This is about more than sweatshirts
This is about the lies we dress ourselves
Zipping up half and quarter truths in neat little phrases
Post-racial
Melting pot
The human race
American
This is about more than hard shelled candies
But the sugarcoated lives we created
When gentrification moves in next door, down the street
Lines are drawn
Guns are drawn
Sketches are drawn
"The alleged criminal is a black male wearing a hooded sweatshirt..."
He's also wearing a life of ever depreciating value. YOU FORGOT THE LIFE OF DEPRECIATED VALUE!
This is about more than iced tea
Does this verdict refresh you?
Or render you parched for real innocence? Of your children, your mothers, your brothers?
Your own innocence!
Is your throat dried from the guilt we've bottled and canned, to only sip, chug, guzzle when reminded were guilty before never proven innocent?
This is about more than if he was white, Latino, guilty or innocent.
This is complex but simply about privilege, comfort, freedom
America is our prison to serve life sentences
His life, his skin, his breath is his death penalty
Or was his death his life penalty?
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Sunday, July 7, 2013
PSA: National Mental Health Month
(EDIT: I wrote this July 2011 and seeing I never posted it! It's still
relevant. -TD
July is National Mental Health. What does it means to be mentally
unstable? How to treat it? How NOT to treat it?What does mental health
mean in truly taking care of ourselves and others?
These are questions (and stigmas that grow from them) I've considered
through my bouts of depression. I reflected on who I was, and who I
(still) am during #noshameday, started by @basseyworldlive and
@thesiweproject. After you read this blog, please read up on The Siwe
Project and if only for this month, educate yourself on how mental
health specifically affects marginalized people, particularly
communities of color. Do it for yourself, for another loved one, for
the greater good.
...ok, so you're still hesitant. What if I gave you some direction?
1. Start with more about me. It's my blog so you have some interest in
me. I wasn't always this awesome. Or maybe I was and I was the last to
realize it. The day I decided to have #noshame was the day I admitted
that everything was not OK. I figured, maybe it's not just me. And I
was right.
2. Getchu some continuing education by following @thesiweproject.
3. Acknowledge and respect mental health and its professionals.
There's having a bad day because you couldnt get out of bed and later
lost your keys, then there's never wanting to get out of bed, and
later wanting to self-inflict physical and mental harm because you
lost your keys. Shout out not only to those who ultimately seek the
help they need, but the endless patience of those who are at the other
end of help.
4. Read someone else's story. You know bits and pieces of mine, but
take a look through the #noshameday tag. While twitter (and social
media) can be a very forthcoming platform, it takes a lot for someone
to say "im suffering, I need help." A lot of our stories boil down to
the same elements: lacking our most basic needs (to be fed, pleased
and cared for) in pursuit of self-realization.
In addition to reading #noshameday stories, check out Maslow's
Hierarchy of Needs and Willow Weep For Me, a memoir of a black woman's
mental health journey. If that's not for you, read a memoir or
biography of someone you truly respect. I bet you'll find their life
was no crystal stair.
5. Pass it on. By "it" I mean this. This blog, these resources. You
never know who will need it.
Sent from my iPhone
relevant. -TD
July is National Mental Health. What does it means to be mentally
unstable? How to treat it? How NOT to treat it?What does mental health
mean in truly taking care of ourselves and others?
These are questions (and stigmas that grow from them) I've considered
through my bouts of depression. I reflected on who I was, and who I
(still) am during #noshameday, started by @basseyworldlive and
@thesiweproject. After you read this blog, please read up on The Siwe
Project and if only for this month, educate yourself on how mental
health specifically affects marginalized people, particularly
communities of color. Do it for yourself, for another loved one, for
the greater good.
...ok, so you're still hesitant. What if I gave you some direction?
1. Start with more about me. It's my blog so you have some interest in
me. I wasn't always this awesome. Or maybe I was and I was the last to
realize it. The day I decided to have #noshame was the day I admitted
that everything was not OK. I figured, maybe it's not just me. And I
was right.
2. Getchu some continuing education by following @thesiweproject.
3. Acknowledge and respect mental health and its professionals.
There's having a bad day because you couldnt get out of bed and later
lost your keys, then there's never wanting to get out of bed, and
later wanting to self-inflict physical and mental harm because you
lost your keys. Shout out not only to those who ultimately seek the
help they need, but the endless patience of those who are at the other
end of help.
4. Read someone else's story. You know bits and pieces of mine, but
take a look through the #noshameday tag. While twitter (and social
media) can be a very forthcoming platform, it takes a lot for someone
to say "im suffering, I need help." A lot of our stories boil down to
the same elements: lacking our most basic needs (to be fed, pleased
and cared for) in pursuit of self-realization.
In addition to reading #noshameday stories, check out Maslow's
Hierarchy of Needs and Willow Weep For Me, a memoir of a black woman's
mental health journey. If that's not for you, read a memoir or
biography of someone you truly respect. I bet you'll find their life
was no crystal stair.
5. Pass it on. By "it" I mean this. This blog, these resources. You
never know who will need it.
Sent from my iPhone
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Guess Who's Coming To Dinner? No one, ever.
I reside in Harlem. The neighborhood is not a borough, but it is just as much a geographical identity to residents of Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx, and even Staten Island. It has a distinct NYC identity within its borough similar to Riverdale, Brighton Beach, Washington Heights or... *thinks about Queens hard* Far Rockaway.
To call Harlem home is hard. It is where I lay my head and hang my hat, but I haven't done much hanging out here until recently. When I moved here in 2008, I'd just started a new job in the Bronx and was thrilled to live in "the city." The subway was a mere 2 blocks away (no two-zone commute!) and most of what I needed was withing a few blocks walking distance. The downside: I was in the hood, yet again. It hurts to commute from one hood to work in another hood. Growing up in Jamaica, I've seen its share of craziness, and when I worked in the area, as much as Jamaica had changed, it was certainly the same. Minutes within arriving home from work one evening, a friend called to ensure my safety. She had heard on the news about a shooting on the a bus route near my office. It had happened around the time I'd left work.
What hurts more, is the solitude that comes from living in the hood. My social life mostly existed in downtown Manhattan (where I went to school) and Brooklyn (where my friends live and play). For a long time, I didn't hang out up here. It was always me, my Metrocard and a good book to keep me company between here and... wherever the fun was. What happened when I turned the tables? Here's one story:
It hurts when people are truly scared for their safety in a place you call home. It's hard to be a gracious host when your guests second-guess their every reason for visiting.
I began to make my visits outside of Harlem scarce. Simply put, if it wasn't convenient for me to get there via public transit, I wasn't going. I then added the caveat of getting home in under an hour. This cut my social life down a LOT. I've only recently started visiting Brooklyn again, and I really have to want to go. I find myself resentful every time knowing I'm prepping myself for a long trip there, a longer trip back, and most of all, that most if not all of those people would be hard-pressed to make the trip for you. The reality is, no wants to come to Harlem. It's too far. Nothing's "up there." It's sketchy, ghetto, dirty, wack. I can count on one hand the number of times I've invited people over or even in the area to hang out. I'd much rather save myself the embarrassment, like in this scenario, which happened this evening:
Back to my story. Was this girl going to be OK in her pit stop for pita bread and hummus? Her guess is as good as any, but I do the same walk all the time. I live here. One person's "bad" is another's "ok" and the next's "terrible." I wonder if I'm the one tripping. I have a roof over my head. My rent's decent, I can get to and from work in less than 30 minutes, and I live alone. I have a nearby Starbucks and NYSC, but surely those perks of gentrification weren't meant for me. Could I move to somewhere "less sketchy?" Sure, but even the worst deterrents haven't made me reach for packing supplies.
Why aren't I alarmed by the things my friends are? Should I move somewhere more socially acceptable? Or do I need to just work harder at making my living space more welcoming for my loved ones? Or do I find friends who aren't hung up on my ZIP code?
To call Harlem home is hard. It is where I lay my head and hang my hat, but I haven't done much hanging out here until recently. When I moved here in 2008, I'd just started a new job in the Bronx and was thrilled to live in "the city." The subway was a mere 2 blocks away (no two-zone commute!) and most of what I needed was withing a few blocks walking distance. The downside: I was in the hood, yet again. It hurts to commute from one hood to work in another hood. Growing up in Jamaica, I've seen its share of craziness, and when I worked in the area, as much as Jamaica had changed, it was certainly the same. Minutes within arriving home from work one evening, a friend called to ensure my safety. She had heard on the news about a shooting on the a bus route near my office. It had happened around the time I'd left work.
What hurts more, is the solitude that comes from living in the hood. My social life mostly existed in downtown Manhattan (where I went to school) and Brooklyn (where my friends live and play). For a long time, I didn't hang out up here. It was always me, my Metrocard and a good book to keep me company between here and... wherever the fun was. What happened when I turned the tables? Here's one story:
A couple years back, I invited some friends over for dinner. They freaked about travelling up here, and decide to meet up in order to travel together. I was excited about finally having guests, cleaning and cooking for their visit. They called from the subway (again, 2 blocks from my apartment) to meet them. Once in my place, we ate, drank and laughed. Two guests nervously checked their watches and glanced out my window as day turned into night. By 9pm, they were packing up to leave. All together. We should do this again, they said.We never did this again. I think my close friends have been to my place once, maybe twice. They aren't ever inclined to return and I don't ever ask them to return. I visit them in their respective neighborhoods, resigned to the fact that, outside of meeting for after-work things in the city, this is the only way I will ever see them.
It hurts when people are truly scared for their safety in a place you call home. It's hard to be a gracious host when your guests second-guess their every reason for visiting.
I began to make my visits outside of Harlem scarce. Simply put, if it wasn't convenient for me to get there via public transit, I wasn't going. I then added the caveat of getting home in under an hour. This cut my social life down a LOT. I've only recently started visiting Brooklyn again, and I really have to want to go. I find myself resentful every time knowing I'm prepping myself for a long trip there, a longer trip back, and most of all, that most if not all of those people would be hard-pressed to make the trip for you. The reality is, no wants to come to Harlem. It's too far. Nothing's "up there." It's sketchy, ghetto, dirty, wack. I can count on one hand the number of times I've invited people over or even in the area to hang out. I'd much rather save myself the embarrassment, like in this scenario, which happened this evening:
A friend who has just moved to the neighborhood sees me and two other friends out. For once, I can walk home, but the other two have a bit of a walk to the subway. I know the neighborhood-it is not the safest. They are both freaked out by the walk and are specifically told to walk down one block over another because it's "shady." One inquires about the nearest grocery store, which is in the direction where she's walking. She asks, "Am I going to be OK?"I'm brought back to my college years, when a friend visited me in Queens. We walked around the neighborhood just to get out of the house. I had to assure her that we'd be OK between police sirens and loud noises of the ghetto: people yelling, loud music blasting from cars, buses and trucks on the main streets and nearby highway. We never spoke after her visit.
Back to my story. Was this girl going to be OK in her pit stop for pita bread and hummus? Her guess is as good as any, but I do the same walk all the time. I live here. One person's "bad" is another's "ok" and the next's "terrible." I wonder if I'm the one tripping. I have a roof over my head. My rent's decent, I can get to and from work in less than 30 minutes, and I live alone. I have a nearby Starbucks and NYSC, but surely those perks of gentrification weren't meant for me. Could I move to somewhere "less sketchy?" Sure, but even the worst deterrents haven't made me reach for packing supplies.
Why aren't I alarmed by the things my friends are? Should I move somewhere more socially acceptable? Or do I need to just work harder at making my living space more welcoming for my loved ones? Or do I find friends who aren't hung up on my ZIP code?
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Another Sign I'm an Adult
A few weeks ago, I received an invitation to my high school reunion. This shouldn't surprise me. Social media has totally stolen his moment from me. How much can I really look forward to reuniting with people I can find in a few clicks and taps?
Which I haven't. Lost track of time and all.
I'm actually looking forward to it. Ive totally become the "must lose 10 lbs" girl, even though I'll be roughly the same size as I was then. I am a little freaked about ...well everything. Which is silly. I didn't really vibe with my classmates anyway, but it will be cool to revisit the past.
Do teachers attend these things? I wonder if they'd remember me. My best friend won't go: she hated that place more than I did. I wonder who is actually going. I could just go on Facebook but again, element of surprise.
Dress is picked out but of course I'll go through 3 other outfits before reluctantly going back to it. I hope I'm not as awkward as I was then. Ill smile and make small talk and eat finger foods and smile at pictures of people's children...
Shit. I'm not married, and I'm childless. Fuck. Haven't travelled. I'm gonna be the girl who talks about work. I'm still worried about being cool.
No, this will be fun. Seriously. *breathe* Any advice?
Which I haven't. Lost track of time and all.
I'm actually looking forward to it. Ive totally become the "must lose 10 lbs" girl, even though I'll be roughly the same size as I was then. I am a little freaked about ...well everything. Which is silly. I didn't really vibe with my classmates anyway, but it will be cool to revisit the past.
Do teachers attend these things? I wonder if they'd remember me. My best friend won't go: she hated that place more than I did. I wonder who is actually going. I could just go on Facebook but again, element of surprise.
Dress is picked out but of course I'll go through 3 other outfits before reluctantly going back to it. I hope I'm not as awkward as I was then. Ill smile and make small talk and eat finger foods and smile at pictures of people's children...
Shit. I'm not married, and I'm childless. Fuck. Haven't travelled. I'm gonna be the girl who talks about work. I'm still worried about being cool.
No, this will be fun. Seriously. *breathe* Any advice?
Friday, June 8, 2012
Who Will Defend You?
Earlier this week in my usual commute downtown, a man and woman fight their way onto the subway at 96th st. This happens often: everyone pushes and shoves themselves into an already-crowded car. They refuse to fall for the swindle of the conductor's suggestion to wait for the train "directly behind this one."
My attention is caught by the raised voices. He calls her a lowlife, scum, and a lot more if he could. Her voice is louder, enraged by being spat on by another man. SPAT ON.
Man and woman are hitting and pushing each other, in a tit-for-tat fashion that is equally common on the playground. It's abusive and filled with anger. The spitter continues to exacerbate the situation, their efforts combined bullying this woman on what should've been her usual commute.
She threatens to call the cops. Spitter says loudly, in proving the sentiment I'm feeling, "who are you kidding? The cops aren't going to come for you."
The reality of two white men disrespecting a black woman's entire existence not being worthy of law enforcement rode along with us to 72nd st. No one came to this woman's defense. Not any man or woman. No one sympathized with this woman's humiliation. Not even me.
The experience ended (for us passengers) with the woman choking the man on the platform, yelling for the conductor while the man screamed for help. No one came to his defense either. Not even me.
So I've thought on the situation all week. Like many, I don't want to get involved. Many, I hope, want to do the right thing. Could I have been her? I couldve been her. What would I have done at the receiving end of these men? Would my fellow passengers avert their eyes to suddenly interesting stories of their free metro paper, their tweets, their ereaders? I wish I wasn't paralyzed in the moment. I wish I had done more than say "damn that's fucked up." I felt responsible.
My attention is caught by the raised voices. He calls her a lowlife, scum, and a lot more if he could. Her voice is louder, enraged by being spat on by another man. SPAT ON.
Man and woman are hitting and pushing each other, in a tit-for-tat fashion that is equally common on the playground. It's abusive and filled with anger. The spitter continues to exacerbate the situation, their efforts combined bullying this woman on what should've been her usual commute.
She threatens to call the cops. Spitter says loudly, in proving the sentiment I'm feeling, "who are you kidding? The cops aren't going to come for you."
The reality of two white men disrespecting a black woman's entire existence not being worthy of law enforcement rode along with us to 72nd st. No one came to this woman's defense. Not any man or woman. No one sympathized with this woman's humiliation. Not even me.
The experience ended (for us passengers) with the woman choking the man on the platform, yelling for the conductor while the man screamed for help. No one came to his defense either. Not even me.
So I've thought on the situation all week. Like many, I don't want to get involved. Many, I hope, want to do the right thing. Could I have been her? I couldve been her. What would I have done at the receiving end of these men? Would my fellow passengers avert their eyes to suddenly interesting stories of their free metro paper, their tweets, their ereaders? I wish I wasn't paralyzed in the moment. I wish I had done more than say "damn that's fucked up." I felt responsible.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Its been a long time
Wrote this a while back. Hell I mightve posted it a while back too.
Dear self
This one's for you
This one's dedicated to all you can do
This one's dedicated to all that you can be
This one goes out as far as you can see
What I like about you
Your brain, you're a thinker
You're not afraid to have the wrong answer
And you'll work tirelessly to find the right answer
Way after anyone notices or cares
You think outside yourself
Always ready to provide and make a way
I love your laugh-its loud, obnoxious and coming of age
A little hearty with a hint of naievete
I love that you love to laugh
Taking yourself less seriously is one of the better choices you made
I notice as you get older you start to take other parts of yourself seriously
Your toes are really pretty too.
Your lips are kissable, lip gloss or not
I like how much of yourself you give
Even when you don't care, you do, just a little bit
You've got big dreams. Write them down. Rewrite them for clarity's sake. Say them aloud, make them real. Give them reason. Punctuate them with enthusiasm and can-do. Tell a friend with excitement. Post them on your wall. Repeat them at dinner. Tweet them in case you forget
You've come a long way, confident in your ability to reason, speak up, and feel. You're ok with crying, realizing that emotions are ok, that it makes you human. And when the tears dry, its go time.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
Dear self
This one's for you
This one's dedicated to all you can do
This one's dedicated to all that you can be
This one goes out as far as you can see
What I like about you
Your brain, you're a thinker
You're not afraid to have the wrong answer
And you'll work tirelessly to find the right answer
Way after anyone notices or cares
You think outside yourself
Always ready to provide and make a way
I love your laugh-its loud, obnoxious and coming of age
A little hearty with a hint of naievete
I love that you love to laugh
Taking yourself less seriously is one of the better choices you made
I notice as you get older you start to take other parts of yourself seriously
Your toes are really pretty too.
Your lips are kissable, lip gloss or not
I like how much of yourself you give
Even when you don't care, you do, just a little bit
You've got big dreams. Write them down. Rewrite them for clarity's sake. Say them aloud, make them real. Give them reason. Punctuate them with enthusiasm and can-do. Tell a friend with excitement. Post them on your wall. Repeat them at dinner. Tweet them in case you forget
You've come a long way, confident in your ability to reason, speak up, and feel. You're ok with crying, realizing that emotions are ok, that it makes you human. And when the tears dry, its go time.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Winning At Life
Conversation between two women on my commute this morning, discussing the mundanities of middle aged adult life: finding a sitter when you want to go out for dinner, indulging in mindless reality TV, hitting the gym and running marathons. The woman on my left, Debbie, rambles on about different workouts around her kids schedules, while holding the railing at my eye level, practically putting my eye out with her engagement ring. Her friend, Jane Doe, gabbed about how she got into running after law school, a release upon working hellish 80 hour weeks.
After these women exit the train (total UWSiders-on at 96th, off at 42nd) the woman sitting next to me and I turn our NY all the way up-concluding they were loud, obnoxious and that "no one cares about their boring, regular lives."
Not so fast. I was a little intrigued-both were lawyers, one of them married w/ children, one's a marathon runner, and anyone who takes a subway 2 stops to work. One was petite, the other, one of those "I need to lose 10 lbs" girls who brings baked goods to the office (Crumbs was her vice). Anyway, from this small snippet, sounds like they won at life.
"Win at life (WAL)" is a concept coined by @thegreatestj, in reference to a friend who was completely wretched but married some guy who gave her a gorgeous ring, thus "winning at life." The phrase has evolved into a snarkier connotation of people who are, my social construct, lame, but they seem to think they've won at life by some aspect of life, from marrying a doctor, being offered a bid to every house on sorority row, or giving birth to thee cutest baby evar. Stuff that happens but doesn't deserve anything more but a nod and an "oh, how nice."
Even in their mundane lives, they had this WAL aura and wondered if they felt they'd won at life? How will I know when I've won at life? What are my life's must haves? Timelines are fine but I really rather not be one of those "I need to buy a house by 30, married by 32, kids by 35 because ill have gotten my masters by 28" girls. Its one thing to plan you day at work or your weekend, but your whole life?
How does one know when they've WAL? Is winning even essential? We know what it feels/looks like to lose at life, and no one wants to be a loser. What are your benchmarks for winning at life, and does it have a deadline?
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
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