men's liberation

I started writing this as a poem... but I realized I did not know how to format these feelings into the concise, neat package of a poem. That in mind, this will be a long note.

So let me start with the most recent trigger. At Afrofest yesterday, I ran into a guy who I've met no more than five times. He expressed interest in me. Made an inappropriate comment by the second time I saw him. So I expressed disinterest and stopped returning his calls.

So he sees me at Afrofest, comes over and hugs me. Takes it upon himself to basically rub down my arms, shoulders, waist and torso all while looking at me like he wants to devour me. I actually physically removed his arm from me on two occassions. The first time I did it without saying a word. He just placed it back. The second time, I tell him he needs to stop rubbing me down. And add that its especially inappropriate because my younger cousin is standing right there watching this interaction. His response: he replaces his arm and tells me that my cousin needs to know that I like men.

This ruined my Afrofest COMPLETELY. This was quite similar to an experience I had with another guy earlier in the day, maybe minus the heterosexist comment at the end. And in talking to my friends and replaying the incident in my head, I've realised this experience is not particularly new to me or many womyn. But it disturbed me in ways that other experiences haven't. And I've noticed that I've become increasingly less tolerant of shit like this - I get angrier than I ever have and stay angry for longer than I usually do these days in similar situations.

I've realised the reason for this. It was the night a couple months ago when some idiot I had seen earlier in the day offers me a ride home when he sees me waiting for the bus at 11:30pm. I said no, get onto my bus, stay on for the 3 stops till my destination, begin walking home and the same idiot pulls up along side me (keeping in mind the bus was driving slowly and making stops, so essentially this man followed my bus) and says "I told you I could give you a ride home. I know where you live." And creeps alongside me for a few more seconds until he realises I'm not responding (or maybe it was all the guy walking behind me who was looking at this man like he was crazy).

That incident set in heavy for me. And makes so many other things hurt me. Because the link between this random guy following me and an "acquaintance" rubbing me down is the underlying sentiment. The same sentiment behind intimate partner abuse (which is mostly committed against the female in heterosexual relationships). The same sentiment behind the guy touching my ass in the club last week and (after I push him) threatening me that "if I ever put my hands on him again...". It is the belief that so many men that they are entitled to womyn's body.

And you know what's scary? How much this has become the norm for us. How Rita admitted to me that part of her wanted to tell me to get used to it - and I was used to it, and maybe I will become used to it again. How one of my boys told me that it's part of life. How any other month, all this violence I've endured (because it is violence - physical, spiritual, emotional, mental) wouldn't have even warranted in me enough anger to write a poem, much less this long ass note on Facebook.

As I told my sister, each and every day it seems that the list of things I am willing to die for is getting longer. Because I am so vex, just blue vex, blue to the point I want to see red. I seriously feel in these moments that these men assault to me take of my heeled shoe and break a nose, puncture an organ or something. And keeping in mind that these men are probably physically stronger than me, I do understand that I risk ending up dead, in jail, deported, in an ICU somewhere and in these moments I'm ok with that. Because I don't know what to do anymore. Do you?

I recounted the Afrofest experience to a friend, and after he asked me the innocuous question "Did you go to Afrofest?" he asked me if this is why I believe in womyn's liberation. And that struck me hard. Cuz sometimes we do refer to these revolutions and liberations and movements by the name of the oppressed. And I understand that, but in this moment I feel like I am ok. Like I was ok before these men violated me.

In this moment I feel like a men's liberation movement needs to take place. I would like to free these men from the idea that my body is somehow theirs. I would like to liberate them from the notion that somehow they are more entitled to do as they wish with my body than I am. I figure these kind of feelings, these kinds of ideas must be very pressing and constricting to them. I figure these kinds of ideas, the actions they undertake, they must lose sleep right? They must feel uncomfortable with themselves, right? They must realise how unhealthy they are right? Cuz they can't be walking around, breathing, living feeling alright, RIGHT?

So womyn, can you help me? Can you tell me how I can help these poor depraved souls? And men... can you please let me know how I can help you? How I can help free your brothers? Because you can't be feeling right. You can't.

It's been awhile...

I'm sure no one except maybe my sister has noticed my absence, but I'm baaaaaaaaack:)

I've been thinking about why I haven't blogged in so long. Then I checked the date of my last entry and realised that that was just before 1)school went on strike and 2)I started dating a friend that I used to date. Well... school was on strike for 3 months... I went home for about half of that time... and St. Kitts was too damn wonderful for me to care to be blogging. And then that dating thing didn't turn out well. So here I am again...

Earlier today (well technically yesterday) I woke up feeling very anxious. Anxious to get piercings done. I've wanted to get my helix/cartilage pierced on one of my ears and an industrial/barbell piercing on the other for awhile, and I just woke up feeling like today was that day. After much googling, whining to friends and thinking about it, I realised today really was that day. So a call to one of my friends (to accompany me for the painful experience), a bus ride, subway ride and an hour and a half later and I was there at the piercing studio on Queen St W..

The piercings went well, only the upper hole of the industrial hurt more than so, but they really got me thinking. Counting the industrial as two piercings, I now have a total of 9 piercings (7 of the 9 in my ears), and I definitely felt like after changing my nose ring from a stud to a hoop a week or two ago that I was craving doing another piercing.

Piercings for me are really comforting for a number of reasons. I'm in love with processes. The idea of being able to track growth really appeals to me. So watching piercings progress/heal, from the pain of the initial needle, to the first, (second, third, forth...) painful cleaning(s), to the point where cleaning doesn't hurt anymore, to the day you can legitmately change the jewelry, that's amazing to me. It's hard for me to believe in these slow processes, I'm an instant gratification kind of girl, but once the flesh is pierced I'm forced to wait, forced to watch, forced to see, and watching this process... it feels like growth...

And highly related to that reason... I'm an impatient person - I remember the first time I repierced my ears after they blocked up, and even when I pierced my nose, just dying to change the original piercing ring to something more flashy. I definitely changed my earrings before I was supposed to and got infections and I'm pretty sure I changed my nose ring a little bit before it was healed. But with my belly button ring, I didn't. I thought about it the first few days (how much I wanted a blue barbell instead of the plain old fake diamond one) but I stopped myself. And eventually I just forgot about it/accepted it and changed it only after it was undoubtedly healed. I'm amazed at the patience I'm capable of (when I'm forced I suppose). Piercings have shown me I can sit still and wait.

Anyway, so far I've never regretted a piercing, and I'm hoping none of these will be the first. So we'll see, I guess... nothing to do now but sit and wait :)

Not to date it is then.

So I'll be honest. I'll put all my shit on the table. I have issues with being light skinned. Like most of the English speaking Caribbean with the exception of maybe Trinidad, St. Kitts is mostly black. And not light-skinned black. So I stand out without even opening my mouth. And like black people around the world who still have not recovered from colonization, we are still fascinated by light skin... there are men who still search out light skinned, curly haired, "mixed" womyn, to have children with "good skin" and "good hair" (and I thank God I wasn't cursed with the hair)... and my light skinned privelege comes into play alot - people let the fact that I wear locks pass, I would probably even get a job in a bank at home with them, parents of people I'm friends with love me - the light skin, the middle class, the "speaking well" and all that stuff. And I have issues with the history of the privelege, have issues with standing out and I have issues with men who are attracted to me and want to "have" me because they are fascinated by my paler skin.

Anyway, all that being said and all that being owned, the guy I went on a date with, who I'll call Kevin, admitted to me in the first phone conversation that he likes light skinned womyn. This is usually the point at which I walk away or hang up the phone. This time I decide to say, "You realise that's a problem right?". He asks how. I say because of the history of it. Kevin basically says he understands it's a sideline of black people's striving to attain all that is white, and he's thought about it and at the end of the day he's still attracted to light skinned womyn. Ok, he got points for acknowledging it - I think there are battles we choose, we can acknowledge things in us as a result of socialization that are problematic, but energy spent changing all the little things, can be spent on something more productive.

Next red flag in the conversation. "What do you do aside from work?" I ask. He replies "I go out, go to the movies... go to clubs alot." Ok, alot of people don't really have other interests, but he's always at the club so I try this angle "So you like music? So when you go home what do you play?" His reply: "Nah, music's cool, but I don't really play music at home." WHAT? That doesn't even make sense to me. I don't know any men who don't love music, play music at home, breathe music. Ok, he said he likes movies, I had an ex who was heavy into movies and could talk about them for days. "So what kind of movies do you like?" His reply: "Any. They're just cool." All of this sounds alot dryer than it actually was - he wasn't entirely silent, he just had no passion! Nothing he really cared about. But as said, he seemed like a good guy, I didn't want to come off stank like womyn in Toronto, so I accepted the date.

So it was supposed to be a movie, but because I last minute wimped out and was trying to get out of it and told him I wouldn't be able to see a movie till after 9, and the movie we wanted wasn't showing after then so he said he would come for me after 10:30p and we cld go to this restaurant that plays music and has a dance floor if we wanna dance. Ok, I woulda preferred the less personal movie, but cool. Dude shows up at 11:30. We pull up to the "restaurant". Why is there a line? "Why didn't you tell me you were taking me to a club." Kevin: "It's not a club. It's a restaurant." Then can you tell me why I waited in line for 20 minutes, why dance hall was blaring, and why I ain eat nuttin till now?

In any case, I do like music, the deejay at the CLUB was good, and I had a good one two whine time. When he's dropping me back to my place in the West end, he says how he hates West end cuz there are too many vagrants and he's not about somebody who's too lazy to work to rob him of his hard earned money. I unsuccessfully try to hold my tongue because people are fine with being robbed by H&M, the Gap and white corporations, but when a person of colour is trapped in systemic poverty and trying to make a way out we're shocked at the audacity of them to ask for money or try to survive.

Next, he's telling me his area is supposed to be really nice but he doesn't understand why people say so because there are too many Indians living there. Me: "Huh? I'm sorry?" Kevin: "You know how they are. When too many of them live in one area, they just run it down. They can't help it, it's in their nature. They say too many black people run down a place but Indians, it's really in their nature."

Needless to say, when he parked outside my house, I told him we could just be friends. Dude really asked me at that point, "What kind of friends?" LOL! I have to say... he surprised me with that one... didn't know he had it in him. I had to smile at that one as I said platonic ones.

So, I'm going to take a break from guys. Except I gave my number out at this amazing soca jam last night to this Grenada/Brooklyn/Toronto guy with the kinda waistline that dreams are made of. But we all know that Toronto man don't call, they just collect numbers. So I'm pretty sure I'm on a break still.:)

To date or not to date?

So, I'm supposed to go on a date tonight.
Am I excited? No!
Why not, you ask? Because I don't want to go.
Why am I going, you ask? Because I am afraid to say no to people.

That sounds a lot worse than it actually is. Some random guy I met, he was really nice, I liked his vibe, he asked for my number, he called and we spoke, I realized he just isn't for me, but when he asked me out, I couldn't think of a reason to say no. It's easy to be rude to assholes and ignore their calls... but genuinely nice guys who you don't wanna fuck up for the next person who will actually give a shit about them? Telling them no is hard.

Anyway, I'm a wimp. I'm going out on a first and last date.

Jamboree Beauty

That's the name of my Sally Hansen nail polish colour. The one I'm currently wearing on my fingernails. And I'm in love with it. I'm in love with the look of it on my fingers. I am absolutely fascinated by the control we have over such small pieces of our body... the way we can micromanage from the slight altering of eyes by liner, to the addition of colour to nails to completely set (off complexion/outfit/mood). Needless to say, I'm addicted to nail pollish.

Nail polishes are now to be added to my long list of materialistic, stereotypically feminine addictions. This is on its way to me. Vanessa is my new best friend. I have to be dragged away from here on everyday trips to the mall. One thing i have never done is nails. I've always bitten/peeled away my nails. Whenever I've grown them, I've hated that the white part of my nails is somewhat see-thru. So I've never gotten into the whole nail polish thing... But one day I painted my nails out of boredom, I left it on... and I'm fascinated with the way my nails are growing.

I'm very conflicted by this. Although I am all for an individual's right to choose, when the majority of people choose the same option, how much of a choice is it really? So here is every womon micromanaging herself... every minute thing has to be perfect from hair, eyes, lips, cheeks, eyebrows, breasts, stomach, arms, ass, legs, feet, toes and countless else... so many key ingredients to be that perfect womon: the makeup so perfectly applied it looks effortless; the long red-painted nails; the taut stomach; the arms defined but not too muscular... and the list of things needed for the perfect womon goes on.

It's really a wonder with all the advertising directed at womyn, all the conditioning that makes womyn think we have to perform this perfect act of balancing "whore" and virgin" that more people aren't in mental institutions.

And yet another balancing act... balancing choice and the acknowledgement of socialization.... so by acknowledging that I am socialized to be fascinated with the new image I can create using hued powders from Sephora, and subsequently believing I should not have to pluck, wax, (nair/veet) all hairs that don't grow out of the top of my head or outside the outline of my perfectly shaped eyebrows, do I then stop choosing the pretty colours on my dressing table? Can I as a womonist, say I don't have to and we don't have to and yet still "choose" (and I use the word loosely) to do?

And the love/hate relationship with my growing gorgeous Jamboree Beauty tipped fingers continue...

Untitled

So... I'm supposed to be in class today but I've had a migraine all day. The pain and the vomitting associated with it have let up... lucky for my body because my ass woulda definitely dragged my squinting miserable self complete with a vomit bucket to the couch for The Office season premiere tonight. Will Jim finally adult up and propose to Pam? Will Andy have to find someone else to propose to with the ring he bought 5 years ago (before he met Angela, the womon he actually proposed to)? Will I actually root for Dwight Schrute's happiness? Will Holly continue to appear normal aside from the fact that she's attracted to Michael? Hopefully we'll find all this out tonight. yay!

Anyway, I went to my first social event at my school yesterday. A whole buncha black people and peformances. Sometimes when I'm in a North American performance arena listening to the hip ho, listening to guys rap badly, groups beatbox and sing Musiq's Just Friends, do the spoken word thing, I wish that hip hop were more a part of me... I can appreciate it, criticize it, bounce to it, but it's not in my soul, not in my waist like dance hall...

Let me tell you how there were some nooooooooooiiiiiiiiiiiiiice looking menses there! What! Of course they're from Toronto and we all know my belief that Toronto men are wackety wack wack and not good supplies of consistent entertainment. And maybe this shld make me think, maybe men are not there for my entertainment. But history, my upbringing, my religion, my experiences of course let me know this is a dirty lie. As a straight Caribbean womon, I do know the only positive thing men as a group are good for is a laugh (as a group they are not good for great sex, conversation, or anything else).

One thing I will say is that Toronto men are entertaining in their inability to know that they can't rap. This might not be specific to Toronto, this might be men of the hip hop generation in general but in any case, they do not fail to provide a laugh in this respect. The big line from the freestyle yesterday was along the lines of "You turn me on like PS3". Yea...

The Office is about to start in 13 minutes. Yay!

Struggling...

I'm still sick. Coughing up a storm. Last night I definitely felt like my throat was closing up on me and I was going to die. But then after half an hour of that I wasn't dead yet so I figured it wasn't life threatening and took sleeping pills and knocked out. But that isn't why the title of this post is struggling.

Now before I admit this I want to say that I am completely against famous families. I do not believe that because your brother is famous, I should know your name or be subjected to hearing your single on the radio. Sure, if I know your name and then hear years after that whatshername is your sister/father/mother/uncle I can deal with that - you definitely got some behind the scenes hookups but whatever. If I know your name solely because you are whoever's sibling and then I see you in a movie, chances are your acting will suck ass.

I would also like to add that I am NOT a Beyonce fan. I like some of her stuff but I don't think she's that wonderful, I'm one of those people who don't think she was the best talent in Destiny's Child, and something bout her spirit just don't tek me.

Needless to say, when I heard Solange had a new album, I was NOT impressed. However, I heard "I Decided" and it was really upbeat and I didn't hate it. (And in case you didn't know, I'm really not about happy music, half of Stevie Wonder's stuff bugs the shit out of me.) The line "I decided that you are the him for me" and the idea of that choice to love, the juxtaposition of conscious decisions and fate/"the one" without the two concepts being in conflict really appealed to me. And the fact that I didn't hate that Solange song disturbed me. So I downloaded her album so I could hate.

And now I'm struggling. Because I REALLY REALLY like it. The whole thing. This album is nice - Sister Toldjah wasn't lying, she's got moxie, lol. Her vocals aren't phenomenal but come on, I've been subjected to hearing Rihanna everywhere. And she writes her own stuff, I do believe she does write alot of it (I really don't believe Beyonce writes anything... sorry). And she has a song with Bilal! And even her song dedicated to Marvin Gaye is really nice (and I'm so over this dedication band wagon thing). And I should hate it. And I hate that I don't! Why don't I?

I've been playing it over and over and over trying to get it outta my system, but it makes me happy. And I can't make my peace with this.

The Love Boat

I was watching The Love Boat in my sick state (because TV Land-esque shows should be watched when one is sick - if you don't know, now you know!) On that particular episode, the guy JJ from Good Times was on it (I know this because of IMDB as I don't think I've EVER seen Good Times in my life despite the fact that it is referenced everywhere, and I feel like maybe I should be ashamed of this, but I'm not). JJ's live-in girlfriend, Brenda Sykes, was on the cruise too sharing a room with Suzanne Somers' character.
There were so many problematic race things in the show, for instance a scene where Suzanne Somers, a white womon, gives Brenda Sykes, a black womon, all her baskets to carry, Somers' hand swinging freely while the Sykes is struggling. So many problematic gender issues for instance when the Captain yells at his grown ass ex-wife "You have behaved awfully. Go to your room!", and his ex-wife turns to her current husband (as only he can overrule her ex-husband in this patriarchal system) and her current husband repeats, "Go to your room!"
So anyway, I'm sitting here watching all of this giving thanks that I didn't grow up in a time like that and then I caught myself. What's so different? Aunt Jemima and Uncle Ben are still somehow everyone's aunt and uncle. Violence against womyn is pretty much normalised. So maybe the world isn't a much better place than it was back when that first episode of The Love Boat came out.

P.S. Non drowsy medication is for losers and people with jobs. (The two are often one and the same)
P.P.S. Do you know what I saw in the convenience store a couple months ago? Regular Strength Tylenol! Now I didn't even know they made that shit. What could Regular Strength Tylenol do for anyone's life? I'm struggling with 1.5 times the recommended dose of Extra Strength Tylenol. Regular Strength Tylenol must be like sugar pills, cuz I guarantee you the only effect they could possibly have on a grown ass human being is psychological.

Sick.

I'm sick. I feel like I'm dying. Sick sucks (but does not prevent me from coming up with wicked alliteration such as 'sick sucks':)).

So I don't have much to say. Oh yes. the quote of the week is, "You have a nice smile. I like those extra teeth you have. Kissing you must be an adventure."

"The fact that I am writing to you in English..."

"The first time I let her in my bed she got wetter than this perfect storm that we're weathering together." Have you ever heard sex sound like poetry yet so uncorny? That's my love, Talib for you. Saw him in concert tonight. How much did I pay? Free. That's right, I paid free to see Talib Kweli:) How was it? Well it's very hard to mess up free and Talib wouldn't even know where to begin. It was great:).

But you know what's very easy for people to mess up? Over $500. Which is about how much my Caribbean Lit course is costing me. You know what. My Caribbean Lit prof could probably mess up free too. So, today... this womon had the AUDACITY to say that we need to not simply hate oppressors/colonizers, that would be too simple... at this level things are a bit more complicated.

And then she went on. Yes she went on to ask us what we think some of the advantages and disadvantages of colonization are. Yes. She believes that I should think of slavery as having advantages. Some suggested by her and my dear classmates... well if there were no painful history, we wouldn't have had this beautiful Literature to read.

And well, Caribbean people are so religious... so heavily into Christianity... that well if we didn't have the rape, displacement, disorientation, torture, wronging of so many peoples... then we wouldn't be Christians. I really love how one of the pieces we're supposed to be discussing is heavily seeped in obeah, specifically a branch which makes many references to Yoruba spirituality. So this womon MUST know that SOMEBODY musta known God before massa introduced us to Jesus Christ.

Now I am aware out of great pain often comes great art... but I PROMISE you we woulda found something else to write about. I promise you that I do not think a history of enslavement has its merits because Kamau Brathwaite sho did write a good poem because of that last crack of the whip there. And I PROMISE you that as much as I love St. Kitts, I will not give thanks for the genocide of the Indigenous peoples of the Caribbean, then forcing droves of black people from God knows which part of the vast varied continent of Africa (MAYBE I can narrow it down to a large region... let's say for the sake of argument West Africa) just so I could know St. Kitts.

I sat there stunned in silence. I didn't know what to say to her. I didn't know what to do. Sitting in the class watching this womon call on 3 black people in a row to read aloud an Anancy story written in a VERY Jamaican dialect... hearing the last Guyanese girl struggle to read it because ummm she's not Jamaican... listening to the womon tell her it's ok, she likes to hear her Caribbean accent anyway... I just didn't know what to say.

You know they say in moments of passion/anger/any extreme emotion, you revert to your mother tongue? The English I should be thankful for is obviously not my native tongue. In my head I took it, smashed it repeatedly and the uniquely broken English was still not my own. I guess she should be thankful for colonization... because of it I didn't have the tools, the language, the words to tell her how I felt.