Obligatory 2012 post:

So I've been avoiding this post like a mothafucka, but there is no denying that my three-day graduation process begins in exactly six months, which means that it is officially 2012. 

This is probably going to be one of the biggest transition years of my life, and knowing that I'm in it now and basically the beginning of my life is over and I have to try to be an adult now is really. fucking. scary. But I suppose that if your life as a whole doesn't freak you out from time to time, you've probably settled into some routine that is, shall we say, less than stimulating. And maybe you should reconsider your decisions. 


So, without further adieu, here's a recap of what I learned in 2011:


The wonder of being reunited with a family member you've missed for 7 years. That I have the best friends in the world. The delicious joy of falling asleep in and waking up in someone's arms. That in the future I'll have to work on not letting my romantic relationships sort of overshadow the entire rest of my life. How it feels to be rejected from something academic. How to use STATA. How it feels to complete your first substantial piece of independent research. The importance of honest communication, of saying how you feel even if you're not sure how the person you're talking to will take it; silence and acquiescence lead to dangerous assumptions and general trouble. That I should not, in any arena of my life, base my actions primarily upon how I think I'm supposed to feel/think/be/act, but rather upon how I actually feel/think/am/do. To lock. my. shit. up. because Princeton is incredibly safe for people, but not so much for laptops. That I might be a little bit of a nympho. How to not be intimidated by my professors. The joys of shopping on Etsy. To do things with my hair!!! That night shifts at libraries are THE. BEST. JOBS. EVER. That, as I have assumed for years, I actually really can't handle long distance relationships. That Erykah Badu is a mind-blowingly phenomenal performer. That good intentions mean very little in the moment, but can be quite significant in the long run. That I have the best friends in the world (this is important enough to be said twice). That I can let my emotions run away with me. That I'm a pretty decent cook. That my alcohol tolerance is basically too high for drinking in the real world. How to be friends (or at the very least, quite friendly) with an ex. That I can sleep with people I'm not dating (or even interested in romantically) and still respect myself in the morning. How to be more fiscally responsible. How to make a graduation cap work with a fro. That indie Black music and world Black music are PHENOMENAL. That I like Earl Grey with honey. That my mother has cancer. To incorporate many more ways of thinking, acting, feeling, and being into my understanding of Blackness. That my generation is capable of mobilizing politically. That styling tutorials by YouTube vloggers can be fantastic. That things generally come to me frequently more when I put myself out there more actively. How to braid! How kissing a girl feels different than kissing a guy. That hair salons can do wonders for natural hair. How to eat with chopsticks. That I am capable of having real conversations with all of my siblings. How to paint my nails. That my friends from elementary/middle/high school will always be my friends, regardless of how rarely we talk/see each other.

I'm sure I could think harder and come up with more things I learned in 2011, but that list seems exhaustive enough. There were some really tough times and I will freely admit that there were days I spent in tears, but all in all, I'd say it was a good year. I feel as though I spent a lot of this year coming into myself (perhaps as a direct result of having to take myself out of the "we mentality" I'd developed), and I'm delighted with the results.

In 2012, I'm going to have to learn: how to write a thesis. How to leave Princeton, which has played a huge role in creating so much of who and what I am, and the friends I have been realer with than I have been with many people who have known me since childhood, without losing myself. How to not be sobbing in all of my graduation pictures. How to negotiate the fine details of employment in a real person full-time salaried position. How to find an apartment. How to furnish an apartment. How to get around in a new city. How to be a grown woman working in the professional world in a major city. How to keep myself busy without homework. How to make friends out of anything other than proximity.

And who knows what else I'll pick up along the way? As always, I want to continue learning from past lessons and embrace growth and not be afraid of change. I'm going to keep making it work in 2012. After all, this is going to be a big transition year for me. I refuse to stop blossoming.

Reblogged from Indie. Radiant.

 And before I go, I realize that I'm a little late, but I wish all of you joyous new years! May your strategies be effective, your plans go accordingly, and your goals/desires be realized in 2012 (and beyond)! 

         

"The jig is up," my mother said.

"This time next year you'll be off starting your own life hopefully somewhere far away, and that means that it's time for you to start getting rid of your junk. All the stuff in you and your sister's room, in the basement--go through it, figure out what you want to keep, what's trash, what can go to Goodwill." 

Translation: you don't live here anymore. 

I've been saying that to myself for a while now, jokingly calling myself a houseguest when I go home, but evidently the time to make that a legitimate reality is fast approaching. My mother wants me to move out of her house. 

I think this is the single most intimidating thing anyone has ever said to me. Nothing really says you're not a kid anymore like your mom wants her closet space back.

I'm claiming the GRE as an excuse to not start this project until the next time I'm home on break, but I'm already freaking out a little. I'm sure this is going to be a huge emotional rollercoaster, as I will literally be digging through the remains of my childhood and seeing most of it go out the door. 

The clothes I don't wear anymore: First, I will let my sister rifle through them. We're basically the same size and she kind of considers anything I leave in the room while I'm at school to be her property anyway. My less over-the-top semi-formal/formal dresses that still fit, I will probably keep in hopes that owning such dresses will inspire me to have a life that involves cocktail parties, fancy dates, and ridiculous birthday outings. I've been meaning to sell the others on ebay for a while now. I have a very large collection of heels, most of which still fit, but are in varying degrees of wear. I will see which of these seem most like they need to be part of my adult life, and the rest will go in the Goodwill bags.

That may be the only clearly definable category. Other random stuff I'm expecting to find: old CDs that I might try to sell at the Princeton Record Exchange for a few bucks, a ridiculous number of books that I should mail in small amounts to my friend Krystal who is teaching English in Alabama somewhere and has an absolute dearth of material for her 7th graders, nick-knacks and souvenirs from places I went on school trips in elementary school, remnants from my Magick phase, old photographs, gifts given to me by friends I barely speak to anymore. A memory box to which I've lost the key. Broken jewelry and earrings that are missing their other halves. 

What from that cornucopia of miscellany deserves salvaging? Is any of it worth bringing with me as I move forward into the rest of my life? If the remnants of the first 18 years of my life can be divided into trash bags and trash-bags-that-are-going-to-Goodwill, with the exception of two teddy bears, a couple of decorative pillows, and maybe a few pairs of shoes...where has the important stuff from my life gone? I know my mom isn't wrong when she calls it all "junk," but...it's the junk that made me. But when the junk that made you no longer defines you, you have to let it go, right?

The stuff that's in my dorm (okay, well right now is in various closets in my house waiting to go back to my dorm) is way more relevant to my last-year-of-undergrad self than anything in my bedroom is. That's scary, but it's the truth. I've grown up. It's time for that which I lay claim to to grow up too.

Made my day:

From a post on Thought Catalog about the things women in their 20s need to cease and desist immediately:

"6. Stop getting stupid tattoos in cursive writing on your rib cages, wrists, and necks that say things like “live” or “breathe” or “love” or “pestilence” in another language
Your body is not the inside cover of your 8th grade notebook—treat it accordingly."

on. the. floor.

Things that make me feel like I am not actually a member of my generation:

The last Harry Potter movie premieres tomorrow at midnight, evidently. Facebook is all atwitter (can one still use that word without referring to Twitter itself, which I'm sure is also abuzz--gah, Google Buzz!) with statuses counting the very hours til the premiere, and I'm flashing back to photos that were uploaded of some close friends of mine fully decked out in costume for the last premiere. Though I still recall being absolutely undone by anguish when one of the books arrived at my house (because I pre-ordered it on Amazon) while I was on vacation, incidentally visiting the same awesome friend who is coming to visit me and T this weekend, I can't say I was more of a fan of this series than any other. In fact, I waited a while to read the last book, and read it leisurely instead of devouring it because by the time I was in high school, there were more important things than wizards and wands and the never-ending battle of good versus evil--I had just already devoted so much time and emotional energy to these characters that I had to find out what happened.  
What I'm trying to say is, despite having read all 7 of the books growing up, I couldn't possibly give less of a shit about this movie, and will never watch it of my own volition. In fact, I have only ever seen 1.75 Harry Potter movies: as a child, I walked out of the theater when they did not include Hermione's potions scene as one of the tests to fight Voldemort near the end of the first movie, and I saw the third one on DVD because my aunt put it on after Thanksgiving dinner when the family went to Georgia for Thanksgiving my freshman year of high school and there was nothing else to do. It wasn't inherently bad in any way, if anything else was similarly omitted, I had either since forgotten the plot to the point that I didn't notice, or simply no longer particularly cared. The chapter of my life when I appreciated lived for magic and castles and mythical creatures and a way out of my under-the-staircase life has long since closed. The circumstances of my life that made books like Harry Potter and every other tween-aged fantasy series appeal to me are not circumstances I like to revisit. What exactly is this movie supposed to do for me? What is it doing for bazillions of people like me?

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:

 

Grown-Folks' Business

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

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

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

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

Additional Weirdness

I have also realized that when I spend these 5 weeks at home once I leave Chicago (*tear*), it will most likely be the longest consecutive amount of time I spend in ML and/or with my mom and siblings for the rest of my life. 

That's actually really scary and makes me feel superold. It also makes me want to have awesome adventures with my friends while I'm home, because omg we're getting old and not going to have much time left together to do these things. D:!

"Ah, the things we do for boys..."

So said my best friend last night as we were both up well past our bedtimes talking to our respective boys (her boyfriend and my...uhm...about that...). 

While we were chatting with our boys we were also chatting with each other, and I was complaining to her about how I hate this whole "talking" situation (if we're even there yet? I've never been "talking" before, I don't really know the parameters), because I hate flirting. It makes me feel like a girl. And I mean that in the like, girls have cooties way.
And trust me, I'm not trying to hate on females or femininity. I love being feminine. I love feeling like a woman. I just hate feeling like a confused 12 year old girl at a loss for what to say next. 
So when I told this to my friend, she said, "So flirt like a woman."


...I've been trying to figure out what that means.


And I guess it's kind of like a lot of other things I'm trying to do now that I'm *clears throat* in my twenties. It's like, it's time to start doing things for me, you know? How and why and the way I want to do them. It's time to be myself, not the person people expect me to be or want me to be or think I should be, but the person I want to be and like being. I mean, I'm really kind of tired of doing things for other people, you know? (Not in the like, helping people sense, but in the conforming to norms and other people's wants sense.) At the end of the day when you crawl into bed all that really matters is how you feel about yourself.
So I should stop doing things I feel like I have to do to be flirty. One of the big goals in my life right now is to be genuine, and I think what's making me feel 12 is thinking of guys as a game with rules and molds that I need to fit into. Fuck that mentality, man. Fuck Cosmo and Seventeen magazine; I'm not seventeen. And fuck Ten Ways to Fuck Your Man so Good He'll Never Leave. 
How about being sincere? How about being genuine? How about being real? How about being me and saying fuck him if that's not good enough? How about being strong enough to be these things all the time, regardless of the situation or the people it involves?
I gave him one real genuine not second-guessed compliment last night, and I could tell he could tell it was different. Instead of a "haha" or a smile or a wink, he said, "wow. such a nice thing to say" and I said, "I mean it" and then he smiled and that smile felt real...(well as real as a facebook emoticon can feel...)
That feels like a good direction to go in. *tentatively takes a first step*

Just put one foot in front of the other, and soon you'll be walkin' 'cross the flooooor, just put one foot in front of the other, and soon you'll be walkin' out the door!

Happy Birthday to Me, Happy Birthday to Me, Happy Birthdayyyy

So if you couldn't tell by the title, today was my birthday. It was a surprisingly good one, actually. My friends and family are wonderful. <3

And haha, the best thing happened to me within the very first minutes of my birthday. I was at the bowling alley with some friends, and after they sang to me at midnight, on my next turn they were like, "This turn will predict the epicness of your twenties!" And I got all nervous and only bowled a 7 and it was sad. But then the lane we were using, like, self-destructed after I bowled that seven...the pins didn't get picked up and the balls didn't come back, and the bowling alley employees couldn't fix it, so they had to move us to a new lane, and it took us back a turn, so I got to re-do my first bowl, AND GOT A STRIKE! It was as if the Universe said, oh no, Maya, that is not a good enough epicness indicator: REDO. It was pretty great. :D


Now that my day is winding down, it's time for a Private Party, India.Arie style. I'm 20 today. That deserves a "Baby, look how far we've come."  A whole new decade of my life is opening up. When we think about the fact that we'd just survived the Y2K scare and I was in the 4th grade the last time this happened to me, I should be expecting a whole mess of growing and changing and changes in the coming years. It's kind of crazy to wonder what this decade is going to do to/for me: finishing college, probably going to grad school (I've been thinking law recently...), getting a real job and becoming a functional member of society...

My new motto in life is to roar, loudly and confidently and make my presence known. I mean, they were called the Roaring 20s, right? Might as well take advantage of that, stop being such a scaredy-cat, and live my life out loud, with the volume turned way WAY up.

I was scared in the past couple weeks that I wasn't "old enough to be 20." When I was younger, I always imagined that by the time I was in my 20s, I would know what I wanted to do and be on track to accomplishing some major goals in my life...and I didn't think I was. But then today I stopped to take a look at where I am and how far exactly I have come, and I'm right on time. "Life is a journey, not a destination", right? That means schedules can be rearranged a little for the trip's sake. After all, I'm the only me there's ever gonna be, right? I gotta make my own journey count for something, even if I'm the only person it matters to.

I got this great birthday message from this website I'm subscribed to today. I'll copy and paste the best part here: You see, someone like Maya Reid doesn't come along all that often. In fact, there's never been a single one like you, nor is there ever ANY possibility that another will come again. You're an Angel among us. Someone whose eyes see what no others will EVER see, whose ears hear what no others will EVER hear, and whose perspective and feelings will NEVER ever be duplicated.Without YOU, the Universe, and ALL THAT IS, would be sadly less than it is.

Today of all days, I will not be critical. I will not laugh at that statement and wonder bemusedly if the person writing it was cracking up. I will simply accept that my existence matters to someone out there, to a lot of someones out there...most importantly of all, to me.

And I think that today of all days, that should be shown. Here's a poem I wrote for Valentine's Day and will perform on campus in about two weeks:

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True Love


Restin my arms on this table, lookin into those eyes I see that you

love me. Real love, like I can remember my mama listenin to

Mary J searchin for when I was too little to even sing along

That lift me up and make me feel like I can fly like Maxwell gave me Pretty Wings like me screamin

“Faster, Daddy, Faster!” on the swingset in Burch Grove Park when I was five

kind of love. I wanted him to spin my head right round, right round go over the top and

turn inside out like that boy on TV. But you already know me inside and out.

You love with that protective kind of love, like seat belt races and a pink bike helmet for my 6th birthday.

A proud kind of love, like That’s my baby! at graduation even though I made her promise not to.

You love me like you know me like he wanted me to know my people when I was 13 and he made me watch Roots, all four DVDs.

With a love that knows its own history, like what we made November 4, 2008, in what was once called the Third World Center, right across the street.

It ain’t that foolish kind of love, no: Only through loving you have I ever truly been able to see.

With that celebratory love: with no shame, you congratulate me when I accomplish something and you remind me of my strengths when I feel weak.

You love me with a love that grew, like my little sister’s hair has since her flat iron caught on fire.

With that deep kind of love, deep like the trenches in the Atlantic Ocean where my ancestors lay.

That rollercoaster, keep-your-hands-and-feet-inside-the-car-cuz-this-is-gon-be-one-helluva-ride kind of love.

With that spontaneous love, that “I wanna go dancing in the rain” “Okay let’s go” kind of love.

That nitty-gritty not afraid to put your hands in my fro kind of love.

Not that romantic comedy omg isn’t everything just so freaking perfect kind of love, no

You love me honestly, like I’ma give it to ya straight, but only because I know you’re worth the truth

Truth, like Sojourner, you will make journeys for me. We got that ain’t no mountain high enough kind of love.

And it’s a strong love, strong like that football player my momma wouldn’t me date when I was 15 who could bench press me

We got that faithful kind of love, the kind where you will never cheat on me, never con out of knowing how phenomenal I truly am, a gift Maya Angelou gave me when I was 8.

It’s that curious kind of love: you’re constantly trying to peel back my layers and find out what’s inside.

And some might call it a free love, not that hippie spread-your-legs for anybody type of B.S. , but a Monica Now I know why they say the best things are free love

And I think we’re ready for it to be an open love; we don’t gotta hide it no more, like when I was 7 seeing Hercules in theaters and Meg wouldn’t say she’s in love.

And if we’re gonna be open about it, I guess we should start right now: if my girl India were here right now, she’d call this my Private Party. True love begins with me. I wrote this poem looking in a mirror.



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Ps, you know how folks always ask you if you feel older on your birthday? I usually think that's a dumb question, but today I almost do. I...have a recognition of the fact that I will be getting a lot older soon. Is that the same thing? Also, I had a glass of wine today and am planning a trip to see a concert with my friends all with the help of no adults...we are the adults. I realized that today. Today I can say this and actually believe it: I am an adult, and I finally feel like one.

*ROARRRRRRRRRR!*