Tuesday, May 24, 2005
his loneliness grows as his form fades, his infinite yearning now but a trail of diamonds on the landscape below. he leaves them as a gift for his beloved.
his pleas for his lover's affection are whispered clouds of wishful thinking. he knows his calls will go unheeded as nature's movement means being forever just beyond his lover's reach.
he rises from the horizon, his light shining bright in an unsuccessful attempt at beckoning his lover from her sleep. he knows his shine is but a reflection of her fire, branding his surface with her caresses. he creeps across the indigo sky forever towards her fleeting form.
the moon is peeking over the horizon, ready to make an appearance on an already flawless landscape. he stars longingly at his lover as the sun hovers for one last look before taking her leave, signaling the end of day.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
i came home to find the gift i've been waiting on since last week! Lena (newyorkish blog), sent me a cd with her favorite tito puente music on it. i'm sitting here listening to it now and i'm reminded of new york during the summers when i went up there to visit my relatives as a child. the music is simply beautiful. thank you so much, lena. i really cannot thank you enough.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
then there was the matter of dealing with a bunch of cocky brothas who weren't down with losing to a sista. it seemed like they were trying to kill me out there. ultimately, i laid off a bit and lost three matches because of it. now i have to say my pride took a little hurting with that, but i just didn't feel like seeing the brothas with their faces all screwed up cuz they had lost. then again, it didn't take much for me to throw the matches, as i was still a little rusty.
the worst part was all the shit-talking afterwards. i almost popped chris in the head with all his remarks, but decided against it because i didn't want to ruin my racket.
*sigh*...the things sistas do to preserve a brotha's ego. it won't happen again, though. next time, i'm wiping the court with their asses.
it's inspiring really. i wonder at just how far he'll go in his life and i'm sure he'll continue inspiring those around him to achieve their dreams. i don't know what he's going to do once he's got his Ph.D., but i've no doubt whatever it is, it'll change the world for the better. so let's all give props to him for his achievement. he definitely deserves it.
i've yet to even get my undergrad degree, and yet knowing he found a way to accomplish this task has made me more determined than ever to fight for my own dreams. i'm very close to finishing and i'm excited about it. i hope to go to grad school when i'm finished, but i'm not sure which grad school i'll attend. that's but one of my dreams, though. i really hope to create a charter school or non-profit focusing on technology in underserved communities. i just want to make the world a better place before i leave it, you know? i'm tired of the pain that pierces through my heart whenever i see injustice play out before me. i'm tired of the continued existence of socioeconomic inequality and it's hold on so many disadvantaged folks. i'm tired of them feeling as though they don't have choices, as though their life is something to labor through, not enriched with whatever empowers them towards their definition of success.
so i continue to fight. fight for my dream that one day i can look into the eyes of a child and really know in my heart that there are no unfair obstacles in her way. fight for the day when my little cousin lamount can just be a kid and not a black male child fearful for his life because he's surrounded by drug dealers.
it's GONNA happen folks. or i'll die trying.
Monday, May 16, 2005
if i speak spanish, am i trying to act hispanic or am i trying to communicate with someone who speaks spanish?
if i don't speak standard english, am i stupid for not doing so?
if i do, am i smarter than those who don't?
it just seems like everyone is looking for bullshit reasons to diss each other. i'm tired of this lack of respect i'm seeing for folks from different backgrounds. language is a part of a culture, but it is not the defining factor of that culture. therefore, by using that language, a person doesn't suddenly become "more" black or "less" white. he or she has simply decided to use the language used by his or her intended audience. nothing more, nothing less.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
my roommate was this girl from jacksonville named jackie. she was a bitch from day one, literally drawing a line across the already cramped room in an attempt to establish her space. i wasn't even supposed to be on campus. when i first got to tallahassee, i was living off-campus with three other girls in a house close to the school. we hadn't been there a week when we had to leave after one of the girls was raped in the back yard. evidently one of her co-workers was stalking her and finally attacked her after she rejected him.
having been date raped without penetration at the previous school i attended, my parents were down the next day, moving me out. my dad had called the dean of students and demanded they find me a space on campus. dad is a little thing...no more than 5'6 tall, but he can scare the living shit out of you with his anger. this was one of those times when i was glad a brotha got pissed.
so now i'm on campus, with a roommate i hate, trying to navigate my way the maze of the campus to class everyday. there were guys everywhere, and it was a little unnerving to me. i couldn't walk ten steps out of my dorm without catching a brotha staring at my ass. i purposefully wore jogging pants, hoping the cumbersome material would camouflage my body. in fact, i had started wearing jogging pants right after i was raped, because the guy who raped me told me it was my fault because of what i had on. i was asking for it, he said.
yet despite this, i was still getting those looks. the kinds of looks that makes a sista feel like she's a step away from being pounced on. i guess those brothas thought looking at me that way was supposed to be flattering, but it only made me feel even more self-conscious.
then i met him. fred was one of the guys in my biology class. he wore glasses just like me and had an easy laugh. for some reason, i felt comfortable around him. maybe it was because he never looked at me "that" way. we would talk after class about all kinds of stuff. he was a big sports fan like me, so the conversation never stopped. i thought he was cute, but after the ordeal i had suffered a few months previously, i was way too scared to do anything about it. i figured i needed time to regain trust in guys again. fred made that easy for me.
we spent alot of time together on campus, but we were never romantic. he would walk me to my classes and at the end of the day, the two of us would walk over to the rec center to play spades with our friends. everyone loved fred. it seemed like he never met a stranger.
after a few months of hanging out, fred invited me to watch a movie at his apartment. initially i was hesitant, because i hadn't been alone with a guy since i was raped. he sensed my fear and told me his roommate would be there, so i said yes. he picked me up around 9 p.m. and took me back to his place. when i got to his place, i met his roommate earl, a short, round, dark brown guy with a squeaky laugh. he had a great sense of humor.
after an hour of watching television, earl told fred he was leaving to go to a party on campus. i started hyperventilating immediately, but calmed down after realizing i was being silly. fred looked at me and asked if i wanted to go home. i told him i was aiight.
i didn't realize it was close to midnight until i looked at my watch a couple of hours later. we had both been engrossed in the movie, which was some comedy i can't even remember. i told him i was ready to go home. he said he'd take me home after he went to the bathroom.
once back into the living room, he starts trying to convince me to stay. he says he can take me back in the morning on the way to his 7 a.m. class. i told him i wasn't comfortable with that and that i would prefer to go home. then he got quiet. he got up from the couch, stood in front of the door, and slowly opened it, telling me i could walk home.
i looked at him incredulously. "what did you say?"
"i said you can walk home."
"fred, you know i don't know how to get back to the dorm from here. you're kidding right?"
"i'm dead serious."
so i walk towards the door with the intention of leaving, and then he grabs me. he tosses me over my shoulder and takes me to the bedroom. by this time i'm screaming at the top of my lungs. once in the room, he tosses me on the bed and slaps me really hard. i could feel the blood inside my mouth from where my gum was cut from my teeth. at this point i can't even think straight. it's like i'm in a dream. this can't be happening again...this can't be happening again...not fred...not fred...
i try fighting him off, but he was too strong for me. i'm so hysterical i can't even think straight. i don't know if this is really happening to me or if this is just a nightmare. it wasn't until morning that i was lucid enough to realize it was both. i was curled in a fetal position on the bed, the sheets were stained with my blood, and my clothes were in a torn mess on the floor.
fred was in the bathroom humming a breezy tune. he stepped into the bedroom and told me to get dressed. i put on the remnants of my clothes and he drove me back to the dorm. on the way there, he told me how much he enjoyed our night together. i stared out the passenger window, my thoughts shredded into a million screams. once at the dorm, he told me he would call me later.
it was 5 a.m. the sun was still braced for rising from the horizon. the sky was a dark blue fractured by the occasional wisp of fire. and i was a girl, recently raped for the second time, walking away from the guy who thought we had just had a good time.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
the spot itself was so inspirational. it's located right down the street from martin luther king's birth home and the place where his coffin is located. i could feel his spirit in the room, and that went a long way in motivating me to read the poem. he had the courage to defy social law and demand his rights as a human being, knowing full well he was putting his life in danger. the LEAST i could do is read a poem. my action wasn't nearly as courageous as his, but it was a major move nonetheless.
the only thing i hate about this photo is the fact that i was wearing a belt that was not flattering and it made my shirt poof out like i had a gut or something. other than that, it was cool.
now that i've finally read a poem, i've gotta improve my stage presence. i was so scared while i was up there that i couldn't even look at the audience. i was reading from my paper the whole time. the fear was still hovering around me like a casket. hopefully that'll improve the more i do it.
thanks to joe and ed for the encouragement. i was thinking of you two while i was up there, because i knew you two were waiting for me to tell you how it went. i couldn't NOT do it at that point.
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
so when i found out my great-uncle morris had died, i wasn't surprised, only saddened that i didn't get to know him better. he was my mom's favorite uncle and the last living sibling of my grandmother. he suffered from a long illness that prevented him from experiencing his life to the fullest at the end of it. my mom took it pretty hard, as did my grandmother. i absolutely hate seeing them in pain, even if it's part of the mourning process. i wish i could stop the tears before they even form and clench my fist around the pain before it even starts.
my uncle homey is dying from cancer. it started off in the lungs and has spread to his liver and other vital organs. he's been doing chemotherapy in hopes that it will get rid of the cancer, but the doctor said the chemo will only prolong his life for another year or two. as i watch him try to fight against the dying of the light, i wonder if this is the kind of fight dylan thomas meant when he implored his father to not go gentle into that good night.
the chemo is making him extremely sick and weak. by the time the effects of the chemo wear off, he's gotta go back for another chemo session. i have found it difficult to sit by silently while he continues battles against the wrong foe. the battle against death cannot be won. he lashes out weakly against an undefeated opponent, hoping that through his efforts, death will stand back and let him live. however, the drugs waging war within his body are killing the quality of his life. i wish with every cell of my being that he could recognize who the true foe is.
his life as it is right now is being stained by fear of dying. he has allowed the fear of leaving this world to invade and conquer his soul daily. whenever he goes to chemo, he is prolonging a life not worth living in that state. he can no longer engage with the people he loves and who love him. all he can do is lay in bed and pray for the nausea to subside long enough for him to go to the bathroom. whenver i call him, he's too sick to speak to me.
damn, he's already dead.
the light isn't life. it's the spirit. the dying of the light isn't the death of the body. it's the death of the spirit to live life on your terms.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
don't go out like that, uncle homey. you aren't giving up when you stop the chemo. you are making sure old age will burn and rave at close of day.
Monday, May 09, 2005
This brotha got me open like a broken zipper on a two dollar pair of flamingo pink polyester pants
Just the vision of him as the light fragments into slivers before dancing like silver pebbles across the surface of his caramel skin, is enough to leave me reeling from the feeling of wanting him
And I almost despise the size of my grin as it doubles in volume when I see his form walk into a room
I've tried disguising the desire, but it burns through my being like a five alarm fire, charring my body from follicle to feet
I've ended all attempts at being discreet
With white flag in hand, I signal defeat to the realization that the sensations permeating through me are a direct result of his creation...
This brotha got me hoping like a homeless person who just pulled a lotto ticket from a trash bag on the curb
So absurd how easily he can disperse of the negative thoughts that lay like tumors on my spirit with swift incisions of uplifting scripts that clarify my future missions
He adds the strokes of brilliant color to my mental canvas of black and blue
Brushing hues of rosy views to banish bleak news that used to invade in parades across my horizon
His indigo groove is found in each stanza expanding from my fingers
To land on paper in infinite tribute to the beauty he's brought to my world
His love lingers like midnight caresses in everything I do
That's why I'm blessed with spoken word, triggered by his every move
that last experience may have traumatized me a bit. i just don't like speaking in front of adults, anyway. i feel overexposed, like someone just stripped me naked and stuck me in front of everybody.
either way, i'm gonna go. i just don't know if i can read anything. i need to take a deep breath and step back, cuz eventually i'm gonna have to do this. i have to stop letting fear dictate my actions like this.
the moves became a little more complicated this time, as we got reacquainted with the turn and then learned how to change direction so that we were facing our partner from the opposite direction. there were four guys in the class this time around, and only one of the guys was from a previous class. in addition there was one first time participant and two experts there.
my first partner was my mom. i had to lead, but she kept trying to lead, so the instructor paired her up with someone else, so i ended up with this older guy. he was hispanic with smooth, olive skin and salt and pepper hair. he was also shorter than me and a little round. looking at him you would think a brotha didn't have the moves. however, he was friggin amazing. he was twirling me around in no time and i felt like a professional dancer with him. i just followed his lead.
you know, it's difficult for me to let someone else lead. i think it's because i'm so used to running things. being in this class has been a humbling experience because on the dance floor, the woman has to let the man lead her into her steps. this mean finding the perfect balance between letting him lead and being too pliant for him to guide me. out of everything, that was the one thing the two expert dancers kept trying to tell me. i had to keep my arm strong enough to be able to accept his guidance but not too strong that i was fighting against the guidance.
i think that applies to life, too. i've gotta find that middle ground where my pride doesn't get in the way of me learning from others. this year i made the resolution of listening more to people instead of just talking. i've been making the conscious effort to just shut da hell up for a moment and invite a person to just talk to me. it's hard because i always have an opinion about something and my mind is constantly jumping to respond to something that's being said during a conversation. however, i've come to appreciate the silence of just listening to someone else speak.
it's funny how the rules of a dance are applicable to life in that way. i've always been a tomboy, so i've always been around guys. i think i'm more in touch with my masculine side than i am with my feminine side because being such a large sports fan and playing sports has placed me in situations where most of the time i'm the only female in the room. that's when i downplay my femininity because i don't want the guys to look at me only as a female. i want them to see me just a person who enjoys talking about sports. whenever i get feminine on my guy friends, all they see is the boobs and ass. one time i made the mistake of going to a friends house to watch a football game wearing a mini-skirt. then i became that girl with the nice legs who talks about sports. i HATED that.
so i think the greatest gift i've received since taking up salsa is regaining my femininity. i actually love the idea of a brotha leading and me following. i think it makes me more vulnerable in that i'm opening myself up to someone else's influence and i have to trust he will protect me. i think salsa will actually help me to relinquish the controls a little more and trust other folks will be just as capable of doing the job right. i can also be comfortable with being a woman and using my unique gifts as a woman to complete the dance.
so i can be a sports loving, salsa dancing female and be aiight with it.
Sunday, May 08, 2005
“brown skin…you know I love your
the melody floats
from india’s throat
to coat me from
head to toe
while the guitar seduces
in coaxing slopes, undressing
the keys while she
“I can’t tell where yours begins…
I can’t tell where mine ends…”
I’m drawn into you
like strokes of
upon the canvas
of your rapture
by the motion
of our rhythmic
“brown skin…up against
my brown skin…
our limbs bend
to blend unending into
one groove fermenting
our fervor -
a mellifluous mix
of honey do me
and sin a man you
“need some everynow and then…”
i'm still working on the last stanza. i SUCK at ending poems.
Friday, May 06, 2005
Thursday, May 05, 2005
at age seven, she created an imaginary friend named tony. tony knew all of her deepest, darkest secrets. he sat silently while she shared the moments of her day with him, nodding approvingly after she told him about the good grades she got on her report card. he always dropped what he was doing to listen to her, like she was the most important person in the world and every word bursting from her lips was a budding orchid, fragile and flawless.
when she was placed in the foster home, tony packed his bags and followed her. he didn't need much space for his things, and the only food he required was her attention, which she was happy to give. at night, as the shadows of night threatened to enfold her in their clutches, tony would appear on her pillow to whisper courage into her ears. his whispers soothed her enough so that she could go to sleep without worry. in the morning she would awaken to see tony still there on her pillow, standing guard after fighting the darkness from her room and replacing them with the aurulent rays of a new day's sun.
(to be continued...)
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
I am ready for lovethis song to me is more than just melody or poetry. i long for the kind of love she's ready for. ever since i was the little girl who collected romance novels and read them at the rate of like one a day (sometimes two), i've envisioned what that kind of love was like. the kind of love that stunts your sleep because you're too busy thinking about him to go to sleep. then when you realize you can actually be with him in your dreams, you hurriedly close your eyes, praying for a quick ascension into the place where you can see him, touch him, taste him, leisurely stare into his eyes without concern for time.
Why are you hiding from me
I'd quickly give my freedom
To be held in your captivity
I am ready for love
All of the joy and the pain
And all the time that it takes
Just to stay in your good grace
Lately I've been thinking
Maybe you're not ready for me
Maybe you think I need to learn maturity
They say watch what you ask for
Cause you might receive
But if you ask me tomorrow
I'll say the same thing
I am ready for love
Would you please lend me your ear?
I promise I won't complain
I just need you to acknowledge I am here
If you give me half a chance
I'll prove this to you
I will be patient, kind, faithful and true
To a man who loves music
A man who loves art
Respect's the spirit world
And thinks with his heart
I am ready for love
If you'll take me in your hands
I will learn what you teach
And do the best that I can
I am ready for love
Here with an offering of
Tell me what is enough
To prove I am ready for love
I am ready
as a teenager, i had developed a somewhat jaded view of what love was. by this time i had been molested and incapable of looking at men or boys without feeling the fear claw its way up my skin. it continued into college, where i was raped twice, further clouding my vision to the beauty of what love could be. eventually it got to the point where i could only stare at someone i was interested in from afar, because i figured love couldn't be blemished if it's admired from a distance.
as an adult, i still struggle with the concept of love. not just the love between couples, but the love between people, period. i know that i would give my life without a second thought if my brother aswad were in danger. i'd do the same thing for my mom and dad, although i don't think they'd let me because i'm their daughter. is that love? the willingness to sacrifice one's self so that another can live? the desire to protect this person so that he never meets with harm?
the more i sit here and think about it, the more i realize that i love my brother more than anybody else in the world. he is the one person i know i can share all of my thoughts with, no matter how crazy or violent or silly they are. as kids, i would always defend him, even if it meant getting into fights with guys larger than me. i really didn't care, because my little brother would have done the same for me if he could, and he DID do the same for me when we were older. we can still talk on the phone for hours, chatting about anything from sports to spirituality to hip-hop to movies. he is my one kindred spirit. i don't care what he does, he will always have my unconditional love.
man..typing that out really clarified some things for me, and muddled others. is that kind of love possible between two people who have vowed to spend the rest of their lives together? i don't see it between my parents. they're just kinda kickin it in low gear. at this point, they've been together so long, they're on cruise control. i don't think i've seen one older couple who is still completely engaged in each other. maybe that's not possible once the newness of love wears off.
damn, this is really starting to piss me off. i'm searching for something and i don't know if i'll ever find it. maybe i'm NOT ready for love...
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
WILMINGTON, N.C. - A man who ordered a pint of frozen chocolate custard in a dessert shop got a nasty surprise inside — a piece of severed finger lost by an employee in an accident.
Unlike a recent incident at a Wendy's restaurant in California, no questions of truth have been raised about the finger found in a package from Kohl's Frozen Custard.
State officials went to the shop Monday, and the owner confirmed one of his employees lost part of a finger in an accident with a food-processing machine.
Wilmington television station WWAY reported that Clarence Stowers found the finger in custard he purchased Sunday night.
Stowers, who did not immediately return calls Monday from The Associated Press, told the station: "I thought it was candy because they put candy in your ice cream ... to make it a treat. So I said, 'OK, well, I'll just put it in my mouth and get the ice cream off of it and see what it is.'"
Stowers said he spit the object out, but still couldn't identify it. So he went to his kitchen, rinsed it off with water — and "just started screaming."
i'm sorry, but i got a good laugh off of that last part. i invisioned the guy chewing on it before thinking "damn, this thing is crunchy but it sure ain't sweet...", then going to the sink, pulling it out of his mouth, rinsing it off, then the slow dawning of what he hand in his hands and had just had in his mouth as the water washes the ice cream off to reveal a severed finger.
i automatically thought back to that scene in the first godfather movie where the hollywood director in all his egotistical glory had settled in for a good night's sleep. he had just told tommy the lawyer to tell the godfather to basically go fuck himself before kicking him out. i'm sure he was satisfied with himself and for a minute, his balls were dragging on the floor, they were so big...
then the scene cuts to the next morning and the music starts to build from a quiet and slow meandering melody of anticipation to the loud looping of acknowledgement that something bad is about to happen. the guy turns over in his bed, his silk pajamas glistening in the rays of the morning sun...
he feels something at his feet...
his hands are sticky and warm from some foreign substance, so he pulls them above the cover. the blood staining his palms is quickly revealed in crimson blotches on his bed sheets. slowly, then more quickly he starts gathering his 3000 threadcount fabric into his fingers, exposing more saturated plasma with each frantic grab of his hands. he's now trembling as he realized his momentary bravado of last night might not have been such a good idea after all.
then as the music cresendos into a carnival of shrieking violins, the guy throws back the covers to unveil the head of his most prized black stallion, its ebon skin matted with the same blood pooled at the bottom of the bed and falling in splotches onto the floor.
the camera cuts to the guy's face exploding into a heart-stopping scream, then the scene ends with a shot of the guy's house, his continuous screaming shattering the morning silence into a million pieces.
hmmm...i wonder if custard guy experienced something similar...
you've gotta check this out...really.
i watched with envy as people got up to expose themselves, unafraid of how the audience would accept them. there were folks up there singing songs they'd just composed, voices cracking and unpolished, but they were up there anyway. i had to give them props for making themselves vulnerable like that. i was simply amazed at the courage all of the artists displayed up there on stage. the mc was so spiritually connected as well. he spoke to us in a way that made everyone feel as though this was simply a gathering of good friends sharing their creative gifts with each other.
the night started off with a sista who broke into old negro spirituals. her voice was low like a breeze thieving through the night, and it's brown notes clung to my skin like a morning mist. the question within her song: "is the end coming?"...i felt the power of her words as they questioned the actions of the human race, wondering if those actions would lead to our destruction. as i glanced around the room, i felt the love emanating from everyone there, and i realized that the world would be aiight cuz i was surrounded by people who were just as concerned by the state of the world as i was.
the second artist was a music composition student from georgia state. i could tell she was brand new to performing, her fingers hesitantly gliding over the guitar strings as she fought back the fear to sing about a lost love. talking about losing love in front of strangers is a scary thing, but the vibe in there was so comforting, it was like she was talking to her close girlfriends about a man she begged to stay with her. the strains from her strumming shimmered around the room, shining light upon her loss. the words verberated throughout my bones, and for a moment, i was the one begging silently for my man to come back to me, asking him to stay to comfort me. damn, that song had me caught up! :)
the third artist was actually a group of young brothas calling themselves "the sharecroppers". they rapped about the importance of seeing the patterns of destruction and how they're ruining our communities. i loved their message for the most part, except for when they talked about how the helplessness of black folks is somehow the premeditated design of white folks. i didn't agree with that part, as i feel power is something that is given to someone, and self-empowerment begins within. despite that, i still enjoyed the mostly positive message they brought to the stage.
i'll skip over the next couple of artists so i can talk about the featured artists for the night. the name of their group is "venus", and it's two sistas, both with beautiful singing voices and an ability to play the acoustic guitar. i absolutely loved them! they were comfortable on stage and really engaged the audience, bringing us into their music. there was one song they sang that really had me thinking. it was about prostitutes and how they're women making choices to do things so they can survive. however, the lyrics spoke on how folks get so caught up in the act of survival, they forget they've gotta live. that really hit me.
i think that message is applicable to damn near everybody. we get so caught up in working for a living that we forget we've actually got to live. our work should reflect our lives and our passions, not simply pay the bills. we spend so much time at work that it becomes our lives. think about it...at LEAST 40 ours a week is spent working so that we can have the things we want and spend our leisure time the way we want to spend it. i know there are plenty of us whose goal is to be financially and materially wealthy, and i ain't mad at that. however, for those of us who have aspirations to simply be happy with our lives and contributions, i would think financial and material gain are secondary to the goal of living our lives as truthfully and meaningfully as possible. in either case, self-empowerment is very necessary.
in the case of those prostitutes, many of them don't feel empowered enough to control their lives in such a way as to make prostituting their bodies unnecessary. in my case, i'm still battling as i try to find my way towards a more fulfilling job that embodies everything i want to bring to the world. working with femtech is just part of the puzzle. ultimately i want to create either a charter school for kids in underserved communities or a non-profit organization focusing on bringing technology to underserved communities. working at georgia tech is affording me the opportunity to get the training i need in order to do these things (i hope).
but that's just my path. what about you? when you wake up in the morning, do you feel as though what you're gonna do during the next eight hours is bringing you closer to the goals you've set for yourself? if not, i hope you find the inner strength necessary to locate that power within you. i hope your life is what you want it to be, and not just a bunch of time working a job you hate.
you can do it. i believe in you. i believe in all of us!
Monday, May 02, 2005
Sunday, May 01, 2005
i did a double take when i saw the first group of ten prom folks walking around. by the time the second, third, and fourth groups walked past me, i realized the new "in" prom spot was the mall. evidently it gives one the feeling that he or she is a king or queen among peasants. i half expected the girls to put up their hands in the form of the miss america wave.
they would have stood out more if not for the fact that half of the mall was populated by kids walking around in prom outfits. it was like a homeless shelter being visited by folks from the circus.
see, this is why i don't go to malls. i went to find an outfit for the party i went to last night (which is a story for another post), and now i know i will never again frequent a mall on a saturday.