Who do I become?

I shaved my hair and it is growing back. Well it is still not what I expect it to be, but maybe something I will accept it. We shall see. In the meantime I am still in the wigs and headwraps zone when it comes to work. I’m glad I also have my clippers too as there is no telling as to when I will cut it all off again. This whole hair thing is actually my self acceptance journey on its own.

Today I watched an interview with Danai Gurira, who is amazing human being. If you didn’t know like myself until today, do yourself a favor and get to know her. She is a role model which I am adding to my list of people I need to know of in my life. She shared her story in the story and asked a question which she asked herself as she was forging her path. Who do I become? That right there has now been on my mind for a few hours. Who do I actually become in this life? My life. Taking it further, how do I take all the shit that has happened and apply it to only forge me forward and forge together what I am destined for along with the alignment of my inner particles of who I am?

This is what I am thinking of at the moment.

Advertisements
Standard

Just talking

Today I possibly get to shave my hair off…again. I hope so.

I’m trying to add a countdown to my blog, so if anyone in the Universe knows how to do this for free without having to upgrade to “business account” on wordpress please do let me know. It was much simpler on blogger I recall.

In other news, looking for gigs ain’t easy. Being an independent freelancing Brands Ambassador has it’s perks…I work when I want and can, as in when I actually get a gig. The downside is the gutwrtetching sitting around waiting and constantly hunting for work. Competition is fierce out there I tell ya. And then the waiting for my money is also not the most thrilling thing in the world. I want my money NOW not 90 days later. Please and thank you. I need as many of these gigs as possible before my real “unemployed” days whilst I’m searching in Berlin will kick off.

Berlin. That place. Still looking for a flat, since everybody including their grandma and their dogs wants to live there we are still struggling to find a roof. There are deadlines. As I don’t want to live in a flat-share again with strangers…I’m not 23 anymore. So there are 90 days to find a new “home”, fingers crossed.

Deadlines. Visa appointment is in a few weeks. 23 days to be precise. I am not sweating it though. I mean I am but like really, what can a girl do? Gather her paperwork and apply…yes, that’s about it.

Anyways, the world is strange. Some people in it are absolutely disgusting. Power is a mindfuck. People should meditate for real to figure out their inner filth so that they don’t pass that stuff on to the rest…they don’t see it that way I must remind myself of this too. In conclusion. Therapy in any way shape and form one can get their hands on is a good activity. I have a virtual/group one later today.

#keepfamiliestogether #immigrationisnotacrime

Standard

Yo

Where is life spear heading to? Like for real? The glossy Instagram photos of people I follow is sometimes overwhelming. I mean I am balancing overwhelming senses and controlled calmness each time I a looking at these IG statuses.

Last night I had an active dream of being lost inside a building while unable and being not helped by people to find a path to get over to the next building it was connected to in my dream. The passage way was nowhere to be found. When I woke up this morning I googled some interpretations of being lost in a dream were. The common thread is that they represent experiencing anxiety and feeling at a crossroads, or lost in life. Check mark right there for me indeed.

Gone are the good old days of my free spirit self. Anyways, I’m rusty and the weather is bipolar around these bits too.

Standard

Random relief

Breath baby girl. Breath, in and then let it all out. Yes, out and then a little bit all will come in too.

I really have to let it go. Really. Like for real for real for real for real for real realz! Phew. It always feels so much better just letting the thoughts roll onto my writing. Letting go. Letting it go.

“So ask myself do I let you go or I keep you in the frame of my mind.” ~ Jorja

This world is tiny as FUCK! I know people there and then they know each other from here and meet in place X.

Teddy Pendergrass also said it damn well right! “You can’t hide from yourself” DAMN RIGHT

You can’t hide from yourself no-matter where you go, you will always look at yourself!

Standard

Going there…

Yesterday I wrote about how I am just numb, and have been rather on the numbness train for a while now. It comes in waves, it came in big swoops a few years ago, now it’s better. I mean, more importantly than saying this out loud (or typing and sharing about this numbness) I am happy to actually feel better about admitting it is a path to empowerment and healing and shows reflection. Yep

Also I am realizing more and more, and more with progression of my time on this planet, through my lived experiences that Racism is strong, vile and it’s crippling. Yes, it’ crippling.  I mean really crippling. Compounded by learning more and more about how it actually affects you too is rather uneasy – that’s lightly said.

The existance thus of the Brown and Black body in this type of environment is truthfully a form of resilience and out most power! Yes, power, the kind of power that this racist world doesn’t want you to overcome.

Some thoughts.

Standard

Drowning while already drowned

Exhale. I have been wanting to write since my return now and couldn’t and didn’t while having used the excuse of having the laptop being repaired by my sister. She did and now I felt that excusing myself was a bit too much. Besides, I couldn’t sleep anymore. It’s jet lag I suppose.

My grandmother is dead. Both of my grandparents on father’s side now are deceased. I remember the craziness of February 4th when I woke up still in daze from my other slumber of having the feeling that I’ve drowned already from “failure” to imminently being told that she is not well. I meddled in booking the trip to see her and not wanting my father to be alone….it’s such a painful journey, then I finally faced the consequence of having to face an even slimmer bank account after an unexpected expense of purchasing the unplanned ticket for a flight coming up in a few hours….it was done.

The plane ride. I didn’t truthfully know what to feel. If I could feel even really. We got through it. Surreal. Then we arrived. Just like that, BAAM a different setting again. Warm weather, not bullshit of racist choking dogma, a country full of brown and black people again. Again….

It hit me that grandmother was already dead when riding in the car. Before that I was still naive in a way and unknowing of what was happening. Then I got it. It is utterly too late. She already passed away. Though we arrived on the most fastest flight possible, grandmother’s flesh was already empty and her soul and body warmth never to be witnessed by my father nor I again. Not here anymore at least. I remember vaguely not looking out of the car windows anymore during that ride, a feeling of not caring and knowing where I was going (I don’t know the city of Addis like that anyways) and just feeling that it was irrelevant anyways. Then we arrived. People, so many people who were crying and screaming. Then the wooden box. Grandma inside but I was unable to see her anymore as she was shut closed. The same room with the table holding her straight in the living room which I vowed and looked forward to visiting soon. How did I not recognize that 5 years almost passed since that promise was last made? What the fuck is the point question, crossed my mind again…at least began to pop up it’s seeds in my mind at that moment.

I felt paralyzed. I couldn’t go and touch the casket. It felt like a blur. I never touched grandma for the last time before she was whisked into the graveyard, a day later. I remember losing breath and nearly collapsing at the church site after the burial when the claustrophobia of so many people and and a hike to get to the church in the sun finally caught up with me. I had to kneel down, with stamina I gasped but did not faint. I was panicking. My aunt allowed me the space and I was able to get out of the crowd to sit down away from it. I remember sleeping later after that for some hours.

Grandmother is gone now.

 

Standard

I’m Back

Though really I have written just in different places and spaces. Just went browsing down below to read my previous posts. It’s been a while. Like nearly 4 years while. In that time I have written in other spaces, the most prolonged one being my Peace Corps journals which have now vanished. Gratitude (with sarcasm and a sense of wanting to beat someone up) is given to the forces and circumstances which have led to their loss. Last August en route from Ghana to Berlin. I’m sure the customs at Tegel has enjoyed my private thoughts…fick dich (whoever) for enjoying them. Anyways, no need to get too much into that mood.

I haven’t written in ages online really. I think I’ve written a post not too long ago maybe in November of 2016 on one of my older blogs, but honestly I doubt I’ll go back to that site again. It carries too much of the past. Though my memory might not be too good, and this I do not say lightly, it truly is troubling when I’m exceptionally honest with myself, the point to which I recognize how short my memory is on things – it’s well alarming. Probably something I should look into checking while I have my health insurance before this new American regime continues it’s extermination and terrorization of my Brown existance. It’s the era of resistance. Anyways, it feels good to write actually. It really does.

Also while browsing through some emails an inspiration came to mind. I want to find a creative way to share and explore for myself my 1 year and 9 months in West Africa. A tumultuous experience really which ended in a way of being tossed away…. Perhaps a photo exhibition – with music….Ein Fotoausstellung…..something like that? Yeah? Yeah? I think I should do that….

Art and creativity heal after all, don’t they?

Standard