Shady's Back, Back Again

Listening to: Can't Let Go by Landon Pigg

            So I just went through my only and worst break up ever. I broke up with Biology. And though it pains me to know the road most traveled wasn't my own, I understand why. My life has never been easy. Never will be easy. I am too strong a woman for that. So, once more, I have to tug at my proverbial bootstraps, and find not only a new career path, a new specialty, but a new academic love. I will date Philosophy and Literary Journalism; one over nature walks and the other through coffee shops and I will let go of the boxes I love and abhor. I will try to live in tiny little boxes no longer. The world is mine for the taking. Just not my way.

           I have taken up the art of quilling, or paper rolling. I like it because it has a "Qui" in the word and I like words that begin with "Qui". Narcissistic Quippen at her finest. Anyway, it's an amazing art form that requires patience, creativity, a tender hand, and lots of time. It has been helpful in my road to recovery from the dark days of Physics and Chemistry. It breathes when I create it. Strips of straight paper flow like waves. My nimble hands move with a dexterity in between rows of color to form 2D visuals with a different shade at any given angle. Its complex in its simplicity and that is all I feel like at the moment. Just a bundle of simple complicated by everything else that shouldn't be there in the first place. I'm like paper; way better than a trash bag like Katy Perry. (I've digressed)

          Anyway looking forward to starting a new journey of self reflection through this paper art, while allowing myself to come to terms with a new beginning. More writings, (due to my new majors), are to come. As well as pictures of my quilling beginnings.

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end" -Seneca

Oh, To Be a Freshman...What a Curse!

I was looking at my old documents in search of persuasive writings for my sister, when lo and behold- a bunch of unfinished poetry in almost every other document is found! A bit of context for this next one.
Anxiously living in my boxes as always, I made sure I knew where I was going for the first days of class. I enter the wrong classroom, or the right classroom which was wrong,  and unable to face the walk of shame no on really would have cared to notice, I sat in the 25 filled to capacity darkened hovel of shame and stared. At the piece of paper meant to take notes for anthropology or something inconsequential at the time because there was no point in note-taking a class I wasn't taking. I wanted to leave. I swear I couldn't. Feeling an anxiety attack of the foolishness brought upon me by some unfortunate duende, I did the only thing I could; I wrote a poem.

It's dramatic, I know. And there is no way to justify it other than if you have never felt social anxiety, then shut the fuck up; you have no idea how dramatically severe the feelings are!

I am sitting in the front row of eager minds and my mind is off

It's not thinking or feeling but standing numb, like a child who couldn’t make it to the bathroom in time

Numb, like the awkward feeling you get at the dentist but stronger, because the academic world was watching

I came in to the wrong classroom, though my schedule that schedules my steps drove me there

And my tongue went numb and my lips became stone statues that Daedelus himself could not move

I stayed, in the front row, with my face in granite shock, and I caved

Broke down pierced by stalagmites and kept In, hidden behind my scarlet red glasses, letting the world know my intelligence has been prostituted for progress and praise

A red herring disguising my crimson cheeks n shame 

Ethnically Blank: Questioning the Culture Checklist

“Showing Our Color”-Coded Psyche

Why Race Relations Should be Handled at an Early Age

“The only thing more expensive than education is ignorance” –Benjamin Franklin

When Erika and Doris Nagambi Ul Kuo, German natives with a mixed background, were growing up, they were the only Mulattoes in their neighborhood. “I still remember, once, my blond girlfriend and I […] compared our hands and were amazed that mine were so brown and hers so light” (56). Though no adults talked about it, it was clear through the environment- their teachers, the store clerks, men in general- that they were treated differently. No one mentioned it, so as children, they had to piece everything together and come to their own conclusions. With no actual term for native Germans with African descent, it seems obvious that those hard-to-answer questions were put on the back burner of the social agenda.  And it is no wonder why in the United States, with 27.6% of the population considered as “non-white” (increasing every year), and a historical legacy of slavery and racism, the issue of educating kids on differences at an early age seems practically out of the question (Census 2010). After all, little Ebony doesn’t have the mental capacity to understand why Santa was white at the mall but black in the story book of the “Twas the Night Before Christmas” by Melodye Rosales, right?

Wrong. Child development researchers have found new information that “children see racial differences as much as they see the difference between pink and blue—but we tell kids that "pink" means for girls and "blue" is for boys. "White" and "black" are mysteries we leave them to figure out on their own” (Newsweek). Yet for decades, we have educated our children through the mentality that if race is not discussed it won’t be an issue. The “color blind” principle, the notion that children are shielded from seeing race or questioning color at an early age, is scientifically unfounded, as research at the University of Texas concludes.

            Children left to their own mental capacities, will naturally develop in-group preferences. Rebecca Bigler’s experiment on pre-schoolers who were given randomly red or blue shirts to wear for three weeks, concluded that their color was better, smarter, and more favored to win in any activity than the color not their own. The children never segregated their behavior, but marked a distinct separation from the opposing color, even though the colors were never mentioned by the teacher and the kids were never grouped by color. This natural tendency to like the characteristics of one’s own and to categorize everything is normal; what isn’t is to assume children can’t see differences in color, while gender, and weight do go noticed.

            Is this another way we avoid the race issue in America? I think so. When “nonwhite parents are about three times more likely to discuss race than white parents” while public schools are looking more diverse, something is off (Newsweek). Children will tend to form their own opinions. If a child says “Mommy, why is that man so dark?” maybe time would be better spent at talking to one’s child openly about color and equality, than the quick, shrill, “Hush, Johnny!” that implies to the child, that the difference is there, it’s important, but it must be taboo.