En Route: Rooted in the Journeys of and in My Blackness

Below, you will find 18 year old me.

On my 18th birthday, I had a cake. Right before I blew out the candles, I made a wish: by the time I was 28, I would be married and pregnant. I am 8.5 years into this wish. I have been pregnant once, and I am currently in deep pseudo-love-like-lust with a man who is not in a relationship with me and has not even taken me out on a date. I mean I still have time to fall in love, get married, and, if God blesses my womb, have a baby that is made in love. 

When I was in a good, seemingly-happy relationship, I used to say/think: I can’t even imagine being 30 and single. Back when I had a perm, I would say/think to myself (and maybe aloud): if I’m 30 and single, I’ll shave my head and start over (going nature). That Tionna was so foolish and happily in love. She didn’t know nothing. She definitely took things for granted.

I feel that that wish that I made at 18 years old has really driven my way of thinking. You don’t want to be the overqualified, multi-degree’d black woman that can’t get a man because you are pursuing your career goals! You gotta be married and pregnant at least by the time you are 28 years old! I have been trying to be a ride or die to every man that has entered my life in a romantic way because of it. Lil’ 18 old me right set something in motion, and I am really trying to stop right now.

This weekend, my beautiful best friend got married to her soul mate (her best friend before me). I cried a lot this weekend because her now husband has been in her life as long as I have known her (like 11 or 12 years). It was that fairy tale plot line of a Netflix Original romantic-comedy that 18-year old me conjured up when she wished that wish.

This weekend really made me realize that if someone wants you, they are going pursue you and do whatever it takes to be with you. In a heteronormative cisgendered way, I saw another sign that if a man wants you he will make it known. I saw two other signs of that (y’all heard that things come in 3s?): 

1. In church, my pastor did a “Black Families” sermon series in the month of May. He talked about how Moses’s father found himself a wife or that he chased/pursued her. He also mentioned the Proverb that “he that finds a wife finds a good thing.” I was like “Okay, Jesus-God-nem, what you tryna tell me?”

2. Another sign came when my male coworker in conversation about the sermon stated “as my grandpa would say: ‘a man knows what he wants.”      

3. The third iteration was this weekend.

I’m at this point like: “Okay so if you been tryna convince a man that you are worth his attention and time, stop it.” Lemme speak to myself since that’s who I’m preaching to: “Tionna - you are amazing and any man who can see that you are amazing and doesn’t want to pursue you is NOT worth you showing him that you are down for him. You ain’t no Temptation. Be too proud to beg. What you begging for? You might be poor in money, but you are rich in blessings! No need to beg. Now go and shine like diamonds do.”

What does it look like to choose yourself first?

Recently, I made the decision to attend a unique program through Columbia University that would give me my second Masters degree and get my Principal (School Leader) license. This decision to me is the epitome of self-love because I chose what was best for me financially, career-wise, and future-wise. I chose being with my kids (students) because it makes me happy. I chose living in a city I’ve already begun falling in love with because it makes me happy. I chose me. I would have never been able to do that without getting my heart crushed first.

I can’t really talk about my journey to choosing Columbia without discussing my break up. When I first began thinking about applying to school again, I was madly in love with someone I believed that I was going to spend the rest of my life with. If you really know me, you know who I’m talking about. This was a person that I loved since I was a 13 year old girl. I was applying to school with us being together as an end goal. Becoming a principal was a means to an end. I literally was thinking let’s go to school together: I would get my principal license and he would get his Ph.D. My actual thoughts: Let me hurry up and get this license so I never have to go to school again, get married, and be a wife and mom. I was ready to apply to schools that I really didn’t vibe with just to be in the same city with a man that I was in a loving, long distance relationship with. When a man asks for your grandparents permission to ask for your hand in marriage, you would think it was serious too.

However, God had other plans. God ensured that I would not make my decision based on someone else’s acceptances. God ensured that I would learn how to deal with losing love too. I cannot hate my ex for not giving me a second chance. I played myself, and, like Icarus, I flew too close to the sun and couldn’t get a second chance. If I couldn’t get him back, I was fearful that another woman would benefit from the man that I poured so much of myself into. Now, I know for a fact that someone will reap the harvest that I tended to. (Ain’t that a word though? Can I get an Amen?) I really fell into a seeming depression. I stopped working on my applications for a month. I lost my job because I was an emotional wreck. 2018, as a whole, rocked my foundation so hard I was ashamed to walk into God’s house because I felt like a disappointment and I didn’t deserve His love. I would cry myself to sleep because so much of how I saw myself was wrapped up in my love for that man. Thirteen years of loving someone does not go away easily. But did I love myself and I have been with me my whole life?

In church, we talk about “agape” love - an unconditional love. If you are reading this, I love you unconditionally. I try hard to maintain relationships as best as I can to ensure that you know that you are loved. Not only that you are loved, but that you are loved by me. Was I putting the same effort into loving myself unconditionally? Some times I give so much of myself to others that I don’t have enough left for me. I love myself, but self-love and self-care cannot be wrapped up in the affection/pleasure that someone gives or will give to you. I needed to do some things differently.

I have been tending to my own acreage this 2019. I have cut people out that were only voyeurs, and not participants, in my life. I have chosen to spend my time with people who make me happy. I have made decisions because I love myself, not so that someone will love me. (Don’t get me wrong: reciprocity is a must if you are in a relationship of any kind.)

One of my favorite professors from undergrad called me “a force” after I led a protest and die-in during my senior year. I thank you, Chandra, for the language I now use to describe myself. I am a force. I am a force the size of a planet. My gravitational pull shall only attract what is best for me as I continue to orbit the sun. I am a tree that bears fruit, leaves, branches, and trunk that bring myself joy and bless others (a nod to my favorite narrative poem by Shel Silverstein, The Giving Tree). I am looking forward to how my love for myself grows in this next quarter century of life. I am ready to live some more, agape love myself some mo’, romantically love another some day, and laugh a whole lot more.

Also entitled: “I want my daddy.”

February 2, 2019

Dear Daddy,

There have been a few moments in life - since you got sick and since you’ve passed - that I’ve wanted you to be there and do daddy duties for me. Last night was the first time that I said them aloud and said it to a person. Now, this person might not have known that you’ve passed away, but, in my emotionally distraught and vulnerable half-sleep stage, I said that “I wanted my daddy” even though I knew I couldn’t have you. When I first moved to Chicago in 2015, it was two weeks after graduating from college. I flew with two suitcases and stayed in temporary housing through the teacher placement program I was in. Father’s Day rolled around, and I reluctantly called you and ended up leaving a voicemail message saying “Happy Father’s Day.” I don’t know how much time elapsed, but I found out that you were in the hospital from before Father’s Day. I thought “hmmm he’ll get better” and I didn’t rush home to see you.

I remember going to visit you soon after that because you hadn’t gotten better. Around the end of the summer, I reluctantly went to see you because you were in the hospital. This was the first time I saw you since my graduation. I had never seen you like that: immobilized, unable to talk with a tube down your throat, and unable to move your head. However, you were alert and could see and hear and make tears. I remember showing you a video of me teaching and telling you about an apartment I was moving into. I said how I needed you to get better so that you can help me move in. You teared up as I was talking. I knew you wanted to help me but you physically couldn’t. That was a time I wanted my daddy. But I never said it, only implied it. I ended up moving into my first apartment on my own. I remember sitting in my grad school class and receiving a call from Mommy. You had been in a medically induced coma and they didn’t think you would make it. So Mommy has called me to let me have my final words. I remember reluctantly stepping out of my classroom, not knowing what words to say, but still making it count. I told you that I loved you and that you didn’t have to hold on for me. I said that I was okay if you had to go. Even though I said that, I didn’t mean it. I wanted my daddy, but I couldn’t say it. I was expecting that to be the last time talking to you, but it wasn’t. Thank God that I was allowed another chance to see you.

My first year of teaching was over and I got on a plane to NYC for 2 weeks. Soon as I got in, I was ready to visit you in the hospital. Mommy didn’t understand why an hour after landing in NYC I was ready to hop on the MTA for 90 mins. I knew that I couldn’t waste time. I needed to see you. It was the responsible thing to do. I made sure that I brought Trevel too because i didn’t know if he had seen you in a while. This was the last time that I saw you alive. I know you probably heard the story at your funeral, but I am so glad that I came to see you that day. I am so glad that the last thing I did for you was find that green Blistex chapstick that you wanted.

I want my daddy any time something arises and it’s the perfect time to ask a father for advice or something. Here are some questions or comments I would have loved to be able to tell you: ~ Hey Daddy! I really love him. I think he wants to marry me. What should I do? ~ Hey Daddy! I need to tell you something but don’t tell Mommy. She would have a fit. ~ Hey Daddy! He broke my heart again. I tried everything. What is wrong with me? ~ Hey Daddy! I want to buy a car but I don’t know anything about that. Can you help me? ~ Hey Daddy! Can you pick me up from the airport? I’m coming to town tomorrow. ~ Hey Daddy! I started “dating” again. Any advice? ~ Hey Daddy! I walked into my apartment last night and there was water falling from the ceiling. Chicago’s had negative 50 degree weather and the pipes burst and that’s why I apartment looks like an aquarium. I don’t know what to do. What should I do? Help! The last one is exactly what I wanted to say last night when I walked into my apartment and water was pouring from the ceiling. I couldn’t call you. I couldn’t call Mommy because she was on a cruise. I don’t have a boyfriend. I didn’t know who to call but my granddaddy. Grandma picked up and then Granddaddy jumped on the line. Aunty called me. I sent texts out asking for help. My landlord arrived soon and helped. Some friends called me asking for an update. I was emotionally drained and went to sleep.

A 2 a.m. phone call to check-in with how I was doing is what prompted me to realize that I wanted my dad. I was fully sleep, but somehow heard the phone and I picked up. I don’t know what led me to say that I wanted my daddy, but when I said it, I knew it was a seeming breakthrough. Now, the caller might not have known that you’ve passed away, but, in my emotionally distraught and vulnerable half-sleep stage, I said that “I wanted my daddy” even though I knew I couldn’t have you. I miss you. Maybe I miss the idea of you too. I know that I mourn your loss in different ways, and I mourn the future milestones that would have been great daddy-daughter moments. I know I had you for 23 years, but that wasn’t enough. Happy early Heavenly Birthday Daddy! Love, Tionna “Titi” Haynes. Sent from my iPhone

Last time I posted something, I mentioned how I wanted to become more financially responsible while I was in between paychecks. These are my takeaways:

1. I ended up drinking more water, instead of juice or alcoholic beverages. I feel that my skin was clearer too.

2. I ended up liking to cook. Many of us learn to cook for survival, and not just to save. The human necessity to be hungry and get food is real. You get instant gratification through fast food, GrubHub, UberEats, or hardbody snacking. Since I was cooking to survive physically and economically, I made intentional grocery lists, set a $50 limit for my weekly trip to the grocery store, and looked forward to meal prepping for the week and even cooking again on Fridays for the weekend. A one-time five piece tender combo from Popeyes cost just as much a package of raw chicken wings that you can eat over multiple ways and prepared in different ways. 

3. I spent a lot of time alone. During those 3 weeks of financial exploration, I lived by myself and all my family is on the east coast. So that only interactions that I would have would be through friends and work. I don’t know what it is about socialization that makes you want to go out and spend money, or stay in and spend money. I mostly just Netflix and Chilled with my delicious homecooked meals. I would be proud of my lil’ plates and send pics to my mother, brother, and boyfriend as a sign that 1) I be out here cheffin’, 2) human interaction, and 3) compliments.

Since the end of my 3 weeks, I have resumed life without limits, but my desire to cook throughout the week has stayed strong. I am still committed to drinking more water than sugary drinks. Saving has been a habit, but sometimes extreme circumstances call for extreme restraint. I have also done a lot of traveling, which was only possible due to my financial restraint during those 3 weeks.

I feel that my perspective on budgeting comes with a lot of privilege. I make a decent salary, single, a Master’s Degree holder, have minimal student loans, did not pay my own phone bill, don’t have a car, and do have any kids. That’s not everyone’s reality. Although I do have individual responsibilities (rent, utilities, my monthly bus pass, and paying credit cards on time), the complexities of life make it difficult to save when one have mouths to feed. I recognize that what I am saying may not be fiscally possible right now.

To anyone who wants to start somewhere, I would say to get a savings account that you will commit to saving $100 a month. I have a savings account at a black-owned bank that I add money to, but don’t take money out of. I am proud of the money that I’ve saved and the discipline it takes to exhibit monetary self-control.

I honestly don’t know what I am saving for, but . . . I would like to build some generational wealth for my future descendants. I would like to get my mother a Jag. I do want to have a cushion for when the what-ifs in life occur.

An alternative title: Financially Frustrated Folks: When the What Ifs in Life Make You Wish that You had that Tattoo Under Your Lip So You Can Go Home to Wakanda

Where do Black people learn what they know about money? How sound is the advice that a relative who is barely keeping their head above water? Are we even humble enough to ask for help when we need it? Do we actually care about savings? Sometimes I wonder what exactly are we saving for?

I don’t know who I learned anything from, but, when you are relatively young, single (according to the government), have no kids, no car, and rent your living space, you tend to be a little more loose with your cash decisions. You tend to pay rent for an apartment that is made to be paid off by two people by yourself, and you pay all the utilities that would be better off being split. You tend to pay off loans, pay off credit cards on-time, and add to both savings accounts monthly. This might not be true for everybody, but it’s true for me. While I had a secure job with good pay for my age and experience, I knew that I was trying to do financially healthy things for my future, to have a financial cushion for the what-ifs in life. I never knew that my ass would have to land on that cushion so soon.

Life comes at you fast. One minute, you are excited to teach a new research paper unit on Female Figures in Black History. Then, BOOM, you are unemployed and ineligible for unemployment benefits. For the first time in my life, I messed up really badly and I was adult unemployed (not teenage or college student unemployed, but full-blown you-is-grown-now unemployed). I was emotionally hurt, my pride was (and still is) bruised and my morale was crushed, but I had funds for emergency for this what-if in life. I was fortunate to be able to feel secure during my month of unemployment, yet I know that there are millions of others, through whatever circumstances and decisions, who can not feel that sense of security during unemployment because capitalism works in the favor of the rich.

Now, I am employed. Still teaching, now at a school in my neighborhood, but I’ve taken a minor pay cut (that would have been a major one if I didn’t know my worth and say that I could not work there for this original offer . . . like hellllll to the nawwww). This minor pay cut has prompted me to think about cutting back on unnecessary expenses for a while. 

Going grocery shopping to make breakfast, lunch, and dinner instead of eating out or ordering whatever I’ve had a taste for. Honestly, I am craving Jamaican food right now as I type this, but I haven’t touched my GrubHub app to see what I couldd order. With delivery fees, taxes, and tip, you might as well have bought groceries for 2 good meals to set you straight for a few days.

I think that it is good to STAY YOUR BEHIND IN THE HOUSE and ENJOY THE THINGS YOU PAY FOR! Staying inside the apartment that I am paying for. Using the internet that I am paying for. Using my Netflix account as if it is my new boo and we are in a relationship. Invite friends over to watch Netflix if you need company, but at least you are in your house, right?

Not purchasing alcoholic beverages for the casual weekday “ooo I had a tough day” turn up while grading. Honestly, I would think it’s better to have a bottle at home for casual drinking or pregaming because drinks at the bar are too expensive. If the bottle doesn’t last you for the month, then you aren’t exhibiting any type pf control. That’s straight up gluttony. (I said month haha, I meant 2 weeks . . . but still the same premise.)

Using my monthly bus card instead of Uber-ing places. Honestly, Ubers kill your account. Even the pools. You have a fun weekend with your friends and then you wake up to see your account like: “Where did I go? I should have stayed my behind home!”

I am 1 week in on this and it feels good to know that I have stuck with it. I honestly don’t know how much money I have saved or if I have saved any money at all. What I do know is that I want to keep this up for 3 weeks. In three weeks, I will receive my first paycheck of any significance in a month. Who wants to go under when the point to is stay afloat?

Most black people learn about finances along the way from one liners about saving, about having goals, and wanting more for your life. My dream is to open a Financial Literacy non-profit that educates black communities about finances and how to have control over their life in ways that we cannot be manipulated by a system that we don’t understand. So I think this is my first step towards this.

Definitions according to the dynamic duo Merriam-Webster:

1) tyranny (noun): 1. oppressive power, especially when exerted by government; 2. a rigorous condition imposed by some outside agency or force; 3. an oppressive, harsh, or unjust act: a tyrannical act.

2) patriot (noun): one who loves his or her country and supports its authority and interests

3) patriotism (noun): love of or devotion to one’s country

Blind Patriotism and BBQs

Just a few days ago, Americans celebrated the signing/finishing of the Declaration of Independence in 1776. Some call it Independence Day. Some call it the Fourth of July, or “the 4th” for short. Others call it “a day off” and a steal on meat prices so “we might as well barbecue too!” 

However, Independence Day is a day of blind patriotism. People scream God Bless America, listen to country music (which was created by black people and stolen like errthang else we made), go to the beach, have barbecues, and pool parties. People find reasons to purchase fireworks, light em up all weekend long, and wear ridiculously patriotic outfits and look like Betsy Ross (or the black woman who actually made the U.S. flag) custom made their outfits. Why though? I think it’s a tradition that helps the capitalist machine: give people a day off and they will spend their money. Give special deals on everything and they will spend their money. Promote Independence Day like a day for barbecues and fireworks so they forget how messed up this country is/was/will be, and they will spend their money. And we all did.

I personally have an issue with “celebrating” the 4th because the delusional Founding Fathers (FFs) could have sex with slaves, produce human babies, didn’t see black/Africans as human, and continued to enslaving them while crying for their own freedom. An oxymoron of sorts. My ancestors were in physical chains on purpose, NOT BY ACCIDENT, while their oppressors/owners were hyped about signing a paper that declared their revolt against their political chains. I can’t wholeheartedly get with the celebrating.

Sidenote: I’ll slide through to the barbecue, eat up all the food, watch a lil fireworks or something, but I won’t like it.

Is it like Oil and Water? Being Black and Patriotic.

In a renown speech, Frederick Douglass asked white allies: “What to the slave is the Fourth of July?” In this blog, I ask you: “What to Black/African American is the Fourth of July?” It seems like holidays of patriotism are the antithesis of the black experience and should not be celebrated. I question myself on my disdain for celebrated white lie holidays like the Fourth of July.

I believe in the African Diaspora, that through Middle Passage I am a descendant of West Africans stolen and sold into Western slavery. I do believe that somewhere on the continent of African I have a homeland, but I am also American and this is the only home that I’ve known. Yet, I don’t really mess with America or whiteness like that: So can I be a patriot?

This description is a summation of a mini-Twitter rant about banking at black-owned banks:

On Friday, I began the journey of putting my money into a black-owned bank. Sometimes you literally have to put your money where your mouth is and put your money in the hands of your people. As a seemingly financially literate Black American, I must ensure that these financial institutions don’t die out. If they do die, there are no alternatives for Black peoples.

How you gonna say that “Black _______s Matter” when you don’t actively invest your time, money, and/or energy to proving that they truly matter? The worst thing I can do is be educated about the generational wealth gaps among Black peoples in America and not do better for my future kids and grandkids.

As a 12th grade teacher, this hits home for me. "Being ‘college eligible’ and ‘college-ready’ are two phrases that are in constant juxtaposition. Let’s be clear, these two phrases are not synonymous. There are plenty of students whom are college eligible, but nowhere near college-ready." I am one of the last people to fill a student's college-readiness toolkit in an attempt to fill any remaining achievement gaps before they get that diploma. A huge responsibility, but a great one to have if you are doing it right. When the article is speaking to you:

For the first time, I’m actually trying to celebrate Kwanzaa. I will say that Kwanzaa should be celebrated with your family, kinfolk (or skinfolk). I say that because it is really about togetherness. It’s not like the commercialized hoopla of Christmas, where gift-giving and getting are the key aspects. I just finished celebrated Christmas and I’m not so much about the buying of the gifts, but, as I’ve gotten older, it’s more about Jesus and family. But back to Kwanzaa, it’s about togetherness.

Day One: Umoja (Unity)

The day after Christmas, it was the first day of Kwanzaa. So I spent time with my family and my fictive brothers and sisters. I went to a Brooklyn Nets game, but I brought 9 others along with the to share the come-up. My mother and brother, my Posse siblings, a former high school classmate, and a friend that I met while studying abroad. That game was an opportunity to see people and be near them. It was a cool gift during the season of giving, but I loved it because I got to see my people enjoying themselves. That's what love look like to me.

Afterward, I went out to dinner to meet up with my Posse. To me, we are the closest thing to family without the similar heritage or last names. The dinner epitomized togetherness. There's nothing like having a meal with family. Even though it was dysfunctional because drinks were spilling, we ordered boneless wings, but one came with bone-in, it was AH-MAYYY-ZINGGG! We even had a gift exchange. We were willing to share food off our own plates with one another. We were sharing stories, updating each other on our lives, and being totally honest with each other. The unity within our group is a reason why we are successful. 

PREACH CLINT!