Tear Asunder Your Illusions

 "Off The Wall" by Michael Jackson

...you can shout out all you want to / 'cause there ain't no sin in folks all gettin' loud / if you take a chance and do it / then they're ain't no one who's gonna put you down...


I took my braids out yesterday and washed it to reveal my natural little afro.  I was quite excited.  I can't really explain how I felt other than liberated.

I felt free of a lot of toxins, free of a lot of expectations, and free of a lot of nuisance.

I am sure that people will respond to me differently.  There is something considered to be intimidating or even haughty about natural haired women.  Women with natural hair are typically "conscious" and consciousness can sometimes connotate a haughtiness.

But I don't think haughtiness is accurate.  Something happens in you when realize how much the institutions of this civilizations lie to you, how impossible they try to make it for the common man, how they distract you so as not to allow you to notice the emptiness of this life and try to fight against it.  So you may be angered, irritated, underwhelmed with your life, frustrated with the blind people around you.  Maybe it is haughtiness.  Whatever.

Nonetheless, I felt electrified.  I know some people won't find me as attractive.  I know that certain type of men won't approach me (Hallelujah).  It's amazing, really.

I do feel a little self conscious.  I have lost the lustrous curly stands and other Caucasian knock off styles that people admired.  I miss the hair on my shoulders in some moments.  However, as I transition into this person who doesn't give a shit about what people think of her, who is doing it for Africa (everyday), who wants to let go of this materialistic, disillusioned, inauthentic, convoluted way of living to return to complex simplicity, who is preparing for daughters and the story of beauty I will be and teach them, I also gain confidence.  I'm happy to be natural and know what I know and to have realized what I have realized.

Lastly, it's just hair.  It is just a protein filament that grows out of our heads.  Civilization and culture happened and it became a way of expressing something, which is fine.  However, as usual, we have taken it too far.  It is a mode of expression but it is not our only mode of expression.


So Zainab, do what you do with this new do.  You are beautiful.


Zainab --> doing it for Africa since 1987.

Onion Skin

"The Battle is Not Yours" by Yolanda Adams

I wrote this long, long, long entry on Magic Woman. My mother is a problem. I feel like an idiot, a loser, and useless for still being in this predicament with her. But I shouldn't. She is my family. Family demands so much of a person in so many ways. So of course, I am still heavily involved and disturbed by the interactions with my family.
But now I feel like I'm free. Despite all the crying, the shaking, and the fear of breaking with reality, I felt something else, something pleasant. It is difficult to describe but I literally felt something turn off in my chest, my soul, my mind, somewhere. I just felt something turn off, I stopped crying, I stopped shaking, the fever died down, and I felt lifted.

I am sad. I am frustrated. I am angry. I want to hate her but I don't love anyone else in the world like I do her. I want to call and yell at her. I want to call and tell her it is okay. It's fine.

And I feel free. Somehow, it doesn't matter anymore. It's like I quit a really horrible job and I'm not too worried about finding another one. I guess I was trying to make a relationship with her. I was trying to get to the point where I could tell her my grievances about some of the things she did and explain some of the things I did.

Now there is nothing to maintain, fix, develop, or renew with her. She cut me loose and I'm going to fly like paper. I don't weigh anything. I can look in the mirror and be fine. There will be no crying or lamenting. Not in my mirror at least.

Enough Vitamins, Eat This

I have low self-esteem and very little self-respect, but I do think that I am beautiful. I think I know my qualities and my flaws and I think I know them pretty well. Therapy made me consider myself in a manner that people typically cannot.

It is hard, if not impossible, to be objective about your behaviors, habits, flaws, or anything about yourself. I, however, have had to subject myself to some radioactive scrutiny that allowed me to expand the protective image we all create for ourselves. We are not as good as we imagine. This could be evidenced by the shocking/hurtful/mean/bad things we do under different stress, although we woul like to imagine that we would do right by other people. We don't.

And my conclusion was I don't like myself. I understand that some of my personality is genetic. I am what I am. And I understand some of the person that I am as having been formed by environment and experience.

I still don't like myself. But I can NEVER, NEVER EVER resist a glance in the mirror. I do love my face and nobody can tell me it isn't beautiful. Dig?