Style :)

 I've been attempting to transition into another style for about 2 years. I've succeeded for the most part. The journey I've gone through with my style says as much about my growth as a person as any other facet of my life. Mind you, I'm no "Devil Wears Prada" drone. Vogue is not my bible. But, fashion, like any other "art" form, makes a statement. 

Fall 2008

Fresh from summer camp, I had gotten used to rocking headbands and ponytails. I remember reading my first blog on the "Natural Hair" movement and I was appalled at the rituals of African American hair care. So, I began to transition. I consciously decided to go natural in August 2008. Granted, I was afraid to chop it all off. So, I embraced the ponytail for as long as I could. With the pony, came the tomboyish look that I embraced in my young teens. Bermuda shorts and Converses in tow, I settled into the lowest level of maintenance that I could. Plus, as a first year RA, and a senior in college, there wasn't much time for long bouts in front of the mirror.

Winter 2008/Spring 2009

A close friend of mine introduced me to the Flat Iron; which I embraced whole-heartedly. I stopped being afraid to let my hair down. However, I noticed that my hair was completely broken off in many places due to all of the ponytail action. My hair was extremely short in the middle of my head, embarrassingly enough. But, my friend took caution with my hair, and I decided to make my style more comfortable than low-maintenance. I started wearing corduroy vests and sweaters, and began experimenting with colors. I resurrected the "fake spectacles" to add a hint of "serious student" to my style.

Summer 2009

 No camp for me this summer. Around this time, I'd started flat ironing my hair myself. This is all that I figured being "natural" was all about. I still used all the same hair products, but at least my hair was starting to grow back. I started focusing on my semi-formal look; experimenting on different accessories. Here, I took a vintage dress of mine, and spruced it up with my favorite cream scarf. I already loved funky jewelry, so I gave it a permanent place in my fashion regiment. I was starting to get bolder....slowly, but surely.

Fall 2009/Winter 2009

I'd completely settled into my "chic bohemian" style at this point. I was struggling with my hair, because I'd been natural for over a year, and its thickness made it hard to manage. I came really close a number of times to putting a relaxer in it...but I never caved. I continued to flat iron it as much as possible, and work with the products that I still had. Basically, I was at a stand still with my hair care, and was searching for something drastically different. I began wearing small bits of make-up more often; settling into my womanhood around my 24th birthday.

Spring 2010

 I remember there was a huge snowstorm at my college, and my roommate and I decided to have a photo shoot once it stopped snowing. So, a few of us trekked out into the snow and had a day that I won't soon forget. I remember coming in my room from the shower and taking the towel off of my freshly washed hair. I teased it with my comb, jokingly at first, and looked up into the mirror. Making a few adjustments and parting it in the front, I remember being astonished at how pleased I was with my hair. I smiled at the few ringlets of curls on my ends. I looked down at the blow dryer in my hand, and after a moment, I put it back on my bed. Afraid to death, I went outside and did our photo shoot. For the first time, I was truly natural. I had to go back to my natural state before I could progress any further in developing my style.

Present (Summer 2010)/Future

I threw away over $150 worth of hair care products. I haven't blow-dryed/flat ironed my hair in over 5 months. Out of the 6 products I regularly use, the first (greatest) of them is water. I plan on continuing many of the trends that I love, but my style is currently under transition again. 

And here's a sneak preview: eShakti

1st Year of Grad School. Done. {Basically...}

30. [For Michael]

August 1.

You would be 30 years old today.

And though you are basking in eternal light,

I want to take a moment to celebrate the life

God saw fit to share with me. With all of us.

You are still missed.

Happy Birthday.

Love always,

Your little sister

The Damsel Rescued Herself.

I remember vividly what it was like...
...waiting on someone to realize that I am worth more than the treatment I settled for. Anxious for the day to come when he'd look me in eyes and realize that I could do so much better than he. I deserved more.

To be awakened to the fact that Love is more than being an ornament on his arm. More than the cost of dinner, movies, and a new dress. More than the physical spasms and shivers that he felt was crucial to a shared happiness with me.

I slowly felt less and less beautiful, and he didn't seem to notice. I knew because he began to interrupt me more during conversations. I guess he really didn't care what I had to say. I was no longer the mysterious and beautiful young woman who he knew very little about. Now that we'd covered the important issues: religion, family, music, and politics...there was no need to pursue my mind. And now that he could count on me to greet him happily at the door, there was no need for him to linger when he held me.

So I waited.
Stood next to him and dug deeper into his heart.
Always finding something different and something more to love.
...yet he waded in the shallow ends of my soul, content...and possibly, bored.

Soon. The lazy, lukewarm feeling of his touch pushed me away.
And, in the end, his infidelity didn't seem to break my heart, really...

I had freed it some time before.

Be.Still. (Part Five -- Disappointment)

I'd never been on a real date before.

The Senior Prom doesn't count, because EVERYONE has a date for the Prom. If I'd gone with my older cousin, I wouldn't count that as a date, right?

It was the summer after high school. I'd just gotten back from Mexico, where I'd done street ministry to some of the poorest children in the small town of Morelia. My friend of 12 years had become my boyfriend by the time we took our final exams. I had gone out of the country for the first time in my life...so I figured I was ready to go on a date.

At the time, I was enrolled in this year-long church program for post high-school grads. I'd moved out of my parents' home, and into a host house with the pastor's older, single daughter. I was under rules and regulations, but dating was not one of them. I was very, very excited to be able to hang out with my guy alone. He'd come to church events, and my parents knew him, for the most part.

I remember that Sunday very well. I invited him to a church event that was held at a school in my hometown. There was entertainment put on by some of the members, and PLENTY of food. The plan was, that he and I were going to go to the movies after the event was over. I'd cleared it with the pastor and his wife two weeks before.

Coming out of the bathroom at the school (I'd changed into jeans and a tshirt), my guy stood near the front doors waiting for me. I suddenly remembered to go say bye to my parents before I left for my date. They replied that I couldn't go on the date, because no one knew about it before hand. I said that my pastor and his wife knew. Clearly upset, my parents confronted them.

And much to my surprise, they replied (with me standing there) that they knew nothing about me going out on a date...at any time...and especially not that day. My head started to spin. With all eyes on me, I simply stood there; speechless. I didn't know what I was more disappointed in: my parents' anger or my church leaders' dishonesty. I turned to look back at the guy...and signaled for him to go on without me.

My mind swam with confusion and hurt. After proving to be an responsible, well-rounded young adult, I was still unafforded the basic pleasure of hanging out with a friend. And I was a 17 year old high school graduate.

This disappointment swelled in the pit of my gut. And it only grew.

This occurance flooded into an array of conversations and lectures. My parents were furious at me for my lack of sound judgement. My pastors declared that I was being drawn down the wrong path, and that I was too carnal for wanting to go out on my very first date.
Finally, a conference was scheduled between my pastors, my parents, and I...

...where I was strongly advised to stop dating this boy. And there was a unified voice in that room, and it spoke that I was going down the wrong path. What I felt was wrong.

There is a vivid memory that continues to haunt my dreams.

And it happened as soon as the meeting was over...

I remember going into the empty bathroom of my church and crying my eyes out. I held my hands tightly across my mouth and weeped sour, broken tears into the floor. I asked God for clarity. I wanted to know why this was happening to me, and why I did not see it coming. I could physically feel a battle going on inside of me. It wasn't that I felt I could not live without this guy. That wasn't it at all. It was that I had absolutely no clue what is truly righteous and good. Somehow, I'd lacked the spiritual fortitude to see the darkness (or the light, for that matter) inside of my own soul. I wanted to possess my own faith. Have it to be MINE.

But it didn't belong to me, it belonged to those who felt they knew better than I did.

And that belief was lorded over me. Making me dizzy with disappointment.

I was in an unsound place. A place where a hope was dangled in front of my eyes, but then snatched away...where I am then told that this hope wasn't really mine to begin with.

The notion of hope deferred still tends to trip me up. My mind immediately goes back to a picture of me: confused and decieved. But I shake that lie out of my mind...remembering that I contain the potential to grasp growth, beauty, wisdom, and true grace, as well as the evidence that points towards my own personal relationship with God. I should only be still and tap into it...

So, disappointment teaches me this:
Fear no man, only God. Because He is the only one who can change the direction of the wind. Trust Him.

Be.Still. (Part Three -- Grief)

I had just seen him no more than 6 hours prior.
Playfully hugged him and
tugged at one of his locks while he sat on our couch talking to my mother.

And now.
He was gone.

That night still haunts my dreams...
...there were too many people in my room at once:
some gazing back and forth from my mother to me,
while others simply lowered their eyes to the floor.
My mother was struggling to explain something to me, but all I heard was:
"Mike"..."gone"..."he's gone".

I cannot put into words my initial feeling, but I do remember being confused.
It was if all of the logic and reasoning that I had was no help to me...
All sensibility and understanding that a 14 year old usually possesses did not come through for me in that moment.
All I know, is that I felt alone. Abandoned. And wherever my brother was...I wanted to join him.
I could not bear the thought of being left alone here.
Left to contend with the process of loss and mourning.
And having to watch those closest to me endure insurmountable pain.
I knew it the moment my mother's words escaped her lips that pain was promised.
So, in my head...I ran.
Full speed...away from the pain that pursued my soul.

The following year of my life...I lived in a personal hell where the flames could not reach me.
They scorched my family clean. Especially my mother.
I helplessly watched her cry and scream. Her grief hit her in spasms; at unexpected moments. In such sporadic succession that I walked on eggshells in my home.

I did not smile.
I did not speak.
...and I dared not cry.

I had to keep running.
Until...

February 28, 2000.
372 days after my brother died.

I sat on my bed, distracted with something that I was drawing.
I happened to gaze over at the picture of him on my nightstand.
I quickly looked away, but felt a throbbing in my chest.
I opened my mouth, and said to my empty room:
"I miss you Mike."

Tears followed the release of my words.
Many...so many tears.
I cannot remember how long I sat mourning on my bed.
Quiet sobs turned into loud, angry wailing.

When I could cry no more...I wiped my face and saw my pencil and notepad lying on my bed.
The silence in my room was peaceful, and the words in my head gathered and aligned.
I picked up both the pencil and notepad. Wrote my very first poem.

About him.
About my brother.

So grief taught me a very personal lesson:
Running from death preoccupies you from living.

Be.Still. (Part Two -- Anger)

I hated him for what he did to me.
To my mother.

I remember nights as a small girl,
gazing at his kind, black eyes with my bed's sheer pink canopy
outlining the safety in his expression. "Good night, my baby", he would say.
And I believed him...
...after all, he was the only father I'd ever known as a girl.
He let me prop my tiny feet on his and dance across the living room to the Temptations.
He bought me beautiful, Black barbie dolls for Christmas
and
made heartfelt, awful attempts at braiding my hair while my mom worked double shifts.

But soon after I had to learn how to master the side ponytail on my own.
And my mother's role became unisex.

He left.

And I'd never known hatred until that afternoon
when I saw him raise that strong hand above my brother's head.
That same hand that I usually felt open-palmed to swat my behind after misbehaving...
...now clenched to form a fist.
My mother's shrill cry preceded
I sat at the end of the hallway feeling a lump form in my chest.
I hated him.
My world started to speed up; progressing in a spinning motion.
Circling past moments where I was content and safe...
...ending up right back where I sat at the end of my hallway.

I danced with anger.
A slow, simple grind
entrancing.
Switching back and forth from waltz to tango.
...and my world moved with us.

It wasn't until I saw him 13 years later that
my world stopped spinning.
His father had died and my mother wanted to pay respects to his family.
I wasn't expecting to see him that day, but the moment I looked up
and saw him: older, shorter, and more docile...
I froze. Swallowed. and felt no lump there.

Stillness taught me another lesson:
Forgiveness is the gate that leads to the path of Freedom.

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Your Life. Our Stage. Sponsored by La Jolla Playhouse

The Blur That I Call "College"...

August 2006-May 2007
Freshman/Sophomore Year

Summary:My first year at Liberty University was memorable. I had amazing roommates & got exposed to African culture for the very first time. Got decent grades & goofed off a lot on Facebook. I broke rules and did things that shock me to this day. I performed poetry in public for the first time & earned my stage name. I began and ended a relationship during this school year, and laid the foundation for my current relationship. Ended on the brightest note. All in all, I saw how tough life can be when you are determined to live it only for yourself.
Clubs:I was recruited mid-semester into Student Leadership as a Dormitory Prayer Leader on my hall.
Relationship Status:Dated a guy without being friends first, it ended after 6 months.
GPA:2.53
Favorite class:English 102
Lessons learned:
1.Know your boundaries.
2."When people show you who they are, believe them."
3.Experimentation isn't always fun.
4.Be brave. Speak up.
5.Appearances can lie.
6.Remembering where you come from does not require you to look back.
7.Your fears aren't made of stone...walk through them.
8.Work FIRST, play afterward.
9.Love is never soft or weak, but it is the strongest attribute a person can possess.
10.Forgive.
Pic to sum up the year:



August 2007-May 2008
Sophomore/Junior Year
Summary:Possibly the hardest/best year of my life to date. Everything that I thought was unbreakable inside of me was broken, and I didn't think it was capable to have so much love surrounding you. I fell in love with my best friend, stood by him during one of the hardest times of his life, and even became best friends with his best friend... I endured the death of a dream, & its resurrection. I grew poetically; writing almost everyday. I took active political/social roles on campus. My love life broke new ground, even through a long period of separation. I had a better year academically, also. In general, this year was quite the adventure.
Clubs: Center for M.E. (Multicultural Enrichment), The E.Q.U.A.L.I.T.Y Factor Movement, 2nd year as Prayer Leader and earned a spot as a Resident Assistant this upcoming year.
Relationship Status: Madly in love.
GPA:2.76
Favorite Class:Psychology 351(Multicultural Counseling & Research)
Lessons:
1.Smile more.
2.Take a chance on yourself.
3.God knows what He's doing...so trust Him.
4.Hold nothing back.
5.Love is as explainable as God.
6.Relax.
7.Know what you believe and why, and be ready to speak when someone calls on you for an answer.
8.Your true friends are there despite inconvenience.
9. Use a thesaurus.
10.Writing is NEVER for the author's benefit.
Pic to sum up the year:


August 2008-May 2009
Senior Year
Stay tuned....
Here's a pic of things to come: