losing your shoes is like…

losing your shoes is like losing your panties: 1) why were they off in the first place and 2) there is definitely more to this story…

Womanhood, Manhood and Arbitrary Self-Definition

Womanhood, Manhood and Arbitrary Self-Definition.

Womanhood, Manhood and Arbitrary Self-Definition

There is someone very close to me who is struggling to figure out what it means to be a man. A black man, specifically. He is approaching his mid-twenties, and his relationships with his family are strained. He did not get the guidance he needed in a sufficient amount as he was approaching and passing the critical ages where one begins to define oneself. As a result, now, he has molded himself into what he thinks it means to be a black man based on the very negative environments where he has encountered them. 

Nightmarish, indeed.

And we who love him and haven’t given up on him are left wondering whether this can be undone; whether or not it is too late to deconstruct the image of the black man as he understands it and separate what he thinks it means (fighting; aggression; anger; drugs; alcohol abuse; thugging) from the fact that no matter what it means, this meaning is arbitrary as it pertains to a person defining himself.

I was laying here tonight, in bed, freaking exhausted from Guatemala, thinking about this young man, when it hit me that just as he thinks that being a black man means being angry, violent, indolent, etc., I think that being a woman means having a man. That is how I define womanhood. Whenever I encounter a man and fail to make him love me, I don’t see it as que sera sera, I see it as a fundamental failure in my foundation as a woman; someone will be around shortly to collect my vagina.

But,

If I can look at this man, who I love so much, and see that the definition of the black man that he is trying to emulate is completely arbitrary (besides very damaging),

is it also possible that this definition of womanhood that I’ve gathered and imprinted on my heart and self-esteem, that a woman is someone who can always get any man, is equally as arbitrary (and also pretty damaging)?

Yes.

I think I will have to work on redefining my womanhood as it pertains to me, and I will have to divorce that definition of men. And although this may seem nigh-impossible, seeing as how the woman-man dichotomy has been emphasized everywhere for generations, this does not make it any less arbitrary. Just as how stereotypes/images of black men as angry, violent, aggressive, indolent have been around for generations and are also completely arbitrary as they pertain to how one individual young man struggling to figure out who he is in this world defines himself. 

Sometimes I feel like, ra…

Sometimes I feel like, rather than being simply chaotic, that I actually AM chaos; like I am a living, breathing process of entropy…

Killing time on my last night in Central America

Well,

Before reading this entry, you{ll have to forgive me if there seem to be random signs where stuff like apostrphes would normally be–keyboards in Central America are different and I haven{t figured out how to access the regular oi apostrophe.

Anyway,

Mi compañero has a guest in our room, so I am chillin outside on this here hotel computer killin time on my list night in Central America. What an experience. What a chance to observe both myself and the world.

One thing I have learned about the world is that black people and Guatemalans eat exactly alike. There are so many fried chicken chains down here. Even the McDonalds and Burger Kings serve it (P.S. and BTW I definitely tried the McDonalds fried chicken–it tastes exactly like what fried chicken from McDonalds would taste like; take that as you may). Also, like black people, Guatemalans put ketchup on anything. And I swear to goodness one night while waiting in a bus station, my friend ordered eggs and hot dogs and I ordered cup noodles. I just had to shake my head and laugh because I had a Salvadorian-Honduran friend in high school who told me that hispanic people don{t like black people and I couldn{t stop thinking why the heck not–they{re just alike.

So that{s what I learned about the world. What I learned about myself is that you really cannot run from yourself. Whatever it is that a person is dealing with inside is going to roll with them like carry on luggage–i swear to goodness, since I{ve been in central America I{ve found myself attracted to both a man who was in love with another woman and a mooch. You can{t escape you, man.

I{m really disappointed that I didn{t get to make out with the man who was in love with another woman though–he was freaking hot.

That{s it for now. I is sleepy, and I gots to get up at 4 a.m. to catch this here flight.

Also, if anyone{s interested in L2 transfer, I got to observe firsthand both as a second-language learner and observer the way that L2 grammar can influence L1 sentence structure during the acquisition period.

Lingustics say whuuuuutttt??!!

……

that{s OK. Nobody ever says whuuuutttt when it{s linguistics haha

Looking for my life to change

In fewer than 24 hours, I will be on a plane to Guatemala. If  When I come back, hopefully everything will be different. And I do mean hopefully. Thanks for finally acknowledging that, AP

The Woman in the Black Hat

The woman in the black hat has no regrets, and that’s just as well, because she doesn’t have to live with her mistakes.

I do.

I am who appears in the days after the woman in the black hat has had her say and do.

I do nothing but regret.

 

The woman in the black hat is everything I wish I could show without crucifying myself the next day, because the woman in the black hat is me. When I’m pushed to the brink, there is she—she emerges. She  emerges out of my most base urges and she leaves me the next day debased.

I want to embrace her,

but she is too imperfect. She is too drunk dial, too give in, to fall on the dance floor and kiss strangers and say exactly how she feels when she feels it.

The woman in the black hat is too wild, when I was told that discipline would lead to righteousness.

The woman in the black hat says the things I think when I have been thinking them but silent for too long, but she never takes into account that I have to inhibit this space too. And in the mornings it is me who wakes with club-stained shirts and liner-smeared eyes and patchy memories of the sayings and the doings,

and quick leavings.

And it is me who is left holding my knees, rocking myself while wailing silently in an apartment with too-thin walls;

She is selfish.

The woman in the black hat never takes into account that I can’t handle her mistakes, I, the summa-cum-laude-this-is-how-i-determine-my-self-worth-graduate-student. I, the poker-face-best-foot-forward-product-of-a-long-line-of-fake-it-till-you-make-it.

There is darkness there,

and i fear ourselves merging.

I mean I feel ourselves merging; what is this?