My Never-Ending Rant

It seems I have turned my blog into some what a place for ranting...which is both sad and exciting. For me to go back and read over the things I was so passionate about, or discover moments that are like turning points in the formulation of my values and beliefs is...all together exhilarating.

I guess the only thing left for me to wonder is whether or not its really a smart thing to do: publishing all my thoughts online. Yea, not all of you who swing by my blog know these people I verbally abuse, in fact my blog is somewhat very private among my own friends. So...I am not worried about them finding out just how mad I was when even A happened or whatever. No.

I'm more interested in trying to come to terms with the fact that my ideas have been sitting out there, somewhere on the internet for over three years at who ever's disposal. So now I am wondering if I should close this thing down, or make it such that its not as public as it is. I really do not know.

On the one hand its served me well, helped me sort out (in its own way) the issues I have been going through at that time. And seeing as its a continuous rant, the representation of my life is somewhat tampered with. Agh- you know what? I don't really care. Lol.

Another rant, only this time about my ranting...I should get past this and write you up something exciting!

XXX

Black/White

I think I've come to the end of my tether here folks. For months now I've been trying to keep what is inevitable from happening. I am this close to loosing my top over some ignorant shit (excuse my French).
So, this year I have been charged with the punishment of making a whole entire new set of friends from whom I'll choose those who will know me for the rest of my life. Sounds fun doesn't it? I finds myself having difficulty in making that initial connection that ignites enough spark for it to last the test of time. Might I give you a scenario:


I met this individual (names withheld for obvious reasons) with whom I immediately "bonded" over our similar desire to "date outside our race". It was funny really, wouldn't it be cool if we each introduced the other into our circle of friends? Not something I was entirely keen of at the moment, but sitting there giggling over the hypothetical "what-ifs" was great amusement in its own right.
I had no intention of taking this up seriously, and no knowledge that they might actually consider this to be an effective way to "break through the other side". Whatever the case, this became the foundation of my very first "failed friendship" this year. In hindsight, I should have participated less in those base conversations, because I must have given off the impression that interracial dating was at the forefront of my mind.


Might I point out, before I go further, that I have absolutely no stance on who anybody decides to date. I feel about the same amount of emotion when I look at a LGBT relationship as I do when looking at a straight mixed or otherwise nonracial relationship. Bottom line, two (or more in some cases) parties are expressing and acting on their unified intimate feelings for one another, and that is beautiful. I do, however have a problem when humans extend this affection to their pets/animals and bestiality is called into question...that's just sick. Other than that, if you want to fall in love with a doll, a chair, a guy a girl...someone from your race or someone outside it...do your thing Booboo. Its your life after all!


Back to the issue at hand, this friendship I seem to have cultivated turned into something I was not anticipating. All of a sudden I had been levitated to Pimp Status, arranging dates and discussing my friends as though I had some sort of farm with bulls to sell. I must admit, out of curiosity, I threw in a few that I knew were not up to the standard of the "Prime Bulls" I was parading and to my surprise they received no rejection either! So here I was standing face-to-face with a classic case of what I like to call Black Skin  Fetish.
Everyone has their own "type" I suppose, and as I have come to learn this past Summer, this does include color but I guess what really hurt was the reality that this individual (who prides themselves with being pro-Africanism) might have very well made friends with me over just that issue: my skin color. More than once did I mistreat them purposely, and more than once did they brush it off as a natural default of being "African".
Perhaps I should have said something, made it known to them that their dismissal of my negative behaviors as being a direct result of my ethnic background hurt. Instead I laid out the sarcasm and begun to inwardly build a folder of all the reasons why I hated them to death, make inferences of their every word and secretly laugh inside at how short they were selling themselves just to be with a person of the opposite race.


Don't get me wrong, I did feel guilt, many times. At which point I would swoop in a dish some very much needed advice, and try and make this person realize the reality of their actions...but more times than that did I just sit there and let them be. Its almost as if I, myself saw their color as one of the reasons as to why I had to "protect" my kind form "their" kinds stupidity.
At some point I was convinced that only those with insecurity and self esteem issues gravitated towards my race. The one's well rooted in their being, confident in their purpose in life and "proper" (for lack of a better word) saw no interest in crossing over- and I guess the reverse is true too.


So then where did that leave me? Constantly doubting my secret desire to engage in an interracial relationship. I did not, and still do not identify myself with any of the above issues. I have no reason to feel internalized racsim, self-hate or want to be of another race. I really do love myself in all totality (flaws and all)...I guess I just want to see what its like to date outside my race, experience an entirely different culture from my own (even though, by now, I know I do not entirely agree with a lot of things) and participate in an intimacy that functions quite differently than the one I have grown accustomed to.
Mind you, I know that what I'm asking for has its own set of problems. I'll always be the "Exotic" girlfriend from "Africa"...the benchmark in his list of exes (unless he has dedicated his affections to specifically my race, in which matter I will probably not date him anyway...I am not some sort of label) whom all his friends and family will crowd over to examine. I'll always be the girl that either he decided to experiment with (with no REAL intentions of taking that relationship anywhere) or accidentally fell in love with: the one that stands out.
On the reverse side, whatever is going through his mind at this point, I cannot quite comment on. What if he thinks just like I do: suspicious of the girl who wants to engage in some sort of relationship with him. "What is she looking to establish? How does it reflect on me? What am I looking for? Why must there even be these kinds of questions running through my mind?!"


Sigh. It really was a little more than I was prepared to deal with and it resulted into me absolutely feeling ill towards my "friend". I was also rudely slapped in the face with the realization that I am in fact very African. Where as they would have probably attacked this problem head on, I moved out of their way. Preferring to keep the peace rather than really tell them what I thought about their little escapades.
I guess my friend's insights taught me well though. I would have never had the opportunity to look in on the issue from this standpoint. Of course now, I have had more time to come up correct inferences about the whole interracial dating thing. It has nothing to do with the degree of one's intellect (that's just my temper getting the best of me), but more-so with own free personal choice. Maybe it is a type. Maybe its not. I've learnt that in all of this, I can only walk out with the fact that I still want to see whats on the other side, and until I do so, well...I won't know!


Till later,


xx Me xx

Gypsy of Life

Not sure whether to stick around and sort things through, or pack up my things and move on to the next destination. I find myself standing outside of life while others run around like mice in an never-ending maze trying to beat the clock for God knows what reason. What is the rush about, and where are we all trying to accomplish in the end?

Since I have last written, more than half the people in and around my age bracket have either had a child, discovered they had a child or adopted one into their care. Whether they choose to take up the responsibility or not, the inevitable drift has started to pull us in opposite directions: them drifting towards responsibility I can only read about and watch from a distance, and me surrendering to the waves of Bachlorette-Hood.

It used to be that we all were focused on getting to the same finish line: University.

Since then, the ones that made it past the hurdles and through the tape have almost all retired. Getting through the first degree was hard enough, first year was like running through a forest at night with bullets flying in the air and the ground pregnant laden with grenades. By the time I opened my eyes and looked around me, scared and suddenly very aware of my surroundings, only half my colleagues had managed to make it into the first clearing. Acknowledging we made it this far should have brought us together, instead it formed protective bubbles around us. Lightly bouncing off each other when coming into contact, the intimacy we once shared shattered forever.

As if these trust issues born over night were not bad enough, the final year at University brought back Life's knife of natural selection to weed out her garden once more. Those who never made it on to the graduation lists fell off the Popsicle of education like flies dying from an electric blue light. They didn't stand a chance, the fact that they made it through the suicidal forest meant nothing, they could not cheat her again. This time, she caught them. Like the grim reaper back to collect his dues, it was only a matter of time.

I packed up my bags, walked into the airport and didn't even look back.

Life rushed in and set me up once again. A fresh start, a second chance at beating this things called Society's Expectations. Registered myself back in class, tucked my experience and past enlightenment securely in a box and put it under my bed: this was My Life (Part II).

Somehow the pressures from Part I seeped into Part II. Perhaps I'm done moving through the crowd with my wings tightly taped to my back. Perhaps I'm done sitting through endless meaningless conversations, listening to manipulative bitches talk their way through hearts time and time again. Perhaps I've reached my limit of absorbing the bullshit that comes with immature friendships and jealous wanna-be-you girls lost in their own battles of insecurity.

I have come to accept that my goals in life differ entirely from the type of friend's that I make. I have gotten over the fact that I am no longer the baby in the group, who's intentions will not be questioned.

"People are going to talk about you today, tomorrow- just as they were yesterday."

High school drama is only magnified at University Level...I am learning to recognize the fact that my Gypsy tendencies provide only temporary relief from the inevitable.

Whether or not they intend to hurt me, the fact remains that adulthood is very much lonely. People grow up to be different people, with different ideas of how the world should be. Trust is so key, yet so hard to really just give to any person that walks up to you and smiles.

In the mean time, I'll sit right here with my memories of what things were like before the crushes settled in, before we got to fucking and starting families without any real sort of direction. I'll keep in mind the days that we had when looking pretty and maintaining reputations were something of the distant future we could not even speculate about.

For now, I'll keep walking into that horizon, refusing to be rushed by the social waves of pressure. Walking with my aspirations intact, my dignity in my left butt pocket and my pride slung over my right shoulder. I'm a gypsy, the question is: are you coming with me?

Dear Ontario,

If ever any person argued that politics is not like high school friendships, then they we terribly wrong. Like many fellow Torontonians, I have been following closely the preparations for the up-coming two day summit of the G20, and I must admit I am a little more than shocked. How is it that a 'conservative' government can comfortably display the characteristics of a socialist one? There is no doubt in ANYBODY'S mind that money will be spent, but the magnitude at which it is, is what worries us, more than anything else.

In the Words of Jennifer Yang, a Staff Reporter of thestar.com, "What exaclty does $1 Billion worth of summit security look like?"

I think that best sums it up for everyone following the preparations. What the heck does one billion dollars worth of security look like? War tanks, loud sound makers, hundreds of masked soldiers from other parts of the country and walls. For two days of summit meetings, this seems a little much, does it not? I mean, we are not trying to start a new world war- financial leaders are just coming over to discuss money, politics and things. Do they need the reception of...a demi-god from back in the day?

What tourist attraction costs $1.9 Million, when right across the street the real thing is right there? Is our Prime Minister even thinking? I know his skin is probably thick from all the insults he's accumulated over his short reign, but seriously dude! Take down the damn wall and use that money to fix up more community pools or something. The summer is here and you'll still have to face us once this is all over- you don't want to see us pissed.

Sure, Harper can argue that many cities before us, and those after us would try their best to sweep their mess underneath the carpet, but what city suddenly wakes up one morning and squanders everything it has to impress other people in attempt to...gain favor amongst them? Its pathetic if you ask me, and the fact still remains that no cheerleader ever got to be captain just because their mother baked cookies for the team.

People like Phil Brown, the General Manager of Shelter, Support and Housing talk of finding homes for the homeless when the actual truth of the matter is nothing is definite, or clear. He even said, "Since the middle of March, city outreach workers have been working more intensely in the area affected by G20. That includes homeless people and people who panhandle, in order to ensure that they have a safe palce to stay."

We give him credit for sighting the problem, but just how the solution will be administered, no one can be sure. In an article written by CBC News, a homeless man was actually interviewed and he told them that he was warned against being withing the G20 area during the summit days, or else he could face arrest. Talk about being two-faced! On the one hand the government has all the right people in the right places, saying all the right things to the public, but in reality the orders are in place and will be in effect the moment the G20 steps foot on our soil.

All things considered, and knowing that the summit will go on despite all the numerous protests and letters that we write, the reality will shine through: you can't impress your friends with money. From the pen of another commentator who is closely following the events, "It wont work; he will never be a leader of the same caliber as Obama, Sarkozy or the British guy." Its a pity Toronto has to pay the price for this lesson.

Yours truly,

Just Another Mad Torontonian

Love you, miss you, hate you for leaving me...

On Love: 13 January 2010 was the last time we had any kind of contact, or a few days before that at least. Fresh from Rehab, still under house arrest I looked for ways to hear your voice one last time- because I knew it would be just for the sake of one last time.

On Friendship: One step behind my every move, no matter how poorly my judgement seemed at that time, I am still grateful for the unwavering friendship you still bless me with up until today. "A creature unlike any other" is what I once described you as, and surely you are...then you're other crummy friends went right ahead an spoiled it.

On Family: By far the biggest disappointment I have had in my whole life time, still I have to give the due respect owed to each of you for being my blood relation. With no where left to run, I think I have to face you now and only hope that I come out of it alive.

Im and Addict...a Reject!

Lol, so the title might be a little strong, but I'm telling you around Christmas and New Years time, that sounded just fine. Had even a ring to it!

I am a survivor of Rehab, ladies and gentlemen! Yes! And I wont go without saying that I was locked up against my will for no better reason than to separate me from my boyfriend. Now, the Parents could have sat back and sipped on their tea thinking that they had won the battle, but I assure you, they have not won the war.

Although a fore warning was issued, I never thought it would actually come to pass. But it did! So two days before Christmas I was packed off and driven to a small duplex compound that I swear coulda gone for 250,000/= a month at most (about $100) each. Behind wimpy iron gates, I didn't even wait to hear the sound of the car leave, or look into the faces of my triumphant father and distraught mother.

I must admit, at first I was just disgusted. Thinking to myself, that I have probably 24 hours before they came picked me up and that was that. Nope, they left me there for the Christmas and New Years and I am sad to say I wouldn't have asked for it to be any different! Not only did I get to meet other 'clients' but I also left that Rehab after I had imprinted on it some of my Nali-ous characteristics.

That female nurse was right to complain to the guards, before she was sacked, that the Director shouldn't have brought in a couple of Muzungu's (white washed blacks). Its not our fault that she didn't have the best toilet mannerisms, and couldn't understand a word of English we would say when we heartily kicked her out of our private bathroom and forced her to share with the guards. Its not our fault that we took more attention from the boys than her. Its not our damn faults that we had an actual interest and certain seriousness about the drugs being randomly distributed. And for crying out loud, its not the damn girls' fault that Nali was added to their pool.

No more blindly taking drugs before bed time. Hell, in fact it was no more drugs period! Out with the zombie looking clients, in with the fresh full of energy people who could sit and hold proper conversations without falling asleep mid way! No more survival tactics, we became a family- and by God the bond we made can only be tested over time.

The only thing that bugged me the most was the fact that, like my own parents, Ugandan mothers and fathers have no clue how to take care of their own. I mean it. There were these four boys, age 15/16 and I swear two of them hadn't ever tasted a single drug, let alone drank any liquor. The other two were well into their experimental stages, and you could see that it was something they would eventually learn to moderate or drop in the near future. I mean, come on! The worst bit was, they had just been pulled out of boarding school for the holidays, straight into this 'facility' until they were ready to go back to boarding school of the remaining advanced years of their high school.

Talk about not wanting to take responsibility for your own. No wonder these kids grow up, angry and hateful. Then they get their chance to fly off and never come back. What parents don't know, is that those teenage years are the ones we need them the most. They make the greatest impact on our lives, and if that impact is going to be made by another hopeless looking, shitty feeling individual branded an alcoholic, who is to say these kids wont go bar hopping to find the kinds of friends they have been labelled to be similar?

Rehab is no kind of bar to set for your kids, take it from me people.

That's when I kind of lost it for Serenity Centre. How desperate could they be to actually admit these kids, tell them everyday that they are alcoholics and counsel them to be better recoverees? Recoverees from what? I wondered. That's just fucking insane, I'm sorry. But if the Ugandan society is comfortable going down that lane, then I'm telling you we are in for it in the long run!

Now, having promised myself that Id refrain from directly attacking the Centre's pathetic programs and methods, at least I can say that as Addicts...Rejects we gave those people a friggin run for their money. Not only did we manage to escape twice (while I was in there), but we also snuck in a good deal of cigarettes and happily smoked daytime or evening.

As a student of Psychology, I think this trip was a crucial and beneficial one for me to take. At least I have a clue how it feels to be on the other side of the table, and I now know what not to do should I ever want to start my own Rehabilitation Centre in Uganda.

To all those clients that were there the time I was, you can only be reading this if you are successfully out of that damn program. My advice to you is to keep your activities to yourself and in firm control, heed only to the words of strength and growth that we were told. Throw those pills (I know you hide them), that nurse's image, and all those damn ideas that you have a disease that cannot be controlled, out the damn door. Its high time you took responsibility for the damage that you choose to do, you're in no way close to being as messed up as they said we were.

That is just not an excuse anymore.

I love you all, except of course Mr. PeePee who made our lives a living hell, and hope to see you bright and wiser in the future. To the old guys, don't forget us when your writing your wills, we walked you around when your feet were too damn swollen to get you to the bathroom!

From one Addict...Reject to another,

God bless your soul!

Dear 99,

Its been 23 years now since you helped bring me to this world, and I only have utmost respect and gratitude for that. And that is about it.
Seeing as your a professional mind reader, I should give you the benefit of the doubt when it comes to how you chose to raise me. I bet most daughter's do at some point. But by now we both know that I am no where close to what 'most daughters' are, and I certainly do not conform to their actions, weather I agree or disagree to them.

I never really took the time to write anything to you that held any emotion before. I'm not even really sure why. Part of me thinks it's because I learnt earlier on that you are incapable of expressing any form of 'love' for anybody, even yourself; while the other half of me thinks it's because I never really cared enough to 'let you have it' so to speak.

23 years have come and gone, and for some odd reason I feel I am compelled to calling you off your highly perched stool to tell you a little about yourself no one has ever dared to. Just as you feel like it is in your every duty to call me out, I feel as a daughter I am obligated to correcting your poorly matured personality for the sake of you having people at your funeral.

Yes, I know you can sit there and say you don't care, you have every right to pull that childish defence tactic: 'sticks and stones may hurt my bones, but words will never break me'. Heads up, this message is in no way meant to 'break' you in any form. Yet, if there is one thing all human beings must learn to ultimately accept, its that words are the most powerful weapon on this earth. So please, read on carefully.

Your need to be 'in control' of everything and everybody around you is so unbecoming and beneath you. Sure, you exude calmness and self-ease, but behind closed doors, you cannot really hide your real self from the people you live with at home. I'm not quite sure if it's just because you see that life is beginning to pass you by as the universe continues to push you along into the 'old people' bracket; or if it's because as a child you never were in control of anything, but whatever it is, I will not put up with it anymore.

Years living under your roof has taught me how to be annoyingly tranquil when it comes to dealing with personalities such as yourself. You see all, know all, and hear nothing but the sound of your own voice. Should the outside world throw you a curve ball, oh hell, you'll just go home and take it out on them!

Can you surely deny the many days in the when your favourite past time was picking quarrels with me? As a behavioural scientist, could you please explain to me exactly what that was all about? Even if you try to be as objective as you can, I'm sure there is no valid explanation beyond the fact that you have unresolved 'daddy issues'.

Let me jog your memory a bit to the days when you enjoyed picking other people's personalities to pieces, cornering them with self doubt and insecurity. What kind of person is able to uphold a fight with someone thirty years their junior and be beaten at it? Don't you not think that it is high time you took your pen and paper and gave yourself an evaluation? Heck, you're even lucky to have me in your life. Give me a couple years to get that doctorate, I'll gladly take you through it- F R E E OF CHARGE!

Go ahead and try to deny the fact that you are the kind of person who always has to point the finger at somebody else. I find it so hilarious that you should be so good at it. In fact, you are so expertly good that you forgot what you told me about finger pointing: remember that there are always four other fingers pointing back at you. I may sound like a spoilt child in a fit of rage aiming back at her father, but dude, it's high time you heeded to your own advice for once.

You amaze me with the way your whole entire life has evolved into one huge contradiction. I may not be as wise as the your past, but I am your ticket into a comfortable future and there will come a time when you will have to trust your entire well-being in my 'irresponsible' hands. Weather or not you like it.

If there is one thing I can promise you; its that I will give you what you deserve. Nothing more and definitely nothing less. You can have all the material comfort in the world, but at no one period in whats left of your miserable life will you have spiritual and emotional peace.

This promise I keep glowing in my heart is what gives me serenity at times like these. Times when I just want take that baseball bat you so trustingly keep besides your bed at night and use it as a sledge hammer to smash your head right into your pillow. Times when I want to mix up a dose of something lethal and slip it in your dinner while you stare at me like I was the worst thing that happened to you in your life. The truth of the matter is I just want you out of my way, but the promise I hold in my heart keeps me from doing any of this. The promise in my heart holds so much more satisfaction of watching you suffer at my will. The promise I will eventually turn into a reality will take me another couple of years until the day I will implement it; revengefully getting back at you for all the wrong you inflicted on me.

So, for now publicly ridiculing you on a personal blog will have to do. It seems to be the best remedy for my anger these past few years. I don't really care if you come across it or not, I'm sure others have read and internalized previous posts before. Nothing seems to stop these words of mine, clearly nothing ever will. I'm just sorry that the rest of the world now sees behind that phoney act to what you really look like. I could almost feel guilty...or NOT!