What’s Really on my Mind

What’s Really on my Mind

It’s funny. I’ve been observing lately what I say versus what I feel. It’s amazing how much of what I say is shrouded in code and not honestly what I mean. I realized it one day because I was IMming someone and I typed in “lol” — with a straight face and no semblance of any kind of laughter coming out. So why did I type it? It seemed appropriate. It fit in right there; it notified my conversational partner that i was amused by the last statement they made. But I wasn’t really laughing out loud. So I’ve taken some time to decode a few things in my own head. I figured I’d provide the decoder for those interested in it:

Question: How are you doing?
Answer: I’m okay OR everything is everything
Translation: I’m lonely mostly. Probably feeling it now. But I’m maintaining.

Q: How are your parents doing?
A: They’re okay OR They’re getting old.
T: They’re doing worse every day and it’s astonishing how far down the health is spiraling downwards, but it’s a part of life and I guess I have to get used to it.

Q: How’s work?
A: It’s working me.
T: I’m in the seventh circle of hell but if I want to afford this house and wedding I’m attempting to pay for, I have to keep showing up. But they are slowly and successfully chipping away at my self esteem as well as my desire to stay in the workforce.

Q: How’s the wedding planning?
A: It’s coming along slowly but surely
T: I’m slowly being introduced to the frustrations that make the beginnings of any bridezilla that ever existed and more and more, the veil that covers the otherwise happy marriages is becoming more and more transparent — and that maybe there is no such thing as a “happy” marriage… but sturdy, contented and lasting are the words we should look towards more than “happy”.

Statement: Alright. I’m leaving.
A: Kewl.
T: I probably really don’t want you to go because it will leave me alone… again.

lol.

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To My Rescue

To My Rescue

I’ve never been a fanatic for anyone. I’ve never been a fan; or at least, not a habitually screaming one. I used to listen to Marvin Gaye’s recording of the Star Spangled Banner and other live cuts he’d do and hear these women screaming their heads off and think… what the hell was wrong with them??? They’re like having a seizure or something. I’d think that women (and men) who would cry and faint at the sight of their idol were brain damaged or just stupid. Then I became a fan. Maxwell (the singer) had taken my heart. I had met him just a few days before and he shook my hand, with both of his. He was so charismatic and sweet. I was in “love”. My spech had gotten us tickets to see him live in concert at Jones Beach. On a unseasonably cold summer night, my baby and I sat through his concert performance a few sections back from the front. And at one song he sung… some lilt in his voice… some inflection… some kind of … tone that struck a nerve in me… sent me shooting up from my chair… and I screamed out loud. I was compeletely beside myself. Because I’d never done anything of the sort for anyone… willing. But it was completely involuntary. I screamed for this man because his art moved me so. Because the words he used and the music he composed and chose touched me in my soul in a place that no other artist had reached. To this day I contemplate that involuntary reaction… and wonder if that’s what groupies feel when their bodies react to their idols… their icons.

Today, I had a misunderstanding with my baby. Where we had promised to make each other aware of each other’s feelings, and be clear in our communication to each other, somehow it had turned into a jewish “mine is worse” battle. “oh you’re mad about x y z? well… here’s ABC… handle that!!” A miscommunication made it so that i thought we were going out tonight… and so I got all gussified and prettied up for him. But he’d never said he WANTED to go. Nor had he agreed to go. But I assumed… because I asked… because it was his cousin… that he’d said yes. But he hadn’t. And because of a misunderstanding of feelings a few days before that…the conversation of the primary misunderstanding compounded the 2nd. So by the first few hours of work, I had resigned that I was going to be attending the party alone and that maybe I was with someone who plum didn’t care.

As I sat there in the party, (downing a drink I wasn’t supposed to have, because my baby and I promised to follow lenten tradition and give up something and he asked me to give up alcohol… but considering the circumstances, I allowed myself one) I shmoozed and made nice with my hosts and smiled liberally and tried to seem gracious. All I could think of was my baby. And as much as I was talking about him and fawning over his ring on my finger… I wished he was there. But I had to understand he wasn’t going to be there.

Till I looked up and there he was… walking into the lounge area, hugging his cousin with fervor. I jumped out of my seat and screamed!!! “That’s my BABY!!” Like he was a rock star. It was completely involuntary… but the joy I felt at the fact that he was even IN the house…. overwhelmed me with joy. There he was. The one I’d talked about all night. My fiance. The Love of my life. And he’d come to save my heart for the day. From a miserable day. He sifted my heart out of the wreckage and put it back in it’s precious box. And I was whole again. I had to control the involuntary urge to cry out of joy. But I was able to keep that in check as I clung to his arm and quietly thanked him for saving me.

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self-taught

Self-taught

Seems that as an African American in this country, if you want to know any truths about our history, you have to review and search for them yourself and hope to unearth some truth. As kids growing up in this great country, we’ve been fed the history of our people that they want us to know. They tell us about the slavery (so it looks like they’ve admitted anything at all)… They brag about Crispus Attucks (who was the first man noted to have DIED FOR THE REVOLUTION) – never mind COUNTLESS slaves before him that died to get their owners to the point where they could fight. They tell us about Harriet Tubman and WEB Dubois… and all the “respectable” negroes who helped the Civil Rights movement, etc etc. But they leave out really important details. Stuff that if we knew about them that early… we may not be so snug sitting in our apts, and houses and we wouldn’t be so complacent about the “Dream” that I feel will NEVER be fulfilled because now we dream about Play Stations and Bling Bling and just keeping our job one more day. We wouldn’t care for those things because we might actually see that our “freedom” is feigned. That we really NEVER got free. That there is still very much of a struggle happening. But NO ONE IS FIGHTING. They’ve paralyzed us with mediocrity. We’re content for second best (as long as we’re wearing “top notch” clothing and have the latest car). In order to gain any REAL knowledge, it requires us getting out of our house. Out of our mindset. Out of our comfort zone. It’s easy to think that the Middle passage was a journey on the Titanic and everyone had food and service and were treated so fairly on their way over here, as if they had a choice. Our people were treated like chattle. And were thrown over board when we were deemed “unnecessary”. Those diagrams they show of how they stacked folks up, on their backs, in chains… THEY WERE LIKE THAT FOR MONTHS. Defacating, vomiting, having their menstrual cycles, eating, giving birth, dying IN THOSE POSITIONS FOR MONTHS. But they didn’t really get into that kind of detail in Roots the TV series. The BOOK details all of that… but where can you hide something from a Negro Mind? In a book. And no one wants to read anymore. No one wants to think anymore. Let them think for us its easier. Let them tell us what to do. What to think. How to live. How to raise our kids (or not). It’s EASIER. Why THINK?????

BECAUSE THAT IS OUR FREEDOM.

It’s the ONLY thing, given the right awareness… that NO ONE can truly control.

Okay… so the rant is because after 30 years of being an African-Caribbean-American woman in this country… I’ve NEVER heard of THIS document:

And tonight, thanks to Black History Month… I watched a documentary (I know… more sitting in front of a screen) (PBS – Channel 13 in NYC. The series is called Slavery and the Making of America… about how this document was so fiery and moved the people so that slaves dreaming of freedom or even those who actually were escaping, carried a copy. And just reading it… and seeing the amazing dexterity of the language… the range of thought for him to reach out to the WORLD and address them as a Coloured Community… (Cause you know… they teach us that most black folk back then talkted lak dis an massuh be owa fren. Soon ah will be dun wit de truble ob de worl… hence my amazment, despite the MANY examples of lucid expression from the slaves of that time). I’m sad to STILL be learning about the injustices. I don’t have to tell you that this man was killed. I don’t have to tell you that the document flared up all the good white folk of the south. I hope that I don’t have to tell you that his work inspired others to move on his thoughts… and DO something about it and RISK their comfort. Their routines. Their lives… to affect CHANGE.

Something we really don’t know how to do anymore…

or do we. Click on the images above and see if it makes a difference to you anymore.

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Life Together

Life Together

I’ve been wondering about the future a lot lately. My married future. One of the main reasons that I want us to have a house is because there need to be enough rooms for us to escape from each other in. I can already tell that my baby is a bit of his own man. He doesn’t feel the need to be up under anyone all day long. And after a while, his tolerance does shorten and he needs to get away. But, there really won’t be that option when we’re married. We’ll have to be in the same household and that’s that. I can tell that he’s probably a little uncomfortable with me in close quarters. Which makes me a little scared. Cause you can’t get much closer than living with the other human being. I guess it’s part of the adjustment. Gotta give him his time. I’m probably going to want some of my own. *shrugs* It’s all new to me. I guess I’ll become an old hand at it one day.

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In a Loving Way

In a Loving Way

Everyone around me seems like they’re passionately in love today. This morning on the train, every man was singing. Some sweet tune of love with clear crisp voices wrought with dedication. Working at the winefest this evening, this older couple… they had to be at least 50… snuck into the back of one of the display SUV’s and made out… right in the middle of everything. I couldn’t even hate on them. If they’re empassioned about each to that point after this long, why attempt to stifle it? It’s inspirational. But the stray thought did cross my mind that maybe they’re not married. Maybe they snuck out from their significant others… and this was their stolen moment. Seems like stolen moments always seem to be more precious than the ones you earn… or the ones you expect. Strange. But while all this love was swirling around my head, I could only think about one thing… ending this week, getting home… sleeping as late as I could… and not being bothered with ANYONE. I’ve settled up all debts and I’m ready to be carefree for 2 more weeks till I’m indebted again.

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