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What Makes My Heart Smile

  • my education
  • graphic tees that say interesting things
  • sundresses
  • shoes
  • forehead kisses
  • hearing someone say i love you
  • phone convos that last until the wee hours of the morning
  • good conversations
  • chai tea
  • my notebook & pen
  • being still
  • roller coasters
  • warm summer starry-skied nights
  • a really good book
  • long, hot showers
  • love
  • GOD
  • boyfriend
  • friends
  • family

Monday, December 13, 2010

I Am Woman

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/12/09/AR2009120904546.html?sid=ST2010041904904- Helena Andrews

The second issue I hear, mostly from heterosexual black women, is a deep concern about being un-partnered, which I blame on an overwhelming discourse around this idea that there are no available black men.
So in some ways, young women may be more connected to these gender scripts than we were, because marriage and motherhood is at the center of popular discourse.- Beverly Guy-Sheftall
http://www.theroot.com/views/root-interview-beverly-guy-sheftall?page=0,2

These are two very different articles, but both relate to feminism, although in the first article, a profile of Helena Andrews, author of the memoir Bitch Is The New Black, the author refers to our generation as being one that is "post-feminist". The ssecond article, an interview with Beverly Guy-Sheftall, a scholar and feminist, deals with Guy-Sheftall's opinion of feminism now and how it relates to us, in comparison to when she herself was younger.

The above quote stood out to me because I agreed with Guy-Sheftall. Black women in my generation, and I'll add my mother's generation to this category as well, are very concerned about being partnered. In all honesty, I know very few Black women who are married, including my mother. From conversations that I've heard practically all my life, it is definitely a concern for them.

I began reading Bitch Is The New Black over the summer, and once school started back and I became busier, I wasn't able to finish the book in its entirety. I was quite fascinated with how much emphasis Helena Andrews placed on her relationship status. To her, it wasn't just a status, it was a definition. SINGLE. It was like a curse word.

I noticed, too, that in the headline of the profile on her, it uses lonely and successful almost as synonyms. Andrews, to me, is the epitome of success. She graduted from Columbia University and Northwestern University, wrote for Politico, O, The New York Times, and now has a movie deal possibly in the works, in addition to a book out. But the majority of the book and the article focuses on her lack of a relationship.

Is this the new face of feminism? We don't define success by our jobs or education--it's as if we almost take that for granted. Attending Columbia and Northwestern, two of the top schools in the country, are thrown into the book and article like an afterthought. Attending an Ivy-League is an amazing feat; it is supposed to set you apart from others. However, in a post-feminist word, it makes you a regular old Joe. Andrews says that she has friends who are lawyers, social scientists and more--those with presumably lucrative careers, but again, she states it as if she's mentioning the walk that she gave her dog that morning.

We're not feminists anymore. We're not even successful. We're just lonely.

It's scary.

There's No Good Music Left!

"There is no good music around anymore! I feel sorry for your generation!" My boyfriend's relative said to us recently on a car trip tp their hometown of Philadelphia. We were in for an 8-hour drive, and she was determined to make use of the time that she had with us. I could tell that she enjoyed speaking with us. We defied her stereotypes of the typical 20-year-old college students.

I shook my head as I glanced at her from the rearview mirror. I loved having conversations about current music. I'm not the typical music listener of my generation. I barely listen to the radio in my car. The freshwomen in my residence hall (I'm a Resident Assistant) keep me current with what's going on in the music world...which furthers my hesitance to turn on the radio.

In a sense, I told my boyfriend's relative, I agreed with her. If all I did was listen to the radio, I would be disheartened to hear bitch and hoe after every line, said by both men and women. I would turn up my nose at some of the lyrics. The most recent one to make me shake my head in disgust?

"You wanna see some as*? I wanna see some cash...and that's gon' make me dance."
Make It Rain- Travis Porter

So yes...I understand why she would say that. Only IF I listened to solely the radio and mainstream music.

But since I don't, I have more of a variety to choose from, which led me to say that there IS good music in our generation. Beyond good music. A lot of this music, however, does not make it to mainstream radio. The artists that make this music are fine with that, as well, I added.

I say that because by the time the music makes it to mainstream, it goes through so much changing and forming to fit what is believed to be popular that I'm sure it is unrecognizable.

The true fans of these artists know how to find their music. They know that it most likely won't be found on the radio, their concerts aren't at sold-out venues and they may not have the most downloads on iTunes. But they also can trust that the depth and meaning of their message won't be lost among the many other songs on the radio that already have. Those who want to find good music, do and will continue to.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Move Me

At the same time as my decision to wear my hair in its natural state has really increased, so has my decision to delve deeper into my writing. No longer do I want to just write a pretty sentence. I want to write a sentence that has to be rewritten over and over again before it makes me say BOO-YOW. I want to write not just for the sake of being "deep...yo, that was deep, man". No, I want to "go free", as Tamara Jeffries, my Creative Nonfiction instructor has been pleading with us to do. But no amount of pleading and prodding from her can take us there until we are ready to be taken.

When I wear my hair bone straight, which is how it is typically styled by my beautician, I feel pretty. I feel ready to face the world. I feel as thin and as straight and predictable as my freshly wrapped hair in the morning. And after 20 years...I finally spoke the truth: it was boring me.

I've always secretly wanted to be natural. My heart jumped and did a little shimmy each time I saw someone holding the tips of their curled ends, reaching to the sky and smiling along the way. Yes, my hair looked bomb and fierce when it was straightened, don't get me wrong. Beauticians in the past have hooked up my hair, providing me with layer upon layer, color upon color that at one point, my hair resembled the sun as it bid the sky adieu. Beautiful is how my hair has always been to me.

That's what I've been known for--my long, thick beautiful hair. At the mention of cutting it, I received so much flack that I wished I could take each letter of my suggestion and stomp it out on the floor until no one ever remembered it existed. Except me.

Good words inspire me, to be a higher me like the first artist who really took me "there"--Lauryn Hill. Whether I'm reading a book or magazine or listening to poetry set to a beat (what I call music...I'm sure I'm not the only one), I feel moved. I feel like jumping in my car and driving to South Carolina for no other reason than because I can. Words are my food. They are what keep me going, especially those words that make you remember them during the time when they were intended for--when we need them the most. Depth is what drives me wild.

I'm realizing that I like my hair when it is wild. I love when it is all over my head in curls. I love the things that it does, the shapes that it makes. I never know how it will look. It's getting to know me as much as I'm getting to know it. It's not always a love relationship, either. Sometimes I feel like calling a relaxer up and apologizing for leaving it cold in the rain. Other days, I feel like hugging each curl, even with the relaxed ends, and taking them all out for ice cream.

My writing is figuring out that "Hey...sistergirl is changing up on us!" And of course, it would be right. I pay attention more to word order, to sentence length, to whether or not something is right for the story. I pay attention to craft.

Much like I do when twisting my hair each night. It's all in the arms. It's all in how you do it. If you don't twist it right, it'll look all wrong. But sometimes, that's the point. Sometimes it has to look wrong in order for you to style it into something that will end up right where you want it to be.

My writing and hair move me.