What it Means, Part 1: To be Black

My parents are black. So am I. End of story.

So I should know right? What this all means? Well, I can't say I do. And I can't speak for everyone. Just myself on what being black is for me.

To me, to be black is to have people mistrust you, look at you weird when you go into a store, lose opportunities, and a slew of other discriminatory things. Except, not exactly. You see, I don't fit the profile. I speak Standard English in a voice very unlike any other black person, or man, not because my voice is unique, but just because I've always been different from what people would readily assume as "black." I wear a belt and my jeans fit in the right places, not hanging half past my ass. I wear t-shirts that fit, not shirts that look like night gowns. I listen to pop, rock, Japanese, almost everything but rap and modern hip-hop. I don't fit the profile.

Among my black peers, I struggle to find a meeting ground, unless they are like me, in that way that people would call me white-washed and make fun of how I talk. Indeed in the way they have. I don't identify with them on that "black" level, because I don't talk like they do, I don't listen to the music they do.

For me, being black is a new kind of separation. I don't relate and sometimes I find it hard to. I see black people on campus, in the cafeteria, in public and I see how they dress, how they act. I'm not loud, I'm not ridiculous, I don't yell and cuss at people when they make me mad. I don't like to make a scene, and I don't like being opinionated, out loud anyway, to the point where people turn and look at me through the periphs, wondering "What the hell is he doing?" Seeing how the black community acts, the one that reaches the media and the public mind you, I feel contempt. It makes me ashamed that my ancestors worked hard in the fields, my grandparents tried their best to support large families, and my mom was just part of the statistic of young, unwed, high school mothers. Not because of these facts, but because black people my age don't acknowledge that. Or, they appear not to. A lot of the things black people do I find ridiculous, crazy. I shouldn't be able to guess the color of a person's skin based on how they are acting in public.

I have to start to understand who black people are in relation to me, despite the fact that a lot of the things they do are "vexing" in the words of Huey. In truth, black people act a damn fool sometimes and I hate it. But it's wrong of me to expect them to act like me, like my parents raised me right (I'll admit that was a low blow but it's true).

What I've found, though, is that when I try to reach them, or anyone else, along other lines, or without any lines at all is when I find that kinsmanship. It's where I find that, as people, we relate. Relativity stretches across many lines: philosophy, psychology, experience. That's how I become close to people. When I start realizing that what it means for me to be black and what it means for someone else to be black don't matter. It's what it means for both, or many, of us to be human.

I approach you from an incredibly idealistic point of view, but I'd have it no other way. For me to be black does not mean embracing my heritage, or listen to rap, or try to rise above history, or struggle. That's what it means for me to be me. I'm just realizing who I am, and being black does not DEFINE that, it is only a PART of that.

Monnie was right, you can't make a news show about what it means to be black in America, because you can only appeal to so many people. That one will always be left out, and that isn't right. What you can do is make a show about what it means for YOU to be black in America, instead of expecting EVERYONE to relate.

Too Busy Forgetting

Yea, it's been a while. *cricket cricket* Okay, I know no one reads this.

So, I've been hanging with my friends a lot lately. And three times within the past two weeks I've been drunk drinking with friends. Sorry, my immature college boy is showing. All good experiences.

Just... This past Friday I got drunk with That Boy. Before the said drinking, I was hanging with him and a couple of his good friends and he'd sit next to me on the couch or whatev (and walk around without his shirt on when he was getting dressed; is it me or is that a sign too?) Anyway, TB's friend sends me a txt about him wanting to make out (after said alcohol), so I asked him to kiss me and he obliged. And we cuddled and made out and got all friendly friendly.

Raunchy details aside, I felt a little embarrassed when I left. I had resolved not to act wild like that ever again. The only thing is, I didn't feel guilty and the whole experience felt good. Why? Well, because I like him, a lot. And I told him. I also said that he should never forget that, if he wants me, I'm always here. Right here. But, I'm not waiting.

He doesn't want a relationship, I know. I just wish I could forget how good it felt to actually get him, even for that little while.

Idea

You know, I have an awesome idea.

Instead of meeting someone, talking to them for a couple of weeks (in its colloquial sense), and jumping into a relationship with them, which is the habit somehow ingrained in my generation...

How about I actually DATE someone, see how I like them without hooking up, and if we both like each other then get into something? You know what? That sounds so much safer, more mature, and conducive to a good relationship.

I notice way too many people doing the former, and it's what I did, too. But not any more. This'll take a lot of discipline, but it's worth it. We really do move way too fast

Baggage Claim

Something I just thought of. If (when) I become a successful therapist, I'm probably going to use this as one of my activities:

List of Baggage and Current Status:

8 months of the worst year of my life
Status: I realized the other day that I finally had let go of that toxic non-relationship (looong story). The reason I'm not talking to him is because, if he hasn't changed, I'm not going to risk him or myself doing any damage. It's a smart move. Baggage claimed and packed away.

Two instances of a no call, no show:
Status: Yea, you were both pretty stupid. Baggage claimed and packed away.

What could have been...:
Status: It still does hurt sometimes, but I'm letting go. You just weren't it, and neither was I, but some other guy was. I can't count that against myself. Baggage... Pretty much left at the airport, tired of dealing with it.

Mixed signals:
Status: I should try being your friend, like actually try. It might be hard, it might not. Willing to take the risk, though, if it means not dating. Baggage claimed and packed away.

Letting you down:
Status: Knowing I wouldn't call you back, I shouldn't have given you my number. I don't know how to let people down, but I need to learn so I don't hurt anyone more than I need to. Baggage claimed.

Over You

You know, I'm over you. Because I made myself get over you.

So, that's one more piece of baggage willingly left at the airport. I hope you stay there.

Mariah Carey

You lucky heifer! I want to age as gracefully as you, even as a male. To be beautiful and golden almost to my forties...

Gangs

So, I was talking with my friend, let's call him the Jew (no seriously). He said he almost got jumped on two occasions in the SAME DAY in his town (we both go to college together about 30 mins away from here).

Me: You were wearing you're yarmulke, weren't you.

And he was. With a shirt with hebrew on it. Which explains why he was about to be jumped by Armenians. And then some black folks, but that's 'cause I just think black folks are mean sometimes. Hell, I know I am.

Anyway, we came upon the subject of him possibly being in more danger than before if he had been wearing certain colors. Which, I added that pink, more than likely not affiliated with any gang other than the gay mafia, would definitely have gotten his ass beat.

So, we both arrived at the conclusion that if gangs are stupid enough to shoot each other over someone wearing a damn color, they might as well copyright that stuff. At least have some kind of legal purpose for busting a cap in someone's ass for wearing a rival color, you know? This is like punching someone for using the green crayons when you only use blue. This stuff is ridiculous.

Dear...

Pimple in the FREAKING MIDDLE OF MY FOREHEAD:

Oh my God I hate you!

With love utter disgust and hate,
Auriel

But if you're here you probably already know who I am haha