Unbearable pain in my heart is keeping me awake
Crept upon me so abruptly, can't make it go away
This I thought I was done with, but these feelings I can't shake

Did I?
Did he?
Did we?

These questions I can't take
Tell myself, convince myself that it's just too late
Wish I could believe it for my sanity's sake
But this part of me must admit, I dare to dream a different fate

Will I?
Will he?
Will we?

These questions I can't take...

It's Not Just Hair

The politics and history behind Black hair is not a new story. Many have talked about the way our hair has been demonized in the larger society, the violence we enact on our hair to hide our natural texture, and the lucrative industry born out of our desire for any other hair than our own.

 Even though discussions like these are necessary; the obsessive focus on the hair itself can obscure the women hiding underneath. This blog is my attempt to come out from under my hair.

As "wrong" or unhealthy as this may sound to some, I can't deny the fact that a part of my identity is wrapped up in my hair. I'm working on separating the two, but until then, that is my current reality.

There is definitely a direct correlation between my thoughts about my hair and my emotional state. When I'm feeling good about my hair, I feel more confident, beautiful, and just better about myself overall. On the other hand, when I'm frustrated with or hate my hair, my whole mood sucks. I don't want to go anywhere and I definitely don't want to be seen by anybody.

I've heard "girl, I can't xyz...my hair ain't done" lets me know I know I'm not the only one that feels this way.

While it's important to understand and appreciate the complexity of black hair we must not forget to build our self esteem as women independent of our hair style, texture or length.

Irony

Is it really possible to desire something so intensely
Only to find it within your grasp
To examine it thoroughly
and to realize it might not have been
right for you?
Such is the irony of life.

The Gift of Memory

Yesterday I attended a rally to spread awareness about the threat to Ethnic Studies in Arizona public schools posed by the house bill 2281. As I sat through the various speakers and students who shared their testimonios or accounts of the many ways Ethnic Studies had positively improved their development, I felt somewhat detached. It is true that their stories were once my story. A story of progressing through year after year of schooling without seeing a reflection of myself in the curriculum; of being invisible and highly visible simultaneously. And, it wasn't until college that they (I) was able to catch a glimpse of who I really was, where I had come from, how powerful they (I) could be. Still, even as I reminisced on my own painful and joyous experiences I couldn't bring myself to FEEL anything, my reaction was extreme indifference....and that scared the shit out of me. This apathy has, for the most part, plagued my entire experience here at UCLA. I had become disillusioned with Ethnic Studies, research, and even my own ability to make a positive contribution at all. Then the final speaker approached the podium. I don't remember her name or the specific words she used to convey her message but the essence is seared into my soul. With power and conviction in her voice she reminded me that the battle we fight is so much bigger than Ethnic Studies. It's so much bigger than research or culturally relevant curriculum or any of the other fancy terms we can come up with to name it. In the end, we are ultimately fighting against threats to our humanity; nothing more or nothing less than we deserve simply by being occupants of this earth. It's really not about how many courses we are allowed each quarter, how many faculty we can claim as our own, or even how much funding we are given. What we request is as basic as being acknowledged and respected as people. When she sat down, I could feel raw energy running through my body and I struggled to hold back my tears. She gave me a precious gift that day; the memory of my own humanity. I am hoping that my life will offer the same gift to others. This is why I'm here.

I have nowhere left to hide
all securities have been stripped away
and there is nothing left but me
as I cringe at what I see
something beautiful catches my eye
I must hold it in my sight
nurture it and see that it grows
I must
I can
I will

They called me by my name
looked me in my eye and knew me not
I smile
They smile back
I Cry. Scream. Bleed.
And still they smile
and so I start to wonder
Am I crying?
Am I screaming?
Am I bleeding?
Or am I just a figment of my own imagination?
They called me by my name
looked me in my eye and knew me not

Emotions barely contained within the margins of this page
Feelings manifest only in the written word
hiding between lines and letters
the essence of truth
quickly concealed
polished and made pretty
show yourself
freedom in reality
If only willing made it so