Sunday, June 30, 2013

Solidarity. I am with Rachel. Are you.

By Khadijah Costley White
June 27, 2013 (article published on www.rolereboot.org)

Rachel Jeantel, the young woman who was on the phone with Trayvon Martin the night he was killed, was grilled by George Zimmerman's defense and the media on Wednesday. And Khadijah Costley White wants to apologize to her on behalf of the world.
Dear Rachel,
I write this as I watch you testifying, tightening your lips, grinding your teeth in an attempt to be stoic, to not break down while you recount the grisly, too-soon murder of your friend. It was probably the most terrifying moment of your life. I can’t imagine listening, helpless, while my friend was stalked and murdered, panicked and afraid. You told him to run. You thought it would keep him safe. What could’ve been going through your mind that day? Did you worry when the phone was cut off? When Trayvon didn’t call you back or return any of your missed calls?
What could you have possibly felt when you found out that Travyon had been killed? Were you able to sleep that night? Have you been able to sleep since? "He sounded tired," you said today on the stand. You do, too, Rachel. So tired.
I want to write you an apology for this whole world, even if it’s not my place to apologize. I’m so sorry that you’re sitting on the stand right now, being interrogated like a criminal instead of another victim. I’m so sorry that people are judging you, fixated more on your beautiful brown skin, your carefully applied make-up, your body, your being, than your trauma and your pain. I’m sorry that you were born into a country where a man can pursue and kill a black boy, your friend, and go home the same night with the blessings of law enforcement officers. I’m sorry that you’ve been retraumatized, stigmatized, defamed, and attacked just because you were unlucky enough to love a black boy, to share time with him, to be the last one he ever called.
I’m so sorry for your loss.
This letter, I know, doesn’t make up for any of it. Not for the unimaginable grief and pain you’ve suffered in the last year. Not for the guilt or shame you’ve probably felt, which no doubt has affected your health and will continue to affect your life, your dreams, your faith. I can’t even fix the extreme likelihood that you and your children might soon find it impossible to vote in your home state. Or that you were never taught to read cursive, or that the school you grew up attending was probably more like a prison than a place of learning. I can’t promise that you, or another loved one (or mine) won’t, yet again, die too soon, too young, too black.
But I’m writing this all the same.
There are a lot of hateful things being said about you—comparisons to "Precious" (as if Gabourey Sidibe isn’t a real person or, irony of ironies, that Precious wasn’t also a victim of trauma), people making fun of your frankness, your tenacity, your refusal to codeswitch out of your mother-sister-brother tongue. You exemplify, in your girth, skin tone, language, and manner, a refusal to concede. You are a thousand Nat Turners, a quiet spring of rebellion, and some folks don’t know how to handle that.
In truth, you’re part of a long legacy of black women so often portrayed as the archetypal Bitch, piles of Sassafrasses, Mammies, and Jezebels easily dismissed, caricatured, and underestimated. For black women, in particular, being the bitch represents our historical exclusion from the cult of true womanhood, a theme traditionally bounded and defined by its contrast to white femininity. For some folks, being black and being a woman makes us less of both.
Don’t forget that in just the last few years, Fox News called the First Lady of the United States “Obama’s Baby Mama,” that a popular radio host referred to a group of college athletes as “nappy-headed hoes,” and that even a gold-medal Olympian wasn’t able to escape physical scrutiny and bodily criticism on the world stage. This rhetoric is bigger than you, older than you, deeper than you—it is not you.
(But you know that, already, don’t you?)
I just want you to know: I am so proud of you. In you I see a fierce resistance that reminds me of ancestors past. Each time you open your mouth, look down, clench your cheeks in a fresh wave of pain, I see Sojourner Truth, Harriet Tubman, and Fannie Lou Hamer joining their spirits and bonding their strength to yours. I see a survivor, a woman who has miraculously kept her mind and nurtured her sanity enough that she can sit, for hours, and recount such horror. You have a brilliance that flares out, only to be quickly veiled by a glance down or a quiet stare. Past your soul-wrenching pain and your child-like bravado, I see hope and possibility, a small green tendril creeping out of a concrete playground. I see YOU. 
I hold you in me—and there are many, many others, with our arms, minds, and hearts holding you right alongside me. I hope you feel it. I hope you know it.
And I’m so sorry that my apology isn’t enough.
Costley White is a faculty member in the Department of Journalism and Media Studies at Rutgers University in New Brunswick.

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Life is a beach...then you('re) flyy.

I'm telling you guys, I could've been a contender! Lol.

I had a perfectly relaxing day at the beach. Sometimes you just have to go ahead and BE.

Word.

Thursday, June 20, 2013

Juneteenth Celebration


#justsayin

Juneteenth at The Museum of Fine Arts

So, yeah.

This happened.

The Museum of Fine Arts Juneteenth Celebration was really nice...this is just a few tiny pieces of it...


Me, omw to the MFA after my youtube hair tutorial... 
(http://www.youtube.com/user/Aisis)



I thought this was kind of funny.



Love this bed from the 1800's


Money, money, money, MONNNNNNEYYYYYYY!


Samurai Warriors. Loved this. LOVED!


Interesting. I had to visit the Egyptian area.


Why are the folks carrying things painted a reddish color that's wearing away and the folks leading are not? I find this interesting because some times I see that archaeologists and historians want to act as God and right what they feel has been wronged. IDK. We all have theories.  I mean, another theory, scientific really,  is that the workers were simply in the sun and were darker for those reasons. Egypt is in North Africa, so the general population is of the lighter persuasion.


This gave me pause....


And these....


This pic is of the above panels at the site of the burial.


Reddish people.


Eyes of Horus.


Pyramids of Egypt.


For the historians....



For the designers...

Good times. Solitary Good times.




Wednesday, June 19, 2013

#TeamNatural

So, yeah. 

Boston had seriously ridiculous torrential downpours yesterday and guess who did not care one iota...?


Well, I do. Lol. And too bad the camera did not capture how extremely water-logged I was after standing outside for all of 17 seconds!

Hair tutorial coming in the next couple of hours, I have to get a few hours of writing in. 

Later, LoveBuggies!


Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Vlog Announcement

So, yeah.

I've decided to once again do the vlog, along with the blog, at least thru the Summer Time (cue Summertime Jam -- I so feel the need to get jiggly with it...)

(Summer, summer, summertime (ooOoooh summertime!) 
Time to sit back and unwind (time to sit back aaaaand uunwind) Here it is the groove slightly transformed

Just a bit of a break from the norm
Just a little somethin' to break the monotony
Of all that hardcore dance that has gotten to be
A little bit out of control it's cool to dance
But what about the groove that soothes that moves romance
Give me a soft subtle mix
And if ain't broke then don't try to fix it
And think of the summers of the past
Adjust the base and let the alpine blast
Pop in my  and let me run a rhyme
And put your car on cruise lay back cause this is summertime)

/sidebar, my b.

Anyway, here is the intro to my summertime v-logging on YouTube and on this blog. I will discuss any and all topics. Most of you already know I'm a Jill-of-all-Trades so I'll be chatting about everything Ayesha-esq. 

So here is the 1st blog of many, maybe...


I was recording on my iPhone when my son decided to call me, from the pharmacy exactly 2ft away from me, to tell me he was on his way out, as if I would not have been aware when he simply walked out. Lol. So the phone just froze. *anger. management. like. a. muuuuug.* Word, cuz I was in a zone. (Can someone play back my last few lines...? Yeah, turn me up in my head piece, yo. Thanks, dawg--that would be me in the studio, yaaamean...anyway, on to the next round). 

What I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted *staring at Sineca* was that: I was tear-jearkingly tender-headed and in the 70's lots of mothers just used the relaxed method of hair care for the sake of ease and time management.  For some however, it was to assimilate, and no hard-feelings or judgments.  It was a different place and a different time. WOmen all over the world have always wanted to have long, luxurious, healthy hair.  The problem is having a relaxer damages the hair and stunts its growth cycle.  I never had a problem with growing my hair, so to speak, but its fuller and longer than I have allowed it to grow since I was about 15 years old

I was the 2ponytail queen. My best friend who now lives in Georgia (I have two) with her husband Keble, and two beautiful kids (Sophia and Nathan), the longest constant awesome relationship I have ever had (Felicia Passley...heyyyyyy, Fee!), used to say to me that I was the only girl she knew who actually had ponytails as opposed to pigtails, lol.  I'll add photographic proof of that if I can find one before I publish this post. Oh and not to be slighted my bestie who lives in Rhode Island and has an awesome furniture restoration business, Ingrid Fisher (dezignature401.blogspot.com) just stares at me when my hair is all insane like, really Eesh?

Yes, mami, really...my hair has a mind of her own. I try to mind my biz and I let my hair, Lola we call her, do her own thaaang. 

My mother and I had no need to assimilate or try to fit in, not back in the day and not Today. Neither of us has ever really been a person of the norm, lol...my Mommikins follows the rules of religion though (most often) and clearly I make my own rules, as I go along (how IS that working out for ya?), but her reasoning was not one of the cultural/traditional black-girl rite of passage, it was one of convenience. I am unable to even begin the explanation on my trials and tribulations BEFORE having my hair professionally relaxed. It was scary! Even the flashbacks make me cringe. I threw fits and tantrums like you would not believe because, unbeknownst to the masses, that jank hurt like a muuuuug. I refused cornrows/hair pressing/combing/untangling etc., because 1) It took too long to accomplish; 2) It hurt like a m'fer to create patterns beside the fact that I gave zero fawks on how cute it would look; and 3) My mother could barely make a straight part, forget about cornrows and cute hair styles. 

I had three sets of GodParents (I know, its ridiculous but iiwii) and each of my godmothers (OMG, my  love for both my TeeTee Sarah (Husband Uncle Benjamin) and my other mother Nettie (married when I was born but his name escapes me) is unmatched -- I have seen neither hide nor hair of Miko Lee (husband Herbie) since I was somewhere around 13!) was a stylist.  My mom, however, was then and still is now, a bit of a prissy Southern Belle in some ways so, off to the hair salon I went for the relaxer and every other week until I was 11 (my godmothers did my hair in between those times). 

My hair has never fallen out, it is pretty ridiculously resilient and strong as its run every color of the gamut. No word of a lie, lol. I have been a honey blond, a red head, a blue-black head, an auburn /brunette...you name it! and its been just fine. It happens to be doing this sexxy grey streaky thing now.  Awesomeness! 

I was just literally sick of the relaxer's necessity for professional hair care/cost. Yes, I did the relaxer myself every 3-4 weeks but then it needed to be blow-dryed and some more ish, and Sweet Brown has already told y'all: Ain't nobody got time fa dat!


Ok, LoveBuggies, hit me up in the box below with any comments or questions when I start up with my little bitty know-how or just to say: What it do?

Aiiiight? Aiight.

Oh, here's a pic...the bottom left is me at 4 or 5, I cannot remember it has certainly been quite a while! Maaaan, #whatchuknowaboutdat Geranimals style...?


Sunday, June 16, 2013

Me over the last month or so. Eat well; be well.

So, yeah...

Today, I weigh 123lbs thanks, in part, to Eat to Live (Dr. Joel Fuhrman) and focus. I do not particularly care for this weight, I would much prefer 127lbs, that is my ideal weight but maybe this is where I am supposed to be right here and right now. At any rate, here are a few pics taken, of course not over the year I have been M.I.A. but since a pretty awesome existence has occurred.


Strength. Courage. 
And.
Wisdom.
 My first wall-free handstand, held for all of 3 seconds, I am up to about 10 seconds now, 
this was just last week.  So much practice to do this yoga position and, 
for me, this is an awesome accomplishment.


I tried out a few new products on my hair. I have been Team Natural for a few years now 
and I absolutely love my natural hair. Who knew?


Sitting at the beach, enjoying the weather.


#Justme with my hair straight-ish. Lol.


Good Morniiiiiiiiiiiing, Vietnam! 
My hair seriously has a mind of her own, she is called Lola, 
but try not to look her eye to eye, she takes that pretty personal.

Summer, Summer, Summertiiiime! Time to sit back and unwind. 
Time to sit back aaaaaand unwiiiiiind. lol


I just happen to really really love, these earrings.


123lbs at 42.9 yrs. old never felt so good!

Untitled.

So, yeah…







Mistakes.
Sunshine.
Rain.
Choice.
At it’s core.
Solitary.
In vain.
Plight.
Knowledge.
Change
Unruly.
Tangled.
Twisted.
Tamed.
Blame.
No guide.
To explain,
the journey.
Wishing.
It was a game.
Compete.
Fight.
Win.
Falter?
Wane?
Focus.
Fame.
Yin.
To.
Yang.
History.
Today.
The source
of her pain.
…price for the above played game…
Could have just lived the fictional characteristics of Zane.
Created a negative reputation, a bad name
Result.
No sacrifice.
Same.
Pain.

A Wolf in Wolves Clothing

iAm We are      but humans for the world to see There’s millions of others But this world, in this moment Is between only you and little ole...