Beautiful Baby Blake

Since there is no way that I can truly come to an understanding of where my racist ideologies morphed itself into a malignant growth, that stood there until it was confronted, I will recollect my fondest and most vivid memories to find some answers.

From a very tender age, I was obsessed with dolls—I loved combing their long flowing hair; I loved dressing them up and pretending to go shopping; I loved having love affairs with Ken and switching professions with Barbie. I was a veterinarian, pediatrician, model, actress, ballet dancer, mother and “fashionista”—I was Barbie. But would I be given the chance to become any of these things in the real world? I thought so… after all, whatever Barbie could do, I believed that I too could. Somehow, I could not understand that my colour would act as an impediment in becoming most of what I wanted to be. I didn’t understand how the world worked yet, and even before I did, I had a distorted and dysfunctional view of what it looked like.

I also remember, that in these very juvenescent years, I was lovestruck with the thought of having children. Somehow, I had already pictured what they would all look like and they did not look like me. They did not look like the countenance that my mother always starred at and chanted “ you are beautiful, my angel, so precious.” Where did these images come from and why did I desire to have these things or want these types of children? Where did this nebulous dichotomy of “pretty and fair” and “other and ugly” come from? I did not know that this would mean that I hated who I was. And that cancerous cell continued to grow…

So many things happened in the in betweens. I went to many places, spoke to many people, took many classes, read books, dated and as I started to understand my world and the prisms through which I viewed it— the growth became known and with every lesson learned, with the dimensions of this brain forever stretching… I came to confront that growth and chip away what was there. The racist images that were filled with hate for myself and “othered” peoples all began to melt away—this growth had taken away all senses necessary for living from the beginning—since I was too young to understand them. I thank God that besides external forces, I had a family filled with “othered” people and a support system who praises “othereness.”

I’ve come a long way. I can stand and confidently say that I can see the beauty in any life form and this to me is a blessing from a creator who is good and has made all things good. As a result, my understanding of “Black” is not what is portrayed and spread through the world via media giants. Although I try not to categorize life, people and things by placing limits on them, I identify myself as a Black person—as problematic as it may seem.

“Black” to me is a vast category with many divergent definitions. As time and place changes, its meaning transforms also. For this reason, I do not look down on how other people interpret it, but instead implore them to try to discover why they believe what they do and if its root is faulty they should shed some light on this and transform their thinking.

To me, Black does not necessarily mean the connection to one race solely. Furthermore, being Black does not mean that you are solely or solely acknowledging being of partial or full African heritage. Black to me is mostly an attitude. Many try to connect the ghetto way of life and use this image as something synonymous to blackness. In that same breath, this “Black” attitude is what people who were movers and shakers of our world that we put the spot light on every February, exuded. What people fail to realize is that we all contribute to our image. With that said how have you contributed my brother, and you my sister? How do you add or subtract from the Black voice or the Black attitude?

Being Black to me does not take away from any other ancestory that makes me …me, nor does it mean connecting myself to inferiority. Being Black to me is not accepting what the oppressor has deemed me as—it is the reverse, it is taking back what was stolen and refining it. Being Black to me is being beautiful, powerful, strong, a fighter, a lover, a leader, an intellectual, being who I am and loving who I am…it means being human. My Black is ambiguous, like the name Blake – and it shows just how stupid it is to truly see a multi dimensional entity through a one dimensional prism.

I embrace my baby—Blake, I cherish him for who he is. This baby has replaced that tumor that proved to be detrimental to me and to “othered” peoples everywhere who believe that they have to think, look, speak and feel differently to be “superior”, accepted and better. I cherish my blessing, that is, my vision; I cherish the people who have helped me thus far in shattering fallacies and ridding myself of this growth; they have all helped birth this baby… my beautiful baby… Blake.

Speak the truth and accept the truth in love

The Scrub Complex

I’ve heard women say many things about themselves—I’ve heard them claim that, “we are simply complicated, emotional beings, strong, independent, a force, pillars.” Because these same women claim that they stand firm on their belief that they are all these great things…they say that the type of men they decide to court or “give a chance to” is reflective of who they see themselves as. That’s not the problem though… the problem is that I have detected, after much observation, that these same women parade the streets with “low lifes.” How could this be? Are these sisters blind, settling or plain dumb? Today I will like to explore The Scrub Complex.

Initially, what is this complex and how does it come to be? In other words, how does one diagnose this complex and we will end by talking about how it can be alleviated. The scrub complex has surprisingly proliferated, especially in cities like Toronto where good men, who are confident and ready to be men approach women courteously, are a SCARCE resource. In cities of this type women have suddenly taken the place of their male counterparts as the “er” consequently making men the "ee." More explicitly, women are no longer the pursuee but the pursuer, the payer in all or most cases, the “holder” of the ball! To add to this drastic change in dating “protocol” we find men brazen enough to ask if the woman would desire to be the “proposer.” The most confusing and contradictory addition to this is that they want to be respected as “the man” and treatedas the head of the home! Ludicrous right?

Yes! It is in these places where we find women who are willing to lower their standards, do the unthinkable and marry or give chances to people who they know are incompatible in so many ways with them. Sisters are going against what grandmothers, mothers and aunts have been warning against…they are now saying “yes” to scrubs and enabling, reinforcing and propelling this sickness! They say it’s “ok for me to pay for his car to be fixed, it is my job to give him lunch money, it is my duty to pay when we go to dinner because I want him to see me as a strong, independent sister who can take care of her own.” My question is: when did “his own” become your own? What ever happened to “us” “our” and “we”?

The diagnosis: do you know you can do better than the person you have presently put yourself with after swimming through the rough waters of pursuing him? Are you sinking deeper into debt after the commencement of your relationship? Are you with your partner because you are just ready for a child and he seems to want the same things too? Have you convinced yourself that you must take on the role of “er” to be respected and loved and seen as a mutually benefitting individual with equal say in your union? Are you burnt out because you seem to not only hold “the ball” but you own the court, make the rules, make the effort, and feel like at the end of it all… you’re playing all by yourself? Then it’s clearer that you have fallen victim to the “Scrub Complex.”

However, don’t be afraid, there is a way out for you. The first step is severing ties from your scrub and with that knowing that it is not your duty to change him or force him to be someone he is not. After this, it’s important thatyou write down or meditate on who you see yourself with and what you want in life. It’s also imperative that you are realistic with your standards. After you have done this, let it “marinate” and sink deep into you cerebellum! Once you know what this person looks like…wait and don’t you settle. Trust me, you will know when he arrives! Who knows, maybe not just one person fitting the criteria will come along but many!

Lastly, I think it is important that I make my readers understand that there is a difference between “catering to” your man and “spoon feeding” your man. Catering is great and necessary in any lasting relationship—you must show your partner you would go out of your way to show them the dept of your love and many times these things are very little things that can make a big difference (like surprising him at his lunch break for a quickie before he gets back to the tedious routines of office work). However, “catering to” your man is in no way “spoon feeding” you man—which is doing everything for him which can inevitably “stunt” his growth in your relationship.

Ladies… you do deserve better and you know it!

Speak the truth and accept the truth in love…

People Who Need People Part II

The Time Will Come

Have you ever felt like a spec of dust in a world filled with monolithic rock? Have you ever? Have you ever felt that no one truly gets it or can connect to you even among your many colleagues? Have you ever? Have you ever had an experience where you were overwhelmed with thought and you felt as if you were drowning in it; you are so exhausted with all your knowledge that you feel like it is too much to contain and it is slowly strangling you?

Have you ever woken up from a dream and straightway ran for your paper and pen, and without effort, without much thought a story wrote itself? Have you ever made art and felt disconnected from the story it told? Well I have.

Below is a story I once wrote. I’ve never been physically or mentally abused—I’ve always been surrounded by love, but one day my pen and my inner self wrote a story that the Jem on the surface at that time had no idea about. As I reread it, so much emotion consumed me.

I chose to share this poem today only because after years of not knowing why that story was relevant to me and where it came from, the reason unfolded today. I realized today that I too can relate to the misery this girl faced and like this girl, time was the ingredient necessary in fulfilling destiny. I’ve reached a certain milestone and only now does “it”… all make sense.

The Silent Voice

My cries, my voice no one can hear.

Loneliness, darkness ever so present, to wake up from this horror my prayer.

To return your ghastly scoldings; to swear at you at the top of my lungs,

To incarcerate you in a lonely cell...and your voice like mine so silent...

Only echoes of your cries you'd hear.

I wish just once I could be heard!

I'll tell all the untold stories, the novel of pain my tiny body has to bear.

The times you'd tower over me, you ogre, you dragon, you beast...

My little voice....ever so silent.

You were my predator, for years I've been your prey,

But I know one day I'd be tall, I'd be unstoppable.

I'd have a voice and sweet vengeance would take lead,

And you, not me, would have to plead.

All the torture, all the pain, the emptiness...

The void in my heart would always remain...NEVER erased from my mind.

Although Just a little child I would remember all the episodes with you and me...

that made me wish I'd never seen this world,

that made me wish that she who bore me never died,

that made me wish I could turn back time...

turn back time to that night you planted your seed

and her heart beat raced and your breaths were deep.

For now....my voice, like the sound of silence

But when I own that voice--liberty to speak, I'd repay you for all this pain

Memory won't fail, because they're engraved

etched in my obscure mind, my tiny heart...my little brain.

J.Wilson (2007)

I can now relate after four years. Four eventful years where I’ve made academic institutions my second home. I’ve been bombarded by critical thought, theorists (dead and alive). I’ve been awakened by life itself; life and its struggles, the quandaries it brings, friends that weren’t even associates. Through this time I too like this little girl was faced with physical and intangible elements that prevented me from saying, doing, reacting speaking! I’ve been guarded; I’ve allowed people, schools, professors, friends, ideologies and the status quo to silence me.

This silencing was implicit, this silencing was destined to be, it commenced at my birth and if I remained unconscious of it, it would proceed to do the same till my death—hampering me from letting out my deepest cries of hope, joy, love, emancipation. The thing is, time has matured my mind, opened it and though physically there might be no sign of growth, that “little” mind has now acquired the necessary ingredients to allow this woman to speak out. I’ve found my voice in all the chaos!

The next step for me is to figure out what I want to use this voice for. Is this voice that of a revolutionary? Should I use it to share knowledge and simultaneously gain it? Should I go on fulfilling the dream of someone else or use my voice to reveal another path unknown to me?

Like this little girl, my chance has come as time has passed and I am grateful for the people who have all led me to this epiphany.

If you have felt like this girl, like me, like the oppressed, suppressed, abused, misused… you are not alone, but remember, your voice will come and when it does it’s up to you what you do with it!

Speak the truth and accept the truth in love….

PEOPLE WHO NEED PEOPLE part 1

DESCRIPTION:

“He is confident, strong, intelligent, he has two to three degrees, a stable job,he is h

andsome, desires to be a family man, good with children, always there and spiritual….. If you see him, please let me know and tell him I am looking for him.

Yes, Freud may have been on to something; although he may have been chauvinistic, sexist and and one who placed too much emphasis on the phallus, but could it all be true? Do women look for their fathers in their partners? Are we doomed to wander this earth till he matches the qualification of status: ideal dad? What does this mean for us then?

The scary and most problematic part of this however is not a new observation but one that we can all relate to because it is ever present in society today—daddies are MISSING!!! The fact is that we seldom find families where the fathers are active members and consistently there. What am I saying?

If fathers are present, they are not role models, when they are not present, there is no male figure that compensates for it. Where are we getting this sketch, image, ideology and “ruberic” from? Furthermore, since this is not in fact what we are seeing at home and therefore desiring, is that ok? Is it ok to have these standards? Is this ideal father figure a myth that no one man can match up to and if yes, are we doomed to be alone? What are the consequences of this and how do we overcome it?

First and foremost, it is not ok to have standards and not know from whence these desires came. This blog is about awareness and searching for answers, so I first implore you to figure out why you want this type of man. If your standards are based solely on indoctrination by media or peers, please, begin by finding out more about you and what you need in a partner to compliment your complex personality.

Secondly, this ideal sketch that most women have is sometimes unrealistic. Having standards is not bad however, but I urge you to have goals that are realistic! Good, great and phenomenal men exist so NO whatever you desire in a man (once your goal is realistic and matches compliments you) is not a myth. YOU ARE NOT DOOMED to be alone!

Also, for those who do have great dads who are active members of her family, I know that you too face issues much like those who have no visible father figure. Most of you want to test the waters. You do know that having a great man is the standard and your ultimate desire, but ”is this all there is” you ask yourself. You think that there is more out there to experiment with, you do not want to settle until you find out if there’s something better than daddy. Besides this, you compare men you meet first with daddy, if he does not meet daddy’s image you get rid of him, no matter of the way in which he differs from your dad is really insignificant. The n you wonder why you are alone!

Oh, let’s not forget those who had strong Independent women as role models in place of present fathers. Most of you who are avid readers of my blog, I know that you are familiar with M.I.S and we see again where this syndrome can develop! Yes, it happens in this circumstance—you believe that you can do it all by yourself!

However, M.I.S is just one complex that is birthed in a society like our own where we are searching for the non-existent, never present, extinct dad! Besides M.I.S, the SCRUB COMPLEX is born. I will have to expound on this in my next post.

In conclusion, this is not a problem for one race, gender or class—this is a societal problem, for all PEOPLE. Knowing that this issue exists, it is important to be aware of the standards that have and make certain that they are realistic and tender to your personality and needs. Lastly, be hopeful! There is someone for everyone and with realistic goals and by knowing SELF… he will make himself present and you will KNOW who he is when he comes.

Speak the truth and accept the truth in love.