Conversations about her...

How often do you hear someone talk your mother in the past tense?
Share their memories with you in hopes to ease the pain inside of you...
Try to appease you with pleasent memories to block out the negative ones.

I can be nonchalant about alot of things but I can't be nonchalant about this.
It made me smile to see how memories of my mother have such a powerful impact on others.
It makes me happy to know that her memory lives on.

But still, it makes me feel even more distant from my family.
Knowing that only this one bond connects us and that we are only joined in our sorrow.

My family doesn't understand me and honestly, I don't think that they want to.

But in their own way, they do understand my sorrow.

Can someone buy me...

this great freakin journal...



and this coffee table book...



and this novel...

Do you realize...

...that we are a part of the new Black Renaissance.

We are a part of the new generation.
The fulfillment of a dream
that was whispered on the lips of slaves.

Our people are masters of every industry
and everyday we are branching out even further
and leaving our marks on new frontiers...
and planting our roots in deeper soil.

The New Nikki...
The New Amiri...
The New Sonia...
The New Zora...
The New Langston...

We are a piece of a broken legacy
and though some dreams have been shattered
we are slowly but surely re-forging our bond
and strengthing our base
and just when you don't expect it..
a change is gonna come.

I mean a Black man is President...
Do you hear me?
I said my President is the same color as me.
Now tell me I'm not bad...

All I want for Christmas is...

These bad muthafuckas right here....



Annnnnnnnnnnd.....

This bad ass bitch...Owww!...

मोथेर

I miss my mother.
Miss her in an insane way.
I miss the scent of her skin...
The warmth of her breath...
I just miss her so much.

I often worry that one day I may forget her.
The small details of her are starting to fade
and I can't help but wonder
if one day I'll totally forget.

I don't want to.
I don't want to forget my Mama.
I treasure our memories.
But they are starting to fade faster than Autumn fades into the cold of Winter.
What am I do when all of my memories are gone?
Or should I simply pull one out and lock it away for safe keeping...

So I'll never, ever forget...

What about your friends....?

I miss my friends.

Not the ones that I have now but the ones I've lost over the years.
Its just hard to understand how people that I once cared so much for simply drifted out of my life.
and I'm always left thinking the same thing...
Is it me?
Did I do something wrong?

I'm not just talking about associates or people I just used to see out and about...
No, I mean I've lost friends...
People I talked to every day for years.
People who helped to shape who I am as a person.
I've lost friendships that I treasured more than anything.

But how?
What exactly happened?
How do friendships just fade away and die?
Why do people just leave without bothering to say goodbye?

I know I'm guilty of doing that but only when I felt it was extremely necessary.
Only when I didn't have a choice.
I can't stand feeling suffocated.
and when I feel like I can't breath
I just need to break away.
With Tyra and Kid, I just needed to break away.
I needed to just get away from people who weren't beneficial to my life at all.

But those weren't even friends.
Those were girlfriends.
The only friends that I've been guilty of leaving are Moe and Gina, which are ironically two of my oldest friends.
Its hard to explain but I knew I just needed to step away from them for a min.
With Moe, she was caught up in a life that I didn't want anymore.
I didn't want any of that drama and I thought she would understand but she didn't.
And she still doesn't.
I always wonder what would happen if we ever happened to see each other.
Would we speak?
Would we just walk away as if we were total strangers and then later regret not pausing to acknowledge that at one point we were friends?
Or maybe we would lash out at each other because neither of us can accept that both of us are to blame for the demise of our friendship.
Who knows...

And Gina was and still is my best friend, my rock.
She's been there for me through so much.
But we just kinda grew apart.
We're on two different paths and I hate feeling ashamed of how smart I am when I'm around her. I feel bad that I'm in school and that she's kinda stuck in a tough spot.
Most of all, I get upset because I'm tired of feeling different.
Tired of people telling me that I talk, act and dress different.
Tired of hearing how much I've changed.

And really...is there anything wrong with change?
Why should I be forced to stay the same?
If I don't change, how can I ever grow?


And in other news....

All is well with Jae and I.
Gosh, I dig her...
I mean I really dig her...

I enjoy just sitting with her
Listening to her thoughts flow
Resting my head on her shoulder
while she shares her opinions about this and that.
Today we both shared how we both could never imagine getting into an argument.
Thats how strong our bond is.
I could never imagine yelling at her or fighting with her.
I could imagine deliberately saying hurtful things to wound her spirit.
I just couldn't...

I'm super excited about Thanksgiving and of course, her birthday is coming up too.
*sigh* My beautiful Saggitarius...
I can't believe that this is really happening.
I'm finally in the relationship that I've waited my entire life for.
I have a woman who adores me.
Treasures me....
The thought of her fills my heart with so much joy.

Gosh, I love this feeling...
Its awesome.

Introducting...Me :-)

I've had a million blogs.
and I've never been able to keep up with them.
My thoughts always come out
in erratic bursts of creativity
and just like the typical Gemini
I'm always changing my direction...
but one thing remains constant:
My love of words.

I love words.
I love language.
At the center of my being,
I am a writer.
When I talk, I talk as if I am writing.
When I read, I read from the perspective of a writer.
I am a writer...
in every sense of the word.

I recently had an epiphany
(...and by recently I mean today, lol)
that I will never be able to produce
the beautiful fictional story that lies within me
until I am able to first write my story.
Meaning that until I find a way to
take my personal history and put it down on paper
I will never be able to fully tell the story of any character.
I will never be able to write from the perspective of another
until I am able to document my own journey...in words.

I realized today that at the heart of being
is one question that I have yet to find a sufficient answer for.
As the great Dr. Valerie Prince expressed in a lecture today...

"All writing begins with inquiry... you don't have the answers, you just have the questions and through the process of writing you are vigorously searching for an answer".

So, I took a step back and asked myself: What question drives my writing? When I write, what is it that I want to know? What am I truly trying to express through my words?

And amazingly, the answer is simple.
When I write, I'm asking one question.
Who am I?

Who am I as a person?
Who am I as a daughter?
Who am I as a sister?
Who am I as a woman...as a Black woman...as a Black lesbian?
Who am I?!

It is this question that tears at my heart's strings.
It is this question that keeps me up at night.
It is this question that literally makes me write because not only am I trying to show others who I am, but I am actually trying to discover the
very
same
thing.

It is the question of identity. Where do I come from? Who do I come from? How did I get to this point in my life? And now that I'm here, who I am?

Thus, after figuring out the question, I realized that I needed to seek an answer using the appropriate literary mode: a memoir.
Yes, I'm only 21 but I need to write a memoir.
I need to tell my story.
I need to get this story...my story... out of my head.
I need to recount the memories which have plagued me. I have to write down the story of my broken childhood in order to continuing growing.
The memory of my past is holding me hostage and in order to free myself, I must write this story.