if you learn to love yourself, the REAL you, you will ALWAYS be fulfilled. stop trying to be regarded as beautiful from people who do not find who you really are attractive.
i offer a few thoughts, to anyone bored enough to read this.
i understand that it is hard for us to deal with "going natural" especially in the early stages.
it's not hard to be natural in general, but it is hard to be natural in a society where who we naturally are isn't widely accepted, is deemed inappropriate for a professional workplace and can even get our children suspended from school.
it's not hard to deal with natural hair, generally speaking. it is hard to deal with our natural hair after we have been conditioned to believe our hair is only somewhat acceptable when it is as tamed as possible. we were taught to tame our beautiful wild crowns, by any means necessary. the self hate is real. so real that we find it perfectly acceptable to attach a synthetic or human hair to our own heads, all in the interest of "beauty". this is the equivalent of a queen removing a crown of jewels and placing a plastic dollar store tiara on her head.
personally, i feel heat is naturally occurring. i do not mind putting heat to my hair occasionally for a silk out or a deep condition. but i do not wish to abuse my hair by putting heat on it regularly.
it's easy to get frustrated with having to spend at least 20 minutes at night to ensure that my hair will behave the way i want it to in the morning. but after fifteen months, it has become my normal routine. replacing my previous norm of fifteen years, which was to relax my hair chemically.
my first indication that the process of relaxing, or as it is commonly mis-referred to: perming , wasn't for me is that it didn't work as expected. even after a relaxer my hair was still curly and would still begin to form locs after a few days. however, the chemicals did work well at relaxing my roots so my curls would fall down instead of growing upwards into an afro.
based on what i know to be true and what i accept as truth, if there is any of my features that elude to traces of african ancestry or moorish descent it would be my hair. this is also confirmed to me by the amount of times someone has said to me anything along the lines of: "i thought you were (any race) but you have (any variation of "black people") hair. my choice is to embrace it.
although the natural 'movement' is gaining popularity, it is still the norm within our community to put all kinds of chemicals on your hair and sit and wait for it to begin to burn, and perhaps longer. to endure the burning of your scalp and hair due to the chemicals you purchased at a beauty supply store, the kind of store where we pour our money away from our community and into the pockets of those who are exploiting our ignorance and self hate, the same stores where they will eye ball the hell out of you and/or follow you to make sure you don't swipe a pair of $3 earrings that they paid .30 for.
some people claim it's just a preference, to each her own. if you don't overstand that it's deeper than that, i can't help you. know that your preference can be biased (depending on your level of consciousness) due to years of programing and conditioning.
natural or relaxed, self love is necessary. growing up i met many beautiful insecure queens. in our ignorance we were doing anything to be "beautiful". a few of us learned to love ourselves, a lot of us never did. body issues, eating disorders, self esteem issues can all be alleviated by elevation of consciousness. if we can experience the true fulfillment of self love some of the other issues will at least begin to work themselves out.
Saturday, March 29, 2014
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
barnes & noble observation
in this age of technology, we are losing the art of conversation and replacing the fulfillment of human interaction with social networking.
the small town feeling that comes with knowing the local shop owners has been replaced by big box stores.
albeit a chain retailer, when i'm in barnes & noble i'm somewhat reminded of what life used to be. when you had to go to a library to do research and people read for recreation.
for some reason, in this store, people post up with homework, paperwork & of course, good books.
in the part of the store that has bistro seating i have seen people meet for dates, coffee & i have even seen an older couple bring in takeout and have dinner. seriously. i was able to catch that moment on camera.
the most interesting thing to me, is that this location is in a regular open air mall. the things i see here, are what i expect to see at a university library. any time i'm in the store there are people curled up in the corners reading, on the floor when all the chairs are taken. on a more recent visit i saw a young woman, who had pulled another chair to act as an ottoman, lounging with a book like she was on her sofa at home.
the most important thing i see here that i do not see at other retailers is human interaction. people discussing great literature or any of the topics between the pages of any given book. all these things lead me to believe that barnes & noble is the last great retailer in america. & also a great place for loiterers.
Thursday, March 20, 2014
my dad.
i think about my dad's last moments in the hospital. the end of life.
when we die, we no longer exist. and it makes me question, what existence even means. do we ever even exist at all?
when i think about the size of us as individuals, compared to this space rock we sustain life on,
i think about this world big enough for sooo many of us to live our lives, and how small this planet really is in relation to the universe. our planet is just a speck in these vast cosmos. so what are we?
my father was the black sheep of his family.
as i understand, me, being a mixed ethnicity love child, product of an interracial relationship, i am partially the justification for that.
my dad loved my mother, then me, and then my little sister. in that order.
he didn't care about his family and their prejudice, judgement and hatred.
although it caused me pain for years to not be loved or acknowledged by my dad's entire family i eventually came to realize that the love my dad gave me was more than enough to cover what i thought i was missing from them. and that the loss is theirs.
when i say eventually i mean a at the age of 20 while i was "away" at kean university i had to drive (just over a half hour away) to my father to get his signature on a document for financial aid. when he told me i would have to stop by his parents home instead of him meeting me somewhere nearby the thought of having to be in their presence after all those years just broke me down. i seriously cried my eyes out my dorm room shower. at some point during my emotional breakdown my suitemate, one of my dear friends, returned to the room and when i say she was there for me, that is an understatement. she rolled up and took the ride with me, after she helped me get myself together.
as a young child, i remember asking my dad questions. as we sat on the perimeter of the pool, our legs in the water at the sea shell motel during one of our annual summer wildwood trips, i asked my dad why his parents didn't love me and my sister. i remember my dad telling me something along the lines of them not even loving him and that as long as we loved each other, it was all good. it took me many years to really understand that he was right.
when we arrived to his parents house, my suitemate stayed in the car. i went to the door to get my dad to come outside. for all of five minutes i was in the presence of my grandparents, and i realized: of course they didn't love me, they didn't even know me. but they were missing the love of a grandchild i was not missing the love of a grandparent AT ALL. my maternal grandmother, my nani, gave me more love than anyone could ever need in this lifetime. and when my mom got married, i got more loving grandparents, especially my beloved gpa. as i stood in the foyer, just inside the closed door, away from the evening chill, i looked at these people. these "grandparents" of mine. a grandfather who always seemed more cool than the grandmother, whose name i do not even know. all the anxiety i felt prior to leaving campus, disappeared. i saw two people who would never know the love of the grandchildren they didn't want to acknowledge. twenty years old & it all made sense. my dad had put on his jacket and we went outside where he spent a few moments talking to me and my friend presley until the jersey night air became too much for all of us and our hoodies. it was almost hoodie weather, but after a half hour passed it was just too cold.
i wish i understood earlier in life, that we (my mother, my sister and i) were all my father had. i wish i understood earlier that even though he had a couple girlfriends over the years, essentially my sister and i were his family, we were his life and everything he did- he did with us in mind. i wish i understood all that earlier in life so that i would have been more understanding. at times i thought my dad was just calling to bug me or i would not speak to him after a little disagreement or argument. however, i am glad i came to understand at all.
of course now, as i sit here, i wish my dad was sitting next to me playing his guitar. i can hear him in my memories playing "sitting on the dock of the bay" by otis redding on a wildwood boardwalk bench. i can even remember the waves crashing in the back, beyond the sounds of the morey's piers attractions. in my memories i am sitting next to my blue eyed old man, me deeply tanned skin with the faintest freckles and wild curls. me and my daddy at the beach.
if we even exist at all: my dad, albeit recently deceased from this earth, will exist as long as i exist.
because, as much as i would have hated to admit all these years, i am very much like my father.
part of who i am as a person is due to my father, and he and i are each other.
people always say to the grieving, as a comfort with condolences, that the person you love will always be with you, even though they are deceased. i can say, i know this to be true.
my daddy passed away on january 3rd of this year, to cancer.
after leaving voicemails on his cell phone, every other day for over two months i learned of his passing on march 15th. in retrospect, i admit i knew every time that i left a voicemail that my daddy would not receive it. my soul knew. i willed myself to believe that he lost his cell phone or lost the charger. when i came to learn the circumstances and reality, it was a confirmation of what i already knew but didn't want to accept.
on this little speck of planet, in these vast cosmos, i experienced something that unfortunately not everyone gets to experience: the love and the bond that a daughter can share with her father. our relationship, much like our lives, was no where near perfect. i remember many times we hung up on each other while arguing over the phone, but i remember more hugs and kisses than i remember arguments. and all the love we shared was perfect enough.
my daddy will remain a part of me, even when i myself am gone from life on this earth. our souls are connected. our bond infinite love.
when we die, we no longer exist. and it makes me question, what existence even means. do we ever even exist at all?
when i think about the size of us as individuals, compared to this space rock we sustain life on,
i think about this world big enough for sooo many of us to live our lives, and how small this planet really is in relation to the universe. our planet is just a speck in these vast cosmos. so what are we?
my father was the black sheep of his family.
as i understand, me, being a mixed ethnicity love child, product of an interracial relationship, i am partially the justification for that.
my dad loved my mother, then me, and then my little sister. in that order.
he didn't care about his family and their prejudice, judgement and hatred.
although it caused me pain for years to not be loved or acknowledged by my dad's entire family i eventually came to realize that the love my dad gave me was more than enough to cover what i thought i was missing from them. and that the loss is theirs.
when i say eventually i mean a at the age of 20 while i was "away" at kean university i had to drive (just over a half hour away) to my father to get his signature on a document for financial aid. when he told me i would have to stop by his parents home instead of him meeting me somewhere nearby the thought of having to be in their presence after all those years just broke me down. i seriously cried my eyes out my dorm room shower. at some point during my emotional breakdown my suitemate, one of my dear friends, returned to the room and when i say she was there for me, that is an understatement. she rolled up and took the ride with me, after she helped me get myself together.
as a young child, i remember asking my dad questions. as we sat on the perimeter of the pool, our legs in the water at the sea shell motel during one of our annual summer wildwood trips, i asked my dad why his parents didn't love me and my sister. i remember my dad telling me something along the lines of them not even loving him and that as long as we loved each other, it was all good. it took me many years to really understand that he was right.
when we arrived to his parents house, my suitemate stayed in the car. i went to the door to get my dad to come outside. for all of five minutes i was in the presence of my grandparents, and i realized: of course they didn't love me, they didn't even know me. but they were missing the love of a grandchild i was not missing the love of a grandparent AT ALL. my maternal grandmother, my nani, gave me more love than anyone could ever need in this lifetime. and when my mom got married, i got more loving grandparents, especially my beloved gpa. as i stood in the foyer, just inside the closed door, away from the evening chill, i looked at these people. these "grandparents" of mine. a grandfather who always seemed more cool than the grandmother, whose name i do not even know. all the anxiety i felt prior to leaving campus, disappeared. i saw two people who would never know the love of the grandchildren they didn't want to acknowledge. twenty years old & it all made sense. my dad had put on his jacket and we went outside where he spent a few moments talking to me and my friend presley until the jersey night air became too much for all of us and our hoodies. it was almost hoodie weather, but after a half hour passed it was just too cold.
i wish i understood earlier in life, that we (my mother, my sister and i) were all my father had. i wish i understood earlier that even though he had a couple girlfriends over the years, essentially my sister and i were his family, we were his life and everything he did- he did with us in mind. i wish i understood all that earlier in life so that i would have been more understanding. at times i thought my dad was just calling to bug me or i would not speak to him after a little disagreement or argument. however, i am glad i came to understand at all.
of course now, as i sit here, i wish my dad was sitting next to me playing his guitar. i can hear him in my memories playing "sitting on the dock of the bay" by otis redding on a wildwood boardwalk bench. i can even remember the waves crashing in the back, beyond the sounds of the morey's piers attractions. in my memories i am sitting next to my blue eyed old man, me deeply tanned skin with the faintest freckles and wild curls. me and my daddy at the beach.
if we even exist at all: my dad, albeit recently deceased from this earth, will exist as long as i exist.
because, as much as i would have hated to admit all these years, i am very much like my father.
part of who i am as a person is due to my father, and he and i are each other.
people always say to the grieving, as a comfort with condolences, that the person you love will always be with you, even though they are deceased. i can say, i know this to be true.
my daddy passed away on january 3rd of this year, to cancer.
after leaving voicemails on his cell phone, every other day for over two months i learned of his passing on march 15th. in retrospect, i admit i knew every time that i left a voicemail that my daddy would not receive it. my soul knew. i willed myself to believe that he lost his cell phone or lost the charger. when i came to learn the circumstances and reality, it was a confirmation of what i already knew but didn't want to accept.
on this little speck of planet, in these vast cosmos, i experienced something that unfortunately not everyone gets to experience: the love and the bond that a daughter can share with her father. our relationship, much like our lives, was no where near perfect. i remember many times we hung up on each other while arguing over the phone, but i remember more hugs and kisses than i remember arguments. and all the love we shared was perfect enough.
my daddy will remain a part of me, even when i myself am gone from life on this earth. our souls are connected. our bond infinite love.
Saturday, March 15, 2014
death is a birth of its own
the worst part of life is death. not your own death, but the people you lose.
when people say the deceased are in a better place, i believe them.
because i believe there is more than this life. much more.
when people say this life is hell already, i reject that. i don't believe that life on earth is hell.
because we can experience love in this life, which means this life is beautiful.
a life with no love, is hell. so hell must be void of love.
death hurts the living, because of love.
love is the meaning of life.
death is a part of life.
love is beyond death,
so love is beyond life.
death is as beautiful as birth,
because death is a birth of it's own.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
capitalization, curse words & giraffes
i've been wanting to do this for a while. blog my life.
i must not be the only person who feels better for writing something. even if no one reads it.
for me, i have soo many thoughts throughout the day. tweeting isn't fulfilling since twitter has been overrun by the general public in recent years. and sharing things on facebook isn't fulfilling, because facebook is for twerk videos, fight videos and images that you must share immediately to get a miracle from god or to prevent some crazy spirit from murdering you in your sleep.
whatever.
i guess i have been looking for somewhere to share my thoughts. i don't mind if they are even read or not. i just want them to exist somewhere outside of my mind.
so here i am.
if you are one of those grammar freaks, please understand. i am educated & exceptionally well written as per the education system standards, as well as professional standards. however, this for me will be as casual as my life. so disregard the lack of capitalization. and the lack of fully formed sentences. i may use my creative license to express myself without the grammar rules we learned in elementary school.
i may also express myself with what some people feel is vulgar language or curse words. in my opinion all words are created equal for self expression, i do not find these words offensive and if you do- please understand that my intent is not to offend anyone, only to express myself.
anyway,
i have never liked capitalization rules. and who decides which words are vulgar/ offensive? if you were raised thinking the word "giraffe" was a swear word would you be offended every time you saw one at the zoo or elsewhere? just because you grow up with someone (or society) dictating things to you and even if you believe them to be true, that doesn't mean they are.
also, if you see giraffes anywhere outside of a zoo please let me know. (living in america problems)
i must not be the only person who feels better for writing something. even if no one reads it.
for me, i have soo many thoughts throughout the day. tweeting isn't fulfilling since twitter has been overrun by the general public in recent years. and sharing things on facebook isn't fulfilling, because facebook is for twerk videos, fight videos and images that you must share immediately to get a miracle from god or to prevent some crazy spirit from murdering you in your sleep.
whatever.
i guess i have been looking for somewhere to share my thoughts. i don't mind if they are even read or not. i just want them to exist somewhere outside of my mind.
so here i am.
if you are one of those grammar freaks, please understand. i am educated & exceptionally well written as per the education system standards, as well as professional standards. however, this for me will be as casual as my life. so disregard the lack of capitalization. and the lack of fully formed sentences. i may use my creative license to express myself without the grammar rules we learned in elementary school.
i may also express myself with what some people feel is vulgar language or curse words. in my opinion all words are created equal for self expression, i do not find these words offensive and if you do- please understand that my intent is not to offend anyone, only to express myself.
anyway,
i have never liked capitalization rules. and who decides which words are vulgar/ offensive? if you were raised thinking the word "giraffe" was a swear word would you be offended every time you saw one at the zoo or elsewhere? just because you grow up with someone (or society) dictating things to you and even if you believe them to be true, that doesn't mean they are.
also, if you see giraffes anywhere outside of a zoo please let me know. (living in america problems)
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