Thursday, January 3, 2019

Bird Box Challenge...So we’re just gonna pretend it’s not stupid?

I hope no one tries to blame Netflix for the Bird Box challenge. At a certain point, it’s personal responsibility. I didn’t even think of wearing a blindfold...not even in my own apartment because I would look stupid to myself, and yet people are wearing blindfolds outside. To wear a blindfold outside is as dangerous as texting while driving.  The movie was not very good, still, Netflix’s only responsibility is to let people know at what age they can watch content not to provide them a safe space, blankets, hot coco, hugs and kisses. And it sucks that companies have to cave and issue warnings. There is a warning I see all the time, blah blah, work of fiction not real, any similarity is coincidental. I have to be grateful for getting so much attention as a kid that I don’t need or want negative attention as an adult. If only a few people can do something like building computers, I’m so impressed, but it doesn’t take talent to be blindfolded unless you can play the piano and have perfect pitch. If I see one of those people, I’m crossing the streets. I take the bus, that’s nightmare enough.

Monday, December 3, 2018

Why I hate fibroids...

Fibroids hold me back, but they are my secrets. I talk about fibroids often but only to those who are listening and people who give a shit. Fibroids are non-cancerous tumors that cause me severe bleeding, extremely long periods, vomiting, moodiness, very achy legs and abdominal pain. I hate fibroids! To me they are like people who come alive during my period to laugh at me and who despise me. Fibroids is like having an enemy who lives with me 24/7. Fibroids cause me pain during my period and when I don't have my period. I even feel pain during sex. I urinate a lot with fibroids because they leave me with little room for liquids. I have thrown away so much including clothes due to blood stains. I get constipated and always worry if my body will forget the art of pooping. With fibroids, I have wanted to spend my life in bed due to the pain and low iron. So to have a UFE scheduled is amazing. I know I will get up wondering why I had this procedure because I will be in pain, but the pain is temporary. After my fibroid research, it is the best way I think there is to shrink the fibroids. If you have fibroids, please share your nightmare here. It isn't the end. Even though this is an embarrassing thing to share, I think many women feel hopeless like I have felt. Not only is it a woman problem, but it's a problem that many people don't understand including women. Fibroid affects everyone differently. Not everyone will feel like they are dying when they have fibroids. Not everyone will jump off their chair at work for fear that they stained the chair. Not everyone goes through a ton of sanitary pads and still feel unclean. Fibroids hold me back. I could be more. I could have better skin. I could smell better if I didn't bleed so much. I could have more money. I could be happier. 

Friday, November 2, 2018

Why I hate blackface on white people...

It's an absolute waste of time to talk to people about blackface who find nothing wrong with it, so let me write to everyone else. I write in the most simple fashion to be understood, so forgive me for my simplicity. My brown skin is God's crayola, so it cannot be replicated. When white people wear blackface, it usually looks like they just put water in charcoal and rub it on their face. My face isn't mud. At least have the decency to wear makeup that is made for black skin. There are black people with dark complexion, but it's beautiful and glowy not some ashy skin. When movies like Watermelon Man were made, there was an effort to get the white skin correctly not just slap on some white powder. Watermelon Man is about a white who wakes up and finds out he is black, and though that's exaggerated, a lot of white people have black in them, and some don't even know it. So to everyone reading this, white people who find blackface okay is bullying me for being born with a skin color that God gave me. But get this, I believe that I will make it to heaven and dance with God for eternity. Why is that important? Living 80 years is a long time, but actually making it to heaven is many black people's dream. God gives us hope. God keeps us alive. We deal with racism all the time, but no one can troll God. Take that...😂🙌❤

Saturday, October 13, 2018

There is Dignity in Poverty






Chances are that I will never win the lottery. At 36 years old, I may never become a major professional like a lawyer or a doctor, but my dignity does not come from my title. My dignity comes from knowing that I am a person, I belong on this earth or organism, I matter, and that I'm no less than a doctor. Sure I will never contribute as much as a doctor can in terms of saving lives, but I belong here. I belong here because I did not ask to be born. I belong here because God put me here. I may not be a doctor, I may not have a signature, but I AM.

I do play the lottery. I play with the hopes to get Navient off my back. I play to afford to go to the doctor more often for preventive care. I play not for happiness, but for less stress. I think you can be stressed and still be happy.

So if you are waiting for money in order to travel then you are not using your imagination. There are so many parks. There are so many buses. There are so many trains. If you are reading this then you have access to internet, so you likely have access to a park. Fly a kite. Have fun. There are plenty of happy poor people in the world. Poverty is not a disease. Do I want to move up in the world? Hell yes...

I'm told I carry myself with dignity like it's a bad thing. Why is it foreign to carry myself with dignity simply because I am poor? I get so confused when people think that poverty means being a cockroach with low self-esteem. They act like they did something wrong in order to be poor, so they run around fighting to keep their daily bread with the very people who are just like them. But, you are not a cockroach. So you'll hear people say they are nothing or you are nothing, but you are very much something. Everything is interconnected and the people who do not understand are naive AF.

I do not have to look like Halle Berry to dress nicely. I do not have to be super intelligent to read. I do not have to be a runner to eat well. Quality of life is simply because if life is shitty, then you might have 80 years to live as shit. Why would I do that to myself? I have a long time to live, so why wouldn't I want it to be the best? I am not trying to leave behind a legacy, but 80 years of living is a long time not to make the best of it. So if you have to go to Dollar Tree to buy your Christmas decoration, then buy them at Dollar Tree. You can make a whole lot happen for yourself with very little. While everyone looks up for God to rescue them, and although He is Almighty, work with what you have. 

Tuesday, November 28, 2017

Change The Way You Educate Us

In kindergarten, I once remained outside in the playground well after recess was over and laid on top of the Snoopy doghouse for nearly an hour, even as my classmates and teacher beckoned me to come back in. They finally gave up and I came back in when I felt like. I don't recall if I was punished for it, but I do recall it was neither my first nor last act of defiance in school.

When my family and I moved further north, I was made to see a social worker twice a week from third grade all the way through high school. To me, those (and in-house suspension) were the best periods of my journey through the "system": I was allowed to explore myself, learn and create new things uninhibited and express my thoughts and feelings without judgment.

Back in my then-new elementary school, I often had headaches that resulted in me spending quite a bit of time in the nurse's office resting, or getting into fights or confrontations with classmates that resulted in spending a lot of time in the principal's office (sometimes voluntarily, though I had no respect for the principal himself as opposed to his assistants). Once, he banished me to a corner table in the cafeteria where the janitor ate his lunch, away from my classmates with whom I was in constant disagreement with. I enjoyed my solitude so much, it somehow became the "cool table" with some of my classmates sneaking over to join me.

Once, in a fit of exasperation and rage, I stormed out of the front door of the school, determined to walk all the way home by myself. The substitute principal, a kinder man than the regular one, chased after me and rather than dragging me back, appealed to my senses and sought instead to convince me to stay, leaving me to make up my own mind. My respect for him and his respect for me tipped the scale on his side and I returned. All of my teaches from fourth through sixth grade took a special interest in me and both encouraged and protected my development, though at the time I didn't know exactly why. All of them had reputations for being tough and no-nonsense, but I saw plenty of compassion from them that said otherwise.

With all the alternating drama and boredom, I still managed to be a well-above average student. It wasn't until seventh grade and the various day-to-day "periods" where I started having issues with education itself. I began to challenge my teachers and material more often and more directly, and where I made no headway or received no sensible responses to my queries, I became disinterested and tuned out. Some classes, I excelled in, some I failed or skated by. Some of my favorite subjects in elementary school became anathema in junior high and high school, some I became intensely more interested in.

Old friends drifted off and I made new ones. Headaches became seizures and life-threatening procedures. I skipped classes I was bored with to follow my passions unabated. Instead of fighting with fists, I debated students and teachers and convinced classmates not to fight at all (or in some cases to not even consider attempting to fight me if it was in their minds all along). I carried myself like a senior from the moment I first stepped onto high school campus, and went rouge in and out of the classroom on a whim. Some people thought I was a dork, but a lot of people thought I was cool.

Nevertheless, I hardly ever felt cool. I never felt like I fit in. I had friends in quite a few different groups, but my identity was hard to manage or define. I felt, if nothing else, like that same kid in kindergarten who defied his teacher and classmates and lay on top of the doghouse after recess, resting and reflecting while everyone else was in class. I was scared, scared for my life. I knew not whether I would survive the seizures or the newly-discovered abnormality in my heart. Moreover, I did not trust the "system", nor what it presented and represented. If I survived, what would become of me? What was waiting for me after my journey was over? I could see it coming; the changes. The economy our parents had would not be waiting for us when we graduated. Why could our teachers and administrators not see this? I did not want to fall through the cracks. To this day, I don't know how exactly I managed to escape high school with what was then considered a high-achieving Regents diploma (Regents later became the standard, so it's nothing special these days). But my only regret through all of it was being right about what I saw coming. And in trying to escape the inevitable, I fell anyway.

My first experience in college, which was also my first experience away from home, was a miserable failure. After three years of free-fall in an environment I was totally unprepared and unsuited for (yet finally finding and pursuing my passion for filmmaking and further developing my craft and cartooning), I went back home and reinvented myself, armed with the experience from my previous volume of life failures. Life was not over with me even then, but I became a different person when I was done with it all. I took the bull by the horns, if you will, and made college work fro me instead of the other way around. What I learned in class was supplementary to what I learned on my own. I took what I wanted.

And that's what's wrong with our schools now, and have been wrong with them for a long time. Our schools don't teach us what we want to know, but instead teaches us what they want us to know, which is often outdated and obsolete, They teach us to obey rather than think, to accept rather than observe and query. To be a box, not be outside the box. The love and desire to learn is forced out of most of us at an early age, and in it's place is a desire to succeed with no clear goals in mind. And when we don't succeed, we have nothing to cope with except what we can get our hands on, because tangible objects are seen as evidence of significance. Lacking that, we seek ways to escape the hurt and shame. Self-harm, or harming others, all in a desperate effort to escape... something.

Frankly, six problems does not cover nearly enough of the problems with the "system". But these are fairly significant and worth your undivided attention. Perhaps this entry will put things in enough of a perspective for you to desire immediate change and progress, for yourself and for those around you. Don't wait for the comet to hit us head-on, and don't wait for someone else to do it (which is what got us where we are now as a rapidly fading society). Seek knowledge and adapt, make true progress. The world some insist on bringing back are only reflections of light that no longer have matter or substance. It's time to look away from those shadows and move forward.

Change the way you educate us.