DONT SWEAT THE SMALL STUFF

   Thanks to Tumblr I have learned a thousand and one insightful things about life. The addition of Pinterest has only made it even easier for me to gain access to witty and profound statements, save them to be pondered. Re-reading them in an attempt to appease my heart of whatever stress I am under at the moment. One that has managed to pop up on my TL recently has been “don’t sweat the small stuff” or at least some paraphrased version of it. Well, I am sweating.     

   Interestingly enough, I read a little quote (on Pinterest, I am now addicted. Sue me) about the size of a man being proportional to the size of things that bothered him. I am troubled by the possibility of my dreams never reaching actualization. I am concerned about the beyond. I ponder if heaven is anything as I have read in Randy Alcorn novels, and more importantly, I wonder what route will take me to the sky. I wonder how I will die. Cue the gasps and fingers snapping to rebuke it.

   It’s sad but the thought has come into my peripheral recently, and I have been unable to shake it. In a perfect world, my death would not be coming into question till my body refuses to carry me but what do you do when this world takes souls out of healthy bodies? People my age and younger are dying. It is easy to dissociate from the stories you hear in the grapevines, but it ‘s hard to do so when you knew the soul. The idea that this person will never make you scream their name in exasperation. You will never hear their voice on the other end of the phone call. It tires you. You see your youth fleeting. I was not prepared for the evil of Earth.  

   In light of Manchester, my fear has once again risen to the surface about to spew from my mouth. My head is full of what ifs. What if I don’t make it to twenty? What if I die in a terrorist attack, get captured by terrorists or end up the victim of a hate crime? My heart does a little quiver when I leave the house; I double check all locks when I’m in the house. It sounds like deranged behavior and to be honest, it is. But when you have hopes and dreams bigger than yourself, you guard them. With your life. And you sit and stew.

   I am angry that I am scared. My fury mixes with heartbreak as my innocence high tails back to Disneyland. I am upset that the situations beyond my control outweigh the decisions I can make.

So, for now, I will sweat the small stuff, I will worry if my hair is too frizzy and if my shirt is ironed. I will obsess over my highlight reaching “glazed donut’ standards. I will sweat the small stuff because my heart cannot take the big ones.

Till the next rant, it is 3:20 am. I have to be up at 6:45 am.

 

 

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FEMINIST AND TIRED

I am a feminist. And I am tired of talking about it. That means talking about it to men, women including other feminists. I just want to stock up on feminists t-shirts and go live my life. This fight for something obvious and important is so exhausting, which could be said about the black lives matter movement.

I am at the point in life where I assume that if you are not a feminist, you will never be one, and there is no sense in trying to convince you. I just mark it as a malfunctioning of something in your life, either environmental or internal and I decide to limit/cut off all subsequent conversations.

It is extremely hard for me having grown up in a family where my uncles had been treated exactly like my mom. My father told me when I was younger that whatever a boy could do I could do five times better (come to me with that “can you make a baby by yourself” argument and see what happens). The idea that my genitalia which I had no control over makes me in some way sub par to a man is utterly ludicrous.

I’m not even talking about the feminists that don’t want to shave their body hair or feel pressured into dressing more masculine to be taken seriously in the task force. I am a do what makes you happy kinda chick. I am talking about the basic, have autonomy over your body and life, and get paid the same amount kinda thing. I am speaking about husbands treating their wives as equals with respect and not batter them from pillar to post thing. Is this so bizarre to think that we should be treated with decency?

I tweeted that since summer is here, the boys who yell out their cars in an attempt to get females reactions have returned. Please, please, please someone explain to me how yelling “Aye yo ma”, followed by whistling and kissing sounds is respectful? I’ll wait. Write in the comment section. It is not a compliment. I am also tired of the ignoramuses that come with “well it’s better than it used to be.” Fam! Black people are no longer slaves in America, does that make the situation at hand any better?

The idea that I am someone’s property or that I am incapable of taking care of myself makes me tired. A man trying to explain what being a woman is too me or defining a lady and the ways I don’t fit the parameters make me want to scream.  I just want women to feel safe, to feel respected and I just wish this wasn’t a movement. Just the norm.

PSA: This is in no way discrediting the struggles men go through in today’s society. I am a woman. I can only speak from this perspective.

Till the next rant, Thanks for sticking around!

THE BYSTANDER: RESHAPING YOUR PERSPECTIVE


        I could make up a thousand excuses, and tell you about the posts I have composed but haven’t posted but I won’t. I have been struggling, with my perception of self. Coming to terms that all the things I could do, play an instrument, draw, paint and even pray are starting to atrophy before my very eyes. I have been a bystander to my own life.
So for once, I won’t talk about societal norms that piss me off ( you will hear about them later), I’m going to talk about me. Yesterday I was talking to a friend; I started being honest with myself. Complaining about how bored I am for months and have made less than feeble attempts to do anything. My exact words were “I have become a waste of space” I’ve become so lazy and complacent and the queen of procrastination and as the year slowly slips away I am forced analyze what I want with life. My life.
        At this moment, I am watching Beyonce’s Life But a Dream for the second time.  At a point, she talks about taking her independence and “reshaping your perspective of yourself.” I have to do that. I am going to be nineteen years old soon, not on track with the plans of my life. And although I have to understand that God’s timing isn’t my timing, I show no effort. My life seems to flash by with little to no input from me.
        Well it did, I decided a week ago to be present in my life. That sounds crazy weird. And in one week, I have realized it is easier to destroy than it is to build. I remember when I hit my lowest and how hard it was to get out of my depression to this point. I realize how hard it is going to be. Thank God I am innately stubborn, I refuse to stop. And because I am innately stubborn, I am independent and very silent about my life. Silence has almost killed me. Not only am I making an effort not to sink, I have to learn how to talk. Which means calling my mom, losing my shit in group chats, speaking gibberish with my baby cousin (it is amazingly therapeutic) and being able to be vulnerable when it matters. From those conversations, I find strength. I find that I spend less time just floating through time and space. I am alive.
        If anyone else is going through it as well, don’t give up. You have come too far from where you started. And take the time to talk to somebody. Hell, talk to me I’ll listen.
        I wish I had all the answers, and I wish this were coherent, but this is how I feel, and what I’m going through. Honest, my hand to God.

                                      Till the next rant, tons of kisses

TO WHAT WORLD?

It’s no real secret that I don’t really want kids. Some days I waver, but for the most part, I would like to keep my womb in its original state – empty. The times I do waver, I think about playing hide and seek and about walking down the street with my kids holding on to my little fingers with their even smaller fingers. What a picture.

But now, I’m worried, would I be playing peek-a-boo with my son or would I have to pick out his 12-year-old body out in a morgue? Would I be walking down the street skipping with my daughter and playing games or would we be running for shelter from bombs and stray bullets? I want to say it can’t happen, but the bottom line is nobody knows who is next. I have retweeted so many hashtags.

It is sad that in a few years, my uncle may have to teach his son who is currently a drooling one-year-old infant, the proper way to speak, to behave in public so as to not be shot, to keep his eyes open. I would have to explain to my kids, my friends’ kids, my sisters kids that that kid in their class was killed because of his melanin. I would have to explain the word “racism” to little children. I would be forced to watch the flash of shock in their eyes as they look down and realize that they are the same color as their classmate.

Just because we are magic, doesn’t mean we are not real” -Jesse Williams

So if I was to ever change my mind and have children, to what the world am I bring them to? The one of ISIS and Boko Haram? The one of police brutality and incessant racism? The one of Donald Trump? Yes, I am throwing massive shade.

My heart is heavy and I pray for peace more that I pray for myself. I pray for healing more than I pray for favour.I pray for mercy.

‘Till the next one.

Please be safe, you can’t be another hashtag.

WHAT ARE WE PRAYING FOR?

bomb

I can’t count the number of times I’ve knelt down to pray in the last week and a half and although the hashtags trend I need to ask, what exactly it is we are all praying for?

About two weeks ago, a two-year-old lost his life in Disney land when he was dragged into a lagoon by an alligator,  social media responded in an appalling manner ( I have too much faith in this generation). The comments were not of condolence or sympathy; instead, twitter proceeded to berate the child’s parents for neglecting their child insinuating that they deserved this.

A few days after that, ‘Pulse’, a gay club in Orlando, Florida were shot up resulting in the loss of fifty lives and again social media made me cringe. For the thousands of people who sympathized with the families of the victims and the survivors, thousands more made known their belief that it was God punishing the clubgoers for their sinful lifestyles. For being gay, just like the parents of that two-year-old boy, they were asking for it.

In the last week, the death toll has been over 400 with terrorists being responsible for about 350. And as I write this there is news that another bomb blast occurred in Lebanon today and now in Medina. Yet some people still say that this is the Middle Easts’ problem, after all, they are Muslims as well. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!

I have put myself in the shoes of the father who dove into alligator infested waters and was attacked in the hopes of saving my son’s life. I imagined been a mom getting a text from her son that there is a shooting at the club he is and waiting for him to come home, realizing he never will. I imagine walking down the street and realizing the people next to me are dead and I’m staring at the carnage. I might just die of shock on the spot.

At a young age, my parents taught me that at the end of it all, it doesn’t matter what a person looks like or where he comes from, we are all the same on the inside. From that, I learned empathy, I don’t pray the entire world lines up with my views and I try very hard to not point fingers. Not that I am perfect but I am quite aware that there are people who do point fingers and I wonder what they mean when they say #PrayFor….?

I can’t even muster up the energy to be angry or to rant I’m just sad. The world isn’t perfect and it sure as hell isn’t peaceful. But we hope. In the meantime, we pray for empathy and the next time something bad happens, we #PrayForPeace

‘Till the next time. Goodnight

 

 

IMMMMMM BAACCCK PEOPLE!

Hello, it has been forever. How do you do? I breathe. So we cant complain.

I have thought about it and have decided to not shut down this blog. My decision, of course has nothing to do with the emotional blackmail I got from my friends or the threats to my hair. It was all my choice. Are you convinced? No? Me neither.

I can’t exactly pinpoint what it is, but it just feels wrong to tear it all down, especially remembering the long pep talk i gave myself when I began a year ago. ITS BEEN A YEAR! So I stay. I stay because over the last few days I realized that I have a lot more things to say, a few more controversial than the next. I stay because typing out my thoughts definitely beats walking down the street in a full on conversation with myself. I am not crazy! I stay because i am quite proud of myself for having actually started this. Are you touched yet? No? You suck.

Now, lets talk changes.. I will probably rebuild this site. I will buy the domain, the very day i can get my lazy behind to actually pay. So, over the next few weeks or months (depending on how productive I am, the site will probably change. I like the color scheme now, but i may get hormonal and decide to go goth. I may branch out and discuss new topics and actually give tips instead of berate the entire human race. Don’t get your hopes up, I said MAY.

Other than that, I am thankful to those who actually read my posts. I hope you keep reading. Thank you 🙂

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding” – Prov 3:5

Till the next rant!

#WCW

I am posting this on a Tuesday but whatever.

I spend hours stalking these women on the internet. I just spent the last hour googling pictures of one of them at the basketball games. Do I play basketball? No. I am too short. Do I understand basketball? Not by a long shot.

The other day (the whole of last week) I stalked the others’ fingers and toes. Am I weird? Yes. Wanna pray for me? Please do.

Why am I exposing my weirdness? I have no actual clue.

My two women crushes for the last few years (one more recent than the other)

Rihanna

r1

And Shirley B. Eniang

SHIRLEY-5

Look at the beauty 😍😍

The combination, as unlikely as it may be, is what I want to be. Not a singer (recipe for disaster) or a Youtuber (another disaster) but strong.

I want to grow up relishing in who I am. Strong. Unafraid. Swag like nothing else. The ability to pull of pink hair.

I want to be confident in my flaws and accepting that I can’t be perfect. Classy. Intelligent. Beautiful. Dress like a boss. Be a boss.

I want to be someone worth emulating. To be able to walk in heels without falling on my face.

I also want a tattoo 🙈

      This is not saying that I will be the new clone. Neither does it mean i will support all their decisions. But the lessons worth learning, I will learn.

Who is yours?