular basis. I may never get re-used to sleeping alone, but more on that in tomorrow's letter (which will be to my bed(s)). There are certain kinds of intimacy I miss that I can take care of on my own, but Aijuswannasnuggle.

2nd 30 day Letter Challenge--Day 25: Letter to the Last Person You Took a Picture with

Dear K,

Grrrr...I find it very unfortunate when in the course of these challenges I have to write to the same person twice. I briefly pondered who I could see in the course of the day and take a picture with so that I could write to someone else, but the only really viable options were E and T and I've written to both of them already too. So, as we took a small break from the course of E's party because we "needed new profile pictures," this letter is also to you.  Actually, even if I hadn't snapped that pic, this letter would still be to you from when we saw Erykah Badu, haha.


In the week and a half since I last wrote to you, we have partied (not unusual) and we have been shopping twice. I'm glad this has finally happened--we've been talking about shopping forever. You're a good shopping buddy: not above giving me opinions on things, willing to try on lots of hats and debate how they make us look, and evidently you're the only one of my friends who has the good sense to tell me not to buy a shirt just because it's kind of cute and ONLY SIX DOLLARS. [Yo, I still kind of want that shirt though. It was SIX DOLLARS.] Shopping with you tends to bring up questions about changing styles and like, whether the way each of us dresses fits our personalities; this could be me but is this me? It's fun and makes shopping like, more intellectual or artistic or something. It's cool.  You make me think about shopping for the future, as opposed to shopping for the now, which has led to all sorts of wonderful wonderments about how Professor Maya Reid will dress.
KO said you sound like a good guy for me to have around. I think he meant in terms of the fact that you seem to give good advice and be entirely correct about the circumstances of my life when I can't see them, much like T. I learn a lot from you. And who knows, maybe the quickness with which you went from semi-random acquaintance to one of the first people I turn to when something goes wrong is just yet another example of my tendency to care too much about everything too fast, but too bad. I like it. You're semi-stuck with me now.  :P


:D,


Maya


PS--We're supposed to watch American History X sometime. I thought about that when I woke up in the TV room on Saturday. Let's make it happen.

2nd 30 Day Letter Challenge--Day 24: Letter to Your Favorite Character from a Childhood Cartoon

Dear Chuckie Finster,

You were such a little nerd baby, with your chunky glasses and wild unruly ginger hair. As much as I wanted to identify with brave adventurer/explorer Tommy, I was always hiding behind my hands every time you were. You made me feel like being a little worrywart child was okay. And you hated clowns as much as I do. You were really close to your daddy, just like me, and you had asthma too. You were always getting into trouble for things that weren't your fault, just like me. I wanted to punch Angelica in the face on your behalf multiple times. I remember being kind of jealous when you got a sister. I was glad you weren't going to be lonely anymore, because I'd always thought you were kind of a lonely melancholy child like me, but somebody else got to spend all her time with you. All in all, even though you were always two as I got older and older, I always wanted to be your friend.

In fact, I've come to realize that my imaginary friend when I was 7 was based largely on you. His name was Melvin. He had orange hair and wore a purple shirt and dark green pants. He was older than me, maybe 12 or so, and he wasn't a wild adventurer either, but he looked out for me just like you looked out for Tommy and the twins.
Further confessions: I was even a little jealous of Samantha in All Grown Up! You hadn't changed at all and being my age-ish finally, I still thought you were absolutely adorable...but now in the if you were a real person I just might eat you up kind of way.

;),

Maya

I was introduced to a magical wonderful place today

May I present to you, Wonderland SEPHORA:

I had my first experience as a personal shopper today. My friend needed a fashion intervention to prepare for his new life as a doctoral candidate in NYC, and after learning of my shopaholic tendencies, decided I was the one to help him out. When we walked into Menlo Park Mall, though, the first thing I did was make him promise not to let me buy anything. He could see it was killing me, though, so he eventually relented slightly and let me purchase one accessory: a beautiful pair of purple earrings. Then, as we were about to leave the mall, he pointed to Sephora and asked if I had ever been there. My negative response induced a "WHAT?" from him, and he said, "Come on, let me show you something."

Within seconds of having walked in, two black women working in the front of the store complimented me first on my flower [hair accessory] (as did a cashier at Old Navy :D ) then on my hair itself and asked if I needed help finding anything. When I said it was my first time here, they both actually legitimately GASPED and one said "Girl. I'ma just let you walk around then." The other asked my friend if he'd been there before, and when he said yes, she seemed delighted that he could help me. He wanted to show me a product he uses, and as we walked back there to look at it, an attractive black man with like, impeccable facial hair approached us to ask if we were looking for anything specific. When I said it was my first time here, and that I was feeling a little overwhelmed, he said [paraphrasing here], "Stop. There's no need to be overwhelmed. This is what we're going to do. *throws head back* *takes a very deep breath* Front of the store is the beauty studio where you can have your look done for a wedding or a formal, or just to try out day or night styles. To the right is women's fragrances. To the left is men's fragrances. In the center of the store is the makeup section, where you'll find everything from liquid eyeliner to foundation to concealer to lip gloss to eye shadow. Then back this way we start to care about your skin itself, and we have products for dry skin, itchy skin, acne, oily skin, eczema, sun-damaged skin, [etc. etc.]. On the far side of the room is products for hair, frizzy hair, dry hair, color-treated hair *pauses to look at me* and voluminous hair. And in every section there will be someone to answer any questions you possibly have about any of our products. When you're here a lot, it really doesn't seem like much. But it's your first time..."

So you may have gathered from yesterday's post and/or from knowing me in real life, if you do, that I try to take very good care of my hair. I wouldn't go so far as to say I baby it--I don't wear protective styles or obsess about length retention--but I do sleep on a satin pillow and I do co-wash every day and I am conscious about the ingredients in the products I use. After years of abusing it, I try to spoil my hair and treat it to the finer things in life from time to time. So the first thing I did was run to the hair section. They carried a lot of Carol's Daughters products, but even though I had the opportunity to meet and talk with Lisa Price (Carol's daughter herself), I'm just not the BIGGEST fan of that company. Their products work, but don't work wonders, and I'm always unsure whether they are actually worth the price. Nothing screamed out to me there. But I continued to peruse the hair care section and discovered they had an entire section of shelving dedicated to Ouidad. I've heard some really great things about this line, but never had an opportunity to try it. And then the most amazing thing happened:

They had TESTER BOTTLES. And one of them was for the leave-in conditioner. 

I turned to my friend with a questioning look on my face, and he said I could go ahead and try it. The back of the bottle said it could be applied to wet or dry hair, so I figured what the heck, and squeezed a handful into my palm. It smelled heavenly. I glanced around somewhat self-consciously while I rubbed it between my palms, then I began to apply it to my hair, scrunching it into sections as quickly and hopefully-inconspicuously as I could. I asked my friend whether it had all gone in or if you could see any white stuff in my hair (a problem that has caused unfortunate instances with other products) and he said it was all gone and my hair looked shiny. So I waited a few minutes before putting my hands back in my hair to see how it felt, and MY CURLS HAVE NEVER BEEN SO MOISTURIZED. Granted, the product wasn't fully dry yet, but I could tell right away that my hair loved this. AND the ingredients list didn't contain anything scary! And did I mention the smell??? Everything about this product was loveLoveLOVE, so despite the kind of steep price ($22), I knew I had to have it. 

I then thought about making my way into the makeup section, but decided I actually really and truly didn't need fancy designer eye shadow before I fell in love with any color, and took my leave-in to the register. The cashier asked if I had their membership rewards card, and when I told her that I'd never been there before, she stopped, gave me a puzzled look, and said, "...That's scary." [Evidently I am the embodiment of the kind of woman they try to reach or something, Idk. But every clerk in the store seemed SHOCKED that I wasn't a regular.] Well I know I'll be coming back, so I got the rewards card, and I just walked out of the store with my hair looking shiny and smelling fabulous. I'm still a little overwhelmed, and feel like I could do some serious damage to my bank account there if I were unsupervised, but just...Sephora is a magical wonderful place.     

Moms Say the Darndest Things

"Maya...I don't know how to tell you this...but...you're a shopaholic."

2nd 30 Day Letter Challenge: Day 23--Letter to a Part of Your Body

Dear Fro,


It's hard for me to find an appropriate word for how very pleased I am that you have come to be representative of me as an individual. It's always so funny when someone who didn't know me way back when catches a glimpse of my ID or browses through my older profile pictures and realizes that I once used to straighten my hair every single day. Sometimes multiple times a day. It was like a religious calling. 

We've been through a lot together, hair: relaxers from small childhood through middle school, which I thank you immeasurably for being stronger than and never totally losing your thick kinky curls, no matter how hard my mother and I and once even a real hairdresser tried--we always had to use heat too on a regular basis; then the less-damaging but still unfair to you daily process of heat damage from flat-irons, with a twice-a-week-ish addition of a hot comb; and I didn't even learn that I had also been damaging you with unnatural chemicals included in the products I'd been using until after I decided to go and STAY natural. 

I want to formally apologize that it took me so long to accept you as you are. I had never really kept you how you're meant to be for long enough to get to know you; you were an unfortunate byproduct of swimming or unexpected rain, and non-black people were always fascinated by you. I was always annoyed at the prospect of having to spend hours under heat and some pain to fix you: from the bottom of my very soul, I am sorry for ever thinking you needed to be fixed. I talked yesterday about my mother's strictness regarding personal appearance--she relaxed you as early as she could, and I had never known my hair as anything but straight. Even when I learned how bad relaxers were and wanted to stop, I continued straightening you because I didn't know how to do anything else--it was the way it had always been, so I let it continue. It wasn't until I came to Princeton and you were accidentally introduced to my friends here one day after a wash that I realized I was allowed to love you. You didn't have to be hidden away, you didn't have to be changed. 

And we've been through even more since then: while your gorgeous texture means going natural wasn't as much of a struggle for me as it is for some women, I still had no idea what to do with you. I still didn't know what products to use or how to deal with the knots and the tangles. You didn't always look the same from day to day in the beginning. I went into the decision to stay natural with a brave face, but I can tell you now that I was a little afraid of you. But now we've been together for a year and a half, and I don't plan on ever letting you go. I know you so much better now. I know what you like and what you don't like, though I'm always still experimenting to find you new treats. I detangle you regularly with no problems. I have learned to style you in more ways than just your natural fro without losing any of your volume or curl pattern. I have bought you accessories and shiny toys that get constant compliments. I can't keep my hands out of you, and I welcome the touch of anyone close to me. 

You are a wild thing with a gentle nature, and damn anyone who wants me to tame you. You are free spirit and spontaneity and a manifestation of difference. You represent the strange mixture of all the things that I am. You are hundreds of tiny revolutions. You are beautiful and I don't give a fuck what science says, you are strong. You are soft and spongy and luscious and thick and kinky and twisted and MINE. The first thing my dad said when I sent him a picture of you was that I looked more like myself than I ever had; it's the same idea that my friends are getting at when they try to understand how straight hair was ever me. It wasn't. You are me and I'm sorry India, but I am you. You're it for me, you know. I pledge my honor that I will love and respect and care for you for the rest of our natural life.

I cherish you,

Maya

^I have a t-shirt with her on it

Something to Cross off the Bucket List:

I kissed a stranger! Maybe it was just a little peck, but still!

2nd 30 Day Letter Challenge: Day 22--Letter to a Feeling You Wish You Didn't Feel

Dear

Also reblogged from my friend L

I'm not suffering from you right now, but you come in and out of my life so regularly that as soon as I saw L's post, I knew today's letter had to be to you, because you are never a welcome presence in my life. It comforts me only slightly that I understand exactly where you come from:

Back when Amy Chau's memoir was released, lots of my Asian and non-Asian friends started joking around about whether their parents were Tigers (and not in the legacy-student sense of the word). These students, who for the most part play instruments, got amazing grades throughout their primary and secondary educations, and now go to one of the top universities in the world found it easy to joke about the effectiveness or benefits of Tiger-Motherhood, regardless of whether their own parents had been Tigers. My own mother was only a Tiger certain ways--appearances were everything, and one's hair had to be straight, neatly arranged, and one's clothes had to be ironed if one were going to go anywhere with her--most notoriously in terms of her standards for my academic success; I had to beg and plead for extra-curricular development, rather than be forced to practice my instrument for hours on end. All that open communication and "talking" rather than authoritative discipline that Annette Laureau talks about with wealthy parents' style of raising their children...yeah you can tell we were poor, because her word was law and the only appropriate response was "Yes ma'am Mom".  Praise was not common in my house--in my ex-stepfather's words: "Why should I reward you for acting like you're supposed to?"

Straight A's were mandatory in my household for me according to my mother's rules from the very beginning. I didn't really even have to work at this until sixth grade math; Mrs. Franks hated us and constantly reminded us that we were idiots in comparison to the accelerated math class from the year before (don'tcha just love people who shouldn't be around children in their formative years and choose to become teachers?). I came home with my first ever B, and my mother was furious. I tried to explain that the class was hard, and I couldn't be perfect, and my then-stepfather beat me mercilessly. Buckle end of the belt. My failure (because anything less than perfection was failure) was unacceptable and would not be tolerated in this house. I would be perfect, or I would be punished. End of story.

When my mother and the abusive asshole finally separated for the last time, when I was in the 7th grade, I thought the worst of it was over. I was taller than my mom by that age, and though I had no doubt she could still beat me, I doubted that she would. And I was right: psychological torture was her weapon of choice.

Example A) My school district sent home interim report cards about halfway through each marking period, designed to let you and your parents know how you were doing in your classes so that improvements could be made if necessary before final grades came out. In the second marking period of the year when I was in 7th grade, my interim report card came home showing that I had a B in Art, with As in all my other classes. The comments said that I had incomplete work, which was not untrue--we had been working on an Indian-henna-practices-inspired scratch art piece, and in the vein of true Indian henna, my work was ornate and complex. It took considerably more time than my classmates' flowers and simple patterns, and I wasn't done yet, but wasn't going to compromise my project to finish on time; you can't rush art. [The piece later went on to be featured in the County Art Fair #I'mjustsayin] This explanation didn't come close to being acceptable to my mother though; she grounded me, said I was not going to perform in the band's Winter Concert which I had a 12-measure solo in, and took away my TV, computer privileges, books, and library card. I had to go in to school the next day and explain this to my band director, while I was sobbing and so ashamed that I couldn't look him in the eye. He told me he'd suspected things were bad at home, but never anything like this. He took it upon himself to speak with my art teacher, who reluctantly allowed me to take home the tools I needed to finish my project and then wrote a note to my mother saying that my grade was an A, which my mother reluctantly accepted and let me be in the concert.

Example B: 8th grade. My school had become so overcrowded that some genius (read: idiot) administrator decided to implement a one-way-hallway policy designed to facilitate faster commutes from one classroom to another between bells. Students caught going the wrong way in a one-way hallway were subject to detention. One day, I left my sneakers in the locker room after gym. I realized this as I was halfway down the one-way hallway on my way to Health class, and tried to turn around and go back, but a teacher yelled at me. I told him what had happened and he said to go to class and ask my Health teacher for a pass to go to the gym. I went to class and the Health teacher said I had to wait to the end of the period, and then he would write me a pass explaining why I would be late to my next class. Needless to say, by the end of that period, my sneakers were nowhere to be found. I went home and explained what had happened to my mother, and said I needed new sneakers--I'd only owned one pair. She told me I should have been more responsible, and that she wasn't going to buy me new sneakers. So, every day for the rest of the marking period, I was unprepared for gym class. I tried to participate when I could, but usually my teacher made me sit on the bleachers because I didn't have the right shoes. And come the end of the marking period, I got a C in gym, with the comments stating that I was unprepared. My mother screams at me for hours, grounds me for the entire next marking period (about 10 weeks), again stripping my room of everything but a bed and a dresser and taking away my computer and library privileges. I wasn't allowed to celebrate my 14th birthday--no cake, no party, no gifts. But at least she bought me a goddamn pair of sneakers.

Example C) Freshman year of high school, Geometry. Barely squeaked by with a 91, the lowest grade in the A-range. She told me it was unacceptable. Confused, I said, "But mom, it's an A. Look at the scale!" She said it wasn't a high enough A.

Example D) My senior year of high school, once I was already accepted to Princeton and had decided the rest of my high school career was meaningless, I wasn't doing too well in AP Calc II. I may have had a C at the interim-reporting time. My friends lamented having gotten their interims, and I was legitimately afraid to go home because I didn't know what my mother would do to me. I'd never had that kind of grade in an academic class before. I rummaged around the house until I found a spare mailbox key, prayed to a God I didn't believe in, and thanked my lucky stars when I found that she hadn't checked the mail the day before because my interim was still in the box. I very sneakily removed it, left everything else undisturbed, and destroyed all evidence of its existence. She never asked about it. I'll never tell.

One of the reasons Remember the Titans is one of my favorite movies (besides Denzel) is that the team overcomes every possible obstacle to actually achieve the supposed-to-be-impossible requirement of perfection. They gave me hope that even in the darkest moments, even when I was damned if I did and damned if I didn't, even when I wanted to run away or give in to her threats to send me to live with my father, I could take it. WILL. YOU. EVER. QUIT????? NO. WE WANT SOME MORE. WE WANT SOME MORE. WE WANT SOME MORE!!!!!! It was probably somewhere around this time of my life that I silently declared war against my mother. The time for trying to reason with her had long since passed, so I put my game face on and said Bring it, bitch. Every impossible standard she threw at me, I worked my ass off to reach. It damn near killed me, but I did it. I shattered everyone's expectations...even her own, I think. I hated her for it, every day for so many years of my life I hated her for it...but look where it got me. I can't say it didn't work.

And now, as I keep saying, I am a grown-ass woman. My mother no longer has that kind of control over me--I made sure of this as I worked to change the tone of our relationship once I went to college. She tried to give me shit about having a B in Spanish my first semester, and I made it clear that I wasn't having it. I guess having an above-average GPA at the (then-) number one institution in the country was enough for her, because the battles ceased. 

At least, the ones with her did. The problem with being exposed to something so regularly for such a prolonged period of time, however, is that you unconsciously begin to internalize it. I have different standards than those she demanded that I meet, but I still hold myself to them as rigorously as she made me. I am still disappointed by B+s. I still over-involve myself and then drive myself damn-near-crazy trying to give my all to every single commitment I have. I still can't do anything halfway. I still can't leave my room/house for the day without checking the mirror. I don't like to call myself a control freak, but I panic when something happens in my life that I have no power over. Every time I stumble or misstep walking down this crazy path called life, I become an emotional wreck. My tiniest mistakes are blown into epic proportions in my head, and instead of looking at an obstacle and instantly thinking up ways to turn it into a stepping stone, I sit and cry and feel like my entire world has come crashing down around me. Every time something goes wrong, even something that I had no control over, you completely overtake me and leave me a crumbled tear-stained mess on a floor or in my bed. I always fall back on you, instantly looking for ways to blame myself, always wondering what's wrong with me that caused this to happen. A mistake temporarily ends me. It's so easy for me to ignore all my accomplishments and feel like a total and complete failure when something goes wrong, because though I'm now sure she didn't mean to, she made me feel like a collection of mistakes, rather than a human being who is allowed to err. I don't know how to limit myself, which is as much of a curse as it is a blessing. I cannot wage war against myself as I waged war against my mother, because my goal is to love me in every way that I can. That means getting her, and the way she presumably DOESN'T EVEN FEEL ANYMORE (and probably never felt), out of my head. 

These are self-affirmations:

I am allowed to make mistakes. I cannot learn without them. The world will not end if I have to backtrack a little bit. Not every misstep is a failure. The sun will rise even if I don't have a small success to offer it. The pinnacle of perfection is simply being myself. That is the only end-goal I need.

Take your ass on home, atelophobia. You are not welcome here.

Respectfully not yours,

Maya       

Allow me to be narcissistic for a moment

Let's begin with an excerpt from one of my favorite blogs, so you can see where I'm heading with this discussion of narcissism:

"I imagine that one who is beautifully Self Centered (or Narcissistic) is…

• Gracefully centered in herself. She knows the inner workings of her being better than anything else on earth. She understands that she & her happiness are her first priorities.
• One that listens to her heart. She only makes decisions that will benefit her contentment & is unapologetic if her choices make others flustered. She realizes that she cannot change others & that it isn’t her duty.
• Completely self loving. She is sensual. She revels in the sight of her naked body. She radiates a kind of eroticism that is subtle & intimate. She seduces herself on a daily basis to celebrate the fondness she has for her being.
• Perfectly self-possessed. She exudes confidence & poise, so much that she practically walks on air. She never lets anyone get in the way of her own convictions. She doesn’t allow any one thing to label her or tell her what she isn’t.

We should all venture on the path to being unapologetically Self Centered & Narcissistic, if only just a little bit. I have a feeling that the moment we do that we will see ourselves in a new light, one that illuminates our entire being authentically & freely." --from Sex, Love[,] & Liberation (I refuse to abandon the Oxford comma.)

So one of the unexpected furnishings of my subletted room in my big empty house in New Brunswick was a full-length mirror, something I'd been woefully missing since an unfortunate incident involving my delusions of being a basketball star and throwing a glass bottle halfway across my dorm room in the direction of my trash can [which my mirror sat behind]. As I expected, however, my room didn't come with a dresser, which means that with the exception of my undies, which reside semi-sketchily in one of these contraptions from B^3, all my clothes are organized in my surprisingly large closet. The mirror is attached to the little bit of wall surrounding the doorway into the closet. This means that I very often find myself standing in front of it more-than-half-naked while I try to figure out what I want to wear for the day. 
At pretty much all times of my life prior to this [with the notable exceptions of the two times in my life I have used a mirror to get a good look at the parts of me that until 3 months ago no other human being had ever seen, once when I was 10 as inspired by a book about puberty my mom bought me and again this February, as inspired by AZ's performance in the Vagina Monologues, about a man who wanted to LOOK at her, which made me want to look at myself...], mirrors have been used primarily for finalizing the look [like, since coming to Princeton, mostly daily makeup-application] or quick-checking the finalized product before walking out the door. A recovering one-piece-bathing-suit-addict, I've never made it a habit to look at myself when I'm not properly covered up. Until now. 
And this morning, like yesterday morning, and a very large number of mornings for the past month, I stood in front of that mirror in shorts and a bra thinking about what shirt I wanted to wear and was interrupted by the passing idea You are so sexy. It wasn't a self-affirmation, not a task I'd set out for myself to do when looking in the mirror in the morning...it traveled through my brain as a simple statement of fact, like It's raining outside. I've realized that this idea has been growing in strength over the past month; it started with something like surprise, like Wow I don't look half-bad. Then it became In fact, I might even look kinda good. Suddenly it wasn't so hard to accept the idea that someone could want me. A couple nights ago when my friend C called me to talk about how I was dealing with the break-up, I didn't even laugh too hard when she said I was too gorgeous for him anyway. It was like somewhere along the way I actually started to believe that I might be objectively attractive in my own way. 
I'm not saying I used to sit around thinking I was the ugliest mothafucka on the planet or anything. But I certainly didn't think that I might, in fact, be hot. [Despite the fact that T says it all the time...she totally wants me ;) ] I'm trying to understand how this happened. 
I guess somewhere around the time when I went natural, I also began to change my style of dress a little bit and not feel like I had to dress up so much for daily life. I wanted to look put-together [it's a thing], yes, but I still wanted to look like me. So I added more t-shirts to my wardrobe along with more dresses. I bought flats and eventually allowed them to replace the heels in my life. I know people say this so much it's becoming a cliche, but going natural really did give me this general aura of confidence, like I wasn't afraid to be me despite because of the fact that I didn't fit the norm. I danced at parties even though I know I'm not good at it, and one or two guys started to dance with me. [This had never happened before.] And while I was perusing the interwebs in search of a Halloween costume last year, I found this and imagined it hugging my curves and WASN'T AFRAID TO FACE THE WORLD IN IT. So I bought it, and I wore it, and I got more compliments that night than ever before on a single day of my life (with the possible exception of graduation). Girls were jealous and WHITE MEN I DIDN'T KNOW danced with me--in other words, the world was crazy. And those reactions prompted me to get a little daring and buy SHORT DRESSES to wear to semi/formals in the spring, because evidently my legs didn't need to be hidden, and again, compliment after compliment. I bought fancy underwear sets and felt like a goddess in them. Dirty little secret time: I posed nude for a friend taking a photography class at Princeton who needed a female model. And even if I don't love how I look in every picture, there are some that are priceless and I love the fact that I did it. From there, I bought a bikini and have worn it to the beach multiple times--WITHOUT GIVING A FUCK THAT MY BODY ISN'T A STICK. I bought shorts that aren't bermudas and thus actually hug the curves of my ass.
What I'm trying to say is I love my body. And not just because of the six pounds I've lost without trying since summer started. And not just because someone else loved my body. He helped in that process, sure, but this came from within me. Haters can hate...today I say, with the promise of again saying tomorrow, that I am gorgeous, honey.  

Yo I Wish Somebody Would...

Cuz y'all know I would just love a chance to sue. All kinds of racist bullshit. Some rando's hands all up in my kinks? Uh-uh, honey. We don't play that. I'd probably get locked up in airport-jail somewhere waiting for the big boys to come interrogate me for all the hell I'd raise. Luckily, the fro and I have been through airport security successfully many a time. I'm keeping the fingers crossed for myself, and for some justice/at-the-very-least-a-damn-apology for this woman.

“Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia.” --E. L. Doctorow

^Love

2nd 30 Day Letter Challenge: Day 21--Letter to Something/Someone You've Outgrown

Dear Unwillingness-to-talk-to-my-father-about-anything-remotely-personal,

I'm surprised by how excited I am that I've gotten past you. This didn't happen through the normal outgrowth process of making a conscious decision to change something I don't like about my life, working diligently, getting frustrated that I'm not seeing progress, calming myself down and saying I think I can, I think I can until it was done. I don't know if I even realized I wanted to until by world was so thoroughly turned upside down that it just...happened. He called me that night, approximately 12 hours after it had all gone down, as I was leaving K's courtyard, and after initial consoling I-just-wish-bad-things-never-had-to-happen-to-you-because-you're-such-a-good-person and other protective Daddy-type things, he asked me if I wanted to talk about it. And I hesitated, but then said okay, and was taken a little aback by my own answer. I could tell he was started too. But then we...talked.
My dad and I have an...interesting relationship. We haven't lived under the same roof since I was an infant, and until I was 9 years old we saw each other once a week (sometimes twice if I was lucky). When my family moved from Mays Landing to Pleasantville for a year, he even moved to Pleasantville too, so as to not be too far from me. He was my reprieve from a far-too-troubled-for-any-9-year-old-to-have-to-deal-with life at home, my Superman, and my very best friend. And then he up and moved to Detroit after the Sands casino closed, and I felt so very alone in the world. For the first few years, I tried really hard to make it work. We talked on the phone every couple days, and I was really diligent about trying to fill him in on every little detail of my life. And then we had what I guess can be called our first falling out the week of my thirteenth birthday; he was supposed to fly back to New Jersey to visit me, the first time he'd have been home since he moved, but then his stupid girlfriend broke her stupid ankle and he stayed to take care of her. I resented him for it, and hated her. And I made the decision then to start weaning him from the intimate details of my life...I had a phone-Daddy, not a real live father who deserved that kind of information. Then my mother had the brilliant idea of sending me to spend 8 weeks with my father the summer before my freshman year of high school. He suddenly tried to start being my parent, rather than my buddy, and let's just say rebellious teenager Maya wasn't having it. We got into a huge fight and didn't speak for the last week and a half of my stay with him...or for about 4 months later. Afterwards, I became polite and cordial and called him approximately once a week out of a sense of duty. We finally talked about all of this sometime during my sophomore year of college, and he asked how he could fix things. I was...skeptical that things could be fixed.
But then they magically just, were. I didn't tell him everything, but I opened up to him more than I have in the past decade. I spoke to him freely about my life and who said what when and why it mattered. I explained to him why I felt so wronged--he had trouble understanding why it was such a big deal...men, lol. He listened to me when I was angry and he listened to me when I was sad and he was just there for me, saying encouraging things. He even offered to fly me down to visit him in Florida for a few days if I needed to get away from Princeton and "the memories". I felt like a little girl with a Daddy again...or maybe finally like a grown woman with a father she can rely on. Either way, it was a wonderful feeling. Especially when my mom wouldn't talk about it. He said on his mind all day while he was at work was me, and how I was holding up at work, and how I was going to get through this. He was so concerned about me. He loves me so much; I don't know how I ever forgot that. 
So good riddance, unwillingness. I'm glad you're gone. I can't believe I let you stay in my life for as long as I did. My dad deserves better than you. He deserves me. 


Maya

PS: I complained to some friends last week about how the ability of a person to come into your life, turn it upside down, and then leave and turn it upside down again without everything falling back into its original place was one of life's biggest injustices. But now I see that there is some beauty in this. Sometimes you have to be forced into changing the things that deserve changing the most. 

The internet is full of weird things.

Who really needs a wire fish hair accessory?

SANCTITY OF MARRIAGE MY BLACK ASS.

Reblogged from The Angry Black Woman, who makes me happy.

So uhhh...I don't usually do this...but...

so many things have gone RIGHT in my life today that I feel the need to share my awesome mood with the world at large.

1. I remembered to close my blind before I went to sleep last night so the sun didn't wake me up before 8 like has happened every day for the last week or so. And when I woke up at the wonderful time of 9:30ish, guess who WASN'T on my mind? Instead, on my mind was the fact that I had a one-o-clock meeting with my independent study professor and wanted to be prepared. That's right, I was my top priority again.
2. I sat down at my desk to think about what I was going to say at said meeting, and began flipping back through my notes to realize I'd made some pretty interesting notes and picked up on some pretty fascinating things and actually had questions I wanted to ask and things I wanted to brainstorm about! It was like I'd secretly done work without realizing! And then I went to my meeting and the professor I'm working with ATE IT UP. She was all, wowwww, yessss! interesting! and loves the direction I'm going in and thinks I come up with the right kinds of questions and just generally seemed impressed. And here I was thinking I was going to have to be all apologetic and shameful for being behind! Our meeting went phenomenally and left me feeling really empowered about my independent work.
3. After my meeting I went to CVS. I really just needed conditioner, and some plastic cups for a party I'm throwing for E's birthday on Friday. But, because I am a good shopper, no matter how little I plan to spend, I always scan my extracare card on the machine thing to see what coupons it will spit at me. And I hit the COUPON JACKPOT today! $3 extrabucks, $3 off a purchase of $15 or more, $2 off any Pantene product, $4 off any Revlon mascara, and some others that were less relevant to my life. But I needed conditioner anyway and I could always use more mascara and then I decided that I would treat myself to a fancy Pantene de-frizzing stuff called "Smoothing Balm" because it was on sale and I had a coupon, bought my normal Tresemme conditioner, and discovered that Honey Nut Cheerios (my second-favorite cereal) were on sale 3 full-size boxes for $10 so got three of them too! Grand total? $20.64. SO. MUCH. WINNING.
4. Then! I decided to take myself to Panera for lunch because I'd just saved so much money (and I got paid today anyway), and on the way from CVS to Panera I ran into my friend KG! (K pointed out to me a while ago that there are too many people in my life whose first name begins with K, so now I'm calling all the others by two initials.) I hadn't seen her in about a month and a half, and it turns out she was on her way to Panera too! So we had lunch together and caught up and people-watched and read, then we made our way to the student center for
5. FREE ICE CREAM! Which was delicious. And free. And we met some friends of a girl I work at the library with, and one of them complimented me on my headband, again making me feel like my quest for awesome hair styles and accessories is going wonderfully. (Yesterday I got complimented on both my hair and my flower by a transitioning high school girl at the student center.)
6. One of my best friends from middle school is coming to visit next weekend! We had an impromptu Facebook-chat conversation today which led to realizing that we weren't that far away from each other this summer and our trio was all free next weekend = REUNION. New Brunswick isn't ready.

Why can't every day be awesome like this? Life is so good. 

2nd 30 Day Letter Challenge: Day 20--Letter to your Cell Phone

Dear Cell Phone,

Sometimes it shocks me to remember that I was alive during a time when your predecessors didn't exist yet...or at least not for the general public. I remember wanting to contact my mom when I was a little kid, but she had left the house and there was NO TELLING WHEN I WOULD BE ABLE TO REACH HER. I was a very easily-worried child, and I remember that I would start like, having small panic attacks because she said she'd be home by 9 and it was 9:17 and WHAT IF SHE WAS LAYING IN A DITCH ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD SOMEWHERE?!?!
And then devices like you were born. I earned my first one, not by beating out R for the number one spot in our high school class like my mother wanted me to, but by scaring my whole family to death by getting trapped in an elevator in Maryland alone while trying to meet my sister. But anyway, this letter is supposed to be to you specifically, not just your ancestors and extended family members. 

You are a blue Panetch Impact. Our relationship started in mid-March, as I finally stepped into the 21st century and upgraded to a phone with a keyboard and some touchscreen features. My old one didn't flip, slide, or even have a camera. (I do have to admit, though, it held more than 10x as many text messages as you can. I miss that.) Generally, though it took me a little while to get used to you, I really like you and I'm glad we started this. You do what I ask of you with no complaints and sometimes even surprise me by taking really good pictures. Your calendar lets me be as detailed as my life demands. No data plan = I haven't really explored all your features (sorry...mom still pays for you, you know), but I still feel sleek and modern and cool with you. I'm not embarrassed when it's time to exchange numbers and I pull you out of my pocket.
My friends used to chastise me because I was prone to leaving my phone places for hours and not checking it, but that changed towards the end of my relationship with my ex-phone, because I didn't want to miss any of a certain someone's text messages. Though that's over, I think I'm holding onto the idea of never having you out of arm's reach, which is probably a good thing. At least without the capability to use the internet on you, I will not become one of those smart-phone-addicts. You're smart enough for me. ;) Although I am wondering if you'll hold more texts if I get you a MicroSD card...hmm...

Anyway, I hope we'll be together a good long while (but I got insurance on you just in case),

Maya   

My friends are maaaaaaaad inspiring:

A friend's Facebook status:

"What comes easily you'll esteem cheaply. Dreaming is easy. Making those dreams a reality is HARD. But, anything truly worth doing requires work so, come what may, gotta keep pressing on because fighting for your dreams means they'll mean that much more to you when you finally achieve them."

BABY CARROTS ARE A LIE

What sweet little babies! Look at them, they're so cute, I could just eat them up!

^

lies

YOU HAVE BEEN TRICKING ME, VEGGIE-PROMOTERS. I DO NOT LIKE DECEIT.  THESE ARE JUST NORMAL CARROTS CHOPPED UP TO BE SMALL AND CONVENIENTLY DIP-IN-RANCH-DRESSING-ABLE. HOW DAAAAARRRRREEEEE YOU?

 

Extended metaphor time...

So this Goffman reading is actually really helpful to my life. 

In one of his most oft-quoted plays, Shakespeare said:

"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts..." --from As You Like It

 Goffman analyzes the same idea on a smaller scale, from the viewpoint that our very personalities are performances. We spend lots of time and energy constructing them and molding ourselves into the people we want to be. We imagine how our words and actions will be interpreted by others, and whether those interpretations will align with those others' expectations. Everything I have learned and am learning about personal and social identities leaves me inclined to agree with him; effectively, our whole lives are a show, and whether the lines are ostensibly "ours" or belong to a character we're trying out, the whole thing is improvised. The thing to never forget about life is that we're all just making it up as we go along--figuring out who we are requires experimenting with who we can and can't be. How can you know what will or won't feel legitimate unless you try it out? The audience may always be satisfactorily convinced, but we must always be our own harshest critics--only we know how much work went into the role we're playing. Anyone who has ever acted knows that even though action is called for those in front of the curtain, the real excitement happens backstage--what I'm learning is that no matter who you invite backstage to see both sides of the show, your backstage is still a performance space for them. There's no way around it, so don't try to reveal all your tricks and expect the same in return. Go ahead, give away your front row seats, yeah, and don't be afraid to invite others to join you on your stage...as long as you don't forget that they have their own dressing rooms that are just as hectic as yours. Social conduct is a performance and even the briefest of interactions is choreographed; relationships are dances and sometimes your toes will get stepped on or you'll have a hella awkward head bump, but you've gotta walk it off. Your identity is a diamond with countless facets; there are a million personalities inside of you, a million roles you know how to play. Send this one back for further character development if you have to, but remember folks, the show must go on.

My research is taunting me.

I'm currently reading The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life by Erving Goffman. It's one of the most foundational works in sociological social psychology and is absolutely critical to the study of identity...and working through it today has been a ridiculous struggle. The first chapter is all about social performances, identity management, the ability to represent and misrepresent oneself at will. Shortly after a paragraph on why impostors are so psychologically damaging, he's discussing lying now, and when it is and is not acceptable. I hold myself to a moral standard that does not allow me to quote him at length, for this reading is taking me back to feelings I abandoned a few days ago, and I only discuss my own mistakes at length, but just...this is my life, in black and white, laid out by a scientist in my field. I feel like I'm being punk'd. But at least all my feelings are validated, regardless of how conflicting they are. It makes it difficult to read sometimes, but it also is...relaxing in a way. This happens often enough to be studied by professionals. This is a part of the normal course of life. No one here did anything unusually wrong. Life isn't ganging up on me, it's just...life.  Shit happens, even especially when we don't mean for it to.

In Goffman's popular words amongst my intellectual circle, "Paradoxically, the more closely the impostor's performance approximates to the real thing, the more intensely we may be threatened, for a competent performance by someone who proves to be an impostor my weaken in our minds the moral connection between legitimate authorization to play a part and the capacity to play it."  

In the immortal words of Dr. Gregory House, "People lie." 


In the less immortal words of big brother Eric on Boy Meets World, "Life's tough, get a helmet."

So I've Been on a Now Not-So-Secret Mission

alongside the mission of learning to do cute things with my hair. One of the best (and easiest) ways to do something cute to my hair is to pin a section back with one of those nifty little hideable combs and put something cute in it. Cute things could also decorate the side of a fro-hawk or some other more detailed style, plus, come on, y'all know me...how have I been missing out on this opportunity to accessorize/COLOR-COORDINATE? (Matching is seriously one of my favorite things to do. There was a girl who came into the library one day whose HEADPHONES matched her DRESS and I almost died of jealously.) 

Sooooooo...the results of my interwebz-hunting and gathering thus far:

(Ignore my messy bed)

What do y'all think? I'm really excited by what I have so far, but also really interested in seeing if people have any suggestions for what other types of things I could get and/or know any cool places to look for hair accessories (etsy and ebay are my main places right now, and Forever 21 which surprises me).

^_^

A staff member at the library today, whom I do not know and have never spoken to before, stopped me while I was walking out of one of the offices to say the flower in my hair reminded her of Billie Holiday. A comparison to someone so beautiful, graceful, elegant, poised, talented, and historically important has helped to alleviate the ball-of-unfortunate-feelings that has yet to vacate the pit of my stomach. She was such a diva. I hope I'm half as classy. 

 
PS This just gives me more incentive to continue my mission to have the best collection of hair accessories Princeton has ever seen. I just got another large shipment today, maybe it's finally time for a picture-post to show you all what I've been working on. :D

2nd 30 Day Letter Challenge: Day 19--Letter to Someone You Worry About

Dear T,

You've had some very cryptic blog posts recently, and they make me feel like there are things going on in your life that I either don't know about at all or don't know nearly enough about. I don't want you to think for a second that just because I'm drowning in my own drama right now, I don't have time for you or your problems, be they serious or not. You're still my bestie and it would probably do me some serious good to be able to prioritize anything other than my own pity-party right now. [Trying to prioritize my work is only half-working. I'll never really be a workaholic, I'm too much of a life-and-love-aholic, and I find it hard to be upset about that though it would be convenient right now...] If I know what's going on with you well enough to worry effectively, then maybe I'll wake up with anything but you-know-who on my brain every morning. [That's getting old and downright rude.] If nothing's going on and you're just being cryptic for the hell of it, that's fine too and I won't be worried...I guess right now the not knowing is what I'm worried about. I'm worried that I've become too tunnel-visioned and self-centered (and previously relationship-centered) to know what's happening in your life, which is obviously the opposite of cool.

Talk to me, betch. Let's remedy this issue. Preferably over daiquiris [I figured out what was wrong with my blender...operator error...]. 

<3,

Maya

It's just now dawning on me

that Musiq was talking to love as an abstract idea here, not love as a person he loved. 

So in that vein, I have to agree with him:

"(Love) So many people use your name in vain [ain't that the truth?] / (Love) Those who have faith in you sometimes go astray [I don't want to be one of them again]/ (Love) Through all the ups and downs, the joys and hurts/ (Love) For better or worse I still will choose you first." 

Firsts

You were my first gentleman

The first to sweep me off my feet

You were the first man to ask me on a legitimate date

or want to meet each other’s families

You were the first man I could imagine bringing home

for Thanksgiving Dinner, or going away with

You were the first time I didn’t feel embarrassed

No, I was entirely comfortable in my own skin

with your teasing sensitivity all over my own skin

You were the first man I wanted to lay myself bare for,

though I could only manage that in the most obvious of ways.

You were the first man I welcomed wholly into my space,

the first man I wanted to clear out a drawer for.

You were the first man to make me feel treasured.

You made me believe in love after I’d long-forgotten how.  

I was the first woman to try to share her life with you,

the first to always want you around.

I was the first woman you thought you could make happy.

Rife with raw emotion, I was the first woman

to make your life complicated.

I was the first woman you treated like a Queen.

I was the first to show you there difference between

love as something you do and love as something you’re in,

for you could only manage the former (and do it spectacularly).

I may have been the first woman to stress you out

or to make you ask yourself really difficult questions.

I was the first woman you shared a bed with, and in that

I hope I’m not the first woman you compromised yourself for.

We were each other’s first serious relationship,

and firsts are a series of trial and error.

We wondered more about what the other person wanted

or expected than we paid attention to ourselves.

We killed a hundred conversations with kisses.

We said things we weren’t ready for.

We are each teacher and student, villain and victim,

the player and the played. Somewhere between

lust and love, we were each other’s first adventure.

Despite inexperience, we treated each other well

We gave to each other as well as we could.

Now it’s time to give back to ourselves.  

2nd 30 Day Letter Challenge--Day 18: Letter to a Disney Character

Dear Princesses/Heroines,

I have had bones to pick with you before about all the impossible notions of love you gave me and how angry I was at you because I would never find anything like that in the real world and you ruined the concept for me. You ran around all happy and free once you'd found your respective princes and made me feel like that level of carefreeness was unattainable. And then I found something that was a temporary real-life equivalent. Temporary being the key word there. And I've realized I have a whole new bone to pick with you: none of you ever taught me how to say that this attempt at finding love has failed and it is time to move on with my life.

Let me show you what I mean:

• Ariel, I will start with you because you know you're my favorite. Your love interest was of a different species than you. I don't even want to think about how you were possibly sexually compatible. He also lived in a world you couldn't visit by being yourself, nor could you ever bring him down to dinner with your parents. Your father hated him. You had to sell your voice to a witch to get a doomed chance to be with him. He couldn't tell you were you without your voice--did you ever question what had he really fallen for? You watched him fall under a spell and almost marry someone else. 
• Belle, you're up next in the bestiality theme. Your prince was actually a monster, and you fell for him anyway--though that might be better known as Stockholm Syndrome. You saw his true colors or some shit, Idk. He was really just a big fluffy ol' teddy bear. Whatever. He also held you prisoner and was entirely dependent upon you without showing any affection for a very long time, and I'm concerned by your lack of concern about any of this.
• Sleeping Beauty, just...does the practically necrophilia not bother you at all?
• Cinderella, you knew him for approximately an hour. Couldn't he have just been a great guy you met, someone to keep in mind for your next lifetime? How could you know he was worth leaving your [albeit terrible] family for? 
• Nala, he abandoned you and everyone and everything you have ever known because a somewhat scary uncle yelled at him. He was selfish and cared only about himself for years. He didn't even want to help until a crazy monkey called on his dead father's spirit to shake some sense into him. And yet you still expected him to save you and married him and had a kid? Idk how those trust issues were ever ironed out.
• Mulan, besides sheer sexiness and the ability to be a leader, the only thing your man has going for you is that he left you in the snow on the side of a mountain to die rather than killing you himself...after you saved his life in an act of pure recklessness that I cannot condone. Then, when you manage not only to save yourself, but to SAVE THE ENTIRE REPUBLIC OF CHINA, he tries to apologize for your actions to the emperor rather than let you accept your praise. And then when he shows up at your parents' house it's like none of that ever happened?
• Jasmine, okay, so he saved you from having your hand chopped off in the marketplace and you guys had a moment in his hovel. Don't forget that he then thought you were too shallow to ever accept him for who he was so pretended to be a pompous asshole prince to win you like real love was supposed to be a game. He then inadvertently gives power to your father's evil vizier and nearly gets your entire city destroyed. Sure in an act of wit and deception he fixes it all in the end, but...who did he think you were and how did you let him get away with it?
• Meg, your job was to find a way to kill him and instead you almost killed yourself for him. Some wires got crossed somewhere. And let's not forget that you sold your soul to Hades himself to get your first love out of some trouble and then he ran off with some bimbo.
• Pocahontas, he came here ignorant as fuck and hell-bent on destroying your land and livelihood. So of course, the obvious thing to do is try to teach him what he doesn't know and then throw yourself onto the chopping block to stop your father from killing him.

 I think you get my point, ladies. I'm not so sure I should be jealous of these stories anymore. In fact, I think I'm a little worried about emotional abuse and post-traumatic stress disorder. It has been hard for me to admit, as I get older, that you all may not be a girl's best role model, especially once she has become a woman with grown-woman's shit to deal with. I want to know why none of you ever gave up. I feel like I'm supposed to think it's because you're strong women who know what they want, but I'm beginning to think you might have been scared. Or, to paraphrase Jessica Rabbit, you're just written that way. 
 I want to tell you something you may have never heard before, ladies...you deserve less damaging stories than that. It's not always meant to be. And I'm sorry it's too late for you to take this advice, but I can learn from it too, so here goes: don't be afraid to let a love go and try again with someone new and interesting when he comes along. Be free. Be a bad-ass independent woman. Find someone who can show you new worlds and make you feel like a Queen and give you heartfelt gifts and maybe even take a crazy risk or two for you, yes, but also find someone you can be real with and who is real with you. Someone who doesn't need changing or require that you give up some great part of yourself. Find a story that is comfortable and easy and won't make anyone cringe along the way. You're the only person you need to give a third chance (seconds are more flexible). Find someone who respects you and your background and gives you some freedom. And remember that only a man that gives you the best of himself deserves the best of you.

I still love you though, and I hope you're happy in whatever-after you ended up in.

Maya    

Reblogged from Sociological Images

So rude, but so true:

I am anything but a simple bitch, so I'ma hafta keep this shit in mind.

Things that make me feel grown as hell

When my dad asks me to borrow $450 til Friday so he doesn't bounce a check and I transfer it via Paypal no problem because I have that and more to spare right now and get paid on Wednesday. What is my life?

Spending Holidays Alone is Weird

and reminds me how awkward a stage of life your early 20s is. It's like, I'm not still living at home with my family, but nor have I truly established a permanent independent life with a family (biological or chosen) of my own with whom to celebrate. I'm too old for one option and too young for the second, I suppose. 

Anyway, I'll spend today partaking in that reason for my New-Brunswick-independence this summer, actually doing some of the reading for my independent study/thesis research that I've been woefully neglecting over the past two weeks. I think I'll treat myself to a burger and fries from the restaurant down the street for dinner so I can feel patriotic. 

Everyone needs a private party sometime though: