Can it be possible for an entire city of men to be unnaturally altered?
I think it can, because that is the case. A friend of mine holds a theory about the men in this particular city being...well, stupid. As in they do not see a good woman when one is standing right in front of them. As in they know NOT the meaning of communication. As in they may as well all be gay, because those of us who have brains, are outspoken, adventerous do not appeal to the mass made native man. Uh, really?
Yes...I am venting. It is the only alternative to bottling up and holding in my thoughts and feelings in which case I'd end up a crotchety old female and would actually probably be more appealing to the non-entities that are native men. anyways-
I promise I'm not crazy. I don't crowd, I'm fun to talk to, I'm hella fun physically, I really am cool. So, por que no llamas? (That was, 'why didn't you call?' in Spanish) At least, I think it was. Not only does he chose not to call, he chooses not even to speak at our workplace. Touchy, touchy, i know. Dating at work can be sticky, but he was worth it...or so I thought. I liked everything about him. His eyes, his smile, his voice...he played keys - which I love. He has tattoos - which I love. He has great style and was interested. That never happens. The men I like are maybe 2 out of 10 interested in me, so I'm pumped.
He asks me out on a date. We go out. Have a grand old time...hang out for like 6 hours. 6 hours! Granted, two or four of that were spend in a delicious make out session, but THAT is not the point. If anything, that should be a good influence in calling me back. so...6 days later I got nothing. Maybe half the times I contact him, I get a response back. Really? I do not understand.
I had coffee with a guy friend of mine today- a straight one- and I asked him, "Is there something repellant about me? Like anything that would have you making a cross with your hands and swearing me off forever?" He laughed and had me explain the situation. The only thing he could say, which was not a bad thing in his eyes, is that I'm very honest and open. I guess the natives don't like that.
That's it? Well, all this to say I'm 'bout done with these natives. They can't tell which is their ass or their elbow, and before I start pissing from the crook of my arms, I'm finding a way out of here.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
I tried to kill myself
Literally.
Before you get scared and go ballistic, let me just say, it's done. It's over. This is a closed door in my life, and I'm somewhat ashamed to admit that i even considered the possibility of expunging the miraculous gift that is my life. But I'm also now priveleged to be ever sure that my mere existence, the fact that I awake every day, that I have breath in my body, is a miracle.
I am not trying to wriggle out of dealing with issues and mindset that may be a result of, or maybe led to this event. I just know that something in me needs to write about it, talk about it, share my story and viewpoint so that maybe someone else won't feel as alone as I did. Let me also say, God knows me so well. He knows the little things that touch me deeply, whether it's a passing compliment, or a much needed hug and cry session, He knows my heart because He made me. Anywho...the story.
Scene: I was miserable at my job. I had 'no one to love me' at least no one handsome, and strong, and everything else I had contrived of in my somewhat misguided brain. I didn't know why and I couldn't understand why God kept waking me up everyday. I wasn't really doing anything amazing, just serving coffee, hurriedly, to people, and sleeping, and waking and doing the same thing. I saw no value in it. I wasn't singing, one of my passions, just what was I doing? I wasn't really spending time with My Love, with God, who I had felt so close to and then - not so close to. This was the list of have nots, and the haves, well they weren't a thought in my head.
Then the one thing that kept my mind occupied, my job, became jeopordized. I was essentially asked to leave.
Plan: 'Well,' I thought to myself. 'Fuck it. If I'm not doing anything, and I'm not good at anything, if no one wants me, if I can't help anyone and I'm no good... what's the point of me even being here?' So I, in all my self-made grandeur, proposed to play God to myself and take my own life.
I researched on the internet...Methods, pitfalls, all that and decided the best course, the fastest course, for me. I went to the store and bought three bottles of pills, a tuna lunch pack, and a movie. ( I was hungry!) I got 2 bottles of tylenol pm and 1 bottle of plain acetaminophen, something I knew would react badly with it. I went home, took both bottles of the sleeping pills, 30 acetaminophen, ate my tuna and watched my movie while i fell asleep. Granted, this would have been much more effective if I had used alcohol, but I had forgotten that tidbit. As I was sucked down to sleep, my phone was ringing- though i was in no condition to answer it- it was my mom.
Well, some hours later, I woke up in a terrible state. The whole room was spinning. It felt like the whole house was spinning. It felt like I had swallowed a pulsing, punching ball of burning icy coals. It was awful.
And, In my grand plan to screw the world-- because that's what you think, at least that's what I was thinking, that I was doing a phenomenal job of saying fuck the world and if I'm no good to you then I'm just going to leave. real grown up, i know--I had pushed a heavy trunk of books in front of my bedroom door, so that no one would be able to get to my decomposing body for a while. So, feeling just horrible, I'm stumbling over that stupid trunk trying to get to the restroom. Geez.
My arms and my head, oh my head, felt like they were made of lead. Everything was so heavy, and I had to concentrate, focus, tunnel vision just to get to the door. I think, I'm not sure, but I think I need to throw up. to the bathroom over the toilet... I just have one thought running through my head "I am SO stupid. This was SO stupid."
And it's funny because this was MY brilliant plan, right? MY way to say Fuck the World. Well, it was a shit plan, 'cause it didnt' even work, and now I'm spending all night dry heaving - yeah that's right. nothing was coming out. just churning and burning and no sleep and no relief, it was atrocious --and my wonderful roomate has gone to the store and bought me gingerale and crackers cause she thinks I have a stomach bug.
So in and out of sleep I go for a day and a half. It took that long until I could walk straight, and I thought "I'm still alive." I'm quick like that. "I'm still alive, and either I suck at suicide- which is definitely possible and I'm not even mad that I'm not good at it- or God wants me alive for some reason." I chose to believe the second, because though I may have tried to fight it, and work around it, and run away from it, and make a deal with it, I AM a woman of faith. My strong willed, stubbord, bull-headed spirit chose God long ago, and it's not givin' in anytime soon, and I'm ok with that. So, I believe at this point that I'm still alive because God wants me to be. And if that's true, then He must have some purpose for my existence.
I now consider my simple existence a miracle, because I could have died. God could have let me die but He didn't. That tells me He loves me. That tells me that there IS some purpose for my being on this planet. That tells me that I may not understand, and Lord knows I don't understand, how anything I do in this life could possibly have any effect. Effect enough to change the world, to merit the prices my Mom, my ancestors, soldiers, and others have paid and sacrificed for me to live a 'happy' life. Is there any way I could repay those debts? Not even if I became a woman who speaks encouragment and life and purpose to all those she meets. Not even if I lived a life to the glory of God, though it is my goal to do so. Not even if I acheived every goal I ever set for myself and outdid every dream in my heart. None of that could possibly repay what God did and continues to do for me. That's the rub.
And it's nothing to be bitter about. The fact is that what God did, no one deserves and no one can repay. That's why He had to do it and only He could have done it. And that's the essential falacy in the philosophy that if you're just a good person, you'll go to whatever Heaven exists and all that. There's no way that anything a human person could do to EARN or DESERVE or BE WORTHY OF what God did and does for us. It's just not possible. That is what these philosophies are essentially saying. Is that by living a good life, you earn your way into Heaven or into the good graces of whatever God you choose to serve. But, that's not what my God teaches and that's not what I believe. I do believe in living a good, honorable life. In treating others well, because I do beleive that what goes around comes around...but none of that is a substitute for confessing and surrending one's will to the fact that God had to die for me to live.
Anyways, that's another tangent. But what I learned from all this, and I'm sure what I will continually pull from this experience is that my life DOES have purpose. I may not know what it is, but I am here for a reason and I'm determined to seek and try and fight for my passions and for a life and a heart that honors God. I'm alive and if that's my only purpose, to LIVE. To love and laugh and enjoy this gift, then that's enough. I'm alive and I have a purpose.
that's all for now, luvs.
Before you get scared and go ballistic, let me just say, it's done. It's over. This is a closed door in my life, and I'm somewhat ashamed to admit that i even considered the possibility of expunging the miraculous gift that is my life. But I'm also now priveleged to be ever sure that my mere existence, the fact that I awake every day, that I have breath in my body, is a miracle.
I am not trying to wriggle out of dealing with issues and mindset that may be a result of, or maybe led to this event. I just know that something in me needs to write about it, talk about it, share my story and viewpoint so that maybe someone else won't feel as alone as I did. Let me also say, God knows me so well. He knows the little things that touch me deeply, whether it's a passing compliment, or a much needed hug and cry session, He knows my heart because He made me. Anywho...the story.
Scene: I was miserable at my job. I had 'no one to love me' at least no one handsome, and strong, and everything else I had contrived of in my somewhat misguided brain. I didn't know why and I couldn't understand why God kept waking me up everyday. I wasn't really doing anything amazing, just serving coffee, hurriedly, to people, and sleeping, and waking and doing the same thing. I saw no value in it. I wasn't singing, one of my passions, just what was I doing? I wasn't really spending time with My Love, with God, who I had felt so close to and then - not so close to. This was the list of have nots, and the haves, well they weren't a thought in my head.
Then the one thing that kept my mind occupied, my job, became jeopordized. I was essentially asked to leave.
Plan: 'Well,' I thought to myself. 'Fuck it. If I'm not doing anything, and I'm not good at anything, if no one wants me, if I can't help anyone and I'm no good... what's the point of me even being here?' So I, in all my self-made grandeur, proposed to play God to myself and take my own life.
I researched on the internet...Methods, pitfalls, all that and decided the best course, the fastest course, for me. I went to the store and bought three bottles of pills, a tuna lunch pack, and a movie. ( I was hungry!) I got 2 bottles of tylenol pm and 1 bottle of plain acetaminophen, something I knew would react badly with it. I went home, took both bottles of the sleeping pills, 30 acetaminophen, ate my tuna and watched my movie while i fell asleep. Granted, this would have been much more effective if I had used alcohol, but I had forgotten that tidbit. As I was sucked down to sleep, my phone was ringing- though i was in no condition to answer it- it was my mom.
Well, some hours later, I woke up in a terrible state. The whole room was spinning. It felt like the whole house was spinning. It felt like I had swallowed a pulsing, punching ball of burning icy coals. It was awful.
And, In my grand plan to screw the world-- because that's what you think, at least that's what I was thinking, that I was doing a phenomenal job of saying fuck the world and if I'm no good to you then I'm just going to leave. real grown up, i know--I had pushed a heavy trunk of books in front of my bedroom door, so that no one would be able to get to my decomposing body for a while. So, feeling just horrible, I'm stumbling over that stupid trunk trying to get to the restroom. Geez.
My arms and my head, oh my head, felt like they were made of lead. Everything was so heavy, and I had to concentrate, focus, tunnel vision just to get to the door. I think, I'm not sure, but I think I need to throw up. to the bathroom over the toilet... I just have one thought running through my head "I am SO stupid. This was SO stupid."
And it's funny because this was MY brilliant plan, right? MY way to say Fuck the World. Well, it was a shit plan, 'cause it didnt' even work, and now I'm spending all night dry heaving - yeah that's right. nothing was coming out. just churning and burning and no sleep and no relief, it was atrocious --and my wonderful roomate has gone to the store and bought me gingerale and crackers cause she thinks I have a stomach bug.
So in and out of sleep I go for a day and a half. It took that long until I could walk straight, and I thought "I'm still alive." I'm quick like that. "I'm still alive, and either I suck at suicide- which is definitely possible and I'm not even mad that I'm not good at it- or God wants me alive for some reason." I chose to believe the second, because though I may have tried to fight it, and work around it, and run away from it, and make a deal with it, I AM a woman of faith. My strong willed, stubbord, bull-headed spirit chose God long ago, and it's not givin' in anytime soon, and I'm ok with that. So, I believe at this point that I'm still alive because God wants me to be. And if that's true, then He must have some purpose for my existence.
I now consider my simple existence a miracle, because I could have died. God could have let me die but He didn't. That tells me He loves me. That tells me that there IS some purpose for my being on this planet. That tells me that I may not understand, and Lord knows I don't understand, how anything I do in this life could possibly have any effect. Effect enough to change the world, to merit the prices my Mom, my ancestors, soldiers, and others have paid and sacrificed for me to live a 'happy' life. Is there any way I could repay those debts? Not even if I became a woman who speaks encouragment and life and purpose to all those she meets. Not even if I lived a life to the glory of God, though it is my goal to do so. Not even if I acheived every goal I ever set for myself and outdid every dream in my heart. None of that could possibly repay what God did and continues to do for me. That's the rub.
And it's nothing to be bitter about. The fact is that what God did, no one deserves and no one can repay. That's why He had to do it and only He could have done it. And that's the essential falacy in the philosophy that if you're just a good person, you'll go to whatever Heaven exists and all that. There's no way that anything a human person could do to EARN or DESERVE or BE WORTHY OF what God did and does for us. It's just not possible. That is what these philosophies are essentially saying. Is that by living a good life, you earn your way into Heaven or into the good graces of whatever God you choose to serve. But, that's not what my God teaches and that's not what I believe. I do believe in living a good, honorable life. In treating others well, because I do beleive that what goes around comes around...but none of that is a substitute for confessing and surrending one's will to the fact that God had to die for me to live.
Anyways, that's another tangent. But what I learned from all this, and I'm sure what I will continually pull from this experience is that my life DOES have purpose. I may not know what it is, but I am here for a reason and I'm determined to seek and try and fight for my passions and for a life and a heart that honors God. I'm alive and if that's my only purpose, to LIVE. To love and laugh and enjoy this gift, then that's enough. I'm alive and I have a purpose.
that's all for now, luvs.
Part 1
Preface: these words spring from my own experience and my own views. they are are not meant to condemn or put down one way or another. Or even to suggest that someones preference is better than another's. And try not to read into anything too much, I try to say what I mean and I don't point fingers by way of exclusion. If I don't say it, then I don't mean it. anywhore - I'm just spurred to start a discussion, perhaps with myself, and with any who would enter it about...well, you'll see.
Rules to live by- Avoid using words like 'go back' or 'revert' 'unruly' 'wild' since it implies that one state of being is less than, or more primitive than the other.Do not let one's self be defined by the state of it. Whether treated, dyed, thrown into the fire, looking sleek and shiny - or brazenly bouffant, one does not equal it. It does not define a person. It is used as a mode of expression by the wearer. Not the other way around.
Is it a simple fact of being foriegn both the the wearer and those who see it? Is it just something we all have to get used to?Does it have to be something to be differentiated by?Time was , here in America, when leaving it in it's natural state WAS a sign and a symbol of defiance, of non-conformity, of not buying into the mass idea of what beauty is and of what it means to be quote on quote mainstream.
This came with an automatic negative connotation. To see it untamed meant that the wearer was one not to be messed with, one who had their own set of rules, one who in a sense wanted to be isolated from people unlike them. But IS that what it means today? I think it does set one apart and give one a stigma of non-conformity. But I also think it is a somewhat untapped resource for those who would try something new, to explore
what am I talking about? why, our hair, of course. I think it is so difficult for Black Women to wear their hair naturally is such a struggle, because it is only within the last year that we've really seen Black hair portrayed even minimally, and positively on television and in movies. I think that it, unfortunately, takes a leap of thought to connect beauty with the audaciousness of a natural head of Black Hair. But to whom?
I'll be the first to admit that for me as a Black woman, and I'd venture to say to many of us, since i cannot speak for Black Men, it's a difficult concept to accept. I know that, going natural, though it can be significantly healthier for the hair, though it IS the way that God chose to design my hair, and it IS beautiful in it's glorious right...was a very difficult transition. I could not accept the thought of an afro on top of my face. I could not think that this is anything but...i hate even to type it, primitive. why? it's a part of me, it's how my hair was designed. And it's gorgeous, as are many other derivatives and hairstyles. so where does this deep dislike come from?
I am not one to throw blame on the media and on the way society has shaped my mind and my ideals so that i have no way to tell what I'm being fed from what I think and feel of my own volition. I will, however, say this...
Beauty, as I recognize and appreciate it, and as it pertains to this discussion, comes in at least two veins...
1) that which I have gathered and appreciated through various media - magazines, it's being worn or shown on people I've seen, tv, etc. - is popular, in style... that is to say that beauty or fashion (which includes hairstyles) is generally seen as universally beautiful. That which if anyone saw it, could hardly deny there being some trace of aesthetic pleasure you were experiencing. we can call it traditional beauty.
2) there is that beauty that which I decide is beautiful to me, regardless of its value to others. Sometimes it's a combination of traditional beauty and a je ne se qua, as the french would say, that something else that takes hold of my heart and draws me in, or a total absence of traditional beauty. For example a lot of times, a gangly artist can appear much more physically attracitve by virtue of his or her talent because it speaks to something deeper, something mysterious that urges one to learn more about them. That which often points toward much more than being formed well, or taking care of one's appearance, it's a radiance that shines and draws other kinds of beauty and creativity to it. We can name it as atypical beauty.
My sense of traditional beauty never featured Nubian princesses with coils of jet black hair atop a fine sculptured face. My sense of beauty was full of sheened, pressed tresses. Hair that IS beautiful, but is far from what actually grows from my head. That sounds so basic. So foundationally stupid. But that's a thought, straight from my head onto this computer screen. a question that it feels silly to even ask, but nonetheless escapes my lips is, why isn't my hair beautiful? unspoken addendum to that sentence,...to me. why isn't it beautiful to me? I've had numerous people of my race and outside say how gorgeous they think an afro is, how jealous they are of how elegant it looks. really? the grass is always greener right? Now don't get me wrong, this is not the only thought running through this maze of words in my head. As I"ve gotten used to it, it is quite mesmerizing. So tightly coiled, so dark, so sure of it's shape. It's amazing!
why then do i feel like it's an ALTERNATIVE type of beauty? like it's almost second best. God didn't think so, why should i? Back and forth, back and forth.
It's beautiful.
It's ugly.
It's gorgeous.
I hate it.
I LUV IT!!!
that's the way it goes i guess. any comments and thoughts are welcome. here ends part 1 of the hair chronicles.
Rules to live by- Avoid using words like 'go back' or 'revert' 'unruly' 'wild' since it implies that one state of being is less than, or more primitive than the other.Do not let one's self be defined by the state of it. Whether treated, dyed, thrown into the fire, looking sleek and shiny - or brazenly bouffant, one does not equal it. It does not define a person. It is used as a mode of expression by the wearer. Not the other way around.
Is it a simple fact of being foriegn both the the wearer and those who see it? Is it just something we all have to get used to?Does it have to be something to be differentiated by?Time was , here in America, when leaving it in it's natural state WAS a sign and a symbol of defiance, of non-conformity, of not buying into the mass idea of what beauty is and of what it means to be quote on quote mainstream.
This came with an automatic negative connotation. To see it untamed meant that the wearer was one not to be messed with, one who had their own set of rules, one who in a sense wanted to be isolated from people unlike them. But IS that what it means today? I think it does set one apart and give one a stigma of non-conformity. But I also think it is a somewhat untapped resource for those who would try something new, to explore
what am I talking about? why, our hair, of course. I think it is so difficult for Black Women to wear their hair naturally is such a struggle, because it is only within the last year that we've really seen Black hair portrayed even minimally, and positively on television and in movies. I think that it, unfortunately, takes a leap of thought to connect beauty with the audaciousness of a natural head of Black Hair. But to whom?
I'll be the first to admit that for me as a Black woman, and I'd venture to say to many of us, since i cannot speak for Black Men, it's a difficult concept to accept. I know that, going natural, though it can be significantly healthier for the hair, though it IS the way that God chose to design my hair, and it IS beautiful in it's glorious right...was a very difficult transition. I could not accept the thought of an afro on top of my face. I could not think that this is anything but...i hate even to type it, primitive. why? it's a part of me, it's how my hair was designed. And it's gorgeous, as are many other derivatives and hairstyles. so where does this deep dislike come from?
I am not one to throw blame on the media and on the way society has shaped my mind and my ideals so that i have no way to tell what I'm being fed from what I think and feel of my own volition. I will, however, say this...
Beauty, as I recognize and appreciate it, and as it pertains to this discussion, comes in at least two veins...
1) that which I have gathered and appreciated through various media - magazines, it's being worn or shown on people I've seen, tv, etc. - is popular, in style... that is to say that beauty or fashion (which includes hairstyles) is generally seen as universally beautiful. That which if anyone saw it, could hardly deny there being some trace of aesthetic pleasure you were experiencing. we can call it traditional beauty.
2) there is that beauty that which I decide is beautiful to me, regardless of its value to others. Sometimes it's a combination of traditional beauty and a je ne se qua, as the french would say, that something else that takes hold of my heart and draws me in, or a total absence of traditional beauty. For example a lot of times, a gangly artist can appear much more physically attracitve by virtue of his or her talent because it speaks to something deeper, something mysterious that urges one to learn more about them. That which often points toward much more than being formed well, or taking care of one's appearance, it's a radiance that shines and draws other kinds of beauty and creativity to it. We can name it as atypical beauty.
My sense of traditional beauty never featured Nubian princesses with coils of jet black hair atop a fine sculptured face. My sense of beauty was full of sheened, pressed tresses. Hair that IS beautiful, but is far from what actually grows from my head. That sounds so basic. So foundationally stupid. But that's a thought, straight from my head onto this computer screen. a question that it feels silly to even ask, but nonetheless escapes my lips is, why isn't my hair beautiful? unspoken addendum to that sentence,...to me. why isn't it beautiful to me? I've had numerous people of my race and outside say how gorgeous they think an afro is, how jealous they are of how elegant it looks. really? the grass is always greener right? Now don't get me wrong, this is not the only thought running through this maze of words in my head. As I"ve gotten used to it, it is quite mesmerizing. So tightly coiled, so dark, so sure of it's shape. It's amazing!
why then do i feel like it's an ALTERNATIVE type of beauty? like it's almost second best. God didn't think so, why should i? Back and forth, back and forth.
It's beautiful.
It's ugly.
It's gorgeous.
I hate it.
I LUV IT!!!
that's the way it goes i guess. any comments and thoughts are welcome. here ends part 1 of the hair chronicles.
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