I Made a Difference

That's what my sticker from the Red Cross says. I donated blood today. One pint can save three lives. And because I'm African-American, my blood will most likely be used to save the lives of black children with sickle cell anemia, as 90% of all sickle cell cases in the US affect African-Americans.

This makes me feel good.

But so, so much of what the Red Cross stands for makes me feel terrible. It's hard for me to reconcile the three lives I will have saved with my actions today with the fact that my actions today supported an institution that so blatantly discriminates against so many of my friends. You can't give blood if you're under age 16, or if you weigh less than 110 pounds. You can't give blood if you're a drug addict, or if you use steroids, or if you're a prostitute. You can't give blood if you've ever tested positive for HIV, if you had an STI in the last year, if you've had malaria in the last 3 years. These things I can understand.

What I cannot and will not understand, now or ever, is the fact that you are ineligible to donate blood if you:

are a male who has had sexual contact with another male, even once, since 1977.

I cannot and will not understand why one of the pre-screening questions asked me if I have ever had sexual contact with a person who was born in Africa.

DEAR RED CROSS, YOUR DISGUSTINGLY OVERT HOMOPHOBIA MADE SENSE IN THE 1980S, BUT HEY, GUESS WHAT, BLACK WOMEN HAVE THE HIGHEST AIDS RATES IN THE US NOW, NOT GAY MEN. AS A GROUP, THEY'RE AT NO SIGNIFICANTLY HIGHER RATE OF CARRYING HIV THAN THE REST OF THE POPULATION. SO SLOW YOUR ROLL AND ALLOW MY FRIENDS F, M, S, R, B, A, ETC. TO DONATE. 
AND HEY, GUESS WHAT, NOT ALL OF AFRICA HAS RAMPANT AIDS. THERE ARE CERTAIN COUNTRIES THAT PUT YOU AT A SIGNIFICANTLY HIGHER RISK, BUT AFRICA IS NOT A CONTINENT TO BE BLANKET-DISCRIMINATED OVER. I'M NOT SURE MY ANCESTORS EVEN COME PREDOMINANTLY FROM AFRICA, BUT I AM OFFENDED BY THIS QUESTION, AND I AM FURTHER OFFENDED THAT HEY, GUESS WHAT, I WOULD HAVE IN THE PAST, AND HAVE NO OBJECTIONS TOWARDS IN THE FUTURE, FUCKING AN AFRICAN MAN AND IF THAT MEANS YOU DON'T WANT MY BLOOD THEN I DON'T THINK I SHOULD WANT TO DONATE.

The Red Cross is one of the most politically incorrect national organizations in this country, and I want something to be done about this. They're legitimately begging African-Americans to donate blood and marrow, but turning away hundreds of thousands of healthy willing gay black males who could, together, save literally MILLIONS of lives. Would I have been turned away if I'd slept with J? Are you anti-amalgamation too, Red Cross? Fuck you. FUCK YOU, RED CROSS. I love and respect all the help and good you do for this country, but I hate that you make me feel bad about doing good. Something is wrong there, and I am begging you to check yourself before I have to team up with the protesters and stop saving lives. 

How many more lives could Princetonians have saved today? Are your bigotry and your illegitimate fears worth their lives? ...I didn't think so.  

Ice, Ice, Baby

A few days ago, I went ice skating with some friends. I was superexcited about the trip all week, trying to get more and more people to join me. When people asked if I was a great skater, I said I'd only gone once or twice when I was a kid, but I didn't see why that should stop me. I put my makeup on and got all cute and went outside to meet the girls I was going with and we excitedly walked over to the hockey rink. There was food and hot apple cider and people holding hands and skating, and it was so incredibly quaint and cute that I rushed over to the stand to rent my skates and began putting them on. 

...And that's where the trouble began. I could barely STAND in them; how was I ever going to skate? My friend tried to convince me it wouldn't be so bad once I got out there, so I followed her onto the ice...and froze. What had I been thinking??? That I could just go out there on the ice for the first time in ten years and whiz past people like a pro? That ice skating was going to be just like roller skating? That I was just naturally good at everything? Whatever crazy misconception of my own life I'd been suffering from, it disappeared rather quickly as I realized I had no idea what I was doing out there. 

So the wall surrounding the rink became my new best friend. Wallflowers aren't just for high school dances anymore; in my bright red sweater, I was a flower on the wall of Baker Rink. I held onto it for dear life and slowly made my way around the circumference of the rink. On my second time around, there was a girl doing worse than me, blocking my way on the wall and I had to leave the wall and skate unaided around her. My friend M saw this, applauded me for having let go of the wall for 10 seconds, and held out her hand to help me skate around with her without the wall for support. I was nervous, but I went around once with her; I still didn't feel comfortable afterward, though, and retreated to the wall. Then I saw my friend E, who I know used to be a figure skater in high school, and told her about how hard skating was for me. She said my skates were too loose, and once I fixed them, it was a whole new ball game! I began to skate near the wall, rather than holding onto it, and when my friend K held out her hand to skate with me, I wasn't that scared! It was especially poignant because about a month ago I taught her to roller skate in almost the same exact way, and I remember how scared and shaking she was; oh how the tables turn. An event photographer even took a picture of us in our cuteness, and when she went to get some food, I kept skating around by myself! Before the end of the night, I attempted to help teach someone else to skate better, learned the basics of skating backwards, and was DANCING in my skates on the ice. 

Moral of the story: Recognize that being a wallflower is NOT cute. Recognize that you can do it, even if it's foreign and difficult in the beginning. Recognize that your friends are there to help you, and take their hands when they offer them in assistance. This whole damn world's a slippery, slidey, carved-up-and-full-of-nicks-and-grooves place, but if support and teamwork and patience and love got K, M, and I through the night without ever falling, then chances are pretty good we'll stay on our feet for a good long while. 

(Just don't try to get too fancy. J was the only one who fell all night, after tryna show off, haha.)

This one goes out to all my ladies

I have love on my arms in six languages today. All that love, it's for you, all the ladies of all the world. Today, and every day, I want you to know that you are loved. You are appreciated. People care about you. You matter to someone. Your thoughts and opinions matter, as do your safety and well-being. I want to remind you, ladies, that your bodies are your temples, so treat them with love and care, and remember that no one can tell how wonderful you are on the inside unless you reflect that on the outside. To all the women who feel like there aren't enough hours in the day to get everything done, take a twelfth of one of those hours (ie. five minutes) for yourself, take off the invisible 'S' you carry around on your chest all day, and breathe; you'll be shocked at how much easier the rest of the day comes. To all the women who don't know where the rent money is going to come from, or how you're going to put food on the table for your kids, I admire your strength and resilience, and I know that if my mom could do it, you can do it too; you are in my thoughts and I hope the best for you. To all the women beating themselves up striving for perfection: stop and take a look around; you're already there. And to all the women who gave up their pursuits of happiness a long time ago, I want you to go stand outside and feel the sun shine on your skin, the rush of the wind through your hair, the laughter of the kids playing next door, and remember that while there may be darkness and pain and struggle and strife in this world, there is also joy and light and blessed moments of peace, and above all else there is love, and this is worth living for. To these women and more, I have love on my arms and it's all for you.

____________________________________________________________

"To Write Love on Her Arms is a non-profit movement dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury and suicide. TWLOHA exists to encourage, inform, inspire and also to invest directly into treatment and recovery.

To Write Love On Her Arms Day is a day where anyone can write the words love on their arms, to support those who are fighting against depression and those who are trying to recover. On this day, just write love on your arms, and show it off, other people will ask why you have love written on your arms, and you tell them you are supporting to write love on her arms day, and how its benefiting a non profit organization helping stop depression, and make love the movement ♥"

Compliments

Sometimes it's really hard to be sincere. There's this guy I know, and there's something I want to tell him. Don't even go there--this something is not romantic in any way. I just want to give him a compliment; I just can't figure out how to do it in a way that's a) not socially awkward, and b) that he won't laugh it off like I'm kidding, because I'm seriously not.

He impresses me. Hell, he downright amazes me, and though some of the brightest minds in the country are here, very few people are overall amazing to me. He pushes himself harder than most people I know, in every single aspect of his life, and everything he touches is golden. He's also nice and sweet and I just, I want him to know that I think this highly of him. I admire him.

I have this other friend, who I love equally and admire almost equally, who commented the other day about how I observe too many things about him, things most people would never notice. I wanted to say I watch him because, while it might seem like I'm always trying to change him, I sometimes wish I could be like him.

But people don't say these things. It's a shame.

Best compliment a black woman can ever receive from another black woman:

"I would buy hair like yours." -My friend T

Four-Letter Words

Some folk don't like them. (Sorry, had to make that whole sentence four-letter words, lol.) Fuck. Damn. Shit. Hell. I use these words a lot. Some would say too much. But there's one four-letter word I pepper my speech with possibly more than all the others combined, and that's L O V E. 

People say I'm a really affectionate drunk, and that I love everyone and everything once I've had a few. This is both true and untrue...most of the time, I just stop giving a fuck about what is socially normative in terms of affection and love when I've been drinking, and treat everyone how I'd like to treat them all the time. Because the people I grew up with, they taught me that a friend is someone you hug without asking, and whose back is comfier than any pillow, and who it's okay to contact 949379834 times a day, and for whom concern and worry are the most natural things in the world. A friend is only a strange half-step away from a lover, and that step might not even be down. And I love those definitions of friend; I'm not really ever going to be willing to give them up. I just attempt to tone (ha!) them down a little in daily life because other people are more reserved, or something, I guess. [And yet E talking about her wannabe boo who is so overly overtly physically affectionate like I want to be and how open and in touch with her emotions it makes her feel makes me consider dropping the normal act and--call me cliche, but--reaching out and touching someone whenever I get the inclination to.] 

What I'm getting at here is that I'm a pretty loving person, and I'm usually pretty open about that, even when I'm sober. I love mozzarella sticks, I love the way B's hair feels when I run my hands through it, and "M, I love you, but [insert some criticism or refusal here]". I love my single, I love studying in the large library, I love my JP topic, <3s in my facebook wall posts and when I'm saying goodbye to anyone on AIM or Skype. It's, like, the opposite of a big deal when I drop an "I love you" in casual conversation; people seem to interpret this as meaning "I appreciate/enjoy your company", which is fine by me.


But a friend of mine is going through some drama with his boyfriend that is causing me to, at the very least, wonder about this emotions-wide-open-heart-on-my-sleeve philosophy of life. His boyfriend said he loves him for the first time a few months ago, and he has been unable to say it back. Truth be told, I was really surprised when he told me this,  because he's one of the friends with whom I can't part ways without exchanging i-love-yous. But once he explained it to me, it made perfect sense. It's like, right now, to the best of his understanding, he loves his boyfriend the way he loves me, the way I drop I-love-yous in casual conversation, in the I love being around you/I love the way you make me feel/I love the person you are and the person I am when I'm with you kind of way, but totally not on that I wanna ride off into the sunset on a horse with you and live happily-ever-after tip. He's having trouble recognizing the differences between the various ways of loving other people, and whether there is a middle ground worth recognizing between the point A and point B I just described.


I've never talked about this to anyone before, but here's a secret. I accidentally told J I loved him on like, the second or third night of our relationship. It was really late and we were on the phone and it just seemed natural, because I am that kind of person. And on one level, I did love him then. Because on some level, I draw no line between "I love X-cool-thing about you" and "I love you". I never have. But what's going on with my friend and his boyf right now has made me realize that someday, this distinction will become important. I will have to know when it is okay to say I love you to someone I'm romantically involved with, and what that means compared to with someone I'm simply emotionally involved with. I will have to understand what the difference is. Why does it matter that I love my hypothetical boyfriend any more/in any other way than I love my actual best friends? I'm not sure that even makes sense to me. I don't see love in the real world as sunsets and horses and the whole cast breaking into song and dance; love is compromise and love is work and love is building something to come after honeymoon-happy. Love doesn't automatically entail ever-afters, but I don't think that means you can't love if you're not planning on buying the horse, if that's not too much of a mixed metaphor.


And this may possibly be the root of my recurring boy issues. I throw the word and the idea of love around so much that my brain doesn't really distinguish friend-love from romantic love or familial love (for instance, I say I love my girls like my sisters, but I treat them SO MUCH BETTER than I treat either of my sisters, and would be hard pressed to say I didn't care about them more. Goddamn, I'm rude. Anyway.), and thus flip-flops around between the two when it comes to boys I absolutely adore. So maybe if I figure this out, my boys can just be my boys and that's it. 


I just like to love people. I love almost instantly (along with trust), and will love and trust fiercely unless/until something is done to ruin that love and trust. Call me a hippie, but I just want to be able to love everyone, and for it to not ever be weird. I wish everyone gave hugs freely and leaned on people's shoulders when they felt like it. The world would be a better place.

As I passed the strip club today,

I saw that they've started advertising for their Thanksgiving special. It involves wrestling in a giant pumpkin pie. Maybe Quad has ruined me forever, having introduced me to food fights on a whole new level (chocolate pudding fight as part of Willy Wonka-themed initiations. Ask, if you'd like. I'll tell.), but the first thing I thought when I saw that was DAMN THAT SOUNDS LIKE FUN. 

Feel free to judge me, lmao. 

My New Motto in Life

What exactly my dear are you clinging to

Some propaganda stating you've gone as far as you're going to?

That your skies are finite and limited

That your growth is an impossible dream

That your future is inhibited

Aw please, they been shoveling them lies since the '50s

Can't nobody decide what your life can move through

This is your time and your challenge--what is it that you want to do?

Sit and be still and not shine the way your light was meant to?

Oh, I pray that ain't true, I pray that ain't true

Aw please, don't fall into the abyss because something negative once ruled you

Please understand I'm from where you are and I've got to fight my demons too

Please don't give up because somebody broke your heart and some things fell through

This is life. You owe it. Life does NOT owe you, okay?

An obstacle is something that impedes or blocks one's way

You can climb over, you can dig under, you can chip through it, you can go around it, you can move it, you can ignore it, but you can DO it

YOU      CAN        DO          IT

-Jill Scott, as seen in this song by Kem:

Fact: I really like my uncle's current girlfriend

because she makes an active effort to include me in post-amazing-meal-my-Nana-has-prepared discussion among the adults. As the only person in my local family who falls into my age category (ahhh, emerging adulthood constantly on the brain. Thanks, JP), I usually end up curled up on the couch in a corner reading and observing this conversation from afar. But now, she asks my opinion on things, or will direct something at me, and it is slowly having the effect of pulling me into the "adult" category of my family, as opposed to downstairs with the kids. But when I want to, I can still dip out of the conversation and return to my book and my couch. It's nice, I like no longer being isolated, but not having to be totally included either. Oh middle ground. :)

So unlike my dad, my mom always parks and goes in with me when she takes me to the airport. She goes through the line with me and stands with me near the entrance to the security check for as long as she can until it's obviously socially awkward that she's still there and she hugs me one last time and lets me go. I don't call her out on this, because part of me really likes it. 


There's something else she always does, though, while we're waiting in line to check in, or whenever she catches a glimpse of my PUID in my wristlet, or sometimes even if we come across an old picture or something: she sees a photo of me from back when I straightened my hair, and she says some variation of Oh look, there's my daughter. My daughter, with the long straight hair. My daughter, who was ashamed to embrace her own identity and spent the majority of her life trying to be something and someone she was not. My daughter, whose hair used to come out in clumps from all the heat and dangerous chemicals she put on it. Evidently that girl was my mother's daughter, and I am not. And I'm sure she doesn't event think about it when she says it, but a little piece inside me just crumbles whenever she says it. Like the person that girl was and the person I am will never be reconciled into one individual in my mother's eyes. Like she'll always want someone I'll never be again.

And speaking of straight-haired Maya as someone I'll never be again, this reminds me of the one thing that can snap me entirely out of ridiculous stupid not-crush phase with this guy: he has told me to my face that he thinks it's stupid that I have vowed to never straighten again. He thinks one of the things I should embrace about my hair is how versatile it can be. He thinks I should consider straightening it for special occasions or something--AS IF  STRAIGHT HAIR IS MORE SPECIAL THAN MY HAIR, as if I as myself am not special enough for a floor-length gown and a ball. He says I shouldn't feel like I'm conforming if I'm just wearing my hair in another style that looks good on me. I don't even know how to interpret thinking straight hair looks good on me; a) do I still think that?, b) do I think it because I think it or because I've spent my whole life with people telling me that's how my hair should look? Regardless, as much as I enjoy being with him, remembering that can kill any and every inkling of desire I have for something more. This is both relieving and unfortunate.

Conversely, to give some points to my father: When I first sent him a picture of me with my hair natural, he said it was the most ME I've ever looked. This is one of those things that he has said that I will never forget, but in a wonderfully positive way.

I wish I could chalk this up to friggin hormones...

...but I'm not even close to starting my period. So this is just stupid me being, well, stupid. I have absolutely no reason to miss you. I really and truly have absolutely no reason to miss you more than I miss my girls or the boys I'm supposedly *crosses fingers* like this with. There is no reason for my thoughts to keep drifting back to you. I'm worrying about you in that special way I only worry about people who are IMPORTANT. But I need to keep this in check, because I can't lay even the smallest of claims to you. And I shouldn't want to. I shouldn't take note of the fact that you are actually taller than me, or you're way more likely to call when a text would suffice. I shouldn't watch you study long enough to categorize your various thinking poses, or to know you once played piano because I spend that much time staring at your hands. And that night you took my survey and it almost made you cry? I can't yet tell if I shouldn't have wanted to hold you til the hurt went away. Because these are things I do with everyone, because being MY anything (even friend) means you get all of me in return, all of my worry, all of my love, all of my laughter and my adventure and my concern and my help and my hope and my weakness and my strength, attached to you with the tenacity of the loyalest of dogs.

FOR ONCE IN MY LIFE, CAN I PLEASE JUST ACQUIRE A NEW CLOSE MALE FRIEND WITHOUT GOING THROUGH THIS AWKWARD PINING PHASE?! Please and thank you.

Just so you know, I WILL NOT have a crush on you. This won't happen. Don't make me start singing Meg's song from Hercules. My heart needs to learn its fucking lesson.

I /shouldn't/ put this on Facebook, but it NEEDS to be shared...

I <3 college?

Is 20, not 02.

See that picture? Isn't it cute? Awwww it's adorable. But see that little girl? She's LITTLE. She's like 5. And hey, guess what, I'm not. 


Perhaps my father has forgotten this. Or just doesn't want to admit it. But we've had Dad-don't-ask-questions-you-don't-want-to-know-the-answer-to moments about my supersexy Halloween costume and my alcohol habits, and Dad-don't-you-even-go-there moments about boys and things from my childhood I don't want to talk about and other touchy subjects, so I think it's safe to say I've been trying to remind him that I am not a child.


So why, WHY does he insist on doing things we did when I was little? Watching movies I hated the first time around to see if I still hate them (I do). Renting bikes and biking along the boardwalk next to the ocean (which was fun, I must admit). Cleaning, Neosporin-ing, and Band-Aid-ing my wound when I hurt my shin. (Seriously? Neosporin? I haven't put Neosporin on a wound since people actually still put my bandaids on for me.) Giving me old t-shirts of his to sleep in (Uhm I actually have supersexy nighties, kthnx). 


Dad, this is cute, but I AM NOT A CHILD. What happened to last time I visited, when we went on a short cruise and danced at dinner at a nice Italian restaurant? That felt like we were two adults. This doesn't, and I'm sorry but that's not okay.

I Been Gone for a Minute/ Now I'm Back at the Jump-Off

So sorry I disappeared for almost a month. What can I say? Life got busy. But I missed the release I get from this, so I'ma try to be more faithful to you, dear blog and dearest readers.

October in a Nutshell (readysetgo!)

That guy I was gushing over all summer? He has a new girlfriend. She's a freshman. Possibly cuter than me. I found this out by running into them when they were on a date. (low point)

The next day, random (cute) black sophomore guy and I got pretty damn hot and heavy on the dance floor at Quad, and I WASN'T EVEN THAT DRUNK. (high point)

Omg, I absolutely love my Junior Paper topic, and so far the research is fan-fucking-tastic. I'm studying the effects of the institutional structure of large public universities and small private universities on students' transitions to adulthood. I designed an awesome survey and am comparing institutions on lots of variables and I'm pretty sure I've done more work than I need to by this point, and the best part is I'm enjoying it so much!!! Watching this transform from an idea I thought could be cool to a tangible item I created, and watching the item go out into the world and come back with data from real people that kind of fits the idea i originally had! Fuck all those oh-no-what-have-I-done feelings I was having immediately after declaring SOC last year, I fucking LOVE. MY. DEPARTMENT. Kind of related side note: I also fucking love my friends from Oakcrest. I hadn't talked to some of them in legitimately YEARS, but now that I need research help, they're all willing (and most of them excited) to help, and it makes me feel so loved! <3


(Oh and I think I have a thesis topic. But we'll discuss this later.)

I got a LAMP mentee this year! And I already know her and absolutely love her. She came over last week and we chatted and had fancy snacks. It was so cuteI. People think we're a great match, and we're determined to prove them right.

 I think I'm developing a new best guy friend. I mean, Quad's given me a whole circle of amazing new friends who I love and wouldn't trade for the world, but I think one specifically is taking over that spot in my life, which has been feeling decidedly empty for a little while. (Kind of sad side note: Somehow, I feel like seeing the guys that used to share the position of my best guy friend nearly every day now that they're in Quad with me is hurting us, somehow. I don't really understand it...maybe because I don't just go chill with them anymore because they're so far away? Maybe because I'm too...[insert whatever's wrong with the way I am with very close guy friends here] in public at Quad and it weirds them out? Maybe I'm just reading too much into this? Whatever's going on, I feel like K is taking M and A's spot, and the strangest part is I'm not sure I mind so much. I love all three of them with all of my heart.)


Midterms were rough but obviously survive-able. Enough said.


I think I said this already, but Princeton is beautiful in the fall. I want to spend part of this break (once I get back on campus) appreciating that.


PRINCETON HALLOWEEN WAS THE MOST FUCKING AMAZING NIGHT OF MY LIFE. I'm sorry ML friends, Pirate Party may have been surpassed. I got soooooo many compliments about my scandalous costume ("GOD IF I HAD YOUR BOOBS"- a friend). I had sooooooooo much to drink, but remember the entire night. I had a great time behind the bar, getting hit on by lots of frat guys from Rutgers and BEATING TWO AT CHUG IN YOUR FACE! A co-Quad-officer was dressed as a doctor and we were on tap together for a little while (didn't plan this); out of this came the quote, "NURSE THIS MAN NEEDS BEER, STAT!" There is at least one photograph that is too scandalous for facebook. Two random WHITE GUYS danced with me; that never happens. A friend of mine and I exchanged a verrrrrry tight hug complete with cheek kisses (just drunken fun. Not even thinking about reading anything into it.)  While all my little-pussy friends chased their shots with apple cider, I chased my shot with another shot. All in all it was an incredible night and so totally what I needed.


And nowwwwwww I'm in Florida visiting my dad for half of fall break! 


yayyyyyyy nutshells!

The Soprano Sax

I'm taking some time today to remember why this is my favorite instrument of all time.

New commtiment!!

I'm going to start going to the gym on Wednesdays and Fridays, because these are the days I don't have to get up for class and can thus go to the gym and THEN shower. My mom lost 9 pounds going on this nasty cabbage soup diet and walking on the treadmill in our basement, and I'm maaaaaaad jealous.

 

So later I was talking to my dad, and he wants to get out into the world more and meet more people and just...have a life outside of work. I want to go to the gym. We are going to keep each other in check about these things. Yay killing two things-I-don't-want-to-do-birds with one stone! (Making sure I go to the gym and talking to my father.)

Dear Bra Companies,

I don't mind you calling bras in my size "Curvy Fit" or "Full-Figure", because I have lots of curves and I am full-figured, and I embrace both of these things. EMBRACE being the keyword there. EMBRACE. Synonyms: love, cherish, accept, welcome, approve. This may be hard for you to understand, I guess, but I like my body. So I want to ask you to change the marketing strategy for the bras you sell in my size. Just because I'm a D cup does not mean I want my bra to MINIMIZE my boobs by up to 1.5 inches. It doesn't mean they're sagging and I need my bra to DEFY GRAVITY. If you must know, the girls are quite perky all on their own; all they're looking for is support that's comfortable enough to get me through the day. I must applaud you for accomplishing that, but still, you disappoint me >.<

Think about it,

Maya and the girls

"Without a sense of urgency, desire loses its value."

 This was a friend's facebook status. Well, a person-it-would-be-socially-unacceptable-to-not-be-facebook-friends-with-but-who-is-not-my-actual-friend-in-real life's facebook status. Anyway, I can't get over how it describes with incredible accuracy what happened between me and the guy that featured prominently in so many of my letters this summer. I guess people can be more rash, more inclined to give into their passions and desires, when the end (or in our case, I suppose an extended pause) lingers on the horizon. Kind of like absence making the heart grow fonder before the absence even occurs. And now that we're back in the same place, it's like, should we choose to take them, there are an infinite number of chances to make this work. So every time, we let the moment pass, thinking there will always be another moment. And for now at least, this is tentatively true. 

Fragile Families

I know this isn't true, and is thus entirely irrational, but sometimes when I'm listening to lectures, I feel like the speaker is talking about ME. For instance, we had a guest lecturer in my Sociology class on Tuesday, speaking about research she and a team of grad students had just done on Fragile Families--children born out of wedlock and the tenuous ties that bind their parents. She kept talking about these people, these children, these parents, like they were so far removed from our current situation, and the whole time I just wanted to scream YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT ME!
She said a lot of things I don't agree with about children supposedly like me, but if being a SOC major has taught me anything so far, it's that I'm not like anyone who falls into any of the same categories as me. Comparison is futile. So I fumed silently, then finally treated myself to a Starbucks coffee mug to make myself feel better.
But early this morning, as I was laying in bed trying to go back to sleep, I realized she was right about how the introduction of new partners into the family and the dissolution of those relationships is stressful for the child involved. I had been refuting this because the dissolution of my mother's marriage was perhaps one of the most joyous occasions of my life. But laying in my bed, I began to feel this forbidden ache: I was again missing the one person I'm really not allowed to miss.
Greg. My mom's ex-boyfriend. I recognize that he was not right for her, and that the best decision for her personally was to terminate this relationship. I understand that, and on some level I am proud of her for being able to make the decision to walk away...in the past, I have known her to fear solitude over second-best relationships. 
And yet. Greg is one of those people that makes me question whether there is someone somewhere with some great big plan in which everything happens for a reason, because even if the 6 years or so he and my mom spent together weren't right for either of them, in some respect they were perfect for me. ...Wow, I didn't mean for that to sound so damned selfish. It's like, I mean no disrespect to my actual father, and all the disrespect possible to my ex-stepfather, when I say this, but in many ways, Greg is the closest thing to a traditional father I have ever known. (Not that he's very traditional about anything.) I guess, the relationship he and I had...he made me want to be enough of a little girl that we could go to Daddy/Daughter dances and enough of an adult to sip wine and have intellectual conversations at the same time. I would never admit this to him, but I cared SO MUCH what he thought about everything. He kept it real. He listened to my poetry and didn't judge me for it, just listened. He was trying to win my mom's heart, but he managed to get a pretty good chunk of mine too, and goddammit, I don't give a fuck if it's somehow disloyal to my mom, sometimes I miss him so much it HURTS. If ever I believed in family, it was when he was the head of mine. He lies somewhere near the root of my belief in unconditional love, too. It feels so wrong to say this, but it's how I feel so here it goes: Losing him was like losing my dad all over again.
I want to be able to have dinner with him. I want him to know about my JP topic, and I'd be more comfortable talking to him if I started dating than either of my actual parents. It's not fair that my mom wanting him out of her life meant taking him out of mine too. It's just not fair.

But you know, I still firmly disagree with the guest lecturer about one thing, and my belief about this is unwavering. She said children of fragile families would be better off with no transitions, even if they were into better relationships. That's just plain untrue. Even knowing how much it would hurt to finally understand what a father-daughter relationship is supposed to be and then lose it, I'd do it all again for the sake of the memories. I'd do it all again for the pure joy I got from running into him at Walmart over the summer, or for the shared secret joy my sister and I got from texting him to wish him a Merry Christmas.


I really do want to meet him for dinner or (in a few months) drinks or something and catch up. Maybe that's stabbing my mom in the back, but hey, I never wanted to break up with him. Don't I get some choice in who stays in my life?