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.

The present; they say it's a gift

            I'm a little confused as to my feelings of the present. Many sing, "I wanna be forever young" and for me (and a lover I know) this is not the case. I want to be grown up; I see my future and all I want in it and the trail is so long and treacherous I stumble along the way. It is filled with foliage of failures and rocks of obstinacy and I feel I'm wearing heels along the way, because I long to be the lady.

            The process is overrated. Being young withholds the security of knowing who you are and where you're going. Everything I do is with a purpose; a long term purpose. I don't like doing things that do not add up to who I want to be later on. I don't want to take classes unless they're for my majors. I don't want to make friends that won't be there in the long run. I don't want to date for the hell of it. I do things because 1. they get me where I see myself down the road or 2. I need to get it our of my system early on (because it goes contradictory to my future goals down the road)

          I guess it is because this is the time, "you get to know yourself" and I have known myself I'd say since I was 15. I have changed of course; I used to be pettier, angrier, more resentful, but the core of me and my values has stayed the same. Even during transitions I analyze myself. I like to know what makes me. Every speck of stardust and how life made it dull or shine. I am not an old soul, but my experiences have made it easier to categorize myself. Though my counselor said that is a fault of mine imposed on my experiences and not the other way around. 

         I sometimes wonder what it's like to feel like you can explore every avenue. There is a sense of freedom in that, I think. I feel trapped in my destiny sometimes because it cannot come quick enough. But the trials of my past have molded me, given me a direction, and I sense I need to be more molded before I hit my time. Those that have yet to be molded by experience need to just let go. Let the pain hurt you, and scar you, and live. Let the joys wash over you, and cuddle you, and be thankful. But learn to use your experiences as a way to catapult you to the future. The avenues are out there. 

       The only things keeping me going is the idea that the trail is getting smaller. Each year that passes is one less year of my younger self. Getting closer to who I want to be. I am not afraid that my future will not be how I see it, for I make it what I see. I made it to college, one of my biggest dreams, and here I am. I just wished my other dreams got here sooner. 

    As for my pipe dreams, like a perfect Christmas, a wonderful marriage, 5 kids; I know it'll never happen. That's 11 yr old Sandy wishing she could live in TV. They're romantic dreams that cushion the blow of real life. It'll be squashed by liberals who call it "winter break", pre-nups, and a job that will not let you have time for your husband let alone kids; but I'll survive. A pipe dream to save the pipe dream is in order; it's called an understanding man. As I grow, some things cannot be changed, haha. (Men have scarred me the most, that much is clear)

      How can I be cynical and seek romanticism? How can I be damaged and still allow affection? How can I say I'm strong and be so weak? There's more to be analyzed. There's so much more to learn. 

     

What did this bring?

What will they make?

What can she see?

What will he take?

Who knows it all?

Who's done it before?

Who finished the path?

Who wanted more?

How much can he carry?

How big is her load?

How steep is the climb?

How much longer to go?

Where should they stop?

Where do I sleep?

Where does he stand?

Where do we meet?

When's are continual.

Why's are avoided.

Answers are looked for

and easily voided.

Sleigh Bells Don't Ring in California

Christmas is found  in my name.

In the place where a lonely manger once stood.

Christmas was born in a damp, cold day;

Neither in December or the likes of June.

Christmas had no carols at night.

Humiliation harmonized the air,

For the noble man that forgave his wife

of chosen sin and unwanted heir.

Christmas had no tinsel on evergreen

But it did have gold, incense, and myrrh.

More than that, it had our dream

Love incarnate brought down to Earth.

Christmas had no greater tidings

than to see the star bright shown.

For it told of news in desperate hiding

that Salvation and Truth was born.

Christmas was not all pleasant

King's were seeking wanted blood.

And though we forget this in the present

We must remember who overcomes.

Christmas is not found in Kmart;

Its found where my name once stood.

Its in every time and every heart

Where Jesus' love still blooms.

To An Inconstant One*

Sometime ago I lost myself

n forgot what I was here for

Confused among the bookshelves

That knew of nothing from before

The shelves they towered all along

and pinned me with their cloven pine 

Where once I lived aside the throng

I now do wish to leave aside

Their love it does not grow with age

and timeless tales have lost their worth

For love of Sloth; a scabby sage

has filled my heart and warmed the hearth

Idle days have come and gone

with vows of a more productive day

but time has come to pay at dawn

for all my idle fickle ways

*The Rimex