Let the Right One Out: Black Girl in Bondage

If you're a movie buff like me, you'll see that this post's title is an homage to the Swedish suspence drama Let the Right One In. The film is about a developing relationship between two of the most melancholy tweens I've ever seen in my life. It's heavily intense, but I recommend it if you want to experience the unexpected and be drawn into something outside of yourself. A U.S. version of the film will be released sometime this year I do believe.

I was sitting her thinking about this film and a book I read years ago but most recently have picked up again called Black Girl in Paris. The book is about an African American 20-something who moves to Paris to live the lives of her most cherished black authors, especially James Baldwin. Both of these contributions to the artistic world got me to thinking about who I want to be and how I envision myself in the future. They've inspired me to construct a future, but the problem is I'm not happy with my present so the future seems light years away.

Let the Right One Out: I've lived a fairly controlled, restrained, and limited experience. I pride myself on being honest and out-spoken, but for the most part, I've lived a carbon-copy experience. I did what I was supposed to do. I went to church. I prayed. I made good grades. I stayed out of trouble. I was the head of the pack. I got involved in church. I didn't date. I didn't stay out past curfew. I went to school. I didn't complain. I wasn't a problem child. I look back at all these things and I see how much I didn't allow myself to really be a child or a teenager. I'm not saying I had the most horrendous upbringing, but I did all these things thinking they'd get me somewhere as an adult. I played it safe and created a monster people believed in: I was the good girl. I played the smart one. People expected me to go places and be something. I have a mind like no other. A relative once told my mom that I was gonna be something someday. She seemed excited and impressed. A friend told me I was the smartest person she knows. And all the compliments in the world don't mean a thing because I'm playing a role I thought I was supposed to play and didn't ask to be any different. I always knew I was a bit of an oddball. I always saw things differently than my peers. I've always had an overactive imagination. And sadly I haven't acted on any of this. I wrote a script for myself that has been thrown away and is waiting to be written.

I want to be a new me. Well, not so much a new me, but the me I've always been but kept stifled for fear of some puritanical judgment. I'm not the most modest or conservative person. And I don't desire to be anymore. I'm can be crude, lewd, outrageous. I think drag queens are beautiful. Retro fetishistic imagery is art to me and divorced from eroticism. I feel for the gay community. I believe in fairness. I want to be the black version of Dita Von Teese and show that black beauty comes in so many wonderful and lush forms. I'm open to dating outside my racial identity group. In fact, when I was younger, I invisioned my husband to be something exotic to me and he spoke a language I'd want to learn and he wasn't necessarily black. I want to wear netted veils across my fash and fishnets with back seams. I want to wear vintage clothes for the rest of my life. I want to go to a gay bar just for the heck of it. I saw a beautiful glass blown penis one time and thought whenever I get a house, I'll put one in the foyer to great my guests as they remove the shoes at the door. I want to live somewhere in Europe where nudity isn't some over eroticized commodity, but a natural human state.

I want to let this person out because she is the right one. I haven't because I've allowed Christian expectations to keep me stifled. I can't do this or that because it's "ungodly." Some of that may even be true, but I'm still letting other people determine who I should be just for the sake of their own comfort. I want to live with artists (filmmakers, writers, painters, dancers) and drink red wine for breakfast. I want to visit a nude beach where being naked isn't sinful. I actually want to go and visit people in the fetish scene. I don't believe sexuality and my religion should be divorced from each other. I'm just like everyone else: I don't want to be judged. I want to be the right me. I was thinking about Under the Tuscan Sun the other day and there was one character I loved the most: Katherine played by Lindsay Duncan. I remember when I saw I her, I wanted to be like her. Here she was the carefree woman who was sumptuous and happy. She was sensual and artistic. She enjoyed life. She had a bit of a pitfall in the movie, but she bounced back and fell even more in love with Tuscany.

That's the kind of existence I long for.

Black Girl in Bondage: That's who I am. Maybe I should contact Shay Youngblood to get free. I bought this book when I was 18 or 19. The title and the book cover struck me as something artistic and would tell a story I wanted to live in. When I first read Black Girl In Paris, I was impressed by the heroine's experience, even thought it wasn't always the best. I admired her for just leaving and creating a new life for herself, but I didn't think I'd ever want that experience so much until now. I started reading it again and it spoke volumes to me about who I am now and who I want to be. There's one line that made me want to cry: "I needed a map to help me find love and language, and since one didn't exist, I'd have to invent one, following the trails and signs left by other travelers. I didn't knoow what I wanted to be, but I knew I wanted to be the kind of woman who was bold, took chances, and had adventures. I wanted to travel around the world. it was my little-girl dream" (Youngblood, 3). I read that and I knew someone understand what it was like to want to be the entirety of who you are and to see life as a breathing artform. Then I started thinking about all these artistic things I'd been a part of and why I never continued them.

When I was a little girl, I used to make journals to chronicle my days and give them to my mother to read. My cousin and I used to learn dances from music videos and perform them for relatives. I wanted to be like Mariah Carey. I wrote poems and songs. I wrote stories I never finished. I started sketching in high school and hard an artist friend who said I was pretty good. Someone once thought another art kid drew a picture I presented as a visual aid for discussions about teen sexuality. I was accepted into a theater program my senior year in high school. Before I auditioned for the teachers, I previewed my monologue for students who'd been in the program for years. One of them said, "Now that's acting." I learned to sneeze on cue for the end of the year play Alice in Wonderland. Before I was accepted for the concert choir, the director worked with me and a few students for vocal lessons after school. I couldn't continue after a while, but the director believed in my voice. He really did. But I did become a mezzosoprano for the choir. I sang for classes at random because somebody heard I could sing. I did one talent show, but didn't do another because I didn't want to get booed again. I was accepted to a small Christian college with a scholarship to study theater, but I didn't go because I believed God wanted me somewhere else. I didn't even really want to go to that school. I thought I was supposed to. A sorority sister told me I was so beautiful that I should be in a pageant or something. Another sorority sister from another chapter said I should be an actress. In college, a friend said I had an anointing on my voice. I used to let people read my poetry.

Then one day I stopped. I stopped writing. I stopped reading. I stopped performing. I realized why I didn't continue these things: I thought they were fantasies and my colleagues were better than I was. I didn't believe I had the passion for these things. I didn't think I was good enough even though I thoroughly enjoyed these things. When I was in that play, I thought I would be nervous. But I went out on staage and forgot about them in a way. I was still aware that I was performing for them, but I felt free to be a fool. It felt normal and right. And real. One of my teachers said on a progress report that I had so much potential, but I wasn't letting go. She was right. Then I did what I was "supposed" to do. I went to school and got 2 degrees and I still don't feel fulfilled. I'm a Black Girl in Bondage.

I want a new life somewhere else. I want to be free.

An Inconvenient Existence: Sour Milk

So I have been having this thought over the past week: My current space and time has led me to believe that my presence is inconvenient. Before you start calling the cops because you think I'm about to commit suicide, let me explain. What I mean is where I am in life (literally and figuratively) has caused me to evaluate my aspirations and the road that leads to them. Then it dawned on me that being in the physical location that I am has been the main reason why I feel trapped and emotionally/mentally/creatively stifled. It's like I'm living in an internal gated community and suffering to hell to try to find a way out. And because of all this, I think my being here is not only a major waste of my time and hopes; it literally is an inconvenient existence. Allow me to further explain.

Without reliable transportation, my hope of getting a better paying job is practically a figment of my imagination because most of the these jobs are in the city. Also, you have to travel almost an hour to get anywhere. Not to mention I get the impression from certain people that my presence is inconvenient sometimes because it may intrude upon their daily routines and plans. That's baffling to me and is one of the major reasons why I hate where I live. Now, I'm not saying people should give up there lives just because I walked into the room, but it makes it hard to be happy where you are when you feel as if you're getting in the way. I don't feel like I'm accomplishing anything here and really regret coming. That's an odd thing to say because I don't really believe in regrets. You live and you learn. But this 6 month experience has taught me that I have a life full of regrets and one of them was coming here. I came here to be inconvenient. That's sad.

I moved to get away from a really dark place (figuratively and literally) and then stepped into another one. And then arose the feelings of inadequacy, hopelessness, fear, and extended depression. The irony of all this is that I moved to find a way to heal from all the emotions I just listed and then ended up living right back in them. That's the crazy thing. Moving meant a fresh start and a new life and I'm always wondering will I see in a new and better light if I move again. The scary thing is I'm not quite sure. Will I move to the next place and still feel inconvenient? Will I continue to go through this existential crisis? Will I reach my goal of having a concrete plan by the end of the year? I don't know. And that scares me worse than feeling inconvenient. The worst part of all this is I believe in this inconvenience. My being here is inconvenient. I don't have the support system I need. I don't have my friends that have become my family. I'm stagnant. I feel like I'm that carton of milk that's been sitting in the back of the refrigerator because someone forgot to drink me. I'm sitting here wasting away and will soon be thrown out. I'm sour milk that can't seem to make it's way out of the fridge.

Bruce Almighty: An Unappreciated Epiphany

I just looked up TV listings for what comes on tonight and came across Bruce Almighty. This, along with the always disgruntled journal entry I've been repeating for Lord knows how long, led me to a sort of epiphany: maybe I'm living "The Bruce Almighty Effect" and the moral of the story is one should be happy in whatever state she's in.

That was sourly unappreciated because I'm wondering how to muster the ability to be content or happy in a situation you've never been content or happy in? Okay, so as the movie goes, Bruce is upset with God because he thinks God isn't giving him his heart's desires because he isn't as well respected as his colleague Evan. He wants to be taken seriously and his comedy riddled news spots are cherished, but Bruce wants respect by doing more serious stories. He wants Evan's job and is embittered when Evan makes snide remarks about Bruce. Then God gives Bruce HIS powers so Bruce can understand what it's like to be the Almighty One. Apparently, it's hard work as Bruce tries to use his supernatural powers while also trying to reconcile that with his own human impossibilities. By the end of the movie, Bruce and God grow closer and Bruce understands that God gave him the gift of comedy to lift HIS people up. The moral of the story is to appreciate the gifts God gives us and not to want what others have because we don't know what these people went through to get that. How does this apply to me you say?

Honestly, I don't know. I'm not living in a Bruce Almighty world. If I want what someone else has it's a career that involves what I'm passionate about, but that's it. I don't want a luxury car or a big house. I don't want a husband with God knows how many children and a laborador comfortably protected by a pristine white picket fence. I just want a job I enjoy and an apartment. I don't even want a car made in the last 20 years. I just want what can be affectionately labeled as my own stuff.

So the question is, are my circumstances God's way of saying be content with where you are? I can't be content with nothing. Absolutely nothing. I'm settling for a headache and the slight smirk I perform with when I'm trying not to come off as ungrateful. Then part of me doesn't really think or believe I'm grateful. To me, to be grateful means to walk in thanksgiving and to be "content" with the circumstances. I'm not doing either really. It's hard to walk in some some sense of gratitude and happiness when you don't see the things that make you happy or grateful.

So here I am no closer to any natural, mental, emotional, or spiritual grounding that I expected to have by this time. As a matter of fact, I didn't expect any of this; I expected a job in arguably the worst economy since Black Tuesday. Even with all that said, if I'm truly a child of God, then why am I going through this anyway? I mean, life happens. Outside forces make their way into our lives. But if I'm such an "overcomer," then why am I not overcoming this?

Part of me thinks that if I move to another location, things will get better. That sad truth is I've already made that mistake, so why repeat it? I guess I hope that I can be free once I get to that physical location. But if I can get free now, then how can I do that in the future?

I also realized that I would be in the same situation if I hadn't gone to grad school. It seems this was destined to happen all along. You'd think that would be somewhat comforting, but it's not. It just means it took a couple more years for nothing to set in than originally expected. This all takes a toll on my self-esteem. Just knowing this would've happened anyway is honestly depressing. That even if this happened three years ago and I still did all I could, I would still be in this same situation baffles me. I still would be living with relatives in a place I never wanted to return to and still not know what to do or how to begin a career. Which means, this still would've happened in a healthy economy. That's absolutely disgusting.

So the problem is me and nothing else. And this epiphany is still much unappreciated.

I don't know: irrelevance or is it?

I'm not really sure what to write today. Every other time seemed to be measured by purpose, but today is all about spontaneity I guess. I've been searching for some sense of adventure for the last year and this seems to be all that I could muster up so far. So bear with me if this post seems a bit scatterbrained. I don't have any control.

I don't know what to talk about today. Maybe I could just be a mindless drone and post stuff about celebrities. Or maybe discuss the human injustices of the world without actually doing anything. I mean, isn't that we're known for in this country? Or maybe I'll discuss some topic for which I have no knowledge of. That's the thing about human nature: we can be so self-righteous in our own since of oblivion and we perish for lack of knowledge (Hosea 4:6). Well, at least God's people do.

I think we've (okay, maybe just me) have gotten so used to acquiring knowledge that we've forgotten the journey of understanding what we've obtained. Or even worse, we get into these ideological debates without actually knowing what the hell we're talking about. It's a war of mindless words. I mean read the newspaper (omg, those things still exist?!) or watch Fox news (especially) or some other newsgatherer. Oh, you don't have to go that far. Start a conversation about a controversial topic and actually listen to the answers you'll get. No, wait. Don't just listen; watch the reactions (the shifting eyes, the tense mouths, the arms folded over the chests, the elevated pitches, etc.). And if you're watching/listening close enough, you'll realize these people are having melodramatic responses without any real educated dialogue. Trust me; I've done it many a times. I guess that's why I'm making an effort to keep my mouth shut on some topics. I'm outraged by my own snobbery. For someone who has so many issues with my own country/society/culture, I've shamefully admitted to myself that I'm very much a product of it. But what can you do? Move to another country and become a part of it?

I actually have been thinking of moving out of the country for a while. There goes that sick need for an Eat, Pray, Love experience. I'm sure I won't meet any desirable, interesting men and eat nothing but carbs, but Julia Roberts and Elizabeth Gilbert have been a recent source of inspiration.

Then again, this all seems somewhat irrelevant. I'm having an irrelevant conversation with myself with no one listening as usual. My cynicism is beginning to run a little low and I'm wondering about the relevance of that, too. Or maybe this conversation with myself is the continuance of self-discovery. But it does seem that this will never end and I will always be stuck in the same stagnant state I've been in for almost a year and half. It makes me wonder if I'm missing some mark somewhere. I guess I need an eharmony page for my destiny. I'm still trying to discover it. Wherever it is?

I've just realized this post is more about looking for some sense of self, adventure, relevance, completion, and fulfillment. Well, maybe this isn't as irrelevant as I thought.

25 Years and Nothing's Happened

Hello, world. This post is two weeks in the making.

I've grown a year older and I thought life was supposed to be different. Then it dawned on me that it wasn't.Then I realized how angry I've been because I felt like I was lied to. That was depressing. I spent my birthday being depressed for most of the day. I've never really liked to celebrate my birthday because the whole hoopla is kind of invasive, but then I really realized that turning 25 isn't all it's cracked up to be. I didn't do anything I was "supposed" to do by this birthday. And that's when the realization set in. I don't like the way my life has turned out and I'm still trying to figure out how to maintain contentment and make the move to somewhere else.

Insecurity... In General

Oh, how therapeutic this is.

Well, to a certain extent.

I woke up this morning with the strangest idea that if I want to accomplish something, I need to set acheivable goals to meet. Oh, wow. This is an ingenious idea that never occurred to me or I think to most people.

I'm one of those strange people that just does stuff or the dominoes seem to fall perfectly into sequence. But that all changed last year and I'm now in the process of rediscovering lost passions. Let me rephrase that; the passions where never lost, they were just stiffled by university life.

It occurred to me that if I want to be a writer I'll have to take some writing classes or read books on the process and craft. I'll have to write everyday and submit things to journals or magazines (which I did about an hour ago. I'll let you know what happens). I'll have to stop waiting for things to happen. I realized that's mostly what I do. I just wait. And wait. I guess I'm still waiting for God to make my decisions for me.

I thought about contests I could've entered when I was younger, meetings I could have attended, people I could've actually taken the time to talk to. I could've entered that poetry contest. I could've gone to film school if it hadn't donned on me until recently. I could've gone out on a date with that guy (you know, whatshisname).

Some say we shouldn't live in the land of the shoulda, coulda, wouldas, but if we don't, we won't take stock in the experiences we've missed out on. If we don't, then we don't take a chance on our future. We just keep rolling because we don't want to face the realization that most often we are the ones that hold ourselves back. At least that's some of the truth for me.

People think I'm so confident about myself and my future. That's not entirely true. I'm just as insecure as the next person, if not more. Now, I have to create the next step instead of just waiting for it to appear under my feet.

Neuroses is the New Black

Oh yes, there is a fashion trend that is re-emerging since the finale of Sex and the City: It's Neuroses. And I mean neuroses about everything. No wonder I'm still in a box.

What I mean by all this is I always knew I was a bit on the neurotic side, but it occurred to me last week some time that I think I may have gone overboard. Especially as it pertains to career and relationships aka sharing romantic space with some dude (as if he would be that random).

I've always been pretty cautious. Now I'm uber cautious with a big umlaut. I'm not just wondering if the pots overhead will fall on top of me, but wondering if I'll meet I guy that wants to have kids when I don't and will he mind if I give up for adoption. I'm also wondering if I'll end up in a cardboard box vs. living in my sister's house well into my early 30s. All this most likely stems from something way back when...

I'm a control freak. I won't even let Jesus in on an administrative decision. A lot of things have gone wack in my life starting from childhood. The folks broke up due to a little thing called voluntary pharmaceutical misuse, a lack of an economic stimulus package, the disordered experience of single parent living, and a plethora of other family drama.

And now there's me in my 20s trying to pray and work my way beyond all this stuff. And that's when I discovered how anxious and paranoid I am about my future, probably more so than I really need to be. It's the color I've worn for so long that I can't remember ever being in another shade.

It's my fashion statement for this season. I'm surprised SJP hasn't caught on yet. The makers of SATC should let me style for the next film becaue Lord knows Carrie Bradshaw and Charlotte York Goldenblatt have been copping my style since that show aired, ended, and the movies were being made. I even have red shoes to match.