“Do not neglect the spiritual gift within you, which was bestowed on you through prophetic utterance with the laying on of hands by the presbytery./Take pains with these things; be absorbed in them, so that your progress will be evident to all. /Pay close attention to yourself and to your teaching; persevere in these things, for as you do this you will ensure salvation both for yourself and for those who hear you.” (1 Timothy 4:14-15)
“Ne néglige pas le don qui est en toi, et qui t'a été donné par prophétie avec l'imposition des mains de l'assemblée des anciens./ Occupe-toi de ces choses, donne-toi tout entier à elles, afin que tes progrès soient évidents pour tous./ Veille sur toi-même et sur ton enseignement; persévère dans ces choses, car, en agissant ainsi, tu te sauveras toi-même, et tu sauveras ceux qui t'écoutent.” (1 Timothée 4 v 14-15)
By editing my words, am I censuring myself? As a perfectionist, I’m always looking for the right turns of phrase, the right expression to convey my sentiment, but I feel that in a way erasing and re-writing to articulate a better term is perhaps making me hold back from fully expressing myself. I know that as a writer, I have to re-read, re-think all the time what I want to say; is this self-consciousness beneficial or destructive? By writing about my personal experiences, my joys and pains, I shed all artifice and allow readers to peer into my inner sanctum. On the other hand, when I perfect the sentences I’ve written, or when I suddenly decide to omit certain details of my tribulations, am I committing self-damaging censorship, one that could hinder the blossoming of my craft?
When I think of dancers, I see them as embodying what every artist wishes to accomplish: a complete abandon in one’s art. They give their all on the dance floor, unveil hidden emotions and translate them into movement, sharing a precious part of themselves with an audience. They are, momentarily, carefree, lost in the moment, full of life and passion. Most importantly, this artistic abandon allows them to forget the outside world and let go of self-consciousness.
But you know what? Even choreographers edit their work to make dance routines more fluid, to project the right kind of emotion, and to tell their story in a better way. Could it be that as artists we worry too much about the esthetics of our craft and we don’t focus enough on the journey we take while encapsulating our thoughts and emotions through art, flaws and all?
I believe that flaws sharpen our personality and our ways of expressing ourselves. We may be too rough at times with our words when talking about something or someone who pisses us off, but our raw emotions, once displayed through song, lyrics, poetry and dance speak volumes on who we are. Art should be an unabashed depiction of our God-given minds, stripped of all artifice and full of raw emotions. The esthetics in our work enhances the beauty we possess and that we manifest in our craft; but it shouldn’t overshadow the essence of our work. We shouldn’t completely mask the message we want to convey just to appeal to everyone, however we should spark other people’s interest in our works by the untamed expression of our thoughts.
After re-reading what I wrote last night, I looked back on some poems I’ve written months ago, poems I thought were not quite good enough to be posted on my blog. As I re-read them, I really felt the emotion I experienced as I wrote these poems. Even though I’ve been writing this blog for almost 2 years now, I still struggle with how much of myself I want to expose to readers. Nevertheless I realize that when I’m most vulnerable in my writing I receive feedback from my friends, saying how much they can relate to what I write about. And this gives me the courage to keep expressing myself to the fullest.
Someone once told me after reading some of my poetry that I was selfish. Not in a bad way, though: that person said that I was being selfish for not sharing my writings with other people, and keeping them to myself.
Here’s a little something I composed on November 6, 2008. I wrote this a little before 1am. I thought it was rather incomplete, but now I appreciate the fact that it’s a short poem: It contains all it had to express, and I said all that I had to say.
I’m a second-class citizen.
Science ridicules my faith,
The world glorifies depravity,
The media belittles my virtue:
I am a Christian woman.
I’m at the bottom of the food chain.
Subservient to the educational system,
Living in a single-parent household,
Below the poverty line.
The ghetto is my home.
My mother is my home.
I am a stereotype.
I’ve become a disposable commodity.
Videos objectify my body,
The worth of my mind is trivialized,
The presence of a father figure (or lack thereof)
Shapes my destiny.
My self-esteem is put on the line daily:
I am a (Black) woman.
The odds are against me.
Society undermines my race,
My competencies are associated with my ethnicity,
My skin complexion is indicative
Of the content of my character;
Their minds are now at ease:
I’m not a real threat any longer.
I earn their respect because of a racial binary.
I reverse the odds unjustly:
I am a light-skinned black woman.
The next poem actually inspired the “Do Not Resuscitate!” post of March 23, 2009. I initially wanted to post this poem, but I thought that I might give in too much of myself in these lines. My blog isn’t meant to take stabs at people and wash my dirty laundry on-line or whatever; but I remember the feedback I got from the “DNR” post and it was pretty much like “Girl, you wrote this? Yo, that was really good, and it’s soooo true!”
So here it is, real, raw, flaws and all, and stripped of all artifice.
Do Not Resuscitate
I catch myself reminiscing on moments we shared,
How I fit perfectly in your arms,
How every kiss expressed more that words could say,
How being with you lit up my day,
How being with me eased your worries.
And then I’m brought back to reality:
What we had can never be.
When I slip back into nostalgia,
I must remind myself
That I signed a waiver
Featuring a picture of you and me:
In bright red I checked “Do Not Resuscitate”
To preserve myself of future heartache.
An important reminder of the trials I left behind,
A necessary clause attached to you in my mind,
Those heart-warming memories aren’t meant to foreshadow
A reprise of our roles.
The first performance ended too abruptly,
Leaving its actors yearning for more;
The encore was bittersweet,
Yet the finale was far from unexpected.
Having you close to me was something I cherished dearly,
And whenever my heart cheats my mind
And I abandon all reason,
I contemplate the slim possibility that,
Maybe,
You and I could be.
But that slim possibility is outweighed
By a lengthy list of arguments
Declining an encore performance.
Having said all of this,
I’m still not immune to revert
To memories of past bliss,
Where all that mattered
Was the joy of the present,
And the eventuality of an end
Was a remote notion.
Last week I was visiting my sisters and I mentioned to them that I have quite a few of my friends who recently got engaged or who are getting married this year. Most of them are about the same age as I am and I think my sisters were a little surprised that so many people in their early 20s are getting married. I have to admit, I’m a bit taken aback too. Not in a bad way though: over the last years I’ve heard so many people speak negatively of the institution of marriage that I thought that I was probably part of the minority who still want to get married some day. As my sisters and I continued discussing the topic, I realized that about 2 years ago I was seriously contemplating getting married in a couple of years. What a difference 2 years makes….
Yesterday I got a phone call from one of my closest friends and I was really happy to hear from her; I was even more happy to find out that her and her long-time boyfriend are finally getting married next year.
In the midst of all those engagements and wedding announcements I started thinking: could it be possible for me to turn into that typical envious chick jealous of her soon-to-be wed girlfriend? I’m not really that type to begin with, but what if I start acting like Joan did when Toni was about to marry Todd on “Girlfriends”? Can the hype of a wedding day get to my head?
Ok. Let’s just be rational about this. Just because I’ve been single for a while doesn’t mean that I’ll be jealous of every one of my friends who are engaged or will be in the next couple of months. I mean I’ll be a quarter of a century next year, embarking on a new journey in my career and finally (and dreadfully) becoming a “grown up”, while some of my friends will already have a hubby and a possibly a condo. I’m a stereotypical alpha female whose independent and career driven, and that’s a good thing. And then there’s that annoying little voice in my head, that sounds like she lives with 11 cats, wears scrunchies in her hair and sweaters with wolves on them, and she says stuff like: “On that independent sh*t, trade it all for a husband and some kids, you ever wonder what it all really means, you wonder if you’ll ever find your dreams?” Oh yeah, and frumpy girl with the cats quotes Kanye’s lyrics on the regular too.
Way deep down inside there’s a part of me that wonders if all that independence will ever compromise my chances of being in a long-term and meaningful relationship ever again. I’m afraid I’ll end up like those career women who are over-worked, refusing to settle down with any man because they view love as a “distraction from their careers” and then at 45 they realize their womb has become a hostile cavity of dried up eggs because of all their bitterness and they’ve actually scared men away with their obsession with success.
Ok… Maybe that’s not exactly the fate that awaits me. These women actually choose to be single. I don’t.
Another part of me realizes that I’m self-reliant because I don’t have someone to rely on. Even when I did, I couldn’t shake off the instinct of remaining independent. There are times when I think about my mother’s marriage to my father: sure she did what many can expect from any 20-something by getting married and raising a family, but uh, my father wasn’t all that dependable. Sometimes you’re naturally inclined to be independent as a means of survival, just in case you end up in a less-than-desirable relationship; you’ll still be able to hold your own without falling to pieces when it all comes crumbling down.
Of course, you don’t want to end up like those chicks who end up getting married to some dude after knowing him for a year just because their ideal age to get hitched was 25. Nor do you want to end up with a dude who wants to marry you just because he can’t wait another year to finally have sex with you. Don’t act all shocked: we’ve all heard these kinds of stories.
Is there a middle ground between desperation and envy? As women, do we not feel a little bit like we’re missing out on precious and rare bliss whenever we hear so and so is getting married?
I know there are plenty of women who can relate to this nagging feeling; some may be frontin’ and say stuff like “I don’t need a man to define me, blah, blah, blah”. Of course you don’t, but there are women, like myself, who are very career-driven and who do wish to find that right man to spend the rest of their lives and who get scared by all those women around us who have found their right man…in their early 20s. And then we start questioning whether we should just tone down all that independent business to make way for a potential relationship. We shouldn’t compare ourselves to other women, but we still do.
I don’t want to dwell too much on that thought, but it makes me wonder. Obviously, women tend to put too much pressure on themselves to have it all: the career, the man, the house, etc. But in the end, we’re really not the ones in control of our fates: God is. You can plan and scheme to have the right man locked down all you want by the time you’re 28 or whatever, but if those circumstances don’t match the circumstances that God set out for your life, all that planning was pointless. We should just let it go and let love happen naturally.
Easier said than done, right?
That night when I was visiting my sisters, sister N told me that I should “call on” my dream guy. I was like “What?”, basically she was telling me to visualize the kind of man I wanted to be with, the same way you can do visualization exercises for anything else in your life. I’m a firm believer in creative visualization and I’ve seen its amazing benefits first hand, so why does it sound so kooky to do so for relationships?
I joked about it and told her that it sounded kinda stalker-ish, envisioning some dude to be your man and thinking about him all the time, picturing you and him holding hands and making kissy faces, in the meantime the dude in question has no clue you exist. Nevertheless, the main point is to envision the characteristics you would like that man to embody: caring, funny, smart, dependable, etc. It doesn’t sound too far-fetched when it’s explained in that manner.
You can visualize about getting that dream job, becoming healthier, finishing a degree (Lord knows I’ve been doing that for a long time) and achieving any kind of personal goal you set out to accomplish. So I guess relationships can be creatively visualized as well.
In the meantime, I decide not to be that jealous chick who talks behind her friend’s back, wishing her and her man to break up just because she’s getting married. I won’t try to sabotage her wedding day because of my apprehension of never finding the right man. I vow to remain that supportive friend who will gush about wedding gowns and bridesmaid dresses as we look at wedding catalogues. I will gladly yelp with joy when I receive that wedding invitation and I promise to cry like a baby when I see my friend walking down the aisle. Moreover, I solemnly vow to dance my ass off at the wedding reception and dominate the dance floor with my girls as we do the cha-cha slide.
How (Not) To Approach a Woman in 2009
1 comments Published by Taurus Lady on Wednesday, June 10, 2009 at 9:35 PM
Summer classes are giving me extraordinary headaches. Try to envision how one person can tolerate a regular semester’s anxiety. Then try to fathom how that can be intensified and how one reacts to such pressure. I’m currently taking 3 classes this summer: one from May to June, another from July to August and another one from May to August. Sure, they’re all online, which gives me the luxury of working at home. However, rather than being in a school environment, surrounded by my fellow bookworms, I have a daily battle with my inner Garfield who just wants to watch TV, lounge around in pyjamas all day and eat all the time rather than do actual work. But as you’ve come to know me thus far, you know that my inner robot will always have the last word…Unfortunately. I get a lot of work done at home; I’m doing well in my courses, which I’m very grateful for. However all my school work is depriving me of precious time spent expressing my innermost thoughts on daily life, which slowly but surely, will make my soul wither. But fear not my loyal readers, I always find a way to momentarily abandon my academic duties to nourish my soul and write. God willing, after the summer semester and then, after the last fall semester of my life (Lord, please, I need to be done with this school nonsense already, can’t you see I’m losing my mind here??!! I need to be done with my B.A. in the fall!!!!) I finally will be able to write for a living, writing about subjects I’m passionate about for the rest of my life and loving every minute of it. And I won’t have to do literary analysis on boring books on which I continually fall asleep on or label as “STUPID” and stop reading altogether to watch The Young & the Restless.
Last week I was in the midst of working on one of my online courses, and usually when I do so I tune in to a classical radio station on iTunes, but instead I revisited one of my favourite R&B albums. I haven’t listened to it in ages it seems; what better time than the present to sink back into 2001 and listen intently to Aaliyah’s eponymous album?
At 16 years old, I was really feeling the melodies and the lyrics of the songs. I couldn’t stop listening to it…until I had to reluctantly return the album to its rightful owner…after a couple of months…Hey, if they missed Aaliyah’s voice that much, they shoulda holla’d back a lot sooner, alright? Now at 24, I’m able to appreciate the lyrics even more, in part because I realize that all her potential will never ever be put to such amazing use again. Moreover, I can better understand the then 22-year old songstress relating in song to love and relationships. I didn’t have that much knowledge on the matter at 16…Ok, fine: I had ABSOLUTELY no knowledge on the matter at 16.
One of my favourite tracks on the album is “Extra Smooth”. Ladies, you know how it is: you’re at the bus stop, with your headphones on, listening to your jam, minding your own business, when you spot a dude from afar. The glare of his ostentatious array of bling almost severed your retina, his jeans are hanging just above his knees and he’s bold enough to be wearing a belt, and apparently he hasn’t got enough dough to get himself some headphones ‘cause his music is playing on is cell phone loud enough for the deaf to feel the base. And then something horrific happens: he spots you. Oh yes. He got his game face on, the prey has been targeted: you gon’ get it, girl. You ‘bout to get ALL OF THIS!
So you can’t really escape him and you’re not going to fake going to the corner store to buy something just so you can miss the bus and not have to deal with this dude. You try to convince yourself that he’s not foolish enough to engage in mindless banter with you; I mean, come on, have you seen yourself? You’re too fab for him! He’d be crazy to try to speak to you in his getup.
But he does.
Once he’s in front of you, all you see is his mouth moving around at a rapid pace. Can’t this fool see you have your headphones on and you clearly do not want to be disturbed by strangers?
Of course he can’t; dudes like that don’t process body language when they’re out hunting for fresh meat, hello!
So you politely and reluctantly take out one of your headphones (you don’t want him to think he has your undivided attention…but then again, he doesn’t understand body language, so…) and say “Pardon?”
And Stereotypical Clueless Black Male replies:
“I said what’s yo’ name?”
You: I don’t give out my name to strangers.
SCBM: “How am I s’posed to holla at you if you don’t tell me yo’ name?
You: Maybe that’s because I don’t want to get to know you.
SCBM: And why not?
You: ‘Cause I don’t feel like it.
SCBM: Alright, I see how it is…So you live ‘round here?
You: *sigh* Yes.
SCBM: I would’ve remembered seeing a pretty girl like you, how long have you lived ‘round here?
You: A long time.
SCBM: Why you gotta be like this? I’m just tryin’to conversate and get to know you. You going to work?
You: No.
SCBM: So what do you do in life, you go to school?
You: Yes.
SCBM: Oh yeah? What school you go to?
You: A university.
SCBM: Wow, yo that’s good! Which one?
You: Somewhere in Montreal.
SCBM: Ah, you ain’t gon’ tell me which one?
You: No.
SCBM: Ah come on!
You: *silence*
SCBM: So, you got any kids?
You: Excuse me?! That’s very inappropriate to ask that question to a woman you’ve just met.
SCBM: Hey, you never know nowadays, you gotta know these things…So can I call you?
You: *putting headphones back on and walking to the next bus stop*
You know that I don’t even have to make this stuff up. The worst things to tell a woman when you hopelessly try to holla at her is by asking her if she got any babies or if you start telling her that you and your crew are shooting a music video for your new rap album and you need a couple of pretty girls in the video. Unless she’s wearing red Lycra in the daytime with heavy make-up on, she don’t wanna be in your rap video, homie.
As the Fly Guy so eloquently versed in one of his latest posts “Don’t Holler…Just Talk to Her”, when men want to approach women, they need to step up their game. No, “game” doesn’t mean you have to boast about the new rims you put on your car, it actually entails walking up to a woman and humbling yourself. Yes, I said humble. Underneath all the artifice of clothing and overbearing accessories, you’re just a guy who spotted a girl whom you find attractive and you would like to get to know her. What in your right mind makes you think that yelling “Hey bay-bay” from across the street will make that girl interested in you? Whatever happened to saying “Excuse me miss” and introducing yourself ever so politely before asking the young lady’s name? In my opinion, less is more when it comes to making a first impression, especially with the ladies. I don’t have the exact perfect intro for men to use, but keep in mind that you cannot speak to a woman you’ve never spoken to like one of your boys. Act like a gentleman. Big word for you, right? Ok, deep down I know you’re not a brute and I assume you love your mother (hopefully), so act the way you want men to speak to your mother. Is that good advice?
A Video for "Spaceship"?! You Lyin'!
0 comments Published by Taurus Lady on Wednesday, June 3, 2009 at 3:40 PMKANYE WEST "PARANOID" feat: RIHANNA Dir: NABIL from nabil elderkin on Vimeo. FINALLY! The real version of "Paranoid" was released and I give it my stamp of approval. Like many of you, I was deeply disappointed by the earlier un-tweaked version of the video that was leaked on various websites and blogs. In my opinion, there was just too much of Rihanna posing and surely, not enough Kanye for my taste. I absolutely love this song, therefore I was apprehensive when I found out that Ri Ri would be starring in this video and I feared that she couldn't pull off a credible portrayal of a chick who's going out of her mind. Well, the first version of the video confirmed that doubt.
You probably know by now that Nas and Kelis are in the midst of a divorce. A NASTY divorce. I'm not here to speculate on the details of their predicament nor to recruit folks to join the Kelis bandwagon (although she IS pregnant with his baby....I'm just sayin'); I'll leave the unscrupulous and unethical investigative journalism to mediocre reporters such as TMZ and what's-his-face Hilton.
So in light of the recent events, what better way to reminisce on the year 1999 than with an unforgettable song by Kelis? You know what song I'm talking about. Could it be that this very song encapsulates the core of the songstress' torment? She is looking quite gorgeous nowadays with her pregnancy glow despite her tribulations. Let's all hope the mommy-to-be and her baby stay as healthy.
For now, let's watch "Caught Out There" and sing the chorus really loud. Unless you're at work. Or if you're 90-year old great-aunt is visiting you.
She Got Her Own…’Cause She Doesn’t Have a Choice
3 comments Published by Taurus Lady on Friday, May 22, 2009 at 1:25 AM
She calls it “taking care of herself”; you call her stubborn. She sees it as being self-sufficient; you say she’s got too much pride. She takes great joy in handling her business like a grown woman; you can’t fathom how she carries so many of her burdens on her own.
That’s all she’s ever known: all the women in her family share this common quality: independence. She got her own, yes, but she’s got it ‘cause she doesn’t have a choice.
Actually, she never had a choice in the first place. With so many great female role models in her life exuding incomparable strength of character, resilience in the midst of adversity and relying on faith alone to make improbable things happen, who wouldn’t want to be independent?
The unequivocal devotion of a mother could never replace the much-needed constancy of a father, often too absorbed in his own life to unburden his wife and daughters with care. But the women grew stronger; the youngest got wiser and learned quickly to rely on herself alone.
She pays her bills on time, despite being broke and sacrificing most of her paycheck. She gets up early to run errands throughout the city by bus and metro, even though she’s too tired. She moves heavy furniture around her house because she won’t wait around for someone to help her; she needs to get it done quickly so she can run so more errands. She’s not stubborn; she’s just not used to having someone to depend on.
With a good prayer and a boost of energy, a lot can be accomplished. However, the burdens weigh heavy on her shoulders; she wonders how long she can manage to keep doing things on her own. Can one really spend a lifetime doing things on one’s own? With God’s grace alone, she can do so much; but wouldn’t it be liberating to have someone to call on? To physically help her when her arms get tired? To alleviate her sorrows with soothing words when the day’s troubles blur her thoughts?
It all seems too much.
She’s got the remedy for every ailment: a psalm for when she’s stressed, a favourite movie prescribed for a lousy day, and retail therapy when she’s hit with the blues.
While some misinformed women use the term “independent” to glorify their unabashed promiscuity and male-bashing ways, she knows that independence is, in reality, a means of survival for many. When life gets too rough and too much to bear, she sucks it up; she shakes it off. She takes a deep breath, exhales, and takes care of all those innumerable tasks, one by one, ‘til the day is done.
Down the line, she’ll buy her own car, live on her own and travel on her own. But all these alleged signs of independence are indeed blessings, especially during times when she travelled around town with a bus pass to go to school and to work, or those moments when she yearned to diminish her mother’s financial responsibilities once and for all, or to those endless nights spent studying, envisioning a worthy reward for completing her bachelor’s degree.
Nevertheless, the hard work seems to be too much. Self-sufficiency builds character, without a doubt, but as years go by it appears to wither her spirit.
An Eye-Makeup Remover Like No Other
1 comments Published by Taurus Lady on Friday, May 8, 2009 at 10:04 PM
