Stay Woke.

Dreamer turned VISIONARY.

[littlegiantnyc]

Through The Concrete

When no one even cared The rose it grew from concrete Keepin all these dreams Provin nature's laws wrong It learned how to walk without havin feet It came from concrete

-Nicki Giovanni

Two men that I admire told me that I use negatives too much. Every other sentence that I utter, especially when talking about myself includes a “don’t” or “can’t.” Of course when they told me this I was:

1. Defensive af. I don’t care if you are a mind reader, DO NOT read me when I did not ask to be read lol Naw but seriously unsolicited advice and commentary in general is unwarranted around these parts so annoy me at your own risk. 

2. Taken back. Up until these occurrences, people have always described me as positive. I have always been pretty wise for my age and tend to see the good in the worst of situations/people so I get it but to hear I was negative clouded that.

I openly deal with my dark times. Depression, feeling less than, feeling lost in my 20 somethings... regular shmegular degular black, hood raised, immersed in tainted ideas of history and whiteness-esk struggles BUT this, this hit me hard. I guess it is because I want other people to still view my light, even when I can’t see past the darkness. So far this year I have been hit hard with loss, bad news and hard conversations. One of the people I love more than anything was diagnosis with something I can’t even pronounce, I spent almost a month in and out of the hospital with my dad, I’ve loss friends who I thought were family over situations that I am still unsure of and that feeling of darkness that I have been running from for over two years plagues my mind more often then it did when it first showed its face. 

..... Too Deep? 

I know. I would of put a trigger warning but in order to feel what comes next here, I needed you to be uncomfortable because that is exactly how I have been feeling for months. I feel like I am walking on egg shells in my own mind. My point here is not to alarm anyone. This is not 13 Reasons Why (not desensitizing the seriousness of depression or suicide) but that’s just not where I am going with this. A Rose Grew Through the Concrete. This line, those songs (including Teyana Taylor’s version on KTSE which is pretty decent - Petunias don’t uprise because I think it is just decent)... has never meant more to me than it does right now. It’s like the line that “the only way out is through,” I am meant to bloom. No matter how hard the circumstance or how impossible the journey may be, I am the rose that will continue to bloom out of the concrete. 

I hope that you, whether you be a mom, an artist, a drug dealer or just a you... that you read this and are uncomfortable and familiar at the same time because we all have hard times. But hear me out...

You too are meant to bloom, no matter how hard the concrete may be because even in the struggle there is beauty. 

[littlegiantnyc]

Happy Birthday to Me.

My birthday is tomorrow and for the first time in a long time, I am not excited. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have the birthday blues or anything. I am just in this weird space that I can’t quite put my finger on how I feel about it.

Anyone who is reading this that knows me, knows this is not a typical Ja’Nai response to my birthday. In fact, it’s odd af for me to feel so detached from the day being that I usually treat my birthday like a national holiday. Birthdays have always been a big deal for me, even if its not my own. You know that warm and fuzzy feeling that Christmas carols, specifically the one that Boyz II Men version of “Let it Snow” gives you? That’s how a feel about birthdays. When I was younger I never really understood why I loved birthdays so much but now that I am older I understand that it’s that fuzzy feeling that reallyyyy sells it for me. It’s your day to be celebrated and appreciated for growing one year older and most importantly wiser. It’s literally your personal New Year. The cake, presents and balloons are cool too but for me it’s the love and appreciation for your existence that people exude on your birthday that warms my heart.

Now If you’re here reading like ...

saying “well if you love birthdays, why are you not excited about your own?”

 I guess the short version is my expectations for that exuberance of love and appreciation is beyond low. Since January 1st, I’ve been feeling like a target like every way I turn there is someone who is pointing a finger at me saying “You’re the problem” and it has sent me into complete and utter defense mode. 

Actual footage of how life has been for the past three months:

I’ve felt alone, forgotten, attacked, unappreciated and honestly, misunderstood. I’ve been prideful and I’m not a prideful person. Some may call my bluff on this statement but let me use the first google definition of prideful to explain my point.

Prideful  [prahyd]: a high or inordinate opinion of one's own dignity, importance, merit,or superiority, whether as cherished in the mind or as displayed in bearing, conduct, etc.  - Dictionary.com

Growing up I was a shitty friend. I had a best friend that I had met in kindergarten who honestly created a friend group for me. I’ve always been outgoing but in a teachers pet kind of way, and not so much a personable way. In social settings I could easily fade into the background but because my best friend at the time was popular and outspoken, I always felt like I was apart of a group. When we split up and went to different Middle Schools, it was my first time having to make my own friends. I pretty much floated around, making friends here and there but the people who really took interest in being a friend to me, I treated poorly because I felt a certain dominance or control over them, which believe me is wicked as shit for me to even admit but HEY I’m a younger sibling and power seldom came my way, so don’t judge me. ANYWHO, by the time I got to HS my elementary friends were distant and I began to forge friendships within my HS school. By the time I got to 11th grade, I literally had a crew, I mean we had a whole name and everything. We made friends with girls from other areas so that we could travel in a pack to parties and get togethers and although I only left HS with 3 friends or so... I will always be fond of those memories of walking way too far, being way too loud and feeling WAY too free. I felt like I was apart of something and when that crew fell apart I was a little uneasy about friendships and whether I would ever find ones that would stick.

>> FAST FORWARD to my first semester at Gettysburg college (A.K.A the sunken place). I was legitimately hurt and humiliated. The PWI (predominantly white college) life was draining my soul. I was missing my home and felt stuck. That is until I met these two girls who changed me more than they’d ever know. They sat me down and told me I was sheltered, selfish and basically needed to broaden my horizons. They checked TF out of me when I was doing the most but most importantly, they taught me that friendship was about being consistent, supportive and honest. Because of them I learned how to be a better friend within my other friend groups. I graduated two years ago. Since, I have been navigating multiple friendships and it was not until a couple of days ago that I realized that I had lost what they taught me in an attempt to protect myself from what feels like attack. I’ve become prideful and reflective of the energies others have shown me and that’s not who I am or really who I aspire to be. If I had to guess what my purpose is, it is to help others and I cannot do that trying to constantly self preserve as a means to protect.

Somewhere between May 18, 2016 and today, I’ve lost sight of what allowed me to let my guard down and fix things even if I feel like someone is attacking my character. Today I am pledging to myself to find that strength. It is easy to point a finger at someone else but it is hard to find your own fault in a situation and apologize genuinely without feeling like you’re surrendering. We are advised to protect our peace, to seek good vibes but in doing so I believe you have to first understand what brings you peace. My peace is found in the memories, opportunities and time that I am able to share with the ones that I love the most. So as I enter this New Year I am not excited, I am humbled and grateful. For things that I have been able to repair and/or replenished. I am thankful for the ability to reflect on my experiences and build a stronger understanding of what I need to swim and not just float. To the things that still may linger, I will try to resolve it and find my peace in even the smallest willingness for those to attempt to understand me.

Walking in my truth is not easy but as I approach my New Year I look forward to doing so without fear of attack. 

[littlegiantnyc]

Frequencies

On a morning like this, after a night that I don’t want to talk about and a feeling that is eating at me more and more by the day... I find myself listening to Jhene Aiko’s new album Trip questioning whether this is what I deserve or is it simply what I have accepted. 

Frequency 

When you have been through things that left scars that no one will see unless you make them show, they will assume that you are strong. They will assume that you have it easy, at least easier than them and they will call you emotional or assume that you are weak when you try to show them your wounds. I guess its not their fault, right? You broke and no one knew. You walked around putting band-aids on open wounds and when you bled out, you lashed out. 

I am being completely honest here, I have literally repressed my way through every situation that has hit me since my last relationship. Looking back at it, I have been dodging my own demons like I am straight out of the matrix for over two years and although I have consciously made the decision to open up to my friends, it is not enough. You start to believe that only rewinding time could help but unfortunately that’s not a thing, so you cope. But what is coping when every few months or so you find yourself with that feeling that only kisses that make you feel something through the pain can shake. I know this sounds like some real dark, Mary J. Blidge, I’m going down shit but hear me out, what is coping going to do to scars, things that are always going to be there no matter how much time passed?

 Here is where frequencies comes in.

 Waves of love, heal scars. They don’t disappear but from experience, trust me they have gotten me through things that could have sent me overboard. Waves of truth, when you feel bare and welcomed can also help. No, truth is not always what we want but seldom is it not what we need. I am far from a pro at embracing these waves. As I shamelessly said above, I am a top five suppressor but I am trying to adapt and embrace whatever it is that I need to heal me because the more I cope, the longer I am choosing to let that pain live here. Dormant or not, it still exists and can decide to resurface whenever it chooses. For that reason, I am trying to follow the frequencies and love a little more, be a lot more truthful, especially with myself and cry more than kiss. Its okay to forgive and rebuild but its never okay to convince yourself that forgetting is okay. How you felt/feel in moments where there’s more pain than love, is real and warranted despite how it may come off to anyone else. I hope that the more I send out waves of truth and love, the more they are likely to bounce back. 

[littlegiantnyc]

A Note on Love.

Searching for that feeling, tell me where is the magic Let's stay together 'til we're ghosts I want to witness love, I never seen it close Yeah, but I guess I gotta find it first - Drake

The other day I was talking to a friend of mine via snapchat about how our brother’s are actually parents. For anyone who knows my brothers, the middle child especially, it is weird af to think of him as a father. Not that he is bad at it or anything, cause he’s a really dope dad, it’s just, when you are younger you don’t realize how much your role as a person within your particular universe will develop, like this boy can barely spell his name and he’s a WHOLE father. The universe is wild.

As we continued to talk, we got into our future children’s names and when we plan on having children and she says, “I want to have kids with someone I can build with.” I agreed because logically you’d want to have a family and not just a baby daddy but as our conversation blossomed and we spoke more about love I realized that not everyone has seen love up close. By up close I mean in their families, we see love on TV, in movies, in our communities and that is a beautiful thing but that love although desired, is not tangible. My friend told me about how she was raised to love and to show love but for some reason she has always been reluctant to do so. Me, being the extra, pro-love therapist that I am, began to tell her it’s probably because she’s never seen it work in longevity. We both grew up with parents who were separated but the difference was that I was also raised by my grandparents who were married for around 50 years. 

Growing up I got to see them love each other through pain, through accomplishments, through loss, through their children, through me and through death. It  wasn’t until I was older and could actually understand their story that I realized how lucky I was to have had them.

That was real love, that was something tangible. I remember my grandmother would fuss at my grandfather and he would just smile and make jokes that would get her even more worked up but ultimately fill the room with so much laughter that she’d have to let it go. Watching them grow old gave me hope in love, despite the fact that my parent’s marriage didn’t work out. They argued everyday, would take shots at each other constantly but were there for each other in every single possible way. They taught me that love can transcend and transform nonbelievers, if done right. That love is the only way to lift a seemingly broken spirit whether it be self-love or romantic. They taught me that love is patient and is not always as passionate as it is on the big screen. I feel like we are prone to desire that, knock me off my feet, butterflies in my stomach, you don’t know my name type of love and don’t get me wrong that type of love is real but is a linear view of love. Love is cyclical, its continuous and sometimes we have to let it go for it to move forward but it will indeed move forward. 

When I think about how I love in my own relationship, I think of them because they taught me how to love without being afraid of being exposed. They fought everyday for their love and although it seemed effortless to me I could only imagine how much love was breed in the midst of struggle. My point here is that love stories are not shaped in one image, no love is perfect but your love will be perfect for you. Love is a risk. It can break you and rebuild you at the same time. I encourage anyone who is reading this and is like FUCK LOVE to give love another chance. I am not promoting walking blindly into love but I am promoting giving it a fair chance even after it seems like it has given up on you because...

Love hurts and heals.

Alice and Edward (My Grandparents, My Angels).

[littlegiantnyc]

The Butterfly Effect

I’ve been sitting here for the past 30 minutes trying to figure out what I wanted to write about, when BAM I said to myself, “Self, write about the butterfly effect.” For all of you who are like Mike jones?? Butterflies? Mr. Krabs in the crowd, lost af... No worries, It’ll all make sense in a few seconds but before I go into this can we all take a minute to admire the forcefulness in this man’s face when he says this classic line, like he meant this with all his heart and soul. 

“Back then they didn’t want me, now I’m hot they all on me.”  Mike, I felt this line on a spiritual level.

I wouldn’t say I am hot but I’m lukewarm cause as of lately, dudes that literally made me question my sanity for even giving them more than a second of my time have been popping out of the wood works trying to dique “check on me.” Of course when I see these unsaved, mystery numbers I know nothing but heathentry is lurking on the other side of that gray message bubble but it just baffles me that now that I am finally happy, they appear. It’s almost like your old joints have sensors that go off whenever you’re doing well reminding them that it’s about time they try to ruin your spirit and block your shine again. I know I am hella dramatic and that’s not the case with everyone but I know I am not the only person who has been through this stage where you’re just trying to be a butterfly and shit keeps coming up that reminds you of your days as a caterpillar.

The Butterfly Effect (Caterpillar, Cocoon, Butterfly) is the equivalent to your “Glo up.” It’s the stage in your life where you finally break out from the deep dark cocoon that was, your ex, undergrad experience, post grad job search and finally find a space that allows you to spread your wings and fly. I think the butterfly effect happens multiple times in our lifetimes, it’s an on going reincarnation of self from our weakest points to our highest, so if you’re mid Glo and think you don’t have a chance of peeking again, your time will come again sis. I often think of the effect inversely, like how could that caterpillar not know it would be a butterfly and how could THEY not know that it would be (they being the unsaved numbers I mentioned earlier)?

 I guess it’s because we don’t stop and see the potential in people. We never really know if the caterpillar will make it to the butterfly stage but if you really invested in it’s growth you’d see they had potential to. This is seeming like I want these guys to invest in me, so let me clarify, that’s a BIG NO on the rector scale. I am straight and more grateful that they didn’t when they had the chance because I probably wouldn’t have blossomed the same, so thank you to ain’t shits, I am truly grateful for your inconsistency. 

Anyways, I think the black Kanye (before Kim and Amber, I am talking Through the Wire Kanye) said it best in his tribute to Hov “People never get the flowers when they can still smell ‘em.” We, including me need to stop appreciating people after the struggle and appreciate who they are when they are going through it. It’s so much easier to love the finish product, I know but its so much more genuine when you know how hard the person worked to get there because you were there waiting for that butterfly. 

Moral of the story: Caterpillars are beautiful too.

[littlegiantnyc]

A Love Letter To Myself

I’m usually really confident about a post when I go to write it. I kind of sit and think through my word choice and try to make sure that I am thoughtful and intentional about what I am typing down on digital paper cause shit, once it’s up, it’s up. As you can see I have shamelessly left some post up that show me at my weakest points, typos and all because it was RAW and very much so me so why hide it or delete it when it’s a part of me, right?

I guess I am so conflicted about this post because I’ve written so many love letters in my life and to anyone who was like, “damn sis, how many niggas have you loved at 23″ you blow mine, utterly and completely because my current definition of a “love letter” includes any gathering of words that I put together for a friend, lover, family member etc. that came from my heart and not just my head. I think any of my close framily (friends who are family) will tell you I pride myself on my thorough birthday texts and check-ins where I pretty much go in and reassure them that their presences is more than appreciated. I’ve written paragraphs full of pain, passion and honesty to men who made me feel like they meant more than what I could even utter and I’ve literally came up with some BOMB as facebook post on any given holiday that allows me to reflect on my family, so to say the least... I am prone to writing letters of love. 

But it’s weird when it’s addressed to me, no it’s not because I don’t love myself because I can confidently say that I do but there’s always this overwhelming feeling that I am not loving myself in the way that I need. I am a strong believer in the 5 love languages and loving someone how they need to be loved and not how we want to love them and I think as I’ve gotten older I’ve paid keen attention to really trying to give those that I care about the love they receive best but somehow I always slightly miss the mark when it comes to self. I guess it’s hard for me for several reasons, I was an overweight kid, smart but average and  although I was not brutally teased, I have moments that I remember from my childhood that make me reconsider adding the Marble Cookie Brownies to my Dominos order every time. Oh and I went to an all girls school for both MS and HS where although I learned a shit load, I was exposed to some heavy self-hate moments and then there was Gettysburg aka baby white America BUT I digress... Despite my growth and affirmation to work on whatever body, image, life in general issues that I face, it’s hard for me to write myself a love letter and not feel like I’m loving only a piece of me or what I think I am. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try right so here’s my love letter to myself at 5:42pm on a Thursday when I should be at the damn gym. 

[littlegiantnyc]

I Don’t Want To Be Rich

Some time last week a coworker and I were sitting at my desk talking about how draining work is, our goals for the future and everything else that makes a desk job feel like an eternity when I blurted out, “Man I just want to be real life rich.”

My coworker laugh and asked me what “real life rich” means so I explained:

Real Life Rich  /ˈrē(ə)l līf riCH/ : To live in a state of financial comfort with the means to not only effortlessly maintain your own expenses but also create an inherited financial cushion for your family. 

Of course I did not explain it so eloquently, I said something around, “It means that I want to be able to own my own stuff, like I don’t want new Great Gatsby money, I want old, established, my kids have assets, money.” In that moment my coworker said, “Oh no, you want to be wealthy not rich. Those trap rappers are Rich, you want to be Diddy.” It was like a I saw the light, I do want to be Diddy, minus the two step and six plus kids. I want to be able to own my brand, provide for my family and move as I please because I worked for my wealth and did not settle for simply living rich. 

So here’s where “Get Rich Or Die Tryin’” comes in... 

1. I love love love this movie. I am not big on 50 cent, something about his hairline being so boxy doesn’t settle well with me but one thing he has been good at is using his lived experiences to craft great narratives. What’s even better is that these narratives have made him tons of money and money that he then invests into more projects building his brand and ultimately his wealth.

2. BUT I DIGRESS... When you come from somewhere like Harlem or any inner-city/”hood” you are exposed to the hustler mentality. Now I would like to think that it is instilled in all of us but you can’t instill the streets in a person who has never seen 125th on the 1st of the month when the fiends are in full bloom; it’s real life Zombie land and although we may have not grown up with drug abuse in our households, that sticks with us. The boys on the corner with basketball shorts under their sweats, that sticks with us and that hustler spirit that thrives from the hood, sticks with us. We see people striving to get rich everyday so that’s what we aim for...It’s not enough though.

We get rich and invest in other rich people’s pockets before we make sure to put in our own. What I mean by that is, most people, including myself are more likely to buy a bottle at the spot than put that $120 in their savings and I get it, you have to front and stunt sometimes but just think about how much money you’d have to play around with once you’ve set yourself up to not live from pay check to pay check. As I am writing this, I’m here like, “I am making sense and I don’t follow this religiously and that’s dumb af,” so even I have to get my shit together but I still think it’s important to say. I want my kids to choose the college of their dreams, not the one that we can afford. I want to be able to be like, “Damn Ja’Nai, you need a vacation” and BOOM SWIPE SWIPE.. Vacation booked, no payment plans, no credit card necessary. I want to own my home, car and whatever else I want. It’s not enough to be rich anymore because if I am going to die tryin’ something I want to know that my family isn’t going to have to depend on whatever riches I left behind to pay for my funeral and to live off of. 

I choose wealth for 200. 

[littlegiantnyc]

Normal Girl

Before I go on my rant, can we all just give it up for SZA for:

A. Track number 6. The Weekend. She really gave thotties an anthem that is truly relatable, even to the average female who denounces thotism but will admit to sharing a guy at some point in her life, whether knowingly or unknowingly. 

B. Giving hella vibes. I’ll be real, it took me over a month to not skip Supermodel and Prom because the intros and switch in tempo initially threw me off but I can say now after listening to only this album and my “It’s Lit” playlist (Apple Gods, I thank you) I’ve really grown to respect the vibe she has created. It’s raw, unforgiving and youthful ...and at this lost and scrabbled time in my life she kind makes me feel like I am not the only one who feels like they’ve lived a lifetime in my early 20 somethings.

In short, thank you SZA.

Her song “Normal Girl” inspired me to make this post. It’s kind of stuck in my head and at first I was like “yeah, it’s because you’re a misunderstood weird yet wildly in style, nomadic soul” which is dragggginnnngggg it but then I realized naw, I really fuck with this song because I’m not normal. It’s weird to say that and not feel like you’re just feeding into the fad of identifying as other/weird/different to set yourself apart from the 10 million other females claiming their crown to individuality but it’s true, I have never been and will never be a normal girl.

Too often are we asked to conform to fit within what is deemed culturally normal and even those who are trademarked as leaders, promote the need to follow the pack. We are set up to desire things like WCW posts from males that glo’ed up from litter to full grown basura. We spend hours stalking famous hood people as well as actual artists, actresses and socialites because it’s normal to insta, snap, twitter watch. It’s normal to compare ourselves to others and what they have... and if you’re reading this and saying, “No, I don’t do that. I just look at their pages for entertainment. I don’t want to be anyone else but me” BLAH BLAH BLAH. Yous a DAMN lie. It’s normal and I guess that’s what makes it okay but it sucks that we low key all think that we possibly aren’t enough. I guess my actual point is...

In the middle of you craving that piece of whatever our twisted yet beautiful culture has deemed normal, remember that you have lived experiences, memories, feelings, features that are specific to you and someone, somewhere will love you for that. They’ll love you because your normal is far from theirs and that taste of something new is exactly what they need. 

[littlegiantnyc]

Dreams

A few weeks ago a friend of mine hosted an event that was centered around empowering young women of color to identify and live their dreams. My friend is bomb as fuck for a plethora of reasons but at 21 years old she is the CEO of her own organization, Built By Flaws that not only throws events like the one that I mentioned above but engages with women around the world, challenging and inspiring them to embrace their flaws. 

I usually have a good time at her events because my friends come out to support and it is a space where all of us can be in one room enjoying each other’s company. This event was particularly special because it pushed me to really think about my dreams and aspirations. When we are little kids we have the stereotypical dreams of being a doctor, astronaut, singer/rapper, basketball player who is also a model but those things fade as we realize that we are not coordinated or willing to spend 8 years in college. 

But then there’s believable dreams, the one that you can close your eyes on any given day and see yourself doing. These are the dream we run from because they seem too good to be true or maybe we are just afraid of diving into something that is seemingly uncharted ground. For me it’s neither of those things, I am just lazy, like real life lethargic af and it sucks because I am super motivated once I am into something and have committed but if there is even an inch of space where I can crawl out of a commitment, I’ll probably do so. 

Knowing this and having sat through my friend’s event listening to panelist in my age bracket talk about conquering their dreams and finding their niche made me feel two things:

1. Like shit because at the time I was like this is super inspiring but I am grown and still do not know what I want to be when I grow up.

2. Like I needed to sit down with me and figure out what my dreams are because I honestly cannot sit at a cubicle in front of anybody’s elevator for the rest of my life. 

I guess the point of me writing this post is to say if you are siting in an office or working at a job that you feel isn’t getting you closer to your dreams, it’s okay to tell yourself to move on. It’s okay to be broke and striving towards your dreams, but it is not okay to be striving towards nothing and still be broke, so today I affirm to not be lazy about my dreams. I have so many bomb ideas and projects that I want to bring to the forefront. Time to get this work!

[littlegiantnyc]

Ain’t Shit

So let me be real, I ain’t shit. I have this weird relationship with writing, its like I am committed until life actually hits me and the thought of doing more, even if it’s a simple as writing about my day, seems tedious and too much. I promise every time I promise to write more that I mean it, I just struggle with consistency and confusing self-care with obligation. Because lets be real, its a thin line between burden and release, especially when your release is to write about your burdens. 

But.. Any who, I am going to get my life together one day. I feel like I have too much to say, too many wild ass encounters to rant about and too many moments where my stars just seemed to align to not write it down. I don’t care who reads my posts, honestly, I mean I do in the sense that I want to share my work with people but I do it more for me than anyone else. Just knowing that someone took their time out to hear me out is refreshing. It kind of restores my hope in humanity in sense, it shows that people still find value you in investing in another people’s narratives. 

This summer I feel like I have to set up some goals. I am one job down, in a semi-intoxicating relationship and attending an Ivy League for my masters in the fall. 

Super Sidebar: I didn’t even know Columbia was an Ivy League. I’m probably one of the smartest dumb people that you will ever meet but yo, it’s actually lit. I honestly can say that I am bad and indeed bougie. It’s Teacher’s College but it’s still Columbia sis. Check me out!

So, in honor of this summer being my prep for life as a graduate student here is a list of things I need to get done this summer, NO EXCUSES!

1. Driver’s License: I use to lie to myself and say that I can drive and that I was just scared of the other drivers. LIES! I fucking suck at driving and am more scared of me killing everyone than I am scared of them killing me.

2. Put out an EP: This isn’t deadass but it’s deadass. I have been singing all my life, it’s not fair to myself that I let that dream of being a singer fade because I didn’t have the support that I wanted from my family. I know my limits, my talent and no one else will believe in it if I don’t invest in it.

3. Consistently work on my body: I am and have always been a person who trial commits. My body has always been a struggle and although I’ve grown to accept it, I still have moments when I just want to get a vacuum and a knife and channel my inner Dr. Miami. 

4. Explore more: Going abroad really made me get comfortable with finding my way, seeking new sites and being okay with asking someone to take a picture of me. I need to do more of that in the states, shit in the city even. 

[littlegiantnyc]

Almost A Year Later

So, my last two posts were deleted because I can’t believe how dramatic and hurt I was. I feel like I am my past self’s best friend saying, “GIRL, get it together and take a shot or something.” Of course it was how I genuinely was feeling and that pain was real, it pierced me and I still have the mental scars to show for it but why dwell in the darkness when the light feels so warm and welcoming. So yeah those depressing ass posts had to go and baby I am back, blessed and a mess but better than ever. 

I’m currently adulting, for those who are like aw that’s a cute word but it’s not an actual word. Hush, when you study English to four years of your life... Holla at me with the vocab policing until then I’m basically the hood’s doctor Suess. So adulting, by definition is:

Adulting: to graduate and/or enter a profession and realize that your parents aren’t with your shit and refuse to even feed you sometimes so you have to suck it up and sacrifice actually balling (now that you may or may not have a budget) in order to stay alive.

In short, the struggle continues ya’ll. I work two jobs and I still await pay day like, “where dey at doe?”  It’s worth it, the struggle, the quick decisions, the meal prep at 12am because I literally felt like I was suffocating at Gettysburg and I am free. No, I am not free from work or constantly thinking critically but I am free from that space that really catered to the darkness and honestly it feels amazing. Gettysburg was not the root of what I was facing but its definitely didn’t help me shake my slump but have no fear! The city has revived me this summer despite my 8:30am-11pm shift six days out of the week. 

And... as the summer concludes I am even more excited to live. Live like really live because we often say we’re living and it’s just momentary. I want to live in every single moment, whether it on my couch or on a roof top. Real “The Notebook” “Wild”-esque I know but I’m 22, single and in love with the fact that my happiness is finally at my own forefront. 

But yeah tune in... I’m going to attempt to actually write shit. 

[littlegiantnyc]

Week 1 without him

I spoke to him yesterday for the first time in a week and although I attempted with all my might to give off a feeling of detachment from all emotions, I am pretty sure me even reaching out to him negated my attempt to “play it cool.” But in all reality our situation is not cool and I have never been a master of disguise so why do I have to act like because he is not who he once was I have to change to fit his attitude. For months I walked on egg shells telling myself that I had to restrain from annoying him, telling him that I was trying my hardest not to annoy him and ultimately finding myself having to apologize constantly for being a burden. I guess I was complaining too much and criticizing his actions but what do you expect from someone who was promised the world after spending five long months alone in another country and comes back to less than what she had grew accustom to before. I never asked for the moon or the stars or even the world, I only asked for consistency and effort. These two things for me are what drew me to him and what ultimately pushed me away. I won’t ever understand how in one moment something so sweet, can turn sour or how someone so familiar can become a stranger.

This is week one without him and I do not think I’ll write on week 2 or week 3 or even week 4 because I am hoping that this feeling of being without will begin to feel more like a gain than a lost. I have lost enough and although sometimes I feel like I am grieving over something that is dead and gone but there is always hope. Maybe not in him or us but I can’t help but think that I am grieving for an older edition of me, one that I may need to walk away from just as we decided to do from each other. Now just for clarification purposes him is exactly who you think he is and he is still one of the most amazing human beings I have ever had the pleasure of falling face first in love with. In this one week without him I had to remember that although I am confused about where that person I fell for fled to, that is still apart of him. Maybe like myself it is the part that he is grieving. I don’t know, I just do not want people to read this and get all girl power!, these hoes ain’t loyal, all boys are the same, on me.

Being without him does not mean I am lost without him or necessarily need him. It just means I am learning what it means to navigate within my world without him.

[littlegiantnyc]

Post Abroad

So I’ve been home for almost four months and I can still feel the Sevilla air kissing my check. I can still smell my host mom’s pollo con cebollas y arroz and I can still close my eyes and see the Alfafa strip at 1am full of American students. Going abroad was a big step for me, not because I doubted my ability to adjust in a new country, but because I doubted the impact it would have on me. Being thousands of miles away from East Harlem, I never thought I’d find another place to call home. 

A lot of people go abroad and build houses, volunteer at schools/villages and help paint rooms in under privileged communities, I did not do any of those things. However, I did end up getting a job “teaching” two young, rambunctious Spaniard boys English. I quote the teaching part because we literally spent our sessions teaching each other. Each Monday and Wednesday I spent an hour and a half singing taylor swift songs, typing phrases into my Spanish Dictionary  and explaining why Americans were so over weight/killers/racist or whatever other generalizing views that they had developed from watching American movies. Although most of the time I was completely overwhelmed by their non-stop questions I am grateful to their mom for even hiring me to work with them because they helped me see the spaniard reality through the eyes of a community’s greatest stakeholder, a child. Spending time with the boys not only bettered my Spanish, but it also bettered my experience abroad because it was a part of my routine and was something that helped make Sevilla my home.

I use to lay down in my Airbnb bed, usually next to Yesenia and think about how I would have never guessed that I would be in Paris, Rome, Amsterdam etc...It never failed, I always got that feeling of disbelief when I traveled. It was not until I took my last walk to the E2(Airport Bus) on San Bernardo that it sunk in that I was going to have to leave Sevilla. I remember giving my host mom a big hug and telling her “gracias por todos, esta experiencia hay sido muy incredíble,” as i lugged my suitcase out of the door. She waited for the elevator and when it came she blew me kisses and said “adios mi niña.”

I am sure my experience has it’s overlaps with the experiences of several others but even with the overlap, we all leave with something different. I cannot speak for others but I left with a better understanding of myself, one that is honest and does not allow me to cut corners for the sake of appearances. I left with a greater appreciation for being alone. I have always been the type of person who enjoys little company but basically being in a whole different world without any of my friends and family taught me how to utilize my me time effectively. Distance also helps you see who really cares about you, it puts a strain on the ties that were meant to be broken while adding notches to the ones that are meant to be permanent. 

4 months later and I miss being abroad just as much as I missed home while I was there. I woke up, ate, laughed, cried and lived in Spain for five amazing months and although I was more than ready to return to El Barrio, I can’t help but miss it. So for now I’ll just be straddling my heart across the atlantic, but not for long..... Because as the cliché saying goes, “Home is where your heart is”. NO8DO.

[littlegiantnyc]

Dear Baltimore

I should be writing an essay that is due a 10:30am in the morning tomorrow but you seem to be all I can focus on. You, Nepal and the United State’s poor excuse for an education system, but Baltimore you are currently chilling my bones. People are looking at you like you’re the problem, like a whole group of young black males mobbing through your alleys and streets destroying property and causing chaos is the PROBLEM, but with every cause there is an effect. How could we shame young black males for being violent beings when since birth their bodies have been criminalized. I do not know what people see when they watch the videos of dozens of young black males bashing in windows and destroying property but I see years of built up aggression being taken out on a place that has done nothing but promote opportunity, without even instilling the tools they need to grasp them. People black and white who have no idea what the youth is facing are so quick to place judgment, but take a second and think about how different their perceptions on life may be from yours. Black or white, not every struggle is the same and who are any of us to dictate that their mode of protest is unjust. They are not destroying THEIR city because it was never THEIRS to begin with, so all the talk about destruction of property needs to turn into the destruction of the black mind, body and as cliché as it sounds, the black soul. The pain that is pouring out on the streets of Baltimore is only a response to the blood stains on the hands of those who represent our system. 

I am not saying that I promote violence, but I refuse to look down upon the rioters in Baltimore because I know that the thing they’re fighting is bigger than they may even understand. They are fighting a whole system that was built on their backs and continues to only try to keep them under. So I will not shame them, nor will I praise them. I will only pray for a time where people of color aren’t forced to tote the burden of our failed system of their backs. 

[littlegiantnyc]

What would the world be like if we stopped giving without considering receiving or good karma, what would it be if we gave because it was apart of our socially inscribe code

Me

[littlegiantnyc]

Black girl vs Good Hair

From a very young age the black female is taught silky, straight, curly but tamable hair is what is beautiful. We see the women in magazines, on tv and on the street with their flowing long locks and we praise them. They become our hair crushes and goals, even when their textures are completely different from that of our own. In short, we begin to devalue the hair we were given and here is when the young black girl begins to go to war. The challenger: Good Hair

Good hair ranges depending on who is defining it. To most hispanics good hair can be anywhere between curly and full of volume and bone straight and nearly sweeping your butt. For the black girl I think the range is much more slim. It´s anything that is not “nappy.” I have a serious problem with the term nappy, hint why I put it in quotations. What is nappy? Well origin wise it began and still is a part of the african american dialect which some may argue is a language but I will leave that for another rant. Nappy is used to describe the coarse and intertwined coils that coat the heads of millions of young black girls. This word is not used to promote the natural curl and kink of black hair but it is used to belittle and devalue another aspect of the black appearance. To me, it’s the equivalent to saying terms like, DSL (Dick sucking Lips). It’s just another degradable term that has been normalized and accepted by the larger community.

In order for the black girl to obtain good hair she turns to perms, relaxers and other forms of chemical construction to help leverage her in the war against good hair but in all reality she can not win. Straightening your hair, getting relaxer after relaxer and constantly idolizing assets that you were not born with is not going to make you those women. Most of the women we see on tv are superficial depictions of what a women should be, others were just born with a certain textured hair which although is more preferred by the majority, does not make what you have less. It just makes it different and different is beautiful. Every kink, coil, twist and turn of the black girl’s curl pattern is beautiful. I just wish that when I was a young black girl I knew how perfect I was with my shorter length semi damaged hair. I wish that I did not devalue girls who didn´t have the silky hair that my mom paid $45 dollars every three months to maintain. I wish I did not use my hair as a distinction between myself and other girls when I was only a part of the good hair crew because I got relaxers religiously.

I am currently transitioning and as my hair gets shorter and shorter I finally realize how much value myself and those around me put on hair. Maybe the war isn´t between the black girl and good hair, it´s between her and the people who deem her hair undesirable. 

[littlegiantnyc]

Kayaking: The reason why I’ll stick to sand castles and doggie paddling

This past weekend I stayed at Portugal's idea of a four star resort. The rooms were apartment styled with two larger, two sized pull out beds in the living room and one bedroom with two twin sized beds. The kitchen was fully equipped and the terrace faced the pool area. I went into the experience a little indifferent because I found out although Discover Excursions (the "turn up" group that is stationed in Sevilla and facilitates trips to various places and promotes different club events within Sevilla) had us specifically state who we want to be in a room with, still put me in a room with 3 people that I didn't know from a hole in the wall. I already have issues with having to sleep with or around other people in general so I was not excited but it all worked out. I was lucky to be placed in a room with two girls who didn't mind couch cruising and the third person was a no show, which left me with the room and two twin sized beds all to myself. Yay to tranquility and solitude! The first two days consists of beach bumming and Sangria. Sunday my friends and I decided to try kayaking, here is where we went wrong. Kayaking, if you aren't aware is a water activity where you are in a thin boat alone or with another person. The objective of Kayaking is to have the person in the back controlling direction while the other person helps guide the boat by reciting “right, left” and paddling in those either direction. 

Let’s begin with the paddle, not only were they bigger than me but they where shaped to be used in a way the forced to move your are in a digging motion as you paddle. Before trying this activity I somehow convinced myself that in the four months that I have been here I have developed muscle, JOKES. My friend and I could barely get the Kayak to move. We dug our paddles in the choppy and unsteady water, chanted right, left and still had to be transported by a boat to and from the beach. The personal limo service, as my friend referred to it was nice but It sucked that we could not manage to get the hang of something that almost 30 other people did. Also, no one made it clear that a bathing suit should be worn while in a Kayak so I’ll warn you guys, A BATHING SUIT IS NECESSARY for 3 reasons:

1. No matter how well you paddle and navigate, you will get wet

2. If you don’t know how to Kayak there is a possibility that your Kayak could flip over and then my friend, a bathing suit would definitely come in handy

3. Getting attacked by salt water your lower region is not pleasant at all. 

Overall, I conclude that Kayaking is not for me. We’lI just agree that I am more of a land creature.