September 11, 2015
September 9, 2015
Page 241: To the Kid Who Wore Jeans on Her Wedding Day
On this day, seven years ago, I got married. I was 23, naïve and in love. I'd never been in love like that before, so getting married was the next step.
It was a big step for me. I'd never planned on getting married but there I was, in the basement of a courthouse, saying "I Do," and it was perfect. The day, though gray and dreary, was perfect. I don't know how, but I managed to find someone just as weird (if not weirder) as I was. I think he was weirder, though.
Tym introduced me to a lot of things and despite our ups and downs, he was my best friends and one of my biggest advocates. There was one time when I accidentally dropped out of my Spanish class and he actually became indignant when I told him that I wasn't sure that the teacher would let me back in, despite the fact that I was passing. He kept me afloat many times and I'd like to think that I kept him afloat as well. He stopped going to Chicago to get his taxes done because I was good at it.
When he went back home, I was devastated. I didn't know how I would get over it. I was mad at him and at myself because I felt like I had failed and I didn't want a failed marriage like Ross on Friends. We went through so much that I was forced to grow up. I matured so much in such a little time because I had no choice. He made me so happy but he also made me so sad.
I always told myself that we just needed to get to five years. If we got to our fifth anniversary, we would be fine. That's what I believed and when we did, I felt successful. I managed a long distance marriage for five years and that felt like a victory. Then, he was gone for good and yet, I still acknowledge my marriage.
I told my mother last month that I won't talk about him anymore and that I will move forward with my life, but he's still there. He's still in my heart and my mind, despite his death. Sometimes, I wonder if I should keep talking about him so I can grieve properly, but it's devastating to relive that day over and over. It's hard to be labeled "widow" even though I'm only 30. When my dad died, my mom was nearly in her 50s. She'd spent almost 30 years with him, married him and had his children. I don't have any children, even though it's for the best right now. All I have of him is some of his clothes and some of his belongings, as well as memories.
I still feel successful. I did what I was supposed to do and I can look back fondly at our great moments. I'm embarrassed of our bad moments, but they were natural. I don't know how many people will experience love like the love I had, but I hope they do because it'll keep them going. It keeps me going. So, here's to seven years. It was well earned.
September 8, 2015
Page 240: My Conflict with My Conflict Resolution Course
I want to start this post off by saying that I am in love with my classes and I hope that this is indeed learning on my part. I hate hypocrisy with a fiery, burning passion, so it would kill me if I was a hypocrite or became one.
*
I am a person with a bad temper. I always have been. I was born with it. Seriously, I was 5 pounds, 8 ounces and screaming my little head off with my fist balled up when the doctors delivered me via c-section. When I've lost my temper, I've grabbed things. I've been involved in house-destroying fist fights. My mother told me at 13 that I would need to learn self-control after a particularly disturbing incident involving me, a baseball bat and a family member that was causing trouble, and what I would have done.
As I've gotten older, I've learned a lot of self-control and I haven't had a fist fight in about seven years. I've learned to keep my temper under a lot of control, even to the point of having to take anti-anxiety medication because all of that anger is turned inward and becomes nausea and panic attacks. If I find myself in a conflict, I shut down. I cut people off. They cease to exist. It works to an extent, so I can keep from doing or saying something hurtful and cruel because I've seen cruelty and I don't want to be a cruel person.
I've become very interested in trying to improve the world. On the night that President Obama was elected, I told my sister, my husband and my mother that I helped change the world. Even though I am older and more realistic, I feel like I can do good. It gives me a sense of purpose. There's just something about writing that doesn't fulfill me and I see it as a selfish hobby, a selfish existence, at times. I don't feel this way about any writer except myself, but we're all our own worst enemies. To me, writers can change the world but I can't if I'm writing.
I want to teach. I love children and I feel like I could help them become great people, but even that's not enough for me anymore. I didn't realize this until I started taking the courses I'm in now. The courses enforced in me a feeling that I need to help change the world for the better. It enforced me a feeling that I've finally figured out what I want to do with my life, and maybe this is why I'm here.
There's a small problem that I've encountered, though.
My temper has come back and I am very angry.
It's been like this for a while now, on and off, but my Intro to Conflict Resolution and Peace Studies course has made me become aware of the injustices in the world and it's making me rage on all of the things that are problematic on a global and familial scale. I want to change things, yes, but I also want to solve the problems I'm having with violence. That is not resolving conflict or being peaceful at all. It's also against my faith, so this craving goes against a lot of things. I rant sometimes and it helps sometimes. Shutting down is pretty good, too. It keeps me from going ballistic. My attitude is problematic, to say the least, and I want to change it. It's just hard because it feels like all the wrong people doing all the wrong things have all the power and there's no way to stop them. I feel powerless.
My biggest goal at this moment is to become a better advocate for sustainable peace-building and I can't do that if I'm raging out. Maybe I'll take up boxing or something.
September 2, 2015
Page 234: The Danger of a Single Story
Today was my first day of class for the fall semester and as previously mentioned, I am taking Global Studies 101: People and Politics as well as Intro to Conflict Resolution and Peace Studies. My Global Studies 101 course was today and along with my fellow classmates, we got down to the nitty-gritty about politics, culture and global issues. There were about 11 issues that are current, but my teacher is a RN PhD who also does research and help lots of people with AIDS in Kenya, so she warned us to let her know when she gets a little too biased about the subject of health.
There was a lot of information to obtain for the first day, but it came down to culture is acquired and culture can be used as a detriment. After the lecture, my classmates and I watched a TED Talk of Chimimanda Adichie, who is a wonderful writer. It was called The Danger of a Single Story, hence the title of this post.
In the TED Talk, Ms. Adichie spoke of how she first read stories about Caucasian children who talked about the weather and enjoyed the sun, and how it was discouraging because there was no one in the stories that was like her. When she was a child, there was also a houseboy that worked for her family and her mother always pointed out how poor the houseboy and his family were, but Ms. Adichie was shocked when she and her family visited the houseboy's home and was astonished to see a beautiful basket that the houseboy's brother made himself. She thought that the family was too poor to make anything.
When Ms. Adichie arrived in America for college, her roommate was stunned that she spoke perfect English instead of gibberish and listened to Mariah Carey instead of "tribal music." According to John Locke and Rudyard Kipling, people in Africa were dark and evil, and Ms. Adichie believed that the single idea in these stories/statements were passed down to her roommate, who made these stupid assumptions about her.
(if you want to TL;DR, watch the video here)
After watching the video, I got to thinking about what stereotypes I may be harboring for the sheer reason of because it was what I had learned. At the age of 30, there aren't many stereotypes, but that's not true of everyone. People are color are targeted constantly because of the stereotypes they are subjected to. Black people are considered to be ignorant, "ghetto" and loud. They eat fried chicken and watermelon. Hispanic people are considered to be the ones who would take any jobs, stealing the resources from this country by crossing the border. Middle Eastern people are constantly considered to be suspicious. After 9/11, I doubt that there has been one Middle Eastern adult that has not been called a terrorist. Asian people are considered to be super smart. Their women are fetishized by the "geisha" stereotype.
These problematic labels were all created by a single story that has been constantly perpetuated throughout generations. There are even more stereotypes that I haven't mentioned in this post, and a lot of people are mentioned in those stereotypes, including Caucasian people.
I know that I haven't even touched on what I will learn in this class, but a single story can be more dangerous than you know. I am definitely reflecting on what I've learned, what I've shared and how I've encouraged stereotypes. I hate the term "learning experience," especially because of the many times I've heard it this year alone, but I guess my class and today has been a learning experience for me. I have to check my stereotypical thoughts at the door, and I look forward to that because I will benefit so much from it. If I can benefit from it, I'll be able to help others benefit from it as well.
What are some of the single stories you have heard?
P.S: Did you know that today, 21,000 children have died? Did you know that African-American men in Harlem have shorter life spans than people in Bangladesh, Japan and Algiers combined? Did you also know that the U.S is #29 when it comes to the rating of our healthcare and that our GDP is $48,000 while Kenya's is $1,600? The more you know...
There was a lot of information to obtain for the first day, but it came down to culture is acquired and culture can be used as a detriment. After the lecture, my classmates and I watched a TED Talk of Chimimanda Adichie, who is a wonderful writer. It was called The Danger of a Single Story, hence the title of this post.
In the TED Talk, Ms. Adichie spoke of how she first read stories about Caucasian children who talked about the weather and enjoyed the sun, and how it was discouraging because there was no one in the stories that was like her. When she was a child, there was also a houseboy that worked for her family and her mother always pointed out how poor the houseboy and his family were, but Ms. Adichie was shocked when she and her family visited the houseboy's home and was astonished to see a beautiful basket that the houseboy's brother made himself. She thought that the family was too poor to make anything.
When Ms. Adichie arrived in America for college, her roommate was stunned that she spoke perfect English instead of gibberish and listened to Mariah Carey instead of "tribal music." According to John Locke and Rudyard Kipling, people in Africa were dark and evil, and Ms. Adichie believed that the single idea in these stories/statements were passed down to her roommate, who made these stupid assumptions about her.
(if you want to TL;DR, watch the video here)
After watching the video, I got to thinking about what stereotypes I may be harboring for the sheer reason of because it was what I had learned. At the age of 30, there aren't many stereotypes, but that's not true of everyone. People are color are targeted constantly because of the stereotypes they are subjected to. Black people are considered to be ignorant, "ghetto" and loud. They eat fried chicken and watermelon. Hispanic people are considered to be the ones who would take any jobs, stealing the resources from this country by crossing the border. Middle Eastern people are constantly considered to be suspicious. After 9/11, I doubt that there has been one Middle Eastern adult that has not been called a terrorist. Asian people are considered to be super smart. Their women are fetishized by the "geisha" stereotype.
These problematic labels were all created by a single story that has been constantly perpetuated throughout generations. There are even more stereotypes that I haven't mentioned in this post, and a lot of people are mentioned in those stereotypes, including Caucasian people.
I know that I haven't even touched on what I will learn in this class, but a single story can be more dangerous than you know. I am definitely reflecting on what I've learned, what I've shared and how I've encouraged stereotypes. I hate the term "learning experience," especially because of the many times I've heard it this year alone, but I guess my class and today has been a learning experience for me. I have to check my stereotypical thoughts at the door, and I look forward to that because I will benefit so much from it. If I can benefit from it, I'll be able to help others benefit from it as well.
What are some of the single stories you have heard?
P.S: Did you know that today, 21,000 children have died? Did you know that African-American men in Harlem have shorter life spans than people in Bangladesh, Japan and Algiers combined? Did you also know that the U.S is #29 when it comes to the rating of our healthcare and that our GDP is $48,000 while Kenya's is $1,600? The more you know...
August 31, 2015
Page 232: Goodbye, August
Yesterday, I literally scoured the internet to find out what day my father's birthday was. I promise I'm not a bad daughter. I simply thought that his birthday was today and not August 30th.
I'm a bad daughter.
Forgetting my late father's birthday aside, August was a good month. It was a full month. I strengthened my mind by playing lots of Tetris and Quiz Up. Then, I destroyed all that new brain power by watching Sex and the City as well as vlogs. I broke my social media vacation and applied to lots of jobs. I hung out with my sister and went to see a scary movie that made me scream at the beginning and completely underwhelmed me at the end. I finally renewed my library card and visited the library for the first time in at least two years. Last week, I had an internship interview. It went well and would've gone better if I was a full-time student this semester. Still, the internship coordinator loved me and I think she would've made an exception if she could have. From the résumé to my personality, she loved me.
I spent the weekend going to Best Buy, literally. I went there yesterday, Saturday and Friday. I also went there today and I was more than relieved to have everything finally settled so I don't need to go back. I had to replace my headphones, but that wasn't the issue. The issue was that I had a warranty for a DSLR I no longer have and I wanted my refund. The customer service people at Best Buy kept screwing it up, so that meant for various trips. I was highly pissed off yesterday by what I thought was complete incompetence. Finally, it was fixed, though, so I don't have to go back there for a while. I'm so happy.
This week, I start my classes and I'm excited. I didn't even think I would actually be able to go this semester, but a last-minute surprise came through and my classes were fully paid for. I'm taking Intro to Global Studies: People and Politics as well as Intro to Conflict Resolution and Peace Studies this fall and one of my classes is actually in an old hospital. I'm pretty excited about it, to be honest, although I'm a little worried about ghosts. My class is during the day, but still.
I feel like these classes will be a challenge to me mentally because the syllabi show that they will evoke emotions in completely opposite directions. We all know about politics at this point, and we know that they are not easy and not peaceful a lot of the time, so I'm going to have to deal with that in my Global Studies course. Then, I'm going to have to go into my Conflict Resolution class and learn how to become a peaceful part of society the next day. I really don't know how to feel about that, even though I am a person who is always up for a challenge. I hope that I can work through some of my feelings about what I am studying and what is going on in this country. It won't be easy. I really won't, but college isn't supposed to be easy. Right?
By the way, I started writing again. It's baby steps currently, but I've been slowly getting through the fog. I feel like something is being lifted off me, even though I can't wait until I start doing more. Maybe it was a summer thing and now that summer is almost over, the weight of not writing is lifting. That's what I hope it was. I'm ready for the fall and all the tranquility I happen to find during these months.
I'm a bad daughter.
Forgetting my late father's birthday aside, August was a good month. It was a full month. I strengthened my mind by playing lots of Tetris and Quiz Up. Then, I destroyed all that new brain power by watching Sex and the City as well as vlogs. I broke my social media vacation and applied to lots of jobs. I hung out with my sister and went to see a scary movie that made me scream at the beginning and completely underwhelmed me at the end. I finally renewed my library card and visited the library for the first time in at least two years. Last week, I had an internship interview. It went well and would've gone better if I was a full-time student this semester. Still, the internship coordinator loved me and I think she would've made an exception if she could have. From the résumé to my personality, she loved me.
I spent the weekend going to Best Buy, literally. I went there yesterday, Saturday and Friday. I also went there today and I was more than relieved to have everything finally settled so I don't need to go back. I had to replace my headphones, but that wasn't the issue. The issue was that I had a warranty for a DSLR I no longer have and I wanted my refund. The customer service people at Best Buy kept screwing it up, so that meant for various trips. I was highly pissed off yesterday by what I thought was complete incompetence. Finally, it was fixed, though, so I don't have to go back there for a while. I'm so happy.
This week, I start my classes and I'm excited. I didn't even think I would actually be able to go this semester, but a last-minute surprise came through and my classes were fully paid for. I'm taking Intro to Global Studies: People and Politics as well as Intro to Conflict Resolution and Peace Studies this fall and one of my classes is actually in an old hospital. I'm pretty excited about it, to be honest, although I'm a little worried about ghosts. My class is during the day, but still.
I feel like these classes will be a challenge to me mentally because the syllabi show that they will evoke emotions in completely opposite directions. We all know about politics at this point, and we know that they are not easy and not peaceful a lot of the time, so I'm going to have to deal with that in my Global Studies course. Then, I'm going to have to go into my Conflict Resolution class and learn how to become a peaceful part of society the next day. I really don't know how to feel about that, even though I am a person who is always up for a challenge. I hope that I can work through some of my feelings about what I am studying and what is going on in this country. It won't be easy. I really won't, but college isn't supposed to be easy. Right?
By the way, I started writing again. It's baby steps currently, but I've been slowly getting through the fog. I feel like something is being lifted off me, even though I can't wait until I start doing more. Maybe it was a summer thing and now that summer is almost over, the weight of not writing is lifting. That's what I hope it was. I'm ready for the fall and all the tranquility I happen to find during these months.
August 20, 2015
Page 222: Life, Death and Taxes
I find that I think more about mortality than I probably should. I don't really think I had done that before but with Tym's death, it feels like my time could come at any minute. I try not to think about it a lot because no one can predict the future (remember 12/21/12 and Y2K?) but that chill creeps up now and then. I can probably chalk it up to my anxiety and I should probably go back to seeing a psychiatrist, but it's there and I try to combat it as much as I can.
It doesn't help that there are so many deaths of young people of color, including transgender women, are prevalent these days. Part of the reason I'm trying to distance myself from Twitter before I can disappear for good from most social media (I like Instagram) is that it's all right in my face. It's hard to get through the day without finding out about some person of color being beaten or killed. There isn't a day that goes by where other people of color aren't fighting for the rights of the dead. Twitter is basically just a 140 character version of the news to me, emphasizing the overwhelming bad. It's too much and it makes me feel like my death is looming ever closer.
Living hasn't been much better, but I think it's improving. I force myself to think about life, my life and the future that I want, but I'd be lying if I said that I knew that my future would be exactly what I wanted. When I was younger, I took the easy route. I didn't want to go through all the hoops of getting into my dream school, so I went to other schools and spent pretty much all of my financial aid there. Now that I'm at my dream school, I don't even know if I will be able to afford to finish there. I rushed into a relationship with the first guy I ever fell in love with because I was head over heels for him. I rushed into a marriage that only rushed our separation and now, he's dead and I'm contemplating how to tell the next guy I meet that I'm a widow because I'm worried that he will always be a shadow looming over all of my next relationships.
I want to live. I want children. I want to graduate college, I want a great job.
I think about how long I'm going to live. I'm worried that I won't/can't have children. I don't think I'll be able to graduate college and I worry that a great job won't allow me to have the time to work on my academic career.
I'm also in more debt than I was before Tym died.
Being on a limited income doesn't allow me to figure out where I'd even start with paying off my debt. I want to pay them down, because I loved having credit cards and having some financial freedom and not having to worry about my cell phone and never being in the negative, but I now have to also pay for insurance and find a way to pay the IRS because I still owe them.
I want a job again. I'm working towards working, but -- and there's always a but -- I don't want to fail my upcoming classes and a part-time salary is not going to help me move forward with paying down my debts. I also don't know how to side hustle anymore.
Then again, I was never a side hustle kind of person.
There are things that I am hopeful for, though. There are a lot of things, really. I get to go to school this semester and I didn't think I would be able to. I start in two weeks and the news made me the happiest I've been all summer. I am getting job interviews over the phone but people are interested in me working with them. These things are small but to me, they're important and it gets me to think about being alive a bit more than being on Twitter.
Maybe this is hope. Hope, to me, is what determines who is alive or not. People who want to live find hope in many things. People who either want to die or have resigned themselves to a short life think that hope is pointless. Hopefully, I can just figure out all the things that are bothering me now so I can live a little more freely than I am living now, but I choose to live.
It doesn't help that there are so many deaths of young people of color, including transgender women, are prevalent these days. Part of the reason I'm trying to distance myself from Twitter before I can disappear for good from most social media (I like Instagram) is that it's all right in my face. It's hard to get through the day without finding out about some person of color being beaten or killed. There isn't a day that goes by where other people of color aren't fighting for the rights of the dead. Twitter is basically just a 140 character version of the news to me, emphasizing the overwhelming bad. It's too much and it makes me feel like my death is looming ever closer.
Living hasn't been much better, but I think it's improving. I force myself to think about life, my life and the future that I want, but I'd be lying if I said that I knew that my future would be exactly what I wanted. When I was younger, I took the easy route. I didn't want to go through all the hoops of getting into my dream school, so I went to other schools and spent pretty much all of my financial aid there. Now that I'm at my dream school, I don't even know if I will be able to afford to finish there. I rushed into a relationship with the first guy I ever fell in love with because I was head over heels for him. I rushed into a marriage that only rushed our separation and now, he's dead and I'm contemplating how to tell the next guy I meet that I'm a widow because I'm worried that he will always be a shadow looming over all of my next relationships.
I want to live. I want children. I want to graduate college, I want a great job.
I think about how long I'm going to live. I'm worried that I won't/can't have children. I don't think I'll be able to graduate college and I worry that a great job won't allow me to have the time to work on my academic career.
I'm also in more debt than I was before Tym died.
Being on a limited income doesn't allow me to figure out where I'd even start with paying off my debt. I want to pay them down, because I loved having credit cards and having some financial freedom and not having to worry about my cell phone and never being in the negative, but I now have to also pay for insurance and find a way to pay the IRS because I still owe them.
I want a job again. I'm working towards working, but -- and there's always a but -- I don't want to fail my upcoming classes and a part-time salary is not going to help me move forward with paying down my debts. I also don't know how to side hustle anymore.
Then again, I was never a side hustle kind of person.
There are things that I am hopeful for, though. There are a lot of things, really. I get to go to school this semester and I didn't think I would be able to. I start in two weeks and the news made me the happiest I've been all summer. I am getting job interviews over the phone but people are interested in me working with them. These things are small but to me, they're important and it gets me to think about being alive a bit more than being on Twitter.
Maybe this is hope. Hope, to me, is what determines who is alive or not. People who want to live find hope in many things. People who either want to die or have resigned themselves to a short life think that hope is pointless. Hopefully, I can just figure out all the things that are bothering me now so I can live a little more freely than I am living now, but I choose to live.
August 18, 2015
Page 219: Remnants
Last year, I spent a series of moments paying for other people's drinks at the Starbucks tucked in the back of the Barnes & Noble that used to be my hideaway. I did it because I could and it reminded me of an old friend who used to be a barista. That friend stood by me during some really tough times, even though she was going through a lot herself. Her health wasn't the best, but she was always there until she wasn't. I haven't heard from her in over a year and a half. I don't know if she's alive or not.
Since the beginning of August, I've been on a break from most of social media just to get away from all the opinions that were overwhelming my opinions, all the thoughts that were overwhelming my thoughts. It's been mostly effective. I don't really spend much time on Twitter except to speak to a friend or two, which is not even close to nearly spending the entire day on Twitter like I used to. I don't do much on Facebook except speak to my best friend, whose number I didn't have until almost a week ago. Other than that, I play Tetris and Quiz-Up on my phone. I feel as though I can no longer say that I am on a break from social media. I've simply separated myself from it and I think that's just going to be a thing I'm doing from now on. It's time.
I haven't written at all this month. I keep meaning to and yet, I don't and I'm okay with that. The urge may come back once this month is over and I've distanced myself further from social media, but I'm okay with that too.
I went to my physician at the beginning of the month and was put on medication for high blood pressure. This had been a year in the making, so I wasn't surprised. I am pretty diligent with taking it, but I sleep a lot more than I did. It's a necessary evil, so I decided to work on other things. I've set up a time where I am supposed to get ready for bed. I don't eat as much anymore, but I want to start getting three meals in. My body craves yogurt, potatoes and lettuce, so I try to indulge it. I'm trying to improve on what I have control over. It's not easy and sometimes it's not fun, but I do it because I'm 30 and I want to have a long life ahead of me.
I've let go of the parts of me that I once was. I have started to make an effort to not look back anymore and for the most part, it's working. I'm trying to feel more comfortable in my skin, and that's working for the most part as well. Every once in a while, it feels like I'm surrounded by people who either haven't changed in years or have gone through drastic changes and I'm in between. I'm just ready to turn my back on it all and start fresh. I'm okay with that.
Since the beginning of August, I've been on a break from most of social media just to get away from all the opinions that were overwhelming my opinions, all the thoughts that were overwhelming my thoughts. It's been mostly effective. I don't really spend much time on Twitter except to speak to a friend or two, which is not even close to nearly spending the entire day on Twitter like I used to. I don't do much on Facebook except speak to my best friend, whose number I didn't have until almost a week ago. Other than that, I play Tetris and Quiz-Up on my phone. I feel as though I can no longer say that I am on a break from social media. I've simply separated myself from it and I think that's just going to be a thing I'm doing from now on. It's time.
I haven't written at all this month. I keep meaning to and yet, I don't and I'm okay with that. The urge may come back once this month is over and I've distanced myself further from social media, but I'm okay with that too.
I went to my physician at the beginning of the month and was put on medication for high blood pressure. This had been a year in the making, so I wasn't surprised. I am pretty diligent with taking it, but I sleep a lot more than I did. It's a necessary evil, so I decided to work on other things. I've set up a time where I am supposed to get ready for bed. I don't eat as much anymore, but I want to start getting three meals in. My body craves yogurt, potatoes and lettuce, so I try to indulge it. I'm trying to improve on what I have control over. It's not easy and sometimes it's not fun, but I do it because I'm 30 and I want to have a long life ahead of me.
I've let go of the parts of me that I once was. I have started to make an effort to not look back anymore and for the most part, it's working. I'm trying to feel more comfortable in my skin, and that's working for the most part as well. Every once in a while, it feels like I'm surrounded by people who either haven't changed in years or have gone through drastic changes and I'm in between. I'm just ready to turn my back on it all and start fresh. I'm okay with that.
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The majority of the photos and all of the thoughts on this blog comes from yours truly, so be nice and ask if something interests you. Okay? Okay.