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The small corner coffee shop was full. Tables at the front were occupied. My friend and I made our way to the back in search of an open table. In the midst of students busy studying and pairs out on coffee dates, we found a corner table in the back.

We ordered our drinks and our cheesecake. Standard practice when stepping into a food establishment. This wasn’t like a McDonald’s with plenty of room to spare for the occasional passer-by who wishes to occupy a seat and use the free wiFi. This was a small storefront packed with patrons who ordered a coffee or a slice of cake in order to have a reason to occupy a table.

An hour or two had passed since we sat down at the corner table in the back. Who knows how much time had passed? My friend and I hadn’t seen each other in five, six years: We had a lot to catch up on. We exchanged stories. We shared laughs. We reminisced on memories. As we continued to talk, our cups emptied of its contents. A couple of people had come and gone during our time in that small corner coffee shop. Yet, we remained unfazed, continuing to make up for lost time.

As my friend searched for a picture to show me on Instagram, the barista of this small corner coffee shop approached the two young men sitting at the table beside us.

“May we help you?” the barista asked politely.

One of the men looked at him strangely, as if wondering what could have possibly prompted the barista to ask such an absurd question.

The barista met his glare with a timid response: “I was just wondering if we can help you because you have been sitting here for quite awhile without ordering.” Or something to that effect was said. That was my interpretation, piecing together the words in between the stutters and stammers. He stumbled over his words, clearly nervous about this passer-by’s scowl.

“Why are you bothering us? We’re just sitting here,” the man replied with clear agitation.

My friend began to speak to me again, but I became occupied by the encounter happening beside us. I sympathized with the barista. I sensed his level of uneasiness and anxiety. I could imagine the thoughts racing through his mind as he prepared to approach these two young men. He probably questioned why it had to be him, why he chose to come into work today, or why he chose to work this job in the first place. He was working in a small coffee shop close to the heart of the city. He’s bound to run into a wide array of personalities, but he seemed nervous regardless.

The barista quickly explained that the tables were reserved for paying customers and that the two gentlemen (I use the term lightly) would need to purchase something. He pointed to the cheap goods lying on the counter in front of the cashier, providing a quick solution to the dilemma. Probably 2 or 3 dollars worth. A small price to pay for free wiFi on their gadgets.

“Why do we have to buy anything? We’re not bothering anyone!” the man began to raise his voice. “What about the people whose drinks are empty? Why aren’t you bothering them?”

I looked down at my empty cup that was once filled with a strawberry, banana smoothie.. two hours ago.

I cringed as the man continued to yell at the poor barista, who eventually raised his hands in surrender and walked away.

Then, there was a pang of guilt in the pits of my stomach, urging me to pick up my stuff and convince my friend that it was time for us to stop occupying a table with empty drinks and leave.

The Rules of an Argument

In the midst of an argument, many of us tend to let ourselves give in to our emotional state. We give in to the anger, the frustration, or the disappointment, allowing it to control the words we speak and the actions we take. When you are in a relationship with someone, you begin to learn what makes the other person tick, what makes them defensive, or what hurts their feelings the most after a few arguments. In our emotional state, we sometimes use that knowledge to "win." After the argument is over and things calm down, we blame our vindictive decisions on our feelings and emotions: "I only said that because I was mad" or "I only did that because I was frustrated." We then move on from the argument and its aftermath, but find ourselves repeating the cycle once again the next argument comes around. It is damaging and harmful behaviour in our relationships and we need to stop. Here's how and here's why.

After almost seven years in a relationship, my boyfriend and I have been through all kinds of arguments: big, small, long, short, significant, and pointless. In the early stages of our relationship, our only rule in an argument was anything goes. We would do anything and say anything based on our feelings and emotions, especially me. If my anger or frustration wanted to be spiteful, then I would go for it. I used to believe that the only way to resolve a disagreement was to let it all out, to go at it, by any means we personally deemed necessary.

We quickly realized how harmful our behaviour was during arguments. Because even when it was over, the dust never really settled. Although we thought things were resolved, little details and hurts from previous arguments would arise in current arguments. We were out of control. If we wanted to maintain a healthy, growing relationship, we had to change.

Read more: http://www.kryziaabacan.com/blog/the-rules-of-an-argument

I am Not Black...

If you looked around the room, there was a decent representation of diversity. Individuals from different cultural and ethnic backgrounds came together in this room. The diversity promised a wide range of insight that would lead to well-rounded and insightful conclusions. The topic of discussion? A program for the first weekend of Black History Month.

As we discussed and planned, an idea arose: the theme of the program should be, “Global Racism.” The idea immediately made me uneasy, but I remained silent. Vocally, I said nothing, but mentally, my thoughts raced and physically, my blood boiled. Yet throughout the course of the meeting, as they continued to discuss the possibility of using the theme, I remained silent.

As the meeting ended, my thoughts continued to race. I drove back home and I went straight to my journal. This is the excerpt word for word from my journal, January 18, 2015:

We should be mindful of the fact that it is Black History Month. The purpose of this month is to focus on Black American history and its effects on us today. Although there is truth in the fact that we all experience racism as different ethnic groups, to address global racism at this particular time, during this particular month, should be deemed inappropriate. We, the general public, should not be thinking along the lines of: “Hey, it’s Black History Month, let’s talk about racism. But let’s not talk about racism just towards Black people, but towards all people.” Where is this sudden interest in addressing racism the other 12 months of the year? King Solomon reminds us that there is a time for everything and in this instance, February is the time for Black history. It is not our job to alter the purpose of this month in order to make others feel comfortable. It is not our job to strip this month of its purpose in order to avoid being controversial. The purpose of this month is to focus on Black American history and its effects on us today. Maybe if we focused on learning and understanding the history, we would understand our current state as a nation and as a world. Maybe if we focused on learning and understanding the history, we would learn how to improve our relations with each other. If we focused on understanding the history, we would understand why it is inappropriate to make the theme of this program, “Global Racism.”

After jotting my thoughts on the page, I immediately called my boyfriend to vent. Although I usually seek comfort and advice from him on all matters, I felt he had insight on this particular matter that I could never fully have. My boyfriend is of Jamaican descent: He is a Black man. As I relayed my thoughts and feelings to him about the subject, he wholeheartedly agreed, contributing additional thoughts and ideas to mine. When we spoke again on the phone later that night, he told me that he had shared our conversation with his cousins and they were in agreement. As we continued to talk, I felt more and more confident in my stance. I would make sure to say something at our next meeting.

After we hung up, I sat in my room and pondered: Why did I not say anything earlier that evening? Why did I remain silent during that meeting? Why did I feel more confident sharing my thoughts after a few conversations?

As I evaluated my thoughts and feelings, I realized I remained silent because I am not Black. I did not say anything out of fear that my thoughts and feelings on the subject might not reflect the thoughts and feelings of the people it directly affected. I did not want to incorrectly assume what they might be feeling or thinking about the matter. I am not Black, therefore, I might not completely understand things that affect Black people, so who am I to assume I knew what they may be thinking or feeling?

I found myself to be more confident in sharing my thoughts at the next meeting because I had received affirmation from individuals who were directly affected by the issue. Through discussion and dialogue, I learned. I felt confident in sharing my thoughts because I had grown to understand, even if it may be just a small piece of the puzzle.

This small experience taught me the importance of dialogue, of discussion. Without it, we will never learn. It also taught me the importance of awareness: being aware that I will never fully know the extent of someone else’s experience, but that should never stop me from defending their right to their experience. If you’re unsure about something, ask. Don’t just walk away from it in silence because you’re afraid to educate yourself.

Needless to say, at the next meeting, I expressed myself in depth and in full. My opinion was met with murmurs that could be translated into, “That’s interesting,” or “You may just be right.” One individual spoke up in agreement, letting me know: “You have some great insight.” What should have followed was a thank you from me, but instead, his puzzled facial expression made me defensive. I found myself carelessly blurting out, “Well, my boyfriend’s Black..”

I instantly cringed on the inside, asking myself why in the world was that my response?

But that’s another post for another day...

Only from his actions, his fixed utterances, his effects upon others, can he learn about himself; thus he learns to know himself only by the round-about way of understanding. What we once were, how we developed and became what we are, we learn from the way in which we acted, the plans which we once adopted, the way in which we made ourselves felt in our vocation, from old dead letters, from judgments on which were spoken long ago...We understand ourselves and others only when we transfer our own lived experience in to every kind of expression of our own and other people's lives.

Dithley

How Can You Not Understand Me? A Look Into An Interracial Relationship

I have been in an interracial relationship for almost six years: I am of Filipino descent and he is of Jamaican descent. We have always been aware of the difference in skin colour, in racial type, and in ethnic identification. When filling out a form of any nature, we knew we checked different boxes whenever asked what our ethnicity, our race, and/or our background was. I have always been aware of my involvement in an interracial relationship, but it was only recently I became fully aware of my involvement in an intercultural relationship. We were aware of the physical differences, but we were not quite aware of the impact those physical differences had on how we act, how we speak, how we think, and how we feel.

Living in North America, it becomes easy to forget how much our skin colour, our racial type, or our ethnic identification directly affects our values, ideals, traditions, and customs. We live in a country that takes pride in the idea that it is a melting pot: we have created a culture that claims to celebrate our differences, yet aims to mask the things that make us truly different. No matter what, each race creates a culture with a set of norms differing from each other. Some of these norms are conspicuous enough, such as the kinds of food we eat or the types of clothing we wear. It is easier to deal with such differences: we learn about them. But there are the differences that make up the unknown, causing tension without a clear path to reconciliation. They are enigmatic norms, harder to identify and understand, because they do not have signs making it clear they are cultural differences. These are the norms that we usually have the biggest arguments about because we just cannot fathom how our significant other does not understand where we are coming from. My relationship of six years has seen its share of disagreements and discussions. Some of these disagreements are due to conspicuous norms, while others are due to more enigmatic norms. Although I'm sure these are not the only three aspects of our relationship affected by our respective cultures, we have noticed these three major things are directly affected by the culture of our race, creating norms we have had to carefully identify, discuss, and understand.

Read more: How Can You Not Understand Me?

#Love #Relationships #Social Media

#Anger #Feelings #Heart

When I was a little boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people helping.'

Fred Rogers

#PrayForParis #PrayForTheWorld #HelpEachOther

111315

I once lived a life full of lines with an end. I would be drawing a line then reach the end of page, thinking to myself, “That’s it. I cannot go any further.” Unaware of the possibilities to go upwards, downwards, backwards. Unaware of the possibilities to go diagonally, crooked, or zig-zag.

I once lived a life full of straight lines that would reach the end of the page. I forgot the possibility of drawing lines in different directions.

A painted masterpiece is never a series of straight lines going in one direction until it runs out of space to go forward. A painted masterpiece is a series of lines, straight and curved, going in multiple directions, upwards, downwards, backwards, diagonally.

A painted masterpiece sees all of the possibilities. If it runs out of space, it creates on another, connecting the lines and intersecting with each other at one point or another.

My life is a masterpiece and the lines don’t always have to go straight in one direction.

“It amazes me how easy it is for things to change, how easy it is to start off down the same road you always take and wind up somewhere new. Just one false step, one pause, one detour, and you end up with new friends or a bad reputation or a boyfriend or a breakup. It’s never occurred to me before; I’ve never been able to see it. And it makes me feel, weirdly, like maybe all of these different possibilities exist at the same time, like each moment we live has a thousand other moments layered underneath it that look different.”— Lauren Oliver

Source: paintedutterances

Hello Dear Tumblr...

It’s been awhile.

To read the words painted on each page of this blog by someone I once knew presents a feeling similar to running into an ex. Someone you once knew so well. Their dreams. Their goals. Their feelings. Their life.

To read the words painted on each page of this blog by someone I once knew triggers memories that were once suppressed. Memories that would eat me alive in the dark of night. Memories that dragged me down.

To read the words painted on each page of this blog by someone I once knew introduces a sense of gratuity. Thankful for who I used to be.

Because who I used to be has made all the difference in who I am today.

So, here’s to a new chapter in the journey. To more painted words on added pages. Thank you for joining me in my journey.

To old faces, it’s been awhile. To new faces, let’s get acquainted.

Signed, Formerly unwrittenspokenwords

Source: paintedutterances

#2015

; 314

It starts with a glance in the wrong direction. Then your eyes fixate upon each other, followed by small smile of acknowledgment. You find yourself staring a bit longer than usual: you look away. All that fills your mind the moment you look away is the intensity of the stare, the way you got lost in that moment, as if time had stood still. Cliche. Then that thought is followed by another glance in the same direction, still wrong, but you choose to ignore it. He stares back with the same intense eyes, but this time you notice the longing, the lust, the desire. It's as if you're staring in the mirror, at your reflection because you notice the same longing, the same lust, the same desire.

And that's how it all begins: betrayal.

#2013

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