Saturday, July 21, 2018

Swimming Lessons

Love is like water. Vast and mysterious. Hypnotizing. Some parts booming like rogue waves and just as unexpected. Other parts quiet and unassuming like a slow moving river. But just a beautiful. Just as full of life and wonder. Both necessities and brimming with secrets. Not every being can survive in every body of water. Love is equally as multifaceted. Such as the water that creates the oceans, we all need need love to survive, but very few give it the reverence it deserves. Polluting it with litter that kills everything fighting to survive inside of it. Few try to save it, others have given up and forgotten the phenomenon it once was.

But all is not lost. Though the problems it faces seems insurmountable, the ocean is vast. That's part of it's power. It's bigness. It's ability to be vulnerable in it's ferocity. As many forces are working against it, the ocean works to protect its inhabitants. For billions of years, despite meteors and hurricanes, even the most infinitesimal creatures are encouraged to blossom in its wonder.

Seems only waste and human ego are the ocean's...and love's only real enemies.

I've waded...waited through those waters. Warm and inviting...or frigid and unwelcoming. One love was an ocean. Grand in size. Immense in it's depth. When it was warm, I swam until my arms got tired, then floated on my back with the sun on my face. When the cold currents came in and shocked me, I fought for the pleasant warm waters from the past until frostbitten. Frozen in time. Trying to drift on a memory. I loved that ocean even when the waters weren't clear. I've encountered a stream, a puddle, a raindrop or two after that. But I haven't swam in years. Dampened by the humidity, happily knowing I'll never dip my toes in the ocean of the past again.

Love in all of its forms, is one of the most powerful forces on the planet. Romantic. Platonic. Familial. What you thought was love, but was really infatuation. Every aspect comes with its own lessons and gifts. Some lessons harder than others. Some gifts, more pleasant. The tides of love come in and recede. No matter the currents you've experienced before, never be afraid to swim

“Love is lak de sea. It’s uh movin’ thing, but still and all, it takes its shape from de shore it meets, and it’s different with every shore.” 
― Zora Neale HurstonTheir Eyes Were Watching God


...dig and be dug...


Sunday, July 1, 2018

Black, Magic Woman

They hear the tonality of your voice and are frightened by its strength
I revel in its melody
It rocked me to sleep and welcomed the sun to my face
Made me laugh away my tears and pulled me out of my own hiding place
The most fierce battle cry in war
And yet the sweetest taboo
Your roar brings the fire and your whisper calls the rain

Many dare try to force your silence
But your ancestral line would never allow it
They stand beside you like the invisible wind beneath the wings of a Phoenix
Carrying your power to all 
Beckoning them to join in your crusade
When you warned them and they didn't listen, you turned your chorus into an aria and belted every note from your gut 
Not missing a single note after the kicks and the bruises
They try their best 
Loud threats 
Tanks and guns
The audacity of  pestilent imbeciles who call you out of your name
Even still
They know you can save them all

They know what's been given to you
That it can't be taken away
And even if you ascend to the position of the ones that came before you
They know there will be more
Sent from the same plane as you and the ones that gave you your gifts
And they will fight 
With grace 
On their own terms 

You have been mistreated
Disrespected
Neglected
Shunned
Spat on and dismissed

Yet admired

All at once

They hurt you and then panhandle your mercy 
Which you have offered
But only for a matter of time
The sand in the glass is moving quickly

You have been a force since the day God created you
You may bend
But you will never fold




...dig and be dug...

Friday, June 29, 2018

Worth the Break

 I remember hearing the phrase "broken home" for the first time, realizing this person was talking about my family and being really upset. Seems small, but this ain't yo blog playa lol.

Growing up, I actually never really identified with the fact that for my entire childhood, my mother was a single mom which is a bit laughable because I accompanied both of my parents during their custody/visitation and child support court hearings. Just completely missed that whole thing in its entirety. Then she got engaged and the "hold the fuck up" hit me out of nowhere.
 Anyway,

A love story:

After meeting at a skating rink and my father (unbeknownst to my mama) literally followed my mom to her physical therapy appointments just to leave flowers on her car windshield, my mama was wooed into a first date with this slightly younger man, that if nothing else, was persistent. Extremely persistent. This guy followed her to her appointments for WEEKS, but wasn't quick witted enough to leave a note with the flowers. So instead of being completely romanced, my mama was quite understandably, completely weirded out.

Eventually love came, followed by plans of marriage. My mother and father decided to get married at the courthouse. My mother, being the natural Claire Huxtable of a woman that she is, would not allow the simplicity of her planned nuptials to dim her flair for the fancy. She got a limo and a sweet white dress, a fancy hotel room for the after party and dinner reservations. This was to be an event to remember, for just the two of them.

However, the morning of their wedding day, my mother looked at my father, really looked at him, and recognized that he was not ready. They argued a bit about my mama's realization, but in the end they both knew she was right and they called the whole day off. A few weeks later they found out they would not have spent their romantic day alone anyway, because ya girl was in the building the whole time!

Now, I don't remember much of my parents being together as a couple, or even us living together as a family, which is probably why I never recognized my mama as a single parent afterwards. But from what I remember of their infrequent but notable arguments, them staying together for "the sake of the child" would have caused more damage than I can imagine. I will always appreciate the fact that my parents saw that they were amazing at creating a human life together, but not the best life partners for each other.

I suppose that's why I get so offended by the idea that those homes with only one parent are somehow broken. Because at this point, you're talking about my mama and my daddy.

First, imagine folks minding their own, personal, business. Realize that it'll never happen and move on. Secondly, imagine people using their God given, common sense. Then, imagine those same people placing the sanity and future of their young child over their own wishes to not be single. Realizing that a child can have access to both parents, even if they don't live together as long as both parents are willing is possible! Just as a parent can be in the same home as their child and be wholly detached from them.

Don't get me wrong, my dad could have done a few things differently and missed out on quite a few things, most notably to me, my high school graduation. Did that hurt? Yes. But growing up in an environment not surrounded by angst and anger allowed me to talk to him about it and heal from it. Guess who was the first to show up to my graduation from college? My daddy also drove from Pennsylvania to New Jersey at 5 AM on a Tuesday when I was in 7th grade because a teacher accused me of forgery and made me cry. He had to carry my mother out over his shoulder because it got way too real in that classroom but, I'll explain the beauty of my mama's gangsta at a later date. I didn't even know he made the trip until I got home from school that day.

My daddy has his faults. So does my mama. Putting their child before themselves is not one of them.  I never identified with the idea that if one less parent lived in your home, your home is "broken". The beauty in this entire story is honesty. Real honesty. Not waiting until shit hits the fan, but working things out and letting things go before the hurt festers into another generation. I'm forever indebted to my parents for telling me stories of their topsy turvy love affair and not letting it crash and burn in front of me.

I struggle to envision the relationship I'd have with love if it weren't for my "broken home".

...dig and be dug...


 

Wednesday, January 3, 2018

For the Record

Happy New Year!

So much for consistency, right?
Haha...
Anyway..

The year of our Lord, 2017, has come to and end and 2018 has happened upon us like a great new dawn. I've seen quite a few people talk about 2017 with great dismay, but I don't have the same sentiment. For me, 2017 like many other years since entering (what can be) the great abyss of adulthood, was equal parts bitter and sweet.
Ignoring the incompetence of the one who's name shall not be mentioned and the idiocy of both his cronies and supporters, I have no complaints. And if I did, I wouldn't be beneficial to me or you, for that matter, at all. Did I attend the funeral of someone who meant and means a great deal to me? Yes. But she was in pain and it would be selfish of me to wish her to endure that pain any longer just to avoid my own grief.
Was I forced to walk away from a relationship full of potential? Yes. But potential means nothing if there's nothing else there. Who looks forward to potential, anyway? That's like saying "Ooh girl, I can't wait to get home to my man that might be good for me one day eventually perhaps at some point in time whenever that may be. Hopefully." No thank you.
And though those things may have made me sad, your girl bought a house that she loves and has created time and space to focus on her passions. For the past few years I dealt with seasonal depression and tried to keep myself busy doing whatever I could put my hands on in order to distract myself from the inevitable. (How do you MENTALLY distract yourself from your BRAIN. Don't try it. It doesn't work. Take my word for it.)  But I've learned, through recent experience, that for me it's not good enough to just be distracted. Depression can empty you and it's necessary to replace whatever's taken away with something of substance. Pouring back into yourself is a necessity. My job still frustrates the hell out of me for a vast assortment of reasons, but I've been making a conscious decision to not let folks get over. I leave work at work and remind myself that this place is a means to and end and not my forever. I started taking classes and exploring new ways to express my creativity because at this point, being creative is what fulfills me the most.
Anywho, 2017 taught me a lot about myself. I'm starting to feel like a grown lady. I'm excited about my 30th time around the sun and all the good that's possible. Have an amazing 2018, errbody! And as always...


dig and be dug...

Saturday, July 16, 2016

You Don't Own Me

Recently I've been working out. Meaning I jog  power walk every chance I get. Only in the mornings though, because Atlanta heat is more disrespectful than your favorite auntie off one too many glasses of brown.
Anyway, I've noticed something. I am constantly looking over my shoulder. Whether I feel someone walking up behind me or not. Just a cautionary measure, I guess...but I'm starting to make myself uncomfortable every time I turn around. I even make sure that my volume is lowered on my headphones in case someone decides to speak to me just so I can be sure to respond. That aspect of my behavior probably goes back to college when I, along with all of the other young women in my freshman orientation class, were told to always acknowledge the catcalls of men on the street for our safety. Ignoring them could yield catastrophic results.
Why is this? Why do I live in the suburbs of Atlanta, in close proximity to Lamborghini and BMW dealerships and park next to Gucci Fiats at Walgreen's and have to still watch my back as if I were that stupid 17 year old girl walking to McDonald's alone at 1:00 AM for a salad  in DC? It's 7:30 in the morning on a Saturday, why can't I relax?
Perhaps it could be cases like that of Brock Turner. The RAPIST, Brock Turner who also happens to be a former Olympic swim team hopeful, was convicted of raping a young woman he met at a party and not only received about  months of probation, but his parents sent open letters to the public complaining about him not being able to have steak anymore. Like...WHAT?!?! HE RAPED A YOUNG LADY! Whether she was drunk or not, he committed rape, and people are honestly, from the bottom of their hearts, complaining about people being pissed at him.

I need to move on, I'm getting sidetracked. Do your googles.

When I go for my morning workouts, when I walk from my car to my apartment after babysitting at night, walking from the grocery store to my car. I'm starting to feel paranoid. But WHY? The fact that I remember girls are told to honor catcalls and handed rape whistles is horrifying when you think about it. And the fact that some men are coddled enough to where RAPE becomes just a mistake made by a boy who means well is the definition of insanity. It has to be.

Rape culture is perpetuated in many communities, either it's a lyric where a woman is "slipped a molly" by your favorite pear loving rapper Rick Ross or your beloved singing hot tub claims that it wasn't rape or sexual assault because she was unconscious is rape culture, it perpetuates the idea that it's ok to take something personal from someone even though they don't want to give it to you. For example, I had a conversation with a cashier at the gas station up the street from my job. It's a store I frequent because they have all of the best snacks. So he and I have a slight rapport, not enough that I would call him friend, but enough that he noticed when I cut my hair and he felt comfortable enough to tell me he recently started dating a woman from Zambia. They were taking it slow and he didn't really know how to approach the situation because she isn't was he's used to. I told him to just take his time and get to know her. His response was, "If I pay $50 for dinner, I'm going to need to do more than talk!" Let alone that $50 isn't worth my hand, let alone my vagina, what makes you think that a woman should feel OBLIGATED to give you her body because you bought a meal? What?! He followed up with "it's 2016!" So the year is what changed everything?

Listen, I'm no relationship expert or life coach at all, but damnit something ain't right! I would actually be more accepting of my precautions if they were the product of fear of being robbed of material things. That may not feel better to you , but I feel like I'm grasping for strings here. Anything would feel better than wanting to go for a walk to clear my mind of the weight and struggles of being Black in America only to be confronted with the fear of being raped! I just realized how sick this is.

Raping someone is not ok. No one owes you their body. If you rape someone, you are a rapist. You can not accidentally rape someone. Drugging someone and having sex with their limp body is rape. Finding someone that is intoxicated and has blacked out and raping them is rape. Taking advantage of someone who's already told you no is rape. Men can be raped. Women can be rapists.

Rape can be avoided. Rape culture can be stopped. Apologists for rapists should shut up. There's more I could say, but there's another Black body lying dead in the street.

...dig and be dug...

Thursday, May 26, 2016

May 2016

May 2016 has kicked my ass.

Since April 29th, just before noon, I have been rolling with these punches that felt like I've been thrown into the center of an all out fight between Holyfield, Tyson and both Ali's in their prime.

Just pure ass kicking.

I woke up on April 29th feeling great. I even went to work early to help out because someone ELSE got sick. By 9:00, I knew something wasn't right. By 10:15 I was warm on the outside but still shivering and had chills. By 11:00 I had a fever of 101. I couldn't turn my head or adjust my eyes without severe pain. I went straight to the doctor was told that I have an ear infection and was given antibiotics. A friend came to my rescue with chicken noodle soup, a thermometer, acetaminophen and company.

I had spoken with my mother several times that day because naturally, she was checking on me. I had no idea that the night of April 29th, as I lie in my bed, head pounding and fever high, yet enjoying some company and re-watching my new favorite show Underground, that my aunt had a heart attack and had subsequently passed away. I learned about her transition the next morning.

By May 4th I was home in Jersey with my family. By May 7th, I was speaking at her service. The next day was Mother's day and it was strange, Only because she wasn't there. Part of me kept looking for her and want to ask my cousins where she was. Then I reminded myself. Repeatedly and painfully reminded myself. In the end, it was a blessing to spend time with family and laugh together especially when we're all feeling so much pain.

Coming back to Atlanta was difficult. Coming back to work was painful. I felt like I wasn't ready and had to walk out a few times because I got emotional. By the end of the week, I had started to push myself back into the swing of things and when I heard about an audition that Friday night, I jumped at the opportunity.

I won't bore anyone with details, but let's just say my phone stopped working completely and my portable hard drive wasn't compatible with anybody's software and no one one who could print my head shots was open or available on Saturday. And I was driving for 8 hours trying to make  what seemed like magic happen.

It doesn't seem like much but coming out of a week full of so many emotional ups and downs...you just had to be there. And be glad you weren't.

I didn't get the part. Cool.

That whole next week, I couldn't get out of bed. I was up to 45 minutes late to work everyday. I didn't cook a meal for dinner because I just couldn't do it and I hadn't done so since a few days before April 29th.

That weekend I pressed myself into the kitchen and decided to be in a better mood. Just because I didn't have any options. And I cooked. And it was pretty good.

Monday was a typical day. The good thing about it was, I made it through. On Tuesday I lost my favorite bracelet. It's a pink beaded bracelet that I got in support of an aunt of mine who's battling breast cancer. I literally wear it everyday and I couldn't find it. Once I decided that I had to save this search for another day, I went home. Thankfully, on my way there, the school's director called to tell me that a parent found my bracelet and it would be on her desk when I opened. GREAT!!!!
On Wednesday get my bracelet and feel much better, all things considered. I decided to head to the library to find some auditions. I find a few that I feel would be good for me to submit for and go to use that handy hard drive...and it's wiped out. Everything is gone. 10 years of writing. Head shots. Pictures and videos from my old phone that crashed LAST WEEK.

GONE.

Now I understand starting over and getting a fresh new start and etc etc etc...but NOW, Jesus? Today? Was I holding on to things I should've released? Maybe, but everything, Lord? Everything, today, Father God?

So I gave up. Went home. Ate chips and salsa for dinner, again. And prepared a bath fit for Rihanna a queen. Then went to bed.

Today is Thursday, May 26th and I am tired. I went to the deli for a subs that I ordered in advance and they weren't ready so I missed my lunch break and my nap.

But something happened. I was talking to my mama as I often do and she told me the aunt that I always wear my bracelet for...is ALMOST IN REMISSION. Her cancer levels were so low, the Dr was only able to find trace amounts in her system. And then I went back to work and my bracelet broke!

I'm not sure about what it all means, but I am someone who believes in signs. I am someone who believes that they will come out of the other side of all of this something new. I'm not sure what...but something. I've been sort of an emotional wreck for the last month and now I feel a little bit lighter. My smile is a little more genuine. I feel good. I'm just praying for a continued move in the right direction. And thankful that I didn't drown just because I couldn't swim.

...dig and be dug...


Saturday, April 30, 2016

Ruby Lee

Who I am as a woman is a direct result of me watching my Mama, Gmama and Aunties. The way I walk, talk, dress, speak, argue, etc. Everything I say and do is nothing but an echo of the strength and power of these human beings that God blessed me to share DNA with. 

The matriarchs of my family were all born along the eastern seaboard to a mother who worked tirelessly as a migrant farmer and carried her babies on her back while she worked in order to provide for them. The first born was a gem in her own rite and was rightfully named Ruby Lee. 

Every story I've ever heard of my beloved Aunt Rubilee as she was affectionately called, caused me to believe that she was a whole cup of sugar and an equal, yet heaping cup of spice. She was the feisty one. She cared for people and what they were going through, but don't come to Ms. Ruby with no mess. Right before she would tell you where you could go, she would put her pointer finger up as if she was going to point out every word in the air so you could clearly understand what she was saying and where she was coming from so there would be no mistaking what needed to be heard. Arthritis made it hard for her to do a lot of things, but she never struggled to use that pointer finger to get her message across. And God bless everyone who had a good talkin' to coming to them before she wore glasses regularly, because before that finger went up, her little eyes would squint over her glasses and directly into your eyes. Or through them, to your soul. Whichever made you pay attention more. That was your warning, that's all you got.

But again, she wasn't all spice. There was a whole lot of sugar in that spirit. Aunt Rubilee always made me laugh. Whether she was prancing around in my stilettos reminiscing about how she used to be able to wear the same shoes all night long and The Bucket of Blood, or telling me she loved my life because I went pole dancing with my homegirls, then discreetly trying to convince my mama and stepfather to install a pole in their house. She made me laugh. She made me LAUGH. 

She went through a lot. I know she did, but my God, she made me laugh. She knew she had come out of the worst of things on the better side and carried herself in a way that demanded respect. You respected Aunt Rubilee and she made you proud of yourself for doing so. She wasn't overly emotional but when she did release or show you exactly how she was feeling, you knew she was being honest. Completely honest. And I admired that about her. Happy, sad, grateful, annoyed, angry, it didn't matter. Do you realize how hard it is for a Black woman to be honest with her feelings and never seem to regret it or not worry about being judged for it? 

She wasn't the president of any political party, she wasn't a millionaire, the world didn't know her name, but she was who she was and she stood firmly in that. That ALONE is an accomplishment. So many women leave this earth never truly knowing who they are. I believe my Auntie knew who she was and what she had a part in creating. The legacy that she took part in continuing.

I will always remember her wit, her laugh, her imitations of people from her youth, her advice on men, her nails always being done, ALWAYS, her epic side-eye, the way she always smelled like Avon's strawberry lip balm, when I won $1,000 at  the casino and bought her a fuzzy navel and myself an Alabama slamma...and she finished her drink first, the way she and my Gmama tried to coach Kobe and Shaq every time the Lakers played and her banana pudding. 

Whether it was a love story about her dancing to belly rubbing music or a story about her telling a young lady she "fight bloody fights" and hitting her over the head with a bucket. I will cherish having the opportunity to know you, to love you, to say you are my Auntie. 

Nothing shocks the system like mortality. We may have said goodbye to you last night in the physical realm, but I'll see you again someday. I'll be sure to wear my panty-hose with the seam up the back, with my heels high to the sky. You taught me well. 

And for that, I thank you.

Love,
Quinny-Pooh