a piece about my mother...

She is distant to me, she is close to me. She is foreign yet familiar. She is an enigma, she holds the world in her hands, my world, and her world, the rules changed for us halfway through living in it.

In theory and in practice she loves me more than food and sleep and has gone without both for my sake. In theory and in practice she has uprooted homes, displaced paternity, and stared into the jaws of institutions for my sake.

I have always tried writing of her but have always fallen short. Even the theoretical cannot contain or touch her essence, her godness. To this day she hasn’t read much of what I’ve written. But she knows I write. She supports me yet she gives me privacy.

She carries the wind on her shoulders, to fly and to breathe (life) with. She steps on the clouds each day after opening her eyes. She carries a beauty, which she selflessly portioned out from her infinite supply--allowing some to make up myself and my sister. She contains light and lightning in her toes, in her eyes are multitudes of realities, understandings, visions, and choices.

In her breath is wisdom, vitality, grace, deity. Her lungs are power and flowering soundwaves. Her skin blankets all who encounter it, her hands are ready and willing to serve and be served.

Has anyone looked at her like this? Like a lover. It’s what she deserves.

For so long I’ve done my best to acknowledge her and to honor her as a mother. She has a few who honor her as a sister, a companion, a friend. Then there are those who honor her as a mentor, a teacher, a guiding light, a standard, a beacon. But I know that soon there will come someone to hold her the way that I long to be held.

I know then that we will walk out the process of being loved at the same time. We will have to learn surrender and trust together yet separately.

She has not been able to go before me in this way.

Step by step by step, we walk. The three of us: my mother, my sister, and me.

Who will receive us? Who will accept our womanhood in all three of its dynamic, billowing, undulating-like-waves-crashing stages?

...

Creative Writing Class: "Foreigner"

There are different implications of being a black foreigner, just as there are implications of being a black citizen. Traveling While Black is a handbook, a necessary guide. There are different implications of being a spec of color among white than there are for being a spec of white among color. White is money. Money is belonging. All else is other. Black people are othered at home. Just as they are more readily othered abroad. I don’t know if I can ever feel like a carefree backpacker, traveling with my European skin and hair, making me feel invincible. Don’t have enough money? That’s alright, your status elevates you. You are the emblem of beauty, of power, of success. The world assimilates itself to your highlights, your eye color, your languages so you can feel at home anywhere. There is a pocket, a space for you everywhere. Like Bong Joon Ho said, we all live in the same country--which is capitalism. We all live in the same country--it has the counties sexism, patriarchy, racism, colorism, misogyny, classism, ableism, transphobia, homophobia, xenophobia. These are the counties that we exist in everywhere. At home and abroad. So there is no rest, no home for the other. Only a foreignness--one that is not trendy. One that is confusing, displacing, anxiety-inducing, neurosis-spawning, internal-crises-creating. An identity of discomfort. Of pretending not to be watched while all eyes stare at you. While others draw nearer or retreat further to inspect or to shun. Subaltern. Unspeakable. Impossible association on the basis of appearance. Now some of us can handle it better than others. Some of us can pass through a crowd with a song and dance riveting enough to make those of The Similitude lenient. Some of us have convincing code-switches and a masala mestiza of genes. But we all carry our true passports in our hearts and there comes a time--sooner or later--when the papers are demanded of us. Where are you from, really from? Why do you or don’t you speak or behave the way I am used to someone of your appearance speaking or behaving? Why are you here? The summation of their queries. Why are you here and not in your own corner of the world? Your own home that our gentrification has passed over and allowed to persist, malignant, benign. Why would you venture outside of the confines of my understanding of you? A constant alienation. But for others, the chosen, privileged, historically dominant groups. To them the world says: Welcome. Please enjoy your stay. You are welcome here.

----

something I drafted with a creative writing prompt in mind

Novel & Film:'If Beale Street Could Talk'

The differences between the novel and the film that I found to be very shocking...

When I first saw the preview for If Beale Street Could Talk I added it to my movie list. And as soon as I discovered that it was based on a novel, by James Baldwin no less, I added it to my book list. A few weeks ago I finished the novel and a few days ago I went to see the movie. The movie, directed by Barry Jenkins, in my opinion is a masterful work of art and a creative success. I really think that Baldwin would be proud of the way his story was portrayed. But the movie ended completely differently than the book and my heart was very heavy, so heavy that I couldn't really function properly until I had written some things down about my experience.

Here's an excerpt from my journal. Novel and Film spoilers ahead. I included some bracketed edits. Also I don't spend nearly enough time praising the film, it really was magnificent.

Friday, January 11, 2018

"...I went and saw a matinee of If Beale Street Could Talk. Let me say this film was masterfully done and exceptionally casted. I kept crying in the beginning because I identify with Tish [played by Kiki Layne], the main character, so much, she's my age and everything, and Regina King's character was so so much like my mom and how my mom would be in that scenario/situation and is on the daily. -->There were even surprise cast appearances like Brian Tyree Henry and Dave Franco

The storytelling was almost identical to the novel, even in the sequence it was told in [I cannot stress enough the attention to detail]. But the ending was different and that's what makes my heart heavy. The book ends hopefully-This black family overcomes insurmountable odds and gets Fonny out. The last two sentences paint a scene of Fonny and Tish in their [somewhat] furnished home with their baby softly crying. He's free. The movie portrays Fonny still in jail, even after Tish has the baby. In fact, the child looks at least four in the closing scene where Tish and her child are visiting Fonny in prison. And the child is writing something that they reference on screen but we [the audience] never see. What is he writing? I guess the hope is that the child is free, I guess the film was meant to portray a reality and not a miracle.

It [the ending] reminded me of Jordan Peele's original ending for Get Out: a cop finds Daniel Kaluuya's character and he goes to prison. But Peele made it more positive in light of the BLM protests etc. He felt like people were woke enough for a happy ending. This movie [If Beale Street Could Talk] does teach a very valuable lesson and shows a common reality for black people past and present [mass incarceration and a corrupt justice system]. But I wanted my miracle and happy ending...

Anyway, it was a beautiful film that followed the book perfectly until the end. I know it teaches us all something and Barry Jenkins has a purpose-also we know in the film that Fonny takes a plea deal but we don't know how long is sentence is-. Now I'm gonna read up on some articles and study why the ending was different in the film...when the film had followed the book's narrative so perfectly. Hopefully I can find some closure-maybe there's even a Baldwin interview where he wishes he wrote a sadder, more realistic ending; there was a meaningful quote by him in the beginning referencing the significance of the title...

Maybe I wont find 'closure' but in the search I'll appreciate the art and the lessons and the care in which this film was created"

Here are the two articles I read:

How Barry Jenkins Turned His Baldwin Obsession Into His Next Movie

'If Beale Street Could Talk' Review: Love Hoping for Justice

The first one especially opened my mind. I understand that this story is much bigger than me and the negative ways it made me feel: hopeless, confused, upset. And to be fair, it also allowed my to feel a range of all sorts of positive emotions. Something that also struck me is that other people walk away from this film completely taken by its beauty. So far every person I've talked to claims that their main takeaway is how beautiful the story was. Even I can't deny that the beauty of the film was not overshadowed by the heartbreak.

Great job James Baldwin, Barry Jenkins, and every single creative who had a hand in making this film! I have so much to learn!