Bite your tongue, blog it

I was strong enough to love you

  Too weak to leave

  You told me what I wanted to hear

  Then turned and did things I couldn't bear to see

  Our love took years to build

  Moments to collapse

  It's one we'll always remember 

  But wish ‎we could soon forget

‎

We used to talk to the crack of dawn

  Today I can't fathom picking up the phone

  A sweet message from you would make me smile

  The mere thought of you now brings me to tears 

  We were best friends, lovers,‎ felt like our souls were joined

  We're walking away, as if our paths never crossed

  We went from eternity to a page in history

Cast out your demons

Rid yourself of self-loathing

  Wrap yourself in love

No, not the type you get from a man

  Sprint to your very own golden gates

Don't turn back, until you're there

  I wish you would mend your issues

Instead of projecting malice

  It comes back like a boomerang

I'm your target, but you're one who's wounded

  Step off the battlefield

Get the gauze, mend your heart

  I wish you peace

I'm not sure when it happened

I'm tempted to say something came over me in the middle of the night, and I arose feeling born anew

It's like a resurrection of the soul, something I hope every woman feels

A feeling of self-awareness, an appreciation for life

To be able to let go of your insecurities, embrace your flaws

And most of all, praise you

  Remember Fatboy Slim?

Here's a refresher of the lyrics to the song 'Praise You'

  We've come a long long way together,

Through the hard times and the good

I have to celebrate you baby,

I have to praise you like I should

  That's it, that's all

Those short but beautiful words

It's how we should live life

  Take it by the horns, take control of your journey

Through the ups and downs, you've got it girl

Celebrate yourself, praise yourself

You should.

  And then dance without a care:

Cupped by both hands, the newborn is raised into the air.

At the signal from the pastor, the church erupts in applause.

For Catholics, it's the baby's baptism and in the Pentecostal world, it's the christening.

It makes me think of Rafiki presenting Simba to the pride lands, it's symbolic of what we're all born into.

The day we leave the womb, we're part of a clique.

Often, many cliques.

It varies from your family's religion, or non-religion, socio-economic status, education, race, beliefs.

There are many expectations of you. Often, the ones from people in your clique (family, community) are different from those outside.

Nevertheless, you're born into an identity. If you're parents are Christians, you will be Christened, and presented to the church as someone who is expected to become one of them, and essentially carry the torch.

Their beliefs become yours. When we see evidence of racism or homophobia in young kids, it's often because of what they're taught at home.

If you are born into poverty or a low-income family, the odds are against you.

It will be more difficult for you to get access to resources and education, and often, you will be judged. It can be broken, but often the cycle continues.

When you're born into an identity, it's what you know, what you see, and many times, what you become.

For the most part, our parents want the best for us. But their version of what's best isn't necessarily right for us, or right at all. We should all question what we're exposed to and born into, and strive to become better. I'm not saying we should deny where we're from, or our families and traditions, but it's up to us to strive for better, for more for ourselves.

Your beliefs should truly be your own, and not what was thrust against you.

It's how many bring themselves out of poverty and into a better life, or simply become who they are, and not a carbon copy of those before them.

My innocence is gone.

In its place, stands a woman.

With faults and blemishes, but radiating with valor.

My battle wounds are there for you to see.

There's no hiding, I've come undone.

  Undone, stripped, bare.

  Out of the chrysalis, I've hatched.

  I've fought, crawled and now emerged.

  This is me.

Through hail and sleet.

  This is me.

Too big. Too little. Just right.

  We’ve become the three bears, and have put gold standards on what women should look like.

Too often we say she’s too thin, or she should eat a burger, with a grin or chuckles that somehow validate it's being said tongue firmly in cheek.

We’ve denounced fat shaming. So why is it okay to poke fun at someone for being too thin? Ah - hadn't thought of that one..

  Body image expert Sarah Maria Dreisbach says “skinny may be considered more acceptable because it is considered better to be skinny, so therefore it is not as harmful to shame someone for it. This is incorrect.”

  There's a perceived thin privilege. It's an aristocracy of sizes, that makes it acceptable to ridicule and chastise petite women. Yes I took it there. It's presumed they're in a different class, and don't understand the issues so-called normal people or in this hierarchy, "commoners" face. 

  Jayne M Cox, an eating disorder therapist, says western society focuses on a “small and light” body image versus being healthy. When it comes to skinny shaming she says it could be “mistakenly seen as paying a compliment or that someone who is thinner does not feel as sensitive about their weight and size.”

  They could not be more wrong. I’ve heard of women layering, pilling on clothing to make themselves look more meaty. Some use other methods, such as drinking protein shakes, or simply stuffing their faces. I've been there. There are many women who find it difficult to gain weight (yes it's true).

  They too, want to fit the mold we've set. 

They just happen to be on the other end of the unattainable and ever-changing ideal body many are chasing.

  We're all chasing.

  It's my hair. Please don't touch.

It makes me feel like an animal at the zoo.‎

I wish I could bite back. But I just bite my tongue.

Not because I have nothing to say.

I just shouldn't have to.

It's mine.

And I'm not on display.

  I know, I know. I'll admit, curls can be mesmerizing.

The forbidden is always tempting. I've heard about Eve.

  But how humiliating.

To feel exposed, losing control of something that belongs to you, feeling violated.

All because of someone's curiosity and lack of self control.

It's not just hair.

It's a place, where only those close to me are allowed.

As a child, my mother's loving but sometimes rough hands.

As an adult, my boyfriend's loving but sometimes ro... you get it.

  It's my mane.

It has me feeling like a lion.

The king of the jungle.

That's why I like to let it out.

Untamed.

My comb barely touches it.

I just let my kinks hang.

Some say it's a statement, I say it's strength.

It has me feeling like the queen of my jungle.

Like my roar can rattle mountains.

That's until my land is surrounded.

Inhibited.

Violated.

By unwanted hands.

  Once, someone compared my hair to hay.

Stop tak‎ing me to the farm.

Leave me be, in my jungle.

After all, curiosity is what killed the cat. 

what IS in that bag?

  ok deep breath. my note book, to-do list, work schedule, parking tickets, 5 pens, work pass, a hotel card, a few receipts, planner, mascara x 2, Tylenol extra strength, lipstick, lip gloss x 2, lotion, comb, nail file, elastics, tweezers, a vaseline jar (212 g, of course).

  And that's not it -  eyeliner, bobby pins, blush/mirror, antibacterial hand gel, vitamin e, sunscreen, body mist, gum, keys, headphones, wristlet, wallet, and- some organic dark chocolate.

  I swear that's exactly what's in in my bag. Here's the proof:

    Ok. I may have a problem. I clean my bag every week, but I somehow justify 90% of its contents.

  I used to have a pretty big bag. And anytime someone would lift it, I knew it what was coming. ''Why is it so heavy!! How do you carry that around.''

  So I realized that I needed to de-cluter. I got a smaller bag.. probably half the size. I had to make some pretty critical decisions- no more deodorant in my bag.. it can't hold the brush.. but that didn't last long. Soon things started to crawl back in.

  Then I said I needed a wristlet.

A friend of mine has one.. I held it up .

How quaint.

So my boyfriend got me one.

It arrived in the mail.

How sweet.

  But that didn't last long.

  Now my wristlet... sits inside my purse. It works as a wallet.

But I still carry my wallet with me, just in case I need my library card (yes, I still go to library) or maybe my health card (can't put too much in the wristlet). You know, for all the what ifs and "man, I left it at home."

  So maybe that's it. I'm an "what if" kinda gal. I've got all my bases covered. I come prepared... with half my toiletries.. in my purse.

We’re all scouts. If you’re single, you’re likely scouting for a potential partner. You’ve got a mental list, of the type of person that would make a great addition to your team, and that would perhaps make “Team You” even better. I’ve found mine, and maybe because he’s an athlete, I’ve noticed a few similarities between love and sports. In relationships, just like sports, you should make the right moves. That being said, Game on!

Get on the same team

Before you start “playing” (in other words, pursuing or staying a serious relationship), you need to confirm whether or not you’re on the same team. It shouldn’t be left to flipping a coin. Why are you both in this? Is it for the same reason? Are you putting in more than the other person is? You have to be working towards the same goals, and you both have to be willing to put in a lot of work. No half-assing. A successful athlete works hard to get himself/herself into shape and to be the best he/she can be. If you make your heart vulnerable, make sure this person is worth it, and working towards the same championship”

No referees

Don’t run back to your friends or a third person every time something happens. Yes, we sometimes need someone to talk to, a shoulder to lean on. But not everyone needs to know all the details about your relationship. This includes social media. To some it can be a great avenue to release their frustrations, or happiness, but you need some privacy. You should respect the intimate details of your relationship. You can’t give away all of your plays to others. And when things get rough, work it out on the field, between the two of you. That being said, in certain circumstances, such as domestic abuse this does not apply.

Stay inbound

Everyone should have them. Know your limits. What will you not put up with? You should know where the line has to be drawn. You come first, and you have to make sure the relationship is within the guidelines you have set. If your relationship doesn’t meet what, at your core, you believe in and want, it may be time to break that “contract” and become a free agent.

Coach and be coached

Pass the ball, why don’t ya? Be open to listening to your partner and learning from him/her. No, you don’t know everything. You are part of a team, you’ve got to give and take. You should express and communicate how you feel, and be open with your significant other. They will also give you some feedback, to which you should both try to work towards. Be ready to catch each other’s rebounds.

Check one box. Just.One.Box.. maybe because some are stuck in a box. My identity doesn't fit within the perimeters d'une seule boite. There's more to me than the space between the four equal lines. I'm biracial. I'm the amalgamation of my parents, one European, the other from the Caribbean. I'm not about to choose between the two. You probably want me to check "black" but like many, it's not the entire story. So I'm left to choose "other."

Growing up, my parents told me I was whatever I wanted to be. It was up to me to form my identity, figure out who I was. And so the story I came up with was that I was adopted. We lived in France for some time; no one looked like me. My mother's smooth chocolate skin and dark hair didn't resemble mine. And my tan skin and curly hair was far from my father's fair skin and straight hair. I thought they'd reveal the 'big secret' on my sixteenth birthday. But I'd shoot back, "I knew all along. It was just too obvious." Then, they'd take me to my 'real' family. And so there I was, in my own little world, concocting my own story. Then one day, in the school yard, two Spanish girls thought it was their duty to chime in about my race. "You're not French. How can you be French? You're black!" Whoop, there is it.

What 'are' you? It takes quite the balls to ask such a question. A little sizing up usually precedes the question. Here's the checklist: skin tone, hair texture & colour, eye shape, colour and size, and whether our noses and lips are thin or thick. We know you do it. We can read it in your eyes, scanning our features and analyzing us. We usually don't mind, but it's annoying when you're asked "what ARE you?" As if we're not humans, not from the same planet.

We've been called many names. Some like to say "half breed," as if we're just half of a person.

There's the term "hapa," someone with partial roots in Asian and/or Pacific Islander ancestry. Or "blasians or blackanese" obviously a blend of black and asian.

And what about "mutts?" Yep, mutts. So now we're interbred, undesirable dogs? Not even going to go there.

Halfie. Mulatto. Mestizo. Allogamy. Amulatado. Cafuso. Griffe. Pardo. Half-Blood. Half-caste. Hybrid (really??). Metis. Zambo.

The list goes on because apparently people think it's up to them to label multiracial people. 

Let us tell you who we are, let us tell you our story. Don't assume we're more "black" because of the kink in our hair or "white" if we have fair skin. We're biracial and it's up to us to make up our identity. And oh yeah, give us our own box.

A "cold pop"? That's it, right there... mhm... that's when she won me over. Kimberly 'Sweet Brown' Wilkins is a Youtube superstar, because of her over-dramatic fast-talking and just-the-right-pauses in the recount of her escape from a fire. No, she didn't save a cat, she didn't brave the flames to rescue an old lady- she ran for her life. And for that, she's a hero. "Ain't nobody got time for that" has become a popular meme and honestly my life motto, something to live by.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. We've all heard it "life is short, and your time is valuable." But really, every day and every single hour counts.

Idleness can be detrimental. I've been there and I sometimes still catch myself doing it. I click on one celebrity gossip link, and it's as if I've been hauled down a deep well, to an underground of Hollywood terrain I can't escape. And by the time I've started to climb out, a few hours have passed. Common idleness is often one or more of three things. One -  stalking people on facebook, twitter and/or instagram, Two- watching mindless mush on Youtube and/or on TV or Three- spending what could be a work day playing video games. Don't take this the wrong way, you should take some time to unwind and relax, and we all have our guilty pleasures. The problem is that often, we are spending time idling, when we should be using it for more important things. Maybe you're unemployed, or unhappy with your job, or you're just about to graduate from high school or college. Should you not be using your time to look for employment, work on your skills, or, I don't know -  plan your future? In that case, you "ain't got the time," and simply cannot afford to waste that many hours doing a whole lotta nothin.

Here's a saying: "for Satan always finds some mischief still for idle hands to do." Amen to that. Sorry to say, sorry to keep it real. A lot of people who find themselves in prison, get involved in scams, who sell drugs or their bodies, simply don't have much else going for them. Are they working? (legally I mean) Probably not. Are they in school? Don't mean to be rude, but more likely than not, they're high school drop outs. Their behaviour is probably a way to compensate for "doing shit fuck all." Yes I get it, you're more likely to get into trouble if you live in a certain neighbourhood or are with bad company. BUT there is such a thing as choice. Yeah, really. You can choose your friends. That kid who always seems to get in trouble and/or does nothing all day, but won't stop buzzing your phone to hang out-  ain't no body got time for that. You can choose to pursue an education, get a job and stay away from the people and things that seem to always introduce you to some mischief. All together now - Aint-nobody-got-time-for-that.

What you DO have time for are the things that will help you become a better person, the people who support you and want you to succeed. Time is of the essence. Your time, is your life. Your life and your accomplishments are a compilation of hours of hard work, hours of sacrifice, hours of decision making, and hours of telling people, and things 'I just ain't got the time.'

I love the men in my life - my dad, my brother, my nephew and my boyfriend. But what the hell is it with men and the DAMN REMOTE? I remember growing up, cuddled up on the couch, eyes glued to the tube. The mood was calm, the atmosphere serene, my morale unruffled. Tension would mount up as soon as I would hear the front door. My only sibling, with whom I should SHARE would just walk into the room and grab the remote without saying a word. Was I invisible? Was I inexistent? The one time I stood to say anything, my dad was there to back him up. So I gave up and just always found an alternative, which was usually sleep. Needless to say that now, as an adult, my three year old nephew and my boyfriend change the channel to what they want to watch.