It's safe to say that I, like millions of others, find myself in shock and speechless about yesterday's passing of Michael Jackson. What's crazy is I use to "fear" this day. Meaning, I use to wonder what the WORLD would do in reaction to the news of a Michael Jackson death. I seriously use to wonder about this as a kid.  I suspect that Michael Jackson's funeral (at least memorial service) will be very public and world wide. I wouldn't even be surprised if he received some kind of "state" funeral (or something like it) with accolades galore."

I'm an 80's baby. So I never got to experience "Little Michael" say like someone in my aunt's generation, who use to play her Jackson 5 albums to death; especially the song "ABC." When I came on the scene it was merely on the heels of his "Off the Wall" album and "Thriller" was not long behind. The rest [as they say] is HIStory. Fortunately I grew up in the era of Michael's "glory" days, when he was solidfied and a bonifide pop icon. So I feel rightful in standing in line with millions of others and make the claim I grew up with and on Michael Jackson. Though I never been to a Michael Jackson concert, I have the video footage from documentaries and such on his life that show the crying and overwhelmed fans passing out and being carried out at the shows. It WAS that deep...at least for them.

Obviously, I didn't know Michael personally or any of the Jacksons for that matter, but still my heart has been feeling kind of heavy. This week has caught me off gaurd completely, but it's more than Michael's death and even the deaths of TV personality Ed McMahon who passed earlier this week and actress Farrah Fawcett who passed hours earlier before Michael after a long fight with anal cancer. Maybe what rattled me this week was the unbelievable and indescribable local news (that went national) of the two red line metro transit trains that collided. Dozens were injured and nine people parished; two included a retired general and his wife my father knew from The Gaurd. Maybe what really did it was news of my next door neighbor, who was entering his home and was jumped on by some teens and pistol whipped in an attempted robbery the other night, while I've been in the house alone with my 2 year old for nearly two weeks now.

Nevertheless, in wake of the recent events, I can't help but feel reminded and faced dead on with the reality of immortality. On the day of the train accident, a fellow school-mate of mine (who is in his early 20's) updated his Facebook status to say he was on one of the trains in the accident, but wasn't injured, just in shock. Someone responded to his comment with "it wasn't your time."  Yesterday I thought to how Farah Fawcett was determined to beat her cancer and looked forward to a victory of living cancer free. Her plans took her as far as Germany where she met and had a team of doctors working with her on the latest treaments unknown or unauthorized in The States. Then I thought how Michael Jackson came out this passed March to proclaim his final curtain call will be concluding with a series of concerts given in London scheduled for this coming July. How odd is it that Michael Jackson and the unsuspecting folks in the Metro accident made their own plans - like the 23 year-old mother and owner of a beauty salon leaving work and was on the train in route planning to pick up her kids - but God had another plan....

That seems to be the nature of human beings, always planning and strategizing in an effort to control our life.  Yet something more powerful than us is in control and sadly it always takes something so catastrophic, such as the trifecta of death, to point this out. 

Curious to know other thoughts concerning Michael's death, I did something I haven't done in months. I looked up a former friend's blog as she has been documenting her Christian/spiritual journey. I was curious to know her spin on this and to see another Christian's perspective on the recent nationalized deaths of three celebrities and the nine local, everyday people who were lost in the train wreck (especially, since she rides that exact line and route to and from work).  Nothing posted on current events, but instead I stumbled upont her entry "At a Crossroads," where she breaks down four different roads people take in life.

1. The Yellow Brick Road: where she states the obvious of how people who have "made it" or reached a level of success and think it's all God, but really it's a faux life. Meaning, people who reach this status have all the materialistic gains of such a life, but there is still a void, because God isn't fully (if at all) in their lives.  She qoutes Psalm 14:12 (NIV) - "There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it leads to destruction."

2. The Road to Nowhere: here she breaks down how this describes people who are stuck right at the their crossroads in life. Instead of making a move they sit and spectate and acutally maybe comfortable in during so. She quotes: Leviticus 26: 13-20 (NIV) - "I am the LORD your God, who brought you out of Egypt so that you would no longer be slaves to the Egyptians; I broke the bars of your yoke and enabled you to walk with heads held high.

 'But if you will not listen to me and carry out all these commands, and if you reject my decrees and abhor my laws and fail to carry out all my commands and so violate my covenant, then I will do this to you: I will bring upon you sudden terror, wasting diseases and fever that will destroy your sight and drain away your life. You will plant seed in vain, because your enemies will eat it. I will set my face against you so that you will be defeated by your enemies; those who hate you will rule over you, and you will flee even when no one is pursuing you. "

 'If after all this you will not listen to me, I will punish you for your sins seven times over. I will break down your stubborn pride and make the sky above you like iron and the ground beneath you like bronze. Your strength will be spent in vain, because your soil will not yield its crops, nor will the trees of the land yield their fruit."

3. The Road of Darkness: here she talks about the folks who basically get to their crossroads and walk backwards in their life journey. They may even reject the word of God; the "mentally and spiritually screwed up" as she refers to such individuals. She quotes Romans 1:28 (NIV) - "Furthermore, since they did not think it worthwhile to retain the knowledge of God, he gave them over to a depraved mind, to do what ought not to be done. "

4. The Road to Enternal Life: basically this is the life in which God has you in His care, if you choose Him and this road. Ironically she quoted a verse that I have kept close to me ever since my Aunt VJ preached on it (the whole chapter) during her initial sermon a year ago - also the day after her (step) son's passing. It was such an emotional and bittersweet moment in my life. Deutoronomy 30:19 (NIV) - "I call heaven and earth as witnesses today against you, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing; therefore choose life, that you and your descendants may live."

How surreal this keeps coming up in my life?

Recently I had the opportunity to interview a talented, business savy, indpendently produced singer for an online music publication. My conversation with her felt so reaffirmming and pretty much a testimony to what she has accomplished in her life and continues to do so.What's even more admirable is that she is working with TWO callings on her life, but has been blessed beyond words can imagine to connect the two and make it work; teaching students with special needs AND singing/performing. After my conversation with her and eventually writing up the article I found myself wishing to be something like her.. so confident and walking with that stride of I-may-look-as-if-I'm-in control-but-God-has-it.. totally. It was the same confidence I saw oozing from Ledisi a couple of weeks ago at the Carter Barron, when she proclaimed that she was "taking you to church in the juke joint." And she did... really. Granted I don't know these singers on a personal level, so I don't know all their struggles and dealings, but it's not hard to see when someone is oozing with that I-got-God confidence and REALLY have it.. I mean REALLY... you can FEEL IT!

I went back to a year ago to that March when Aunt VJ preached her sermon. This is what I had to say then:

Aunt VJ preached from the perspective of how folks can be the walking dead - living a life under the wrong spirit and allowing unnecessary suffering to enter. Choosing God allows life and light to come into your life and bring an unfounded peace. Life is different when you have divine peace.  For me, her message actually coincided with my pastor's message from today - about unlikely candidates of being used/blessed by God.  Earlier in the day I attended my own church and was hit with a reaffirming message that my life does have a purpose. Also, that pain is a part of life and the blessing in pain or hitting a deeper low is being built up. He used the analogy of tall buildings having a deeper foundation in order for it to be supported properly and able to withstand the strength it is built upon.

I would like the think the recent pains happening in my life - from dropping a friend, my grandmother's battle with depression and pre-dementia, becoming restless with this last stage of school, trying to remain sane and patient as a mother and a few other things - that a breaking point and a blessing is near, depending on me of course...if I choose to lean and stay with God. Why else would 2007 be the calm before the storm; even sending me WARNINGS via dreams about swimming and such. Then BAM! the latter part of 2008 and on into 2009 I'm right in the thick of things, shedding more skin, exposing all of me.. the good, bad and sometimes maybe the ugly. Cleansing. Swimming.

What's ironic is that part of the pain was loosing a connection to my former friend; so much so to the point where she stopped really caring and understanding because all she saw was "darkness" in me and I couldn't hack her sometimes true, but sometimes very off the mark observations about me. I think she wasn't ready, because she's never seen the worse of me, but I actually saw it coming. So I removed myself in hopes that it will give us a chance to both grow with God, but not together as a way of not to hinder since we're moving at a different pace. God is working on us differently.

I'm saying all of this to say that again my life has been jarred, but to the point where I don't want all that I do to be for the wrong reasons or even in vain. Going back to school, when I did, was RIGHT ON TIME. However, at the start of last semester I use to think it was the right time because it was my time (my plan of action), but as the semester moved forward I began to see it was the right time because it was God's time. I realized I wasn't ready to deal with the journalism/communications industry fully or to the point where I thought I was. The climate of the industry has changed dramatically with new media reporting coming in at a fast pace and being an all-in-one journalist is in high demand. It is only now that I'm finding out what I'm really made of and if this is one of the blessings or callings that God has for me or was this something that I planned on my life.  Strangely, or maybe not so strange, moments ago I just received a phone call about participating in a project for next year to help set up a press conference. The grant and proposal was being written up as I spoke to the person working on the team. A bit nervous, but with excitement I said yes.

What's funny is that as much as I can't stand anyone with control issues, I have them too. I don't control others, but I try so damn hard to control my life. Honestly I should know better, especially given a few life events that I have been able to testify about where it wasn't me... it was God. This I know for sure.

Still, it's like the old saying "man makes plans and God laughs."

As for what I "wish" I had in regards to that confidence I witnessed a few days ago....

Ironic I stumbled about another proverb. I was digging in my laptop bag when I came across a slip of paper. It was a proverb another friend of mine would have at the bottom of his email as a signature. I liked it to much that I printed it out, cut the paper down to the quote and taped on my comuter at work when I was in the federal government.

It says, "Being happy doesn't mean everything's perfect; it just means you've decided to see beyond the imperfections"

Though I love this proverb and its message I would like to think God's plan is bit more than that. That his ultimate goal is that being happy has to do with Him and with him, everything is perfect because He is with us.. He resides within us. I believe this is confidence is in me, but has been dormant for a while, probably cause I choose to by letting life get to me instead of seeking and leaning on God - continuously.

My crossroad(s) are filled with the four points as outline by my former friend. Unfortunately I've traveled down two of the roads mentioned; The yellow brick road and the road to nowhere. I don't believe I've been down the road of darkness. Granted I've had my bouts with depression, but I've always sought God but what probably didn't help were the times when I added my on imput, my control of the situation. The road to enternal life.... I stare at it and have I really started walking on it? What's funny is as I think about it.. I also think back to one of my new favorite cable shows... Nurse Jackie.

In the opening episode, Jackie is going on via monologue about how nurses are seen as saints and throwing in a little philosophy and theology behind it - especially when people know the difference between right and wrong. One line jumped out at me as Jackie basically rationalizations she knows what's right, but may opt to do the wrong thing in the name of morals. Then she concludes with "don't make me right just yet God." The whole monologue was kind of deep. Granted the show is fictional, whose main character is addicted to pain killers and having an affair, but what's weird is that I sometimes feel like that. As if I know what's right, but for whatever reason I fear I sometimes find myself saying something along those lines... "don't make me right just yet God." As if God is suppose to wait on me and work on my time and schedule. Again, control. 

I believe this is what 2009 has been about for me. Recognizing my control issues (among other things) and eventually letting it go. What's the biggest thing I need to let go and relenquish control of? My pride.

Pride is such a hard thing to let go, especially when you used it to survive (your way) for a very long time. I could probably write a book about how my pride has helped, hindered and hurt me and those around me. It's an old friend that seems to be in permanent residence, perhaps hindering me from walking that enternal life road.

Nevertheless... I'm working on it...

I've been keeping this close to me since I incorporated into something I wrote a year ago. I believe it's my favorite. My reminder of my constant and ever evolving being.

“Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. All of us who are mature should take such a view of things. And if on some point you think differently, that too God will make clear to you." -  Philippians 3:12 -15 NIV

The more I write on these virtual walls the more I feel as if I have out grown the space. Writing a blog nowadays pretty much feels like a chore. I don't EVER want to feel that like any kind of writing is a chore. So what to do now?

I'll figure it out.

Lately there is much to tell and nothing to tell. The much to tell is pretty much of the same thing.... along the lines of growing, figuring out some things in life in regards to ultimately what do I seek in a relationship and of course the highs ans lows (whatever kind of day it is) with my grandmother's pre-dementia state. Probably why I don't feel like writing none of this is because it feels like beating a dead horse.

The nothing to tell are just little odds and quirks of the day that I either chalk up to be not worth giving a full entry about and do a blip via Twitter or just fleeting thoughts that disappear as quickly as they came.

Last night I had a wonderful time with Papi. We've come to the conclusion there is never a dull moment when we're together. We were stuck in Gay Pride traffic for a bit while heading to a show at the Carter Barron. We made it to the show only to see Kenny Lattimore girate across the stage and more. The dude can sing his ass off though. Then my girl Ledisi hit the stage. Highlight - seeing her strut on stage in RED STILETTOS! (I want her shoes!!) It was my first time seeing Ledisi live and she didn't disappoint. She is a beautiful soul and an excellent performer. I love how she pretty much said she was "having church in the juke joint." Pretty much.... we did.

Naturally after the show Papi and I went out to eat and talked about any and everything; even discussing something as random as "do strobe lights really make things sexier?"  (Janet Jackson fans know what that is about)

Later today I'm heading to Cousin T's "graduation soiree" at her place. I have no clue what I'm wearing.

In regards to summer, my favorite season that I practically live for, I feel "flat" or as if I am coasting along. Normally I don't mind the coasting or content feeling. This time, I can't hack it. I'm tired of it. It's time to break out and do something drastic. Not bad drastic... something good.  

What will it be....

My well has become dry and I'm in need of a monsoon. Figertively and not literally. However, it has been raining off and on, non-stop literally as if DC has become the new Seattle. However, what I'm really talking about is my writing. I have these urgest to write, mostly in my blog, and few other times just creatively, but what can I say?

I have become a slave to my distractions.

Actually, what I eventually want to say on these virtual pages comes and goes. I'll start, but don't finish, or it's basically a fleeting thought. Though I love my Vox blog, I've grown uncomfortable within its space. Been this way for a long while.

I've been spending time trying to work on my "dot.com blog/site," but me doing a lot of the technical stuff the "self taught" way is a challenge and a bit frustrating, especially when you realize that the server you are trying to connect to can't communicate cause your system is delivering a non-workable IP Address.

I did manage to do some creative stuff. I recently submitted a short story for another anthology inclusion. To be exact, it was two shoter stories I wrote a few years ago. I basically morphed it into one story by deleting some things, editing a few lines and adding a bit more substance to link the two stories.

Journalistically I'm working on two things. One is an article on a underrated soul singer for an online music publication. The other for the news wire service with the topic of AIDS. Luckily there is no real deadline with this, as it has been a challenge to follow up with my sources. Still, I want to have this done as soon as possible, in a timely manner.

I was once told that it is a sad day when I decide to put down the pen. Well.. it's not that I put the pen down. My heart is in it, but my head.......

Today I received an interesting surprise.

Upon logging onto Twitter, one of my follows posted a link to the online magazine Clutch. The article talks about turning 30, from a woman's point of view. I found it to be fitting or right on time for me this morning. Since Howard's graduation on Mother's Day weekend, I've been feeling a bit weird. Aside from what has been going with my grandmother, I have also had time to think about graduation and how pratically I'm at the point where I can say "This is it!."

Granted I'm not really a graduate just yet. I still have one more semester to go. However, this year I avoided graduation again, but saw the aftermath in lew of pictures online from classmates.

(side note: I did learn that my name was called during a graduation exercise for the school of communications. However, it is believed that was a mix up and really another person with my name that was called but spelled differently)

In the past, graduations have always brought feelings of depression. I felt like I had failed, simply because I let another year go by without finishing my undergrad. Actually the year that Oprah spoke (2006?) was the first time I didn't avoid graduation since attending the school. Her message spoke volumns (as if she should be a minister) as she talked about being motivated and staying motivated in doing what God has called you to do. Basically.. act on your calling, don't just sit on it. 

I didn't feel depressed this year. The end of the semester felt bittersweet. I felt sad because I actually was going to miss the bonds I created in such a short time over the semester. Granted this class is younger than me, but when we all worked together and shared that same passion for journalism I truly felt at home.. at peace. So as I looked at their pictures as they were dressed in smiles and in their cap and gown I got to wondering about my own fate... destiny... my life.

So in a matter of months I will be 30. One of the things I'm most anxious about is finally finishing something that I set out to do many moons ago; school. By my advisor's calculations I can either finish in December and walk in May with the class of 2010, for finish completely (internship and all) by May and be a 2010 graduate. Either way, by or AT 30 I will be done with undergrad.  I try my best not to look back on the "what ifs," but that's a hard thing to do. I can sit here and say I was suppose to be this, this and that by 30, but I honestly believe there is a reason or a hidden agenda behind me being 29, a single mom, still in school and even still living at home with my parents for right now.

I love how the Clutch article was written, because it seems that it was me; a female struggling to gain her peice of the "pie" while living out her dreams and God's plan for her. As in her article she mentions that she isn't going to act as if she is all "zen-like-at-peace" with her struggles, but she understands that there is a reason for it and that 30, is the time to tighten up, take hold, walk through and deal. No excuses. 

Funny thing is, I use to feel like I'm such ahead of my time, especially age wise, but I think it has finally caught up with me.

I am 29 going on 30.

Yet I'm still wondering what's next for me.

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Via Clutch Magazine.....

30 Rocks?

So much as taken place since I last wrote within these virtual pages. So much so, that I think it would be unfair to my brain to even formulate a "real" blog entry for the fear of leaving a detail or two out because my mind is racing faster than my fingertips can dance across my laptop keyboard.

Instead it's bullets.

• Talks of my grandmother going into a nursing home/rehab facility became a reality nearly two weeks ago. The stay was only suppose to be temporary; until she was able to build her strength back up by eating or her insurance paying in full up to 20 days - which ever of these came first. However, my grandmother didn't allow any of them to happen. A slightly scary situation arose this past Wednesday, only a little over a week since she had been at the facility. During my visit with her that afternoon, she complained about being in pain and she barely talked above a whisper. After conferring with her nurse and even talking to my mother over the phone I learned that during my mother's visit earlier in the day she met with my grandmother's doctor. They discussed my grandmother's alledged pain, since it seemed she was having pain on different days and in different places. The doc diagnoised my grandmother with having pre-dementia.

• Oddly enough when I first heard the word I ignored it. Then it angered me as I heard the nurse and the EMT folks go back and forth using the word "Dementia" as if it were full blown as they hovered over my grandmother assessing her and trying to decide if she really needed to go the hospital. Eventually she was taken to a nearby hosptial, where I stayed until my mother got there. Later we learned she had a bladder infection, so it could very well be that my grandmother was not imagining her pain. Later that evening I did look up pre-dementia and even looked up Alzheimers. I didn't get very far because a lot of what I found was a bunch of medical jargon. I did understand the main point. With pre-dementia there is a shortage in the brain where short term and long term memory goes in an out. It is known to be a precurser for full on Alzheimers and it's not curable, but the meical realm is looking into different treatments; from brain exercises to drugs.

• I thought back to Mother's Day and how we all were at my grandmother's side. I was to her immediate left and she down at my middle finger on my left hand. It is there that I wear a 14 karat gold ring (the only gold I wear) carrying my birthstone; amethyst, and two small diamonds on the side of the stone. She looked at the ring and reminded me that we got that ring out of JC Penny's a long time ago. It kind of stumped me because she was mumblin a bit, but mentioning how she bought the ring for me one day after school. Honestly I don't remember much about the day. I don't even remember exactly how old I was. What's fresh in my mind is my blue uniform from elementary/jr. high school. I'm guessing I was in the sixth grade cause I almost remember what I looked like the day she bought the ring. I remember what that particular jewelry department at that JC Penny's looked like at the time. No sooner had she talked about the ring, my grandmother was trying to recall something else before she eventually said "my memory isn't worth two scents these days."

• Everyone has been dealing with my grandmother's health in their own way. My aunt is amazingly helping out more, especially in regards to looking after my grandmother's husband, who really hasn't fully recovered from his stroke nearly three years ago. My mother of course is in superwoman mode. So much so that when it's too much I can tell, it's all over her face and it showed today as she caught an attitude with me for not cooking dinner today. I've been helping, I've cooked, I've been trying to do my part and little extra, but the day I stopped (such as today) to gather my own thoughts of course it is seen as selfish.  Now I feel like shit cause of the attitudes flying in the air.

• I'm confused about everything right now. I'm not sure how I'm feeling. As I looked up pre-dementia I couldn't help but wonder if my grandmother drove her self to this state. Ironically, everything checks out excellent with her healthwise, but her mind..... I thought about those religous cliches and kind of chuckled at the cliche images of sister prayer circles armed with Bibles and standing over my grandmother being prayer warriors and casting out demons and such through prayer - think the near ending of Beloved when those church sistas came and prayed over Setha's house. My chuckles faded as I thought about it some more. Our old pastor did come and say a word and had prayer with my grandmother, mother and myself during her initial stay at the hospital. Still was it enough? Is it enough to think of a silent prayer in the middle of the day or in mid thought as I write? Granted in the stats I read, millions of Americans are living with pre-dementia, but why do I feel like my grandmother doesn't have to? Maybe something is going on. Perhaps something bigger than me and it's gonna take something stronger than what I can give (or maybe subconsciously willing to give) to eliminate it.

• I noticed that I haven't beem eating much myself. I lost a pound or two. I'm not stressed. My appetite just isn't here. A few bites and my stomach is tied in knots.  My grandmother's health is taking a toll on me. My appetite only goes M.I.A when something is wrong.

It's going on 4 a.m. I'll finishing my thoughts later.

The so-called "senior-itis" decided to hit me this week. This week of all weeks where classes are ending on Thursday and I have a mountain of things to complete. Well not exactly a mountain, but enough to have me feeling coo-coo. Or perhaps nothing at all. Maybe my resistance to being overwhelmed has taken over. So much so that I practically don't want to do anything right now.

I have news articles to complete, but that's no biggie. My biggest "worry" has been with my Black Aesthetics class. Thankfully the research paper was knocked down to just a proposal. Cool beans right? Even cooler, the due date for it is the official end to the semester, May 6, in which grades for non-graduating folks have to be turned in. This Thursday two 7-10 page book reviews have to be completed for the same class. This is where my concentration is nonexistent.

It's not that I didn't read the books to do the review and answer the questions within the format. The problem is these books are heavily philosophical in attempting to understand African rationality on life through art and cultural practices. So to me the books were filled with over stuffed rhetoric to make one simple point, which means I'm combing through the language to find the central point/answer to the questions being asked.  My original goal was to have the two reviews completed by the end of the weekend. I attempted to start, even as far as today. I actually did start, but I couldn't stay focused.

I woke up this morning taking my time to get on campus. By the end of the day I was a bit freaked out because those damn book reviews still aren't complete. I figured once I have these reviews done, everything else is smooth sailing (cause it pretty much is). Still my mind wants to focus on the interview I'm conducting tomorrow at the Capitol, following up on internship potentials, possibly going to Baltimore on Saturday to see Kel and of course the family room furniture that is being delivered tomorrow so that means clearing out more space in the midst of the (minor) construction junk left behind.

Here it is 1:13 am.

I stopped my work to chit chat on my instant messenger and even pop a spice cake in the oven. As I was mixing the cake batter I said to myself....

"I'll ask for an extension. I have too much going on. The home renovations (what's left of it), the back to back news coverage I'm handling lately and plus the editing for the website. Dr. C will understand. I can turn in the reviews along with the proposal on the 6th."

And so this is what I have resigned my thinking to.

What a load off.

What's interesting...

A young lady sent me an email yesterday. She was suppose to have turned in her article by the deadline I had set, but missed it. Her email explained her missed deadline as she went into detail about how she suffered an anxiety attack and under a doctor's care, placed on bedrest. She further went into story ideas for the next issue and promising to submit a story ASAP. 

She could have been faking, but I doubt it. Her email didn't drip of lies. Feeling compelled my response to her was...

Hello "Student,"
 
First and foremost.. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE.. take care of yourself. Trust me, I've been there (anxiety attacks) a few times. It's probably nothing more than feeling overwhelmed. Please if you ever feel overwhelmed.. take a a break even if it is for a day or two to do absolutely nothing. Just anything to get your mind together and mentally back on track. It's hard.. believe me I know.. but it's truly a must do.
 
Second.. the last budget meeting for "news website" was last Tuesday. Being that this is the last working week of the semester I think whatever is due for today is it. Did you need to fulfill a story requirement for one of your classes? If so, you may have to speak to your professor, Professor "L" (who helps run "news website") or see "Department Chair."
 
Please let me know if there is anything I can do.

Yanno... mental health issues concerning black women, especially college age black women, are really near and dear to me. I really need to get on the ball and move forward with my quasi-proposed documentary. It's needed.

As for the young lady, she thanked me for my advice.

As for myself.. I'm taking it.

Hence the extension I need to ask for.  

So I've not long finished watching tonight's episode of The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency. Each week the show seems to get better and better. However, tonight's was pretty deep and a bit of a tear jerker as Jill Scott's character investigated the disappearance and possible death of an American volunteer worker and hints of a discussion about HIV/AIDS was obvious towards the end.

Aside from the case itself and the brief mention of "The Sickness" (I'm guessing the name called for HIV/AIDS in Bostwana) a particular scene had my radar going. At some point Jill Scott's character is talking with her friend (who happens to be romantically interested in her) about the case. In particular she mentions how she felt a wind and that it spoke. One what struck me, but really shouldn't have surprised me too much, was how they discussed the wind talking as if it were no big there. Try that here in the states and the average person may call the other "crazy." But it's stuff like this that I love. It actually reminded me of a class I had semesters ago with author E.R. Braithwaite (To Sir With Love) He would get on us for not really trusting ourselves with our writing and would often call upon the class to be in tune with there senses. Then he would go off on a tangent about how our ancestors would talk to trees and they would talk right back.

Well back to Jill and her friend...

So as Jill is telling her friend about what the wind spoke on and what everything meant, her friend was advising her on not to tell the mother of the American who is missing. In a nutshell he broke down a difference between Americans and Africans (at least in relation to those in Bostwana) in regards to listening to the wind. I can't recall the exact quote, but basically he talked on how we Americans are clever and how we use science to move about the world. However when it comes to things of the spirit, we don't listen to and for things like the wind. When nature or the environment is trying to tell us something we simply it ignore it, especially when it's right under our nose.

I couldn't help but chuckle cause it's pretty much true. 

This morning I was reading the front page story of the Washington Post on the case of a shooting death of a 14 year-old. The incident took place in 2007, but there was so much controversy surrounding the case because the boy was shot in the head by an off duty police officer that accused the him of stealing a mini motor bike.

Though the case is pretty much closed and a federal grand jury as ordered a secrecy restriction on the case, today's article examines a few facts that proved there were missteps or inappropriate actions taken on the part of the police department. There are still a few unanswered questions, especially one asking was the (said) boy the one involved in the robbery all along or at least the same boy that fired first at the police officer when first approached?

From the start my question has always been, what gave the police officer the right to go on this vigilanty justice hunt after finding out the property was stolen from his home? Why didn't he just stay home call his fellow dept. and report a crime instead of hoping in his SUV to go looking for trouble?

Yet I digress...

As I read through the article and took in every detail I kept saying to myself "If only the dead could talk. Only the 14 year old lying in the ground now knows."

But as I watched tonight's show and listened to the discussion about the wind...

Whose to say that the boy hasn't been speaking all along? Perhaps the truth is right under everyone's nose, but we are ignoring it.

So what is it about sitting on the stoop or in front of your house on a gorgeous spring and summer day? My mother thinks it's ghetto. Maybe in a way it is, especially in relation to my block. Though I live in the city, with the exception of the public housing complex down the street from me and a corner store here and maybe there, my neighborhood is very residential. Lawns, yards, parks, trees, houses, mini mansions, cherry blossoms, semi-detached homes and ajoining homes. Even though this part of DC holds its own affluent residents and special appeal there are still traces of real city life; i.e. people sitting on their stoops - porch or not.

A few years ago a single mom and her three young children lived across the street from us. The children would spend all their time in front of the house, despite the fact that they had a nice size backyard. Other than the occassional climbing the neighbor's tree, the children pretty much stayed on their own front, but it did baffle me for a while why they didn't play in the backyard. Especially as they displayed the typical "urban" picture of braiding each other's hair on the front steps.  

Growing up, me and the neighbors my age pretty much played all throughout our yards. However, there was Mikey and his crew that would run their skateboards up and down our block and rode them clear right on to the Ridge Road Rec Center on a good day. A smile actually graces my face when I think about those days. One of Mikey's friends still comes around. Grown of course. Comes back to see his grandparents and mother that still live on this block. One day we had the opportunity to speak - on the account he had received some of our mail by mistake. Took him a minute for him to remember who I was - some little "bratty" kid in Osh Gosh that use to watch them skateboard and taunt them, hoping they would fall over. Still, we did more than just play on our fronts.

Oddly enough, today as I took the Snickerdoodle outside to play, I didn't want to head to the back of the house to sit on the newly built deck.The deck is nice, but..... not my element. At least not today.  I wanted to be on the front.  As I watched over the Snickerdoodle as she ran around in the yard and rode her tricycle it hit me why the front is so appealing.

Community interaction.

Neighbors working in their yards stoping to have a chit chat. Teenage kids walking up from Simple City or the bus stop down the street, cutting through our streets to head home or to the "rec." Interesting to overhear their "gift of gab." Neighbors from a block over driving, take a second to blow their horn, wave and wish you a good day.

Then there is the true tell-tale sign that warm days are here and the promise of more are to come.........

The thunder of the bikes and ATVs.

Though those dudes and chics mostly profile as they ride up and down the street for hours, it's part of the interaction. Spring (and summer) would be so lost without it.

I missed these warm days....

It's these days I savor the most cause they don't last. They never do.

Today was the day. To face the school's journalism department and a couple of outside guests. To discuss my journalism "career" since being in school.. or in my case... since my time in AND out of school. Silly and bit brave of me to volunteer myself first a few days before today's presentations. The pressure was on leading up to the moment. However, once I stood up and began talking I was on autopilot. 

"Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as sons. For what son is not disciplined by his father?" (Hebrews 12:7)

My first lesson in the word "hate" occured when I was around 5 years old. I was in kindergarten and it took place on a weekday morning as my mother was prepping me for school. I was watching morning cartoons of Tom Sawyer and the Little Women. Fraggle Rock had just went off for the morning. My mother was in a rush. Not only did she have to take me to school but had to drive herself to work after. We were already running behind.  Her brushing and combing my hair was a bit harsh. Then on top of that, I just flat out didn't like the particular stye she was combing it in her haste. 

Not knowing any better and because I didn't know how to express that I didn't like the hairstyle, I calmly announced,"I hate you."  In disbelief my mother asked me what did I say. She wanted me to repeat it to be sure she heard correctly. I told her again "I hate you." She took the wooden brush and smacked me across the lips. My bottom lip had busted and bled...just a little. She fussed at me and in so many harsh words told me I'm never to say that to her. EVER.

I thought about that yesterday. I wondered if my careless words then are factors to how she sees me today, yesterday... for much of my life thus far. That I really hate her when the truth is I don't.

I also thought about them...two males. One who broke my virginity at 13 and the other who I continued to see for a while shortly after my virginity was gone, until I got caugh. From the time I got caught, I've been telling my family and myself that I wasn't rebelling against them. Me having sex had nothing to do with them. It was about feeding my own curious nature. Yet, as I sat still for a moment yesterday I thought about it a bit deeper. Normally (responsible?) folks remember their first(s). What they look like especially. I don't remember anything physical about those two guys. Just where they lived and how it was always nighttime and dark when I "saw" them.

Maybe I was crying on the inside then, and didn't know it. Didn't see it coming until my 20's.

Good Friday is suppose to be a day of observance and reflection of Jesus' crucifixtion. Probably from many Christian aspects a day of jubilation and thanksgiving for the fact that Jesus died for our sins. I grew up with the tradition that you aren't suppose to eat meat on Good Friday. Friday I bucked the tradition by eating a piece of sausage with my eggs that morning. Honestly there really isn't written rule of abstaining from meat outside of Catholism. I'm Baptist. So I didn't feel as if I was going to be doomed for hell.

Still I FELT my mother's glare as I went about my business in the kitchen. Yet she said nothing. We spoke nothing to each other. It was the morning after... after a very intense fight. Good Friday is suppose to be a day of observance and reflection indeed. Yet I feel something and nothing all at once. Good Friday was just another Friday for a mother and daughter who were licking their wounds.

Thursday night the shit really hit the fan. Our argument started about nothing but turned into something deep. Way deep. Ironically my mother had returned from a holy week service from church when our argument began. Yet she looked at me as if I were the devil and cursing me saying things like "you're an ass" and "I will fuck you up." It escalated and got deeper. The lump in my throat I had been suppressing for days erupted. I cried. I shook. I cursed. Tried to reason with her. She wasn't listening. Claimed I didn't know how she really felt.  In an emotional state I asked her to talk to me. All I got were threats of getting stabbed and getting fucked up and that I won't talk to her an any kind of way cause she is the mother. At one point she threatened me and got in my face while I held the Snickerdoodle, who had awaken from her sleep due to our loudness.  Then silence. She wouldn't talk.

My father bared witnesses. Tried to give his point of view. My mother wasn't buying it. In her sight it was two against one. No way was her way. She wanted to retreat. 

The night was just crazy. I got the silent treatment, cursed out and threatened. I'm use to that, especially being called everything in the book. My favorites "Bitch in heat" "ungrateful bitch" "disrespectful," etc. Yet, nothing prepared me for the ultimate blow. Something that I still can't wrap my mind around.

My mother abruptly gets up from her chair to leave the room. I go to her for an embrace. I wanted a hug from my mother. An honest to God hug. Something that I can count on one hand how many times that we've done, along with saying I love you. It's partly the reason why I'm fucked up emotionally. I go for my embrace and she tells me to get off her and pushes me away. I grab tighter in an effort to hug her, crying and yelling for her to love me. She pulled off my scarf and at my hair in an effort to get me off her. My instinctive reaction, I grabbed her hair and pulled at it as hard as she was pulling at mine. For a moment I wanted her to hurt as much as I was hurting. Then I loosened the grip. When I saw she was falling backwards from her efforts of trying to back away from me I let her go. Later on I learned through my father she accused me of pushing her. My father told her that I didn't push her and what I was simply trying to do, but she backed away.

I couldn't handle her backing away from me. Because to me that sends a red flag. Something is seriously wrong. A mother won't return a daughter's hug? Won't listen to her cries? Pulls at her hair? Threatens her in front of her grandchild?

Thank God for my father. Actually between him and my aunt , they really helped me to put things into perspective and for the first time EVER I clearly see who I am and why I am the way I am.

1. I understand why judgemental people turn me off. I have witnessed and experienced enough of it from my mother, which has made it so difficult for me to communicate with her. I've been saying, since her mild stroke in 2005 I've been slowly.. very slowly opening up more to my mother. I've even told her how I always felt like I could never talk to her because of the whole dynamic of mother vs daughter. What mother says trumps everything. Granted some things are told for a daughter's own good, especially when the daughter has really messed up, but not all the time. Sometimes a daughter just wants her mother to listen and lend emotional support without judgements. Thursday night felt like such a set back. Now I just want to shut up for life and leave her out of it. I'm almost 30 years old and my mother talks at me and not to me.  It makes me feel like shit sometimes... as if I were back to being 15 years old. There are so many things I would love to talk to my mother about. I would have loved to talk to her about my so-called relationship to the Snickerdoodle's father. My feelings for Papi. I would like to tell her how though now I'm a bit more open to the idea, I'm very jaded about marriage, because I don't want to settle on anyone just as I have a feeling she settled for my father. I would like to talk to her about how I feel about being a mother. I would have loved to talk with her during my pregnancy, a time when I really felt alone emotionally. But I can't, cause we don't have that free and open line to talk.

Obviously this is a huge growing pain. IT will always be this way as long as I continue to live under "her" roof. This is her her domain.  I'm growing into my own as a woman, under my parents roof. It's hard for me to move out right now, because I don't have the financial means. Granted I work hard at doing for myself financially, but it's been a struggle, especially when I left school. Now that I'm back in school, of course my goal is to get my own and move. As much as I would like to contribute to household finances, at this time I can't. So, this house is not mine. This space is not mine.  I'm realizing more and more, my mother is someone I have to love at a distance.

2. The control freak or authoritive nature within my mother is both her blessing and curse. It's her blessing because she is a true leader. This is one of the things I LOVE about my mother. It is because of this, her gift of being a teacher, a school administrator and even a mentor to some of her younger colleagues, she is shown much respect in the school system. I'm always in awe when a former student sees her a mile away. The run up to her as if she is a celebrity and though she may not remember some of the older ones, they haven't forgotten about her. They seem to thank her for what she did for them.  Being in the classroom is a gift and my mother has it.

Yet as much as I love this about my mother, I hate it. Whenever she hit the door coming home, the control freak went into overdrive, and has become real apparent since she has been retired. A lot of times my mother really does mean well, but it comes off as very authoritative. It's a turn off. Talking at family and not to the family.  My mother cannot see this, but clearly everyone around her can. It doesn't mean we don't love her any more or any less, we accept who she is, but sometimes.. a lot of times...we just wish she just let us be.

Being "in control" is partly... okay a real reason why my mother took ill the way she did. stroke, high blood pressure, possible heart attack, diabetes. She was so "in control" she lost control of her health. She got that message as in regards to her worklife, that she was taking care of too many kids at once and sometimes adults, especially if she was a vice principal to an incompetant principal. She immediately filed her retirement papers during her recovery stage.

Unfortunately, retirement may not be so kind to her in retards to family, mainly in dealing with my grandmother's depression, and trying to pick up some of the slack my aunt leaves in regards to caring for my little cousin. Oh and the immediate home life, especially since I've had the Snickerdoodle and during these renovations. I try my hardest to sympthatize with my mother, but it's hard because I'm still focused on my continuing transition and growth. I'm trying to keep myself in check from slipping back into depression and back to having another breakdown, that I can't carry my mother's burden. Then again, it's not my job to carry her burden, just like it shouldn't be her job to carry the burdens of others. Still, being the natural leader she is and falling into the common trap that many women fall into of being Superwoman she carries a shit load of things.

Unfortunately, I have a feeling my mother is carrying a heavier load that not only includes present day issues, but something from the past as well. I don't know how far back, but I have a feeling it goes back to her relationship with my grandmother. 

3. The emotional absence is clear and this is what hit home Thursday night. I have realized for a while that affection has been missing from our mother/daughter equation. But what seemed conflicting was, while I was craving that affection and eventually sought other avenues for it, I dished the opposite with certain people. Prime example; my friendship with LAF. For the longest time her biggest complaint was that I was emotionless when certain situations would arise. At the time I would think the issue was too petty to even entertain, but obviously it was something that she would feel very passionate about. Now I realize that I get this from my mother. I've lived with her for so long and know her ways for so long that I've assimilated to them without really knowing it.

After our physical tussle, I asked (yelled and cried to) my mother did she want me. Did she love me? For a moment she didn't answer. Then she said "if you can't see the love I have for you then that's on you." Immediately I thought I may see it but I don't FEEL it. This is one of the reasons why I literally HATE when people say I'm spoiled. I'm really not. Granted my mother has bought me things I need(ed) and some things I wanted or didn't want, even gone as far as renovating the house for the benefit of my daughter.  But it's all marterialistic. So it really means nothing to me. Even if it was bought and given to me with love.. it doesn't mean a thing because it doesn't last. Love (is suppose to) lasts. The feeling of love is suppose to last and feeling loved by my mother is something that I can't honestly say I feel 100% and beyond.

I was taken aback when my father and I had our talk. He mentioned that he has rarely heard the words I love you from my mother. I don't know why it shocked me to hear him say that, but that's where I draw the line. That's something between them.. their marriage.  However, I also knew that emotional absence is within my grandmother too. Years ago I found a letter my aunt had written to my grandmother. It was expressed all through that letter that my aunt was looking for some kind of emotional support or affection from my grandmother.

I hear and discover fragments of the past. My mother's alleged turbulant relationship with my grandmother as she grew up. Grandmother and aunt getting into arguments all the time because of my aunt's drug use. The irony of a mother's distaste for their daughter and vice versa but the grandchild becomes the object of affection for the grandmother and not the immediate daughter. There is a posionous spirit that exists before I came to be. I see it now. The vicious cycle. Of course anytime my mother feels I've distrepected her, she'll throw out the warning "Your daughter is going to do and be the same way."

So many times I've wanted to retort back "She will not, because she won't have reason to. She will be able to talk to me and when she is older I won't talk down to her like she still 10. I'll talk with and to her that's respectable for her age."

Long before any kind of hints of the Snickerdoodle, I had vowed to myself that if blessed with a daughter I wouldn't have this constant push and pull common in a lot of mother/daughter relationships. I would always make her feel as if she could come and talk to me about any and everything, even if it is just to listen and not add my own judgements or opinions about the matter. Granted the Snickerdoodle is only two, but I started. First my journal to her that I (partially) kept during her first year. Second, during our time alone I talk, read, hug her, kiss her and tell her I love her. I promised to do this as often as I can because I want her to FEEL it.

I be damned if this vicious cycle continues.

(tears)

My father said something that almost made me sob on the spot. It was almost as if he tapped into my thinking.. of how the renovations to the house is something bigger than just a vanity upgrade. Throughout my entries on the construction I've been comparing it to my personal growth as a person and even spiritually in some ways. Then my father hit me with this Friday night...

"Pop White (my grandmother's 3rd husband and the man that I called and knew as my grandfather as I grew up) told me one day to pay attention to the Ma's kitchen and my wife's kitchen. You'll find the same exact things in the kitchen. He was right. They are both the same women in a lot of aspects. And by this kitchen looking like it does now (he points around to our renovated kitchen that is twice big as before) this throws everything off balance. Your grandmother is miserable right now and because she is miserable she's trying to make everyone around her miserable."

I shook my head to shake away the tears. Who knew that a house under construction could bring on so many revelations. I hadn't felt this heavy since the back wall to the (old part of the) house came down late summer and my epiphany in November/December when I realize how my growth and transition in life was moving parrallel to the construction.

My father had mentioned that what he witnessed reminded him of what he went through with his mother and it also reminded him of his baby sister Aunt J (my aunt in Seattle) and what she went through with their mother. It's interesting he mentioned Aunt J, because I do feel connected to her on some levels outside of just being family, especially during my time in Seattle with her. She helped me make sense of a dream I had just before I left home to visit her. A dream in which it was clearly saying how my mother and I are not connecting.

Saturday came and still no words spoken between my mother and I. My heart was heavy and I tried to ignore it. It backfired. Saturday evening I went to interview a woman in the local arts community. For two hours I fired away questions and listened to her views and philosphy. No sooner had I concluded our interview, she turned the tables on me without warning. I don't remember how she worded it, but she asked me did I believe in a cycle, a gift for art cycle. I started by giving her a BS answer, knowing full well what she was asking... being that she is a third generational artist herself.  

Somewhere in the middle ofmy BS answer I gave her a brief run down of my grandparents on my father's side; about how my grandfather was a teacher by day but he moonlighted as a playright putting on plays locally and my grandmother was a violinist, pianist and sang opera. She would perform in my grandfather's plays. I couldn't hold in my sobs anymore. I began to shake and I balled.

She let me cry in her presence. She smiled and told me it was ok.

"I told someone after I met you the first time that you were different. You are an old soul. You have a real calling on your life. You inherited it from your grandfather. You aren't here by accident. You are here to tell your story so others can learn," she told me as she handed me a tissue.

Just the night before my father told me to keep writing, but more importantly I should write about my life as I grow, because someone needs to hear it. Like the lady I interviewed, my father has no idea that the manuscript I've been working on has been loosely base on my life. I've been lying to myself in saying that the reason why I have not completed it is because I haven't found a suitable ending. Truth of the matter is much of the focus is on my relationship with my mother. I've been at odds on what to expose. What will show my mother is both positive and negative lights. What is more humanistic and believable or realistic though I'm conveying this as a fiction piece of work. How would my mother feel after reading? Will she read it?

I'm not sure why I really cried in front of the lady who I've only begun to know in the last few weeks. Maybe it was part of a needed a release, since I had been surpressing these lumps that had been forming in my throat for nearly a month. Just out of frustration. Close to the end of the semester. gaurding my peace of mind. realizing that my relationship with Papi may be drifting to a deeper level. strategizing my future, my Snickerdoodle's future. breaking free from the norm of home life with parents. Being my own woman for real.

Today my mother broke her silence. A step forward. We dialoged for a bit, mainly her focusing more on the present situation of the renovations and how she is currently feeling. This is good. Still on the surface though. I want to go deeper. I want to communicate with her about things below this surface. Why we are the way we are. Why do we say and do the things we do? How can we get along together.. better.... in our current place in life.  Does she fully understand what I am dealing with in life? Do I fully understand her? In listening to her today I wanted to cry for her. She is so set in the mentality that she has to take care of everyone that she can't see it's not healthy for anyone especially herself.

"If I didn't do any of the things I do, y'all would noticed the difference. Everything would fall apart,"  is what she told me today.

At least since she broke her silence the thick smog of tension seems to be clearing out.

There was a time when I when I considered majoring or at least minoring in psychology, mainly because friends use to come to me with all of their problems and I would just listen. Now I'm thinking I should have done at least something in psychology outside of the high school course I took. If not for anything else.. just to study the dynamics of a mother daughter relationship. I will always maintain that no relationship or friendship as been as complicated and more complex for me than my relationship with my mother.

When Lauryn Hill sung the song "X Factor" she was mainly talking about her relationship to a man, or at least that what the majority of the population believes. To this day when I hear the song, I don't equate it to relationship with a man. It's me singing to my mother.  

A few years ago after I read Jennifer Weiner's Good In Bed, I read the Q&A insert in the back. She was asked a question on how she felt about her parents' divorce, her mother's sexuality and her father turning her back on her.  Though I don't remember the full fledge answer, I remember how Weiner began.

"Parents can fuck you up (in terms of emotionally and mentally). Though they don't mean to, they can."

My mother isn't a bad person. There are so many positive points to her. So many things I'm thankful for about her. She raised me and that says a lot. I'm not the perfect daughter, but I would like to think I'm shaping out to be half way decent in part thanks to my mother's positive points.  Yet, through my love and pride for my mother there is still an open wound...our disconnect. Like any other wound, when touched it hurts. It hurts to my very core.

I'm not even completely sure why I wrote this entry. It has taken me the full weekend to write this. To think, talk, cry and write. Maybe it's all part of self therapy (as usual), maybe because someone needs to read this. Right now it just feels out of my hands.