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?