Welcome to Jer's weblog

New Woman

2009-07-01T16:59:00.008-04:00

Two degrees, no father, dreams stifled for a sleep
She steps at dawn, cell phone ringing, fully booked,--
hooked on improvement.

'The modern woman'
cutting lines in the sidewalk
She hurries to get the kids
you slipping memory like rainbow, yet
She has no longing to leave you, following

She swaying
pocketbook against the wind, behind
moving to the clamour of the job market
Empress in nylons, She on her way
quickening to get that raise

Now you swallowing gin to understand
how She flexing, unrestrained, menacing,
needing, but shunning you
She ain’t your mother
She moving too fast

No fling for cajoling, pushing you
you talking son to carry-on name
She saying tight schedule, more manhood
less bitching
She demanding you pay attention.

PMSing aint the deal
It's the weight of her lungs
the heave for status that keep
her going, on the go, stomping tradition
She flying red in darkness, still

Ain’t no falling short--'xcept maybe on the sex.

But We Already Knew THAT

2009-06-08T16:30:00.008-04:00

The Honorable Minister Louis Farrakhan

Black male endangered

"The black male is in a very particular place of endangerment not only by environmental factors, but the Black man's attitude, our ignorance, our savagery, are all lending to a plan, a conspiracy. The scientists say that when a species is endangered, the next stage is extinction. If the condition of the Black Male in particular is not checked and if God does not intervene, we will soon be extinct" ("The Final Call", April 7, 2009 issue, pg. 21).

Black middle class, crabs in a barrel

"Some of us look around at American society and we see some Blacks doing well, making what we think is progress and wealth and prestige, and we say, "We're moving on up now. Things aren't so bad. Why look at Oprah, Barack Obama, P. Diddy, Tiger Woods, Clarence Thomas. Look at Colin Powell and Condoleezza Rice. Aren't they clear signs of progress?" Much has been said about the growth of the Black middle class and how it appears we have finally turned the corner in our quest to attain the American dream. But is this real? .... In reality we have the illusion, the trappings of progress, but little else to show for our 452 years in bondage as slaves and now as free slaves in North America.

Now, if we look at the proverbial crabs in a barrel, the crabs are trying to get up, but another crab is pulling the crab down. But just suppose somebody is at the top of the barrel looking at the crabs, watching the drama of the crabs. And suppose he or she says, "come, let us deal wisely with those crabs. Let's take a few out of the barrel and put them at the top of the barrel and let them look back down on the other struggling crabs. If we do that it will give the other crabs the notion that they, too, can get out." But the crabs at the top of the barrel didn't get out because of his own talent and ability alone. The crab got out because the master took him out and allowed him out for the master's purpose!

Now, let's look at the wealthy and the famous among us. They have become a buffer between the angry Black masses and White people of power and influence that have us looking at our own rich as though they have betrayed us, when the wise demons behind them have used them as buffer to protect them from the anger of the poor White, the poor Black and the poor Brown. That is why you can never be an effective spokesperson for the hurt of your people because if you displease the crab barrel master, you are afraid that he might put you back in the barrel and not pluck you out again" ("The Final Call", April 7, 2009 issue, pg. 22).

My thoughts exactly; i could not have said it better. I am still waiting for those phone calls btw. You know, those calls, after the interviews.

D.I.C.K.

2009-05-15T13:37:00.008-04:00

I spread my thighs
you enter, My Style
full-sized, full-eyed
slow breathing exercise
lips charred. We cool

High moon, we spoon
deep, slow, solid
hips arching toward desire
hands naming what's required

You stake out landscape, yes
easy, open, body places
call each entry. Faces
masked in salt and tears

It's a shame there are boundaries
checking reality
no further skills-,
balancing budget, doing dishes,
treating me like a lady

I A.M., a woman, with deep desire
deeper than my pussy
wider than the space between my breast
come, come, come inside
my unborn, "about to happen"

Bring your paycheck, bring flowers
a smile; caring eyes
bring good reason and common sense
Diploma in Intuition.
Bring desire to segregate mood
swings, and calls for belly rub

35 Things I am F**king Sick and Tired of, But Which Are Here to Stay

2009-03-09T11:37:00.008-04:00

(1) Monotony

(2) Poverty

(3) Cellulite

(4) Pretentious people

(5) The devaluation of education

(6) Illiteracy

(7) Domestic abuse

(8) Weight loss commercials

(9) Polite racism

(10) Black peoples' historical inheritance of "doubleness"

(11) Winter

(12) "The Market"

(13) The increasing cost of living

(14) Hearing, "these are the last days"

(15) Unethical practices

(16) Long line-ups

(17) Underemployment

(18) Diseases

(19) Excuses

(20) Fear

(21) Explaining blackness

(22) Single motherhood

(23) Broken homes

(24) Hardened hearts

(25) Carrying the weight of black stereotyping and misrepresentation

(26) Irresponsibility

(27) Inadequate men

(28) Pain and suffering

(29) Discrimination

(30) The unending death and criminalization of YBM

(31) Barriers to success

(32) Pollution

(33) Stretch marks

(34) War

(35) Hunger

Gentle reminder to self, courtesy of an old friend:
"the world owes me nothing, it was here first"

Chill pills, and a few other things, would set this country straight

2009-03-04T14:19:00.002-05:00

Did someone say recession?

Happy Pills by Son of Groucho

Warmth, equal opportunity for all and chill pills every other month would put us right back on track. Anti-discrimination practices served with a smile could also do the trick. Maybe good drinking water, that means lead-free, and the elimination of all man-made products that cause cancer. Oh, i almost forgot, lottery winnings for the poor!; no, seriously, the elimination of poverty would give this recession a kick in the rear. But, then again, how do you declare everyone rich in a depression? We're screwed! Take a pill.

Upon Arrival

2009-02-26T13:08:00.012-05:00

Money, Power, Cement--
owners of Front Street
huddle together, pavement
and traffic lights under siege
old men nest like rodents on
banks below

Imperial, her majesty
Royal, in Trust
In whose trust?
financial interbreeding, fine dining
fancy mirrors, access
to capital gains. Scotia
spurns credit for sleeping
doormen in bags, subzero

Power on Front Street
is Progress, brick by brick
Home for old men, dreaming
a space,
head disjointed, no
Money to rest--

Should history record the
nightmare, ill-delusion. Seclusion
Power molded in sandstone
Red light, Green Night
shrieking alarm

Front streets ain't only
on Front Street
They in welfare offices
on subway benches and living
room couches
caseworkers and passersby smell
the stench,
have grown accustomed to the
indifference,
the unholy Divide
between ivory and calico

Photograph of My Mother as a Young Woman

2009-02-21T10:05:00.005-05:00

Age-old scented paper
glaring
eyes piercing souls in the story
Behind the eyes are shadows
of generations--
maids, butlers, seamstresses
Big mamas nursing babies

Callow, slim, angled neckline
hold steady
"that's the nose i got!"
chiseled to suits the senses
Frozen truth in black and white

Hardened, broken, splintered
lips
a photograph of my mother
untold stories laid to rest
Silently spoken, haunting

Sparsely-cut black hairdo
askew to jawline
cheekbone
Frilly top shifting memory--
mother's mother
six Sundays ago

Healing After Heartache

2009-02-03T16:20:00.015-05:00

During the past year, i have had four friends / family members who have had suffered heartbreak. The culprit? Men who just do not give a damn. I, however, have a strong sense of justice in words because the language we speak can be very powerful; words carry more weight than anything we can do to "fight back". I have always looked to words as a blueprint for healing. I suggested reading and writing to those hurting. Some prefer music and fine wine.

If i could create a language for healing after heartache, it would transpose a voice of strength, integrity and good humour. It would unveil the vein of truth that pumps a lifeline of emotion to that shielded organ we call "heart". It would clarify for us what we really feel, want and don't give a shit about. It would convey the will to rise above and beyond human folly and flaw--that which make us, at once, both human and monster. It would sound like...

It's okay, i get it. I like the absence; it's a nice dose of reality. Reality beats me into becoming a woman. A strong woman; a woman who understands what it really feels like to be low and out, but who is also able to learn, grow and live freely.

The way i "do things" is:

I care for people; i am sympathetic towards others and i feel other people's pain. I wear my heart on my sleeve, not because i want to, but because i am real. I am a real person. I am nobody's fool; i am witty. I am kind. I have a lot going for me. If you are real i can deal with you. What do i value the most? Honesty.

I am glad that i have made you a better person (assuming you no longer burn rice and you take your health seriously). You have made me a better person as well; in so many ways, i am wiser and stronger. My family means the world to me. My family is my world. I can be your friend. The challenge is yours to take.

Reflections

2008-12-23T13:46:00.001-05:00

The most benign gift we have is the gift of love. It is an emotion that breathes life into our soul. We are nothing without it. Each day, my daughter reminds me of the importance of love. She cuddles up to me, like any child would, when she feels tired, sad, disappointed or frustrated. If i do not place my arms around her and pull her real close to my bosom, she takes my hands and try to make them hug her, protect her, calm her, love her. We have "Bammy" moments when we kiss each other slowly on both cheeks, then, "faster". We bond through laughter and mutual love exchange.

I make these moments a daily ritual, a routine we share. At times, in my own deep thoughts, i reflect on this single small emotion. I am inspired by its greatness. I think about the coldness and hardness of the winter months; constantly, it reminds me of the coldness and hardness of the world. I ask myself, what is it that makes us survive? Because, really, we are not meant to survive. I could die if i should stumble and fall on the ice when nobody is looking. The answer came quickly. It is the relationship we maintain with others; it is the love we share with each other that keeps us breathing everyday, expecting nothing in return. The greatness of love is in its capacity to heal, nourish, nurture and sustain us.

I am profoundly grateful to have been blessed so graciously with the gift of love. And i am thankful that i am able to "give it" freely and abundantly to the people in my world. It is a spiritual booster to know that we are loved. An unadulterated flicker of hope, joy and peace that keeps us burning brightly long after initial encounters have subsided. I love you.

Ride With Me

2008-12-16T11:05:00.010-05:00

Ride with me on "the midnight train"
my love, smite the wicked rain
that soils my silent body
claiming the shame
my eyes have feelings too

Like the Sable Queen, shipwrecked, lost
left to die, frost
shrivels the thin layered darkness
and quietly tames the screeching roar
of my heart against yours

Ride "the midnight train" with me
my love, unmelt the key
Won't you smite that wicked rain?
Take my hand and walk away
wash the silence that makes me sway.

Love. Listen up!

2008-11-10T14:02:00.014-05:00

It's the danger of it all
love is risky business
you carry the silent anger
the pain of wanting to retreat
you stop for a moment to think,
and you ache
you stop for a moment and you feel like
you slipping
like you slipping into something
like you falling and can't stop falling.
It's the danger of it all
love is risky business.
Even when you take a bow
and the curtains fall, you
still falling
you live in the reflections
of broken glass
you walk in the shadow of
you hope, and you pray, yes
you pray
you sing yourself a reason to keep
but you keep falling
the pit that you falling into
has no bottom
just darkness
and echoes of you loneliness.
It's risky business i would say
if you can't stop yourself from falling
you falling and wondering why
you can't stop,--
a woman heart tender
when her mind strong, yet
you keep falling like leaf
on autumn day
you not certain about destination
all this time you traveling
you not sure where you going, but
you going
you going because you falling
and although you know it's risky
business
you still falling
like snow before winter come 'round.
When you falling be sure
someone, a shadow in the pit, even
there to catch you
it better when you don't fall
by yourself
because
love is risky business
when you falling and don't know
that is falling you falling.
Long as you grown and have sense
you will know
is just that you may not know the danger
because you falling and all the time thinking
that is just falling you falling
you slipping too, yes!
you sliding and slipping, losing grip
and you might just grab something
and still feel like you falling
ain't nothing gonna stop you from falling
once you falling
is the pleasure and pain of falling
that keep you going
you high and low in one sweep
ain't nothing gonna help you, now
now that you been falling
and all the while not knowing that
you falling
it's a dangerous
damn dangerous
risky business

Gaining, but Steadily Losing Hope

2008-11-06T15:28:00.006-05:00

I made it! I abandoned my blog (a thing i love so much) for almost six months, so i could make IT. Now, a graduate holding a Master of Arts degree in English...well, lets just say that's the only thing i'm holding; i've never been more jobless, frustrated and fearful in my life. Let me explain. Being in University provides a kind of intellectual shelter from the harsh, sometimes crude, world of employment; University theoretically trains you for years, but provides no practical opportunity. I haven't come across an employer who doesn't see (code: looking for) 3-5 years of experience as an "asset" in getting the job. I feel like screaming:

"Where the hell do i get 3-5 years teaching experience if i have been in school trying to get those damn degrees for the last 5 years?!"

Now, penniless and with little hope of getting that 45k job so i can at least feed my daughter and live free, i'm thinking about going back to study for another 5years since i cannot bare to go on welfare. Yes, it's that bad. Another delay, another escape from the real world. With a student loan and 10years studying "experience" lets pray that retirement go as planned for English professors; then, they'll have no choice but to hire me. Bastards!

Obama wins an election by talking about the very things that i've been wanting to hear these days: unyielding hope, opportunity and honesty from politicians who claim to govern all of us. I have never been more hopeless and felt more uninspired by those above us. I remember being in primary school thinking i could be anything i wanted to be as long as i worked hard, possessed the right kind of attitude and integrity. It turns out that i've worked hard against all odds, and trust me, there have been many, did all the right things and is still unable to see a real break, a real glimmer of hope in breaking from my past hardships and struggle. Being a media junkie of sorts, i scan my television screen each day and there is always someone testifying to reaching the American / Canadian dream through hard work and perseverance. Though, for most of us, especially those who had to start the race from too far behind in not having the right kind of parents, living conditions, guidance, mentors, resources, opportunities, environment, we wind up seeing the very dream so many people talk about eluding us.

Where on earth is the best place to live? Where do i go as a hardworking, motivated, determined, conscientious black woman with little experience, a student loan, a daughter and an MA in English?

Will a nation deliver on huge problems like global warming and terrorism when it cannot adequately handle small things like equal opportunity and employment. What about those dreams that have been deferred?

So What

2008-05-22T17:49:00.003-04:00

Another uneventful day. I have been waking up half an hour earlier each day, just because. I'm trying to keep track of all the things i need to get done, you know, those readings and papers. Sometimes I wonder if i have a life at all, i mean, I do nothing but study. I guess that makes me a good student. Talking about student, JJ took a couple of her books the other day and put underneath her arm, went to the door all dressed-up and said, "mommy, come on; i'm going to school!" needless to say, I was glad to hear it as my mom told me that i, too, dressed in my sister's school uniform when i was a toddler and that i would sometimes pretend that i was going to school; i even pretended to read their books from cover to cover. So that little J is a real joy to watch; she's following in mommy's footsteps nicely. I'm a very lucky mother.

I have been reading Dionne Brand and Austin Clarke for my summer "Black Canadian Literature" course. Now, i'm on to Brand's, Land to Light On...

JJ just came through the door; gotta go!

Kisses on a Bridge, May 9th

2008-05-07T11:22:00.006-04:00

First love, first kiss, first touch, first surrender,
first "always and forever"
She dreams of faraway places, next to him,--
her Prince.

He comes at night, carrying fresh roses
on the wind
she waits for him, always, in the bridge of a song
breathing love verses through sheets of rain,
and nighttime thunder.

She wants him to take her,
over mountain tops and shallow rivers,
over potholes and broken tracks
never slowing,--
children of the poor can love each other.

But,

She is a dreamer; so is he.
So he takes his love where it can be guarded.
Away from careless youth and hunger;
away from sinful desires and naive splendor.

Does he cry, always, for a memory?

Vision Health

2008-04-29T15:54:00.004-04:00

Getting blurred vision after receiving eye drops gave me a new perspective on life. Never take your vision forgranted! Although the blurriness goes away by evening, it's a pain in the ass to walk in the sun.; you simply have to use your imagination to find your way (or maybe just a little of it). The blurriness still didn't go away for me, and here i am typing.

I went for my second presurgery appointment today. I received a laser procedure known as iridotomy to create two small openings in my peripheral iris, in both eyes. These openings create a way for fluid to flow through the front chamber of the eye so that a blockage of fluid can be prevented when the lens go in (and therefore prevent fluid pressure known as glaucoma). I return on Friday for my ICL (implantable Contact Lenses) vision correction procedure! I am excited; i am in great hands.

Home shopping has been going great; finally, York Region is the spot. I am taking everything in strides, or trying to. Inevitably some things got left out of the works: my GA work went down hill so i'll be playing catch-up. Now, gotta go rest the eye.

It Started with a Smile

2008-04-21T22:50:00.011-04:00

No, i didn't go on a vacation :)
I got an offer for my condo and i have been looking for a new home (in TO); so if you know a "safe" and affordable neighbourhood let me know! I also have a minor surgery in a couple weeks. Anxious? Definitely...

Btw, of the two papers i have left, one is near done and the other, well, let's just say i do not have a topic yet.

Between home shopping, library visits and essay writing i hardly managed to celebrate JJ's B-day today.

And it ended with a smile.

Out with the Old

2008-04-08T17:40:00.009-04:00

Where did March go, so quickly...looking for March, March...March?!

One paper done, two more to go...

During the past week:

My daughter came home from daycare with a blackeye (and i don't mean Black Eyed Peas). The following day i had asked the sitter if JJ was in a fight with the girls and she replied, "no, i would have told you, for sure!" "JJ was not hit nor did she fall," she said. What am i to do? There was no scratch or bruise so i left it at that. It eventually went down but i wondered if the sitter was being honest. I trust no one.

***
I watched "American Gangster" a couple nights ago and thought it Weird that Denzel plays the role of the lead 'gangster' (i cannot see him as a tough guy so he was lovable the whole time for me). My hobby says that getting Denzel into the lead is an appropriate business move to get people into the theatre. Makes sense. Now, i want to see "The Great Debaters," another Denzel movie. My uncle phoned me about a month ago saying i have to see it; it has been on my list ever since.

***
I went shopping this past week, as well, for children clothing, that is. Got some great deals. Funny, my daughter is still wearing some of her 12 and 18mths clothes (one suit can't fit her yet!). I find it incredible because she's not tiny...

Ooops, JJ just came through the door which means, yep, you guessed it!

My Daughter is...

2008-03-27T14:22:00.015-04:00

a victim. of my impulse to tell stories.

My mother had never told me stories. My mother has zero memory of everything that has ever happened to her, it seems. Memory loss? I will never know.

I heard many stories while growing up in the Caribbean, everything from anansi stories to bible stories. They were largely narrated by my friends or their family, usually the mother or grandmother. Occasionally, my sisters would tell me family stories which i always enjoyed; there is nothing more entertaining or sorrowful than digging-up family memory. One aunt is a walking archive; another tells different versions of the same story.

There were other things my mother didn't do,
like, taking a lot of pictures while i was growing up. It explains my obsessive compulsion to take pictures of my daughter. I may have over 500pics of my daughter already and she's barely 2 years old.

My mother's stories are what i miss the most. I missed the experience of cuddling-up to her, inhaling her mother-scent, listening to her words as they roll off her tongue in waves, travelling in milliseconds to get to my tongue...

So i have my own daughter, for political reasons. I need someone to pass things on to. To love enough to care what she hears; to love enough to care that she hears my voice like a march in the dimly lit room, hugging her consciousness.

My daughter is also a victim of my ambition. My mother had not showed me the ways of the world. The blows i received were shocking, sometimes nerve rocking. I refuse to blame her. Perhaps her mother was also silent. I guess i'll never know.

Talking, yes, that's another thing i'm good at. I speak a lot. As if speaking against the painful silence i grew up in. My daughter is also a definite victim of my love for speech. I speechify to her. She doesn't seem to mind. Having her makes me realize just how much i want to be her. I want to become my daughter. Breathing. She breathes life into me. I cannot become my mother. I miss her stories...

Psst

2008-03-20T20:09:00.006-04:00

I'm here.
hanging on to hope and other shit.
Been burdened with things to do; some won't be done. Period.
Guess, i'll just have to learn "how to be fine" with minimal support and full-time everything else.
I have been working on research papers and trying to stay asleep when asleep.
Since i'm not having "it" i decided to entitle one of my papers, "Contesting Black Womanhood: (Dis)locating Sex, Gender and Desire in..." we'll see how it goes.
I can smell a long vacation in the air.

Who the hell doesn't need to go out.
I don't understand what all the fuss is about. F#$k poverty.
I need a drink. Oops, can't drink. Try counting sheep. F$#k sheep.
I need a drink. Oops, can't drink. Can't sleep.
I wish i could put my finger on it. Take a dive in it. Ride it like the train.
People confess that it's great. I don't know if i believe them. I thought i'd been there. I haven't.
I'm a bit dizzy, though not from spinning. From playing games. Bad for you.
I'm in love!

Life's weird. So is this blog. I'm simply telling. You. As it is.
So far, too many "I"s, not enough repetition, repetition. Period.
Pattern, not important. Just let it out. tell it, as it is. Without the frills, tucks and trimmings.
Period.
Period, i like the sound of that. Like a final command, PERIOD!
I got some feedback on my poetry, lately. F#$k poetry.
Peace. of. me.
No, i'm not pissed.

Todobby and Womanhood

2008-03-07T09:30:00.007-05:00

"JJ, stop spitting!"

"What did i tell you about spitting?!"

"Stop it, JJ, please!"

Yea, you guessed it, JJ has taken up spitting; another of her phase, i guess. So, now, that makes me the spitting supervisor. For her, it's a hobby: "look, mommy, i'm spitting!"

In one of my earlier posts, i had said that JJ says just about everything except when she wants to poo-poo. Well, believe it or not, the very next day she started telling when she poo-poo; not before she wants to go, but after she has done the deed. Gee, i wonder if she reads my blogs; Nah, now, that's just silly! But, gotta tell yah, it surprised me big-time. She has even been saying: "mommy, i want to pee-pee!" to which i respond, "pee in your diaper, sweetheart!" Isn't that funny? Hah, careful what you wish for...

So, i'm presently juggling motherhood, wifehood, studenthood and the flu. Yea, i know, who doesn't, right? Well, most men don't which makes us, women, one heck of a human species. Today, i take time to reflect on what life would be like without all this mothering, wifing and studenting. State capitalism would flap, that's for sure; there would be no "structure" and all societies would collapse. It's that simple. Woman-identified people, take a minute, imagine the chaos there could be. Now, smile...we are powerful, more powerful than we think we are. Now, imagine a world in which there is no sexism, racism, classism, homophobia, ageism, ableism, in other words, no hate. Are you still on earth? See, on a mass scale, we are one ucked-up lot; all of us. But, individually, inside each of us, that's where humanity is. We/you/each of us can make a difference. I'm not preaching utopia, here; hope ia, maybe. I suspect many of us have already made that choice to be different, stand up and out, and say: "By golly, i won' t stand for any of this shit, stop the hate, now!"

Now, how did i get from the begging-my-toddler-to-stop-spitting scene, to talking about female strength, to discussing love? Is it mere stream-of-consciousness? What is it, really?

The Island (Looking Forward)

2008-02-28T14:36:00.012-05:00

Cotton Clouds Nose DiveGreen Candy Real Meal

Most Memorable Mommy Moments

2008-02-24T13:16:00.009-05:00

At 13mths, i took my daughter to the doctor for a check-up because most of her new-born hair had fallen out and the new growth was slow. As we sat in the waiting area with other moms and babies, i tried my best to keep JJ entertained. She giggled and clapped and stood in the stroller to survey the room and the other babies. Finally, she settled down and focused on playing with her socks. Then, out of the blue, she looked the-lady-beside-me straight in the eyes and said, "A, apple; A, apple." Hey, I knew that i was back-up teacher at home, but i hadn't started the alphabet yet!

So the lady said, "Oh, my goodness, how old is she!"

"Thirteen months," i said, equally amazed, and all smiles.

"You must spend a lot of time teaching her at home," she said, curiously.

"Of course," i said, "but she usually initiates it and then i act as back-up."

"Wow," she said, still impressed. I smiled happily.

So i didn't lie about teaching JJ to say A, apple, but i got the pleasure of having her amaze someone else. I capitalized on that moment, and, did i teach her the rest of the alphabet? You bet! At 17mths she burst into my room one morning, sang the alphabet and blew me away.

***
At 15mths, a friend of mine came over to my place to do some paperwork. He has a daughter as well who is 4mths older than JJ. He said that he had been teaching his daughter from the time she was in her mother's womb. I thought, oh my; but i hesitantly told him that i didn't believe in that. I didn't read to JJ when she was in the womb and she's gonna be just fine, i told him (but a part of me wondered if he could be right. That starting from the womb was the best thing you could ever do for your child's education).

"Sunshine, now 19mths, is learning to say B A N A N A and i'm going to start teaching her to count soon!" he said, with all the pleasure of being a proud father, "plus, there are a few words we have been teaching her since she was born, and we are now waiting for the time when she will say them from memory."

"That's great!" i said, with all the sincere emotions of being a proud mother.

Then i thought to myself, JJ counts to 13 unassisted, and she already knows how to say B A N A N A and other things, so maybe she's going to be alright! (actually, she started counting to 5 before she turned 12mths!)

***
At 20mths JJ melted my heart with her spelling, albeit only two words, unassisted: C A T and D A D.

***
Now, at 22mths she is learning to read via phonics. Also, she speaks with verbs and in full sentences, but the little sucker cries for everything and cannot say when she wants to poo poo!

Brick and Lace: Love is Wicked

2008-02-17T21:42:00.009-05:00

One of the hottest reggae videos that i’ve seen in a while. I’ve never heard of Brick and Lace but this song is wicked! Number 1 on the Top 10 Caribbean Music Videos chart and number 3 on the Top 10 Reggae Singles chart. I stumbled upon this and other relevant stuff in the West Indian Entertainment & Life Magazine (which is FREE monthly, btw, at ethnic food stores etc.). The magazine has tons of info on “Music, Culture, Art, People, Life” that practically covers the Black Atlantic! Found it just in the nick of time, the magazine i mean, as I was desperately searching for stuff, ANYTHING, on "black history."

Busy Signal: Nah Guh Jail Again

2008-02-17T21:14:00.004-05:00

Hmmm, the message is clear. Thank you. Number 4 on the Top 10 Reggae Singles chart...

Valentine's Night

2008-02-15T10:57:00.012-05:00

Lovers lock lips
Beneath the starlight
Between armed wintry bliss
Burning bright in stolen firelight
with
Splintered rose-buds, caravan kisses.
Chicled desires sounding strange, consent
Liquid love melting stern caresses.
The Night praises, a hidden moment
Leaping fences--
It's the time for love, love, loving!

Checkered rainbow cross backs and faces
as
Lovers bend and bow to nonstop tempo
Come closer, hear the mellow secrets stolen?
The Night, Time for love.

Message for my Daughter

2008-02-08T16:32:00.000-05:00

Like so many things in life, i did not choose activism, it was thrust upon me. My activism starts in my home, with my daughter, the future of this country. A few realizations, eye-openers some may say, have prompted my meditation and subsequent decision to write a message for my daughter (and any other children of colour whose parents may be reading). As soon as she is able to understand, which is probably not too far from now, i will tell her the following:

Message for my as-yet- matured daughter, living in Canada.

You are black.
You are female.
You are not the norm.
The norm is white, male, heterosexual, Christian, Eurocentric.
Before you come into this world, you are already created, positioned and defined in multiple ways through language.
Before you encounter the outside-world, your experiences are already constituted by discursive practices (in media, law, medicine, education) which see you as other, strange and tolerable.
As you venture into the world, you must always ask questions, always interrogate, always work to complicate and dislodge hegemonic truths that work to subordinate and silence you.
Always surround yourself with people who are honest and supportive; at times it will be difficult to tell the difference.
Be prepared to work twice as hard for everything and never, ever, surrender for less than your goals.
You will need a thick skin when you enter academia because people (faculty and students) will want to eat you raw.
Be brave, be strong, and remember that your ancestors have survived the journey across the Atlantic and your mother has survived another such journey.
This is not a guide for survival, only a map that points to the gaps, cracks, potholes and shows you the many detours and dead ends that shape the city.
Remember, you are black, female and beautiful, but you are not the norm.

Art and Xperience

2008-02-06T14:13:00.001-05:00

"I can only speak for myself. But what i write and how i write is done in order to save my own life. And i mean that literally. For me literature [and poetry] is a way of knowing that i am not hallucinating, that whatever i feel / know is." -- Barbara Christian, "The Race for Theory"

On that note, i will venture to say: i look for my truths in literature, in poetry, in music, in dance, in photographs, in gestures; in other words, in silences and spoken words, in those forms we call "fiction". I've stopped searching history books and official records. I now look around me. I write what i see through my own lense, and from my own perspective. I read.

That Body

2008-02-05T10:37:00.000-05:00

Censor the body and you censor breath and speech at the same time. Write yourself. Your body must be heard.
-- Helene Cixous, "The Laugh of the Medusa."

that body,
that, that, that
that body
that bla
black, black body,
that berry black body
must be heard.

silvery black, shackled block
slippery sloped black body
shepherded back, shipwrecked sugar
Sir Sligo
knew
sir sli
shepherded back 'gainst the shadow
of whiteness, mythical
needing entry.

that body
that, that, that
that body
that bla
black, black, body
that berry black body
must be heard

silent, slow, spoken,
wow!
Sir Sligo
knew
sex, sexy survival
served black, back 'gainst stone
smile, lean, strike a pose
yo' earned it!
yea,

tha', tha', tha'
tha', tha' black body,--
yea,
it must be heard.

TodNotes

2008-01-26T22:34:00.003-05:00

@ 21mths, still my "baby"?

"Wow, beautiful dress!" --what JJ says when you dress her in anything.

"Mommy, what you doing?" -- fave question to ask me.

"Crackers and cheese / ice-cream-chocolate, P L E A S E"-- most frequent answer to what would you like to eat?

"Mommy / Daddy, say 'goo-goo gaa-gaa,' say 'wow'" (or whatever word she wants to hear you say, for her amusement, of course).

"JJ, come, Mickey Mouse!" --the only thing that will make her run to me in a haste saying, "okay!" when i need her for anything.

"Umm, Barney and Friends, Bob the Builder..." --when asked what she wants to "do" on the computer (much wider than the TV selection).

"Mickey Mouse!" -- her most frequent answer to what would you like to watch (on tv)?

"Holy shit." -- a new phrase she picks-up from dad (dad now under the process of expelling that from his vocab).

"Hi baby!" -- what she says to any kid, big or small, when seeing him / her for the first time.

"It's mine!" -- what she says when she gets a hold of anything.

"No." -- her answer to anything you ask her that she's not sure about (thank you, lord).

"Fine, thank you" -- when asked how are you?

"Quiet!" -- when someone tries to assist her in saying her ABCs / sing a song or anything else that she already knows how to say / do.

Complete silence -- only when watching Jungle Book / Happy Feet, oh, and when sleeping.

I remember those days ----->

Umbilical

2008-01-20T18:55:00.000-05:00

Father,

my throat is sore.
From calling you, poor
my centre weans, father
those memories lost, yester
years.

Father,

my soul cries in vain.
My calls' surrendering, pain
my heart nurses, father
those memories lost, yester
years.

Father,

i made a hole. In
the sky. That i may win
one cautious smile, father
those memories lost, yester
years.

Father,

i did make a vow.
That i may burn now
release my tears, father
those memories lost, yester
years.

Father,

i made a crack. In
heaven. That i mayn't sin
by resolve, father, to leave be
those memories lost, yester
years.--

Derrida is not for Everyone

2008-01-16T17:02:00.000-05:00

Okay. So i had to recover from the intellectual violence of my presence in last week's seminar in contemporary theory before i could write this blog. I have ten minutes to type this so bear with me...

Last Friday, we had a guest lecturer who specializes in Derrida and Deconstruction and he came to elucidate for us, the students, the principles of Derrida's theory. Now, i read all the criticisms / materials assigned for that week, and i even laughed out loud when i stumbled upon Derrida's keen sense of humour / irony (something i've never done / was ever able to do before in theory).

I went to the seminar hoping to laugh out loud even more, but, shame on me. I must add that Dr. X did a great job clarifying the relationship between the Platonic dialogues and Derrida's theory about writing / speech and he was even animated and very enthused about the topic. The problem was this: I knew absolutely nothing about Greek myth and, for the life of me, could not begin to wrap my brain around what he was saying. Then, came the numbing pain in the back of my head as my cerebral strings tried as hard as they could to process all the "foreign intelligence." By break-time, i was more than ready to leave but too embarrassed to move. Eventually, the seminar reconvened, but my brain didn't. All his questions went over my head and into the wall behind me as i nervously struggled to maintain my composure. Near the end, my brain finally exploded and gave way to a gush of chemical goo...

When i reached home, i was darn well near depression and had to pull out my undergrad transcript just to remind myself (however corny it may sound) that i am not stupid; that i am qualified to be there, in that seminar; after all, i said to myself, i graduated in the top 3% of the University; and that ought to mean something. It's the least i could do to prevent myself from slitting my wrist.

That's what happens in THEORY. Now, i need to deconstruct how i will survive the rest of the term...

Thick Love

2008-01-15T20:27:00.002-05:00

SHARING A KISS

SHARING A JOKE

SHARING A MOMENT

SHARING A SKETCH

SHARING A SQUEEZE

The End of the World?

2008-01-11T20:01:00.000-05:00

It took a good dose of international news for me to realize just how ucked-up the world is right now. It has been "the last days" for as long as i can remember; and from what i've seen, God has definitely changed her mind about coming. Yea, i said HER. Ellen DeGeneres spoke with God, personally, and she confirmed God is a SHE (and a black woman at that! Shocking, isn't it?). But, really, the whole world is doing a U turn on progress...we've actually...what did Karen say in Coupland's Girlfriend in a Coma? Dissolved, yes, the world has dissolved. Natural disaster is no longer confined to earthquakes, volcanoes and the like, but has taken on new forms, in many places: war, genocide, suicide bombing, ethnic rivalry, AIDs etc. There is a shoot-out / killing-spree in progress every second of everyday all around the world; and i get to lay in bed and watch this...this unfolding of the end of humanity, on the 5 o'clock news, from the comfort of my pillow-top mattress in my bedroom (Dreams and Things). "Gosh, i hate watching the news, it ruins my whole day!" Isn't a Canadian day more precious than a middle Eastern day? "We should be glad we don't have war!" Well, uck me silly, we must be specially finger painted by the Superior One! But why watch the news when i can watch The Simpsons, or Kings of Queens, or even one of George Bush's speech on terror? Actually, i can't figure out which one is more horrifying: American powercracy or the 5 o'clock news. The news has more raw action; it's like watching "murder by the third degree."

"Honey, pass me the popcorn, i don't want to miss the next bombing."

Joys of Toddlerhood

2008-01-08T10:19:00.000-05:00

COMPUTER ANALYST

JJ on the computer, with assistance, of course. Oh, yeah, i did the corn rows... cane rows, for West Indians, thank you :)

ENTREPRENEUR

Hmmm, smells goooooood
(JJ on New Year's day)

DIVA

Beautiful eyebrows.

ACTRESS

On the first take. That's my baby!

SUPERMODEL

I swear, this one took only three takes!

2008 and Counting...

2008-01-02T08:57:00.000-05:00

New Year, same sh#*t.

I guess we all have to search our soul for those meanings and purposes that make life worth the short-long experience it is. I hate to start on such a low key, but the high key that i was waiting for at midnight new year's eve didn't show. I was hoping to feel different after midnight, you know, get some closure on the old year. Course, i spent the holiday with my loved ones, us, loving each other; but after the countdown and fireworks, well, let's just say it was life as usual: another stinking day on the calendar. Morgage due, tuition fee due, RA hours due, essay due, child care costs due, cell phone bill due and the list goes on. My resolution is simple: mind over matter, this year. Funny, my hobby has been living that resolution for years.

Speaking in Tongues

2007-12-31T18:31:00.001-05:00

lish, lisp, his glish

must come clean

from mi mouth

roll over mi tongue,

through mi lips.

What a bangarang, eh?!

lawd, is so Mr. glish is,

laden wid grief, mad fi lick mi

wid him punctuation and grammar.

I before e, heheeeeey!--

but no, on my tongue,

it have a duel with

modder tongue,

they arguing over spices

both claimin' spaces,

hisglish an' modglish.

Lawd, they not easy

though, eh?

Is a' inheritance from

"the bad-minded English"--

a generation glitch,

[...]

Seeing Double

2007-12-30T10:30:00.000-05:00

Have you ever searched the corners of your room for answers to your questions only to find that the corners are as empty as you are? It hard when you searching for answers. It hard. It always hard. Harder than rain in the winter and snow in the summer. It hard.

I wonder who makes the questions so hard and then put the answers in hiding? It hard. It hard when you find yourself stuck and you don't know how you get stuck. It always hard. A woman can get stuck in a big city. A woman can get stuck in her own mind. Her own pain can destroy her, and no one has to look at the wreckage. In a big city you don't have to look.

When you walking down the street and you see a homeless man, what comes to mind? Bum. Here, i have to freeze off me arse just to make a shilling and i should pass it on to him, for what? Did you ever consider the psychology of that man? Like him probably saying to himself: "Cho, it too cold to work so i will sleep on the street for free, where it safe and dry, and depend on the Toms, Dicks and Jane Does in this city."

That man probably just like me. Searching for answers; only, he searches in the weather beaten feet trampling refuse smelling asphalt thinning cracks of the city.

Here's a Story

2007-12-28T13:53:00.000-05:00

Everyday is a struggle against the odds: the odds of getting an MA in English. Sometimes i feel so fragmented, i'm amazed that i have been able to stay whole instead of being fed to the wind like debris caught in a storm.

Another Academic Muse

2007-12-26T16:21:00.000-05:00

At what point in our lives do we stop blurring? When do we become crisp individuals? What must we do in order to end these fuzzy identities--to clarify just who it is we really are?
--Douglas Coupland, Girlfriend in a Coma

I happened upon this quote while reading Girlfriend in a Coma, a book filled with dark humour and an apocalyptic sensibility. I'm not too far in, but it had me thinking about that quote, especially how it relates to my personal experiences as a graduate student in English. I am realizing that the further up i go in the institution the more blurry i become, the more it doesn't really matter who i am. I become a slave to the system in such a way that i am producing essays, research papers, argumentative strategies for discussion but it provides no meaning for me, especially when i begin to survey my own subjectivity as a "crisp individual." I know that this sounds a lot like life in the big city, or even nihilistic, but i think that it is a bit more complex than that. I feel an incredible rush of excitement and satisfaction when i produce a paper and i am usually very happy with the returns, but for no apparent reason, at times i feel lost and confused. The truth is: I realize just how phony the whole system is and how complacent i am, moving to the same phony beat as everyone else. I guess that is what happens when you lose a sense of meaning and purpose in your work and your entire life becomes obfuscated by this burring: the inability to see who you really are.

I am writing a paper and i have reached the end; i am supposed to be happy at the finished product because it is coherent, the argument is solid and the structure is great. Instead, i start thinking about the next paper that i am to have done in a few weeks and i try to think about the "new" language i will need to successfully produce that argument. I have to create that new language while producing a sense in the reader that i have mastered the topic/language. But, really, getting an excellent mark has to do with how well i can argue that i am right; it does nothing, it changes nothing, it challenges nothing--at the end of the day, it goes into a drawer and takes its place with the pile of other papers i'd already written, and it stays there.

Higher learning institutions thrive on showing you how insignificant you are; how minuscule to your professors, your superiors who "know everything." They keep you in place by making you aware that you can't know everything, and if you're black like me, that you won't reach anywhere. It's survival of the fittest. The university is one of the most brutally racist, sexist, elitist, Eurocentric, xenophobic places on the earth. yet it praises itself on being the best door to a world of opportunities. In the end, it doesn't matter who you are and the University becomes a big business that owes you nothing...

I survey the drawer, then finally, i manage to get-up and open the door; i enter the parts of my house that aren't filled with phony people and phony principles. My daughter sees me and calls, "mommy, mommy!" She runs up to me, and as i take her into my arms, she starts to sing me a song; suddenly, i realize who i really am, and my world isn't so blurry anymore.

I have met some amazing professors, students and writers who are not in the least bit phony. And that is why i have survived, and still surviving, the traumatic alienating effect of higher learning.

Jennifer Hudson: Carol of the Bells

2007-12-24T17:44:00.001-05:00

Merry Christmas! I admire this lady so much. She's a great example of what talent and dreams can do :-)

"the future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams"

A plaque i have on my living room wall and walk by everyday without noticing. I noticed it today...

Heart Beat

2007-12-22T00:35:00.000-05:00

['Unedited' creative writing i did in high school; found it on a disk i had in storage]

I never thought that Jamie could hurt me, no, not in a million years. We were supposed to be the perfect couple, utterly flawless. Now all that we’ve shared for the past eight years was coming slowly to a close. As much as I would like to forget the entire scenario and pretend nothing happened, I couldn’t, it was already planted in my mind. My mind raced, my heart thud, I cursed myself for being so sensitive. Damn Jamie, damn him to hell! I almost said aloud. I steered the car into the driveway and sat transfixed, the ignition running. I couldn’t think, concentration was impossible, I ached inside. Once inside the house, the house Jamie and I shared for eight years, I retired to our bedroom to claim my possessions. Jamie must have come in early for I heard the shower running, though I could not recall seeing his car out front. I searched frantically for my suitcase trying without success to control my anger, fear, anxiety or whatever it was that I felt. Half way through my packing he came in whistling bringing the sweet smell of after-shave with him.

“Hi honey, I didn’t hear you come in,” he said casually.

“You won’t hear me go either,” I said bitterly.

“Why, are you going somewhere?”

“Yes, someplace where I won’t have to see your lying cheating face again,” I yelled.

“What…”

“No, let me finish, for eight years I remained blind, blind because the love I had for you pulled the wool over my eyes.”

“What the…”

“It all adds up Jamie, now it all makes sense: the condoms I found in your jeans, you taking in your sleep, the pictures, those phone calls, showing up late for dinner because you had to work late, you bastard!”

I hurled a vase freshly filled with white roses at him, but it hit the wall instead. Furious I strolled past him, haling my suitcase behind me.

“Cathy I can explain everything if you just give me a chance.”

“Explain, explain?” I laughed, refusing to look at him. “Well maybe you could explain why you have being after my friend Joan for the past two months.”

“Whoa, whoa, did she tell you that? She’s the one who has being coming on to me and when I told her that I’m committed to you she backed off a bit,” he said calmly.

“Cathy I love you, I always have and I always will, I would never want to destroy what we share,” he said, taking the suitcase from my hand, as I stood motionless.

“ The condoms you found were meant to be used with you since you have being complaining about taking the pills, me talking in my sleep I can’t really explain but I’m sure it had to do with my up coming plans for us.”

“Oh, Jamie for the past few weeks we have being so distant, I thought I was losing you.”

“Wait, Cathy, let me explain everything. Those phone calls were totally work related and platonic, I never lied to you about missing dinner because I had to work late, and I wouldn’t do such thing, I swear. The girl on the pictures is my cousin Leona, I was going to show them to you but you found them first; I’m so sorry, Cathy.”

“I love you Jamie, I always have, and I always will,” I said smiling.

“Now that’s better. Are you still leaving?”

“No,” I purred, “not for a long time.”

Life, Death and Salvation

2007-12-21T17:30:00.000-05:00

Life is hard. Then you die. Then they throw dirt in your face. Then the worms eat you. Be grateful it happens in that order.
--David Gerrold

They say that only salvation can save us, make us whole. Only salvation is everlasting, and can take away the void in our lives. That empty spot, deep within our soul. They say that salvation is free. That it is the Almighty's plan for us. I am ready for that salvation to wash me all over, and set me free. Make me whole. Is salvation ready for me?

Child

2007-12-20T13:45:00.000-05:00

['selected' poems i wrote while on mat leave in '06; Child, Higgla and Kiss of Death; enjoy]

Take these words,
Put them inside your heart--
Momma loves her child
Pappa loves his child
Eat, breathe, keep these words
Until you open your eyes,--

Higgla (Mother Lou)

2007-12-20T13:43:00.000-05:00

Mango, banana, pumpkin dry
Two fi twenty
Four fi twenty-five

“Hi miss, Yuh look so nice
Buy someting fra mi nuh mam,
Look how yuh smile bright an’ nice."

"Is plenty water grow dem yuh know mam.
Wha’?
Say yuh nuh waa dem fa dem look pwoile?”

“Look ya nuh missis
Nuh mek mi tell yuh ‘bout yuh lice.”

“A yeseday mi pick mi mango
‘an mi banana come straight from Martinique
Whe’ the sun nuh tap shine!”

“A bet yuh a de same one
Who gwine bawl dung
Mi price--”

“Ga lang yaa woman
Wid yuh rucutuntun behind
Haul yuh tail out a mi stall
Fa no freenis nuh de dis side!”

Kiss of Death

2007-12-20T13:39:00.000-05:00

I rise high in the sky
My time
Has come
To lie
Beneath
The sheets of life

As I glide
Pass ancient stories
And lies
I smile
To see the gardener’s eyes

Open wide--
I ride the waves
Ten thousand feet high
I spy
The wounds of an unborn child

Come my loved ones
Let us sing and cry
For this old, old withered land
Must die!
Alas, I must go so good-bye
I have waited for that mile long kiss, for a while.

'Phishing' for Identity

2007-12-19T17:38:00.000-05:00

I received e-mails, three days in a row, asking me to activate my online banking with RBC Royal Bank or else my account will be deleted within 24hrs. And i thought that my e-mail was "protected." I am supposed to go to the link provided and enter my client card number and password. Fortunately, i know fraud when i see it, so i didn't 'click'. But what about all the people who do click? Well, here's a link to a dictionary's definition of phishing; it's the least i can do to prevent others from falling prey:

Phishing: definition, usage and pronunciation - YourDictionary.com

I won the lottery several times in the past, but never claimed any of the winnings. I also inherited millions from philanthropists all over the world, and never claimed it either. I have to say that these e-mails are usually quite convincing. But what is it about me that attracts fraud? Funny, I never get these in my Hotmail account, only my University account.

Strange Mood

2007-12-18T17:24:00.000-05:00

I guess my professed compulsion to write is waning, not! I have been scrambling to find time lately, although i'm supposed to be on holidays. That 700pg book that i'm to have read over Christmas (among others) puts a smile on my face, not! OK, so i guess i'm jealous of all those people who get to go on "far away" trips while i'm stuck here; i may as well say it now and get it over with. (Note transition) I love my daughter but i've tried giving her up for adoption several times but no one will take her, even though she is a super kid whiz (or is it whiz kid?). Besides, daddy won't let me. She's such a sweetheart (scroll up/down, look to the right) isn't she? Yuh want har?!

Okay, so, that major essay is coming on quite lovely, ah... ah mean, slowly. If i could only write a bit faster! The thing is, theatre is not exactly by comfort zone; I wanted a challenge; besides, my comfort zone was getting, well, comfortable. I am also taking a theory course and it's way, way out of my comfort zone. I guess that's how it is when you challenge yourself. Actually, i don't regret taking them at all. I am learning quite a bit (sure, Jerisha).

I've done all my Christmas shopping and i am happy to report (note irony) that i have spent over $500 on gifts, actually, make that six, i sent a little something for mi moms. My mom sent me some beautiful drapes that she made herself. She is very talented. If only some had rubbed off on me...I would be ri...no i'll save it. Why do black folks think about money all the time? Because we never have enough! Dah!

As usual i have to cut this one short because i have bigger fish to fry...i mean, not fish fish, but, you know, fish...

2 face - African Queen

2007-12-13T10:44:00.005-05:00

Sometimes we, black women in all shades, shapes and sizes, forget just how beautiful we are; we want to change our hair, skin colour, body--
we don't need to.

You are a queen and there is no need to change Y O U. Love yourself--love your hips, your lips, your nose, your toes-- you are special.

Red Dust

2007-12-12T10:16:00.000-05:00

Mother left.
She said God will
take care of us, and
that we should pray.
But we can't,--
God won't listen.
Or maybe she will.
To the sound of our feet against
the earth, hardening each step,
each mile, each time we travel.
To our hands, cracked
bleeding like water from a
spring, only, less hope in it.
To the hair on our skin
suffocating, afraid to grow,--
blinded by the haze.
Mother said that we should
Pray, but we won't.
Because, God, he's inside,
underneath, our skin.
behind our eyeballs,
in respite, from the world.

I Am Glad...

2007-12-12T09:04:00.000-05:00

I spend my days doing RA work and working on an essay due Jan 3rd. My essay is on Djanet Sears' HARLEM DUET and Aime Cesaire's A TEMPEST, both are incredibly important plays for black theatre and postcolonial studies.

I am glad that my blog has inspired friends on a conscious level (those who have come to me and said so and those who haven't). I am also grateful that they have encouraged me to keep writing and thankful for their kind words about talent that i didn't know i had. I hope that i can (and will try my best to) live up to those expectations and good wills.

I am always thinking about "stuff" and sometimes i am most inspired by the silent, nonspoken realities of people's lives which don't get covered-- whether in the media, literature, normative Truths--where ever it is out there. How do we live and make sense of our lives? What causes us to live past pain, and why do we exactly? My blog is a way for me to make sense, especially my creative blogs, of the things that i don't exactly understand precisely because of their complicatedness. It is always a strive towards an understanding of someone or something; of voice, pain, love, history, race, gender, class, poverty, death, birth, survival. Aime Cesaire says that he became a poet by rejecting poetry, French poetics. I think that reflects my consciousness as a writer of sorts. On the one hand, writing for me is healing, and on the other, it is an outright rejection of the mainstream western way of "doing" poetry. I never liked studying poetry because of the genre bound rigidity and technicality of how it has been taught. But i love a poem that makes me think, long after i've read it and closed the book; in a way, that's also how i feel about novels which is why i approach a novel like a poem and a poem like a novel.

Inside Out

2007-12-01T16:35:00.000-05:00

Is the anger in me
the ebb, flow of anger,
deep within me,
they should have told me,
warned me, even.
Yea! how 'bout warning, eh?!
'bout the scar of mi flesh
all over me.
The wound of being.
I look,
back, wonder
'bout that wound
like the searing of flesh
in a prison-house.
I scream, i fight,
i get mad.
Ain't nobody know pain
like black woman
she pass on pain
like ulcer, in bloodline.
When she wails
it carry fire to burn hell over,
and water fi she children, no suffer.
But, there is a crushing power
over me.
It feeds on me.
If i could rip this flesh,
burn this flesh,
kill history.
We want to burn history.
She born with anger--
was fed
from my mother's breast--
she lost her anger, chose to forget.
The forces on me tell,
say i must never forget,
long as i breathe.
Breathing is hard when you're angry
when you fight everyday.
I must learn to breathe everyday.
Everyday my flesh confronts me
condemn me.
If i could transform it,
exchange it
for a dead history,
maybe she won't suffer,
the next line.

My Snow Story-- Nov 22

2007-11-24T13:48:00.000-05:00

Cold? I was stuck outside for over two hours last Thursday trying to get home from class: no bus, no taxi, no one to pick me up. I was swearing up and down and told a colleague on Friday about my incident, that i was afraid of getting frostbite and that i'm fed up with the cold. She gave me a surprised and weird look and said that there was no snow storm and that it was not cold but a nice -15!

Thanks,Ward , for reminding me to blog this terrible experience :)

The Agenda

2007-11-23T22:27:00.000-05:00

So, tonight at 8:16 sharp, a bit late but, okay, i tuned in to The Agenda with Steve Paikin on TVO. It was a round table of sorts: four black women, 'successful' black women, i must add, and two 'successful' black men. What was the topic? The status of "Today's Young Black Women." Now, lets do a quick check list/run down of the kinds of precautions that any educated host would take:

The Blacks called upon are

From diverse backgrounds with diverse histories and experiences
Diverse in their opinions about blackness and race (one woman said that she grew up "raceless")
All agree that there are systemic problems in the "black community"

Okay, so we are good. No one will be criticized for being essentialist. But what do all these "black" people have in common? They are all being called upon to explain and account for black experiences, barriers and level of success in Canada (especially Toronto, the dominant loci of black hyper-visibility) against the backdrop of the systematic media violence that promotes blackness as hostile, criminal and dangerous. These men and women are pulled together to counter--explain everything from slavery to the role of the church as a moral centre in black life in Canada. Indeed, the called upon ness of these black men and women is part of the same narrative of the media base "black problem", a part of the same narrative of each speaker's 'race' and 'otherness', a part of the same narrative of Canada's covert (ethnic) multicultural marginalization, a part of the same narrative of the migrant subject as uprooted, displaced and problematic. There is no way out, it seems as if blacks will always be trapped; trapped in the doubleness of having to live and, then, simultaneously, having to explain to white Canada how it is that they live, with the popular stereotypical views always lurking in the background. I think that what needs to be changed is the systematic ways in which blacks (and people of colour, in general) always have to explain and account for themselves. The revolution should start with the government taking care of its peoples (not 'citizens' as is generally expressed: some are "permanent residents") through an anti-racist-educational-and-economic-system approach.

Oh, and what percentage of the Canadian population would have received this (positive) counter-discourse to the stereotyping of mainstream media? The same percentage that would have happened to "tune in" and/or were randomly switching channels and decided to take note of TVO's 'agenda'.

Stress-metre Decreasing

2007-11-20T19:32:00.000-05:00

My hobby went home to bury his dad; I am handling everything better than i thought. Everything's going well otherwise and i am feeling a little bit more in control of my life (perhaps because academic pressures have subsided somewhat). My daughter has been cold free for two weeks and i am happy for that as well. It's funny how the little things in life are what makes you happy, at least in my case.

I watched some reality TV last night: "The Bachelor" finale/final rose ceremony.
I am a sucker for romance even thou i know its not "real." The "bachelor" did not pick any of the final two ladies which is fine especially since he wanted to be honest about his feelings; but why lead the women on and have them believe that he genuinely cared about them (and not as sisters) and then dump them? He actually said that he didn't see anything in DeAnna that he wouldn't want in a wife, yet he sent her home broken hearted. My first reaction was: "Okay, he's either gay or crazy." I won't be the judge.

Sick Day

2007-11-08T20:38:00.000-05:00

Mi sick lacka dawg...

Not a good week for me; my head is pounding like a road drill. Tylenol does nothing for me; and what's the fancy name for runny nose? Rhinorrhea-- i have that too. I am freezing even though the heat is up 30 degrees. Whatever Jaylah had i certainly caught the adult version of it! No coughing though (i'll take the headache over the coughing). I had to miss class today due to my overwhelming headache but that's okay, i needed the break anyways (unconsciously, am i happy that i'm sick? consciously, no!)

I am smiling my way through the rest of November.

Note To Self
Smile throughout the year.

JJ Being JJ

2007-11-03T13:58:00.001-04:00

Halloween

This one cracks me up :)
Looks like she's meditating, shhhh.

My Life, Revisited

2007-10-31T09:30:00.000-04:00

Guess it's time for an update, eh? Well, my lack of "updates" is just me trying to refrain from lamenting my life. Nothing new happened over the last few weeks, instead, everything is to my detriment, cyclical: home, school, home, school... with research, presentations and (Jaylah, my sweetheart's) appointments and illnesses in-between. Graduate school takes a lot of the "fun" out of learning, i find. I'm just not cruising along like i used to and it's more work overload than anything else. And you realize just how pathetic it all is when you cannot afford to take your face out of a book long enough to send an e-mail, make a phone call, curl up with your significant other...or you run the risk of "falling behind". I said i wouldn't come on here and lament but, there! I wanted to take a trip (back home) this Christmas, soooo bad, but i have a ton of work that i have to get done during Christmas, not to mention catching up on my RA/GA work; so i'm lamenting that too. Life's just NOT EASY, is it?

On a more uplifting note, I will be taking my daughter trick-o'-treating tonight, so i'll be closing the books for three hours. Stay tuned for the photos...

All Work

2007-10-16T10:16:00.001-04:00

Busy as a bee, these days. My life is crowded with work, work and more work. I'm up to my neck in readings and i have two presentations this week (one was yesterday so one more to go). I am not keeping up with my RA hours which means i will be playing catch up in December. Single people i know can't imagine what it must be like to run a family and do full-time study. They tell me there's light at the end of the tunnel. This is one long tunnel.

People/books to read in the near future

White Teeth (2000)-- Zadie Smith, black British writer
The Unbelonging (1985)-- Joan Riley, black British writer
Small Island (2004)-- Andrea Levy, black British writer
Wish I Was Here (2006)-- Jackie Kay, black Scottish writer

Citizenship

2007-10-11T09:54:00.000-04:00

Where shall I turn, divided to the vein?
Derek Walcott

Well, not exactly "to the vein". I became a Canadian citizen just yesterday (as opposed to being a (West Indian) permanent resident). I'm eager to find out how i will feel being a citizen and all. The euphemism they use nowadays is: your "adopted homeland"...

There's the issue of belonging: do i feel like i belong, now? Nah. When i go back "home", i don't feel like i belong either. It's not that i don't want to feel like i belong, it's just that that feeling escapes me; belonging is not easy. There is also the two-faced narrative of belonging and unbelonging to contend with: (1) Afo-Canadians (ah, the politics of the hyphen) have a long Canadian history and are, therefore, rooted here. (2) The (only) two official languages (and founding cultures) are French and English. Now, that's fucking confusing. I won't get started on the multicultural politics cuz it'll never end. There's also the acerbic feeling that i've cheated the people from 'elsewhere' who don't get a bite from the apple of firstworldness. *Sighs*, i better get use to my complicated status.

Thinking through Race

2007-10-05T16:01:00.000-04:00

"Every writer should feel free to write about any and all subject matter as a part of their creative impulse."

This is the general energy prevailing in class after having read a novel written by a white Canadian male author about Native Canada, cleverly disguised in multiple voice narration.

Professor XY (white woman): "If everyone (Blacks, Natives, Indians-- minorities) write only about their own identities then it can lead to a ghettoization (emphasis mine) of the literature they produce."

Why do i find this problematic?

On a Separate Occasion

Same idea that everyone should teach everything and race shouldn't factor into who's teaching what. A black person should be able to teach a course in renaissance literature in the same way that a white person should be able to teach African literature without there being a race issue. That's fine, except:

Me (black woman): "You cannot look at a person and not see race."

Professor Q (white woman): "Yes, true, but the colour of a person tells you nothing about that person. I see black when i look at you but it doesn't tell me anything about you except that you are a minority; i am a minority, too, in Toronto (emphasis mine)."

Why do i find this problematic and ironic?

Silver Moon

2007-10-02T21:55:00.000-04:00

She hails the saccharine--
scented intimacy
of his quivering flesh,
rising.
Savours,
mingles, with the primrose
of his kiss (chiffon affair),
oh, that kiss--
like a thousand snowflakes
on a burning blade!

Red, always red hue
or blue, or yellowish blue
sheer pad of desire
like brewed chocolate
through hungry fingers
abated, and flowing--
she rides, the floating
shadows, alone.

Academic Plans

2007-09-27T09:35:00.001-04:00

I have been very busy lately. I've been trying to blog everyday but, evidently, that hasn't been working. I decided a few days ago, after a very long and hard inner debate, that i will not pursue my Doctorate immediately after my MA. I know, i am surprised too. I still find myself planning for it though, and it makes me realize just how committed i am to that goal. It actually feels weird to think that after next summer i'll be taking 2-4 years off from the (dream) world of academia to enter the(real) world-- does Shakespeare's green world and world of supposes ring a bell? Among other things, i want to spend time with my daughter (when you're doing your PhD you don't have time for your family, really), I want to do some writing and i want to, perhaps, start-up a business and get some cash rolling in. I am thinking about starting up my own (private) school or something along those lines. After all, i feel like that's what i should be doing for the rest of my life. The trick is-- in a corporate capitalist economy, i have been told-- how to enjoy your career while making a business out of it. Hmm, we'll see. I feel like i am mourning the loss of academic learning because i haven't quite adjusted to the idea yet. I think my decision is final though. Funny how you can't always chase your dreams. I guess, in a perfect world you could.

An ECard for JJ

2007-09-23T22:32:00.000-04:00

You are as sweet as caramel
and as precious as a gem
you are the throb in our hearts
and the courage in our stride
you have been both a challenge and
a blessing, as young as you are.

First, you entered the world with a bang
and, then, showed us you were ready
to move us with your charm.
You are truly an angel
as you never failed to brighten
and lighten our hearts,
with your happy-go-lucky,
persistent smile

We really hope no one will pinch us
to awake from this dream of
having you as our great big bundle of joy!

Love,
Mom and dad

JJ's Health and Dev.

2007-09-22T18:27:00.002-04:00

JJ was hospitalized from Friday morning until Saturday evening due to wheezing and breathing problems. It was her first time so asthma was not yet a diagnosis. She did extremely well despite her illness and cheered, "wee, wee, wee", when paramedics wheeled her out of the doctor's office (even while she was using all her muscles just to inhale and exhale). All the nurses and Pediatrician at the hospital were enthralled by her alleged ability to articulate, and everyone who had met her declared, seriously, that she was an advanced one year old. The Pediatrician told me that JJ is no regular 17mths old and suggested, among other things, that i start her in a Montessori school when she turns two. Oh, she counts to twenty and knows and says a whole lot (too much to make a list). She's very perceptive and responsive and i can't wait to meet her parents (we, the alleged parents, can't remember being "advanced" at such a young age).

My Fave Author

2007-09-17T20:30:00.000-04:00

Or, the Immigrant Woman

Since i have been fixated, over the last couple days, on the subject of the immigrant's presence in Canada, i decided to write about the one thing/person that helped me to keep it together in my early years as a student. I want to say that Dionne Brand is the most honest author i know. She tells it like it is, and you either take it or you don't. She was the first person who told me (through her work) that it's o.k. to be honest about how you feel, and to get angry if you have to. And, for that, i respect her a great deal. Her politics is so far reaching and i could always "return home" to her prose.

A Post 9/11 Dialogue about Race

2007-09-16T13:05:00.000-04:00

Or, a Conversation about Friendships and Race

Black woman (in reflection): " You know, in all my years at University, i've never had a white friend, you know, like a good friend that happens to be white. I've had East and West Indian friends, South Asian, black, and Jewish friends but never any white."

Black man: "I can tell you why: most whites still think that they are better than blacks, therefore, they don't want to be your friend, unless, of course, they think that they can use you for something, or if you are famous like a celebrity or something. They think that 'you' should want to be their friend."

I've being thinking about this dialogue, and 'meanings' of it for the last two days.

The 'System' of Education

2007-09-14T11:28:00.001-04:00

Literature, in the meaning of the word we have inherited, is an ideology. [That is, a system of specific class beliefs, images, values, and practices that functions to reproduce the dominant social order]. It has the most intimate relations to questions of social power- Terry Eagleton

When i wrote my politically charged article, "Black Statement or Writing Resistance", in March 2004, i wasn't thinking about "Truth" and the dissemination of knowledge; at least, not in the way that i think about it now. As an undergrad majoring in English Literature, i never came across teachings that dissected the canon and looked at it as a socializing tool. It is only as i read parts of Terry Eagleton's, "The Rise of English", that i came to this orgasmic realization. When i posited that "English courses perpetuate[d] my oppression" as a black female immigrant from working-class background, it was no overstatement. In fact, at times i felt as if i was going mad (with either fury or captivity, depending on the day). Speaking from my own location as racialized and socio-historically constructed being, i can easily say that each person needs a door, a way through which they can enter the world, the different worlds that are alien to them. The trouble i had rested in the fact that that door was lost to me, closed in my face, i couldn't find it. And it fucked me up quite a bit, psychologically. When that TA wrote my name on the board, in my first year, to explain to the rest of the class what/who race was, it fucked me up quite a bit. The door was closed in my face when i raised my hand to ask who/what was the "object" and who/what was the "subject" and she wouldn't let me in to the meanings of those words, in to the dissonance and discord that floated around in those words. I didn't know this at the time, I only know, now, in retrospect. Apparently, as i now come to realize, ideas of race, class, gender, space, place, history, geography and the dissemination of knowledge have never left me.

Waves of Opportunity

2007-09-13T16:27:00.000-04:00

Received a letter from York saying that my essay did not win an award.
Received a cheque for $10 from the Ministry of Finance to help support my daughter.
Received advice on how to improve my SSHRC proposal.

Miscellaneous

Finally figured out what Bakhtin means by "dialogic Imagination".
Still wondering what Barthes smoked (that made him so smart?)
Need to go make dinner, now!

The Nature of 'Being'

2007-09-12T22:15:00.000-04:00

There are times when i reach my own level of perfection: holding down school, running a family, giving to others when i can, pray, reach out to people, reach inner peace et cetera. But sometimes the changes in my life, as a go through different stages, make me question whether perfection is what i should be striving for. And i am reminded of this through the ghosts of fallibility that lurk in the shadows of my existence.

Excerpts and Things

2007-09-11T20:33:00.000-04:00

Today was the usual busy day for me. Woke up, prepared breakfast, prepared Jaylah for the sitter, did some RA/GA proofreading, blah, blah, blah...

I spent the rest of the day trying to figure out what the hell Structuralism is, and thinking how privileged Barthes is to have the power to "kill the author." I sometimes wonder what these theorists smoked. Other than that, my day went fine. Actually, that was my day... no pressure though :)

Here are excerpts from the "long poem" i wrote this summer:

[...]

To see identity
de facto by default, the war never ended
The struggles, victories, barriers
The progress, regress, detours
taken.
The paradoxes of a stigmatized culture

Many came to escape war
poverty, repression. History
Yet, the havoc of flight is near
In this free democratic place
the presence of a black face, threatens
the v a l u e of an e s t a t e

The new false consciousness
misremembers history
The damage has not been lost
A new ‘ism sucks like a leech
on the surface of their existence

[...] ah, the irony of place
Guns in ghettos less disrupting
The rhyme, easy distinction
It is an old fight, this fight over space,
place

[...]
“We cannot let this happen to our children”
Our children, she says it with such conviction
as if it does not depend
on residence, on words

The s e m a n t i c s of language—
to live outside
the word: to consume in nothingness
language is death
Survival is unsure
Survival is fiction

Troubled area. At risk. Violent
[...]
The dreaded, unwanted appendage
of a city turned red, read
in the language of poverty, she sees
the carnage of the city [...]

To be classified, categorized, colour coded
It’s been here
It’s in the history of the place—
the history of the people of the place
There are no gatekeepers

Over the horizon of their oppression,
the sun rises
It touches the zenith of their fears
It descends upon hopeless dreams
The son never rises. Still, they dream

She, along with other West Indian mothers,
came—
were summoned, transported, shoved, HERE—
they arrived, are arriving
It is a cold place

They’d been traveling for years
migrating, moving
made to move, migrate, travel
It is an isolating place, insular space

Back. When
Aaron’s black babe bathed in blood
it never sucked
the sweet solution of its mother’s breast. So.
A f r i c a, raped, escaped
full bloom

Back. Traveling back
Freak. The hot hot tot, hotten hottentot
To be raped by language, traded, branded black
Outsider, outcast, outlandish
The black hottentot

“The sea brought us, them, hErE”, she knows, but. Still.
“A man was shot in the chest…” she stopped listening.
Unlistened. Switched channels
Tulips are in bloom—
She never cared for l i p s

She m o v e d HERE long ago
She remembers
the smell of salt. Lime.
human excretion

Not much has changed, much not
failed
promises delayed
Swindled race, Christian gain
Paid sins
no deaths were recorded

Here, there, where they live, they pay
she knew, knows
Trenchtown, Tivoli, Harlem, Bronzeville
Soweto, KwaMashu, [...]

[...]

The smell, rotten
stench of paucity
cold hugs, blankets
warming pain, stoned
hearts weeping, calling, wanting

[...]

But
the voices she hears are muffled, by
silences, sirens and streetcars

[...]

Africville, Negro Creek Road, the maroons
The Arrivants are still hErE
troubled, tainted, undone by language
“We are ugly, but we are here”

[...]

911

2007-09-10T09:03:00.001-04:00

Yesterday, the inevitable, or perhaps, evitable, happened. I was helping my step-daughter with her homework while combing my daughter's hair when, suddenly, i started having some serious chest pain and heart palpitation. I was getting cold sweat and couldn't concentrate...
so i called 911. It took 15minutes for the whole thing to subside and only did so when the paramedics came and supplied me with oxygen. Since it was concerning my heart, they said not to take any chances and so they rushed me off to the hospital. After six hours and numerous tests, fortunately for me, my heart was ok. I did not have a heart attack but something that would make me feel as if i was having one: an anxiety attack. Never had it before and wouldn't like to experience anything like that again; it was a very scary thing to have experienced. They told me to take it easy and work out my life so that i will have less stress. All in all, i felt like i was in a nightmarish episode of HOUSE.

Thoughts of a Lone (Wo)man

2007-09-06T13:13:00.000-04:00

When the tide of your life rises eight feet tall
who will you call?
when the willows whisper small
sufferings that will come
who will take the call?
when the waters soar within to disturb
the sweet comfort of your home
who will heal?
when sorrows visit your doorstep
without warning
who will deliver?
when the fringes of hope that
you have fails to conquer
who will listen?
when you surface from your
lowest low
what will be your answer?
when you no longer have sails
for your ship of troubles
where will you travel?
when the wind sweeps the neat
plans from your projects
where will you find ground?
Are you prepared to make it
alone?

Expired "Free" Time

2007-09-05T21:33:00.000-04:00

First day of classes and, to quote Ward, i'm already "swamped and struggling to breathe". I still need to get a routine going. The aches and pain that i feel while walking from one end of the campus to the other made me realize the kind of shape my body was in. After all, i stayed home all summer; the funny thing is, i thought chasing my daughter around, everyday, would be all the exercise i needed! Now, i guess the joke is on me. There is no way i can possibly fit gym into my schedule, at least not right now; maybe not ever! Who said motherhood, marriage and higher learning could work? Oh yea, oops, that would be me! Actually, it doesn't, i'm the one who makes it work. I can't take all the credit, but most of it :) Now, if i could only get my husband to believe that...

tsk, tsk, tsk

2007-09-04T14:09:00.000-04:00

Busy day for me. I ran around to do some last minute shopping and to fulfill some last minute appointments. I need a break! Given that classes begin tomorrow, i guess i will have to wait a while:). Summer went by fast, though. I did get to throw in some entertainment but i'm still thirsty. I have a couple movie and theme park passes/tickets that i planned on using before September, and here we are! Gee, i need to take it easy or i will grow old before i get young. Oh well, I will throw some fun into this coming weekend...

Autobio

2007-09-02T17:10:00.001-04:00

My life is one big everlasting debate
a poem that doesn't rhyme
an open novel
a linguistic deformation
a sociogenic edifice
a house with too few windows
a game with too many rules
a story without closure
an ambiguous clause
a sophisticated struggle
an unsettling dream
an open battlefield
an irony
a meeting place
a metamorphosis
a site of trauma
a rebirth
... dissonance

Dreams and Things

2007-08-31T22:56:00.000-04:00

I fell asleep last night with the face of the moon pressed against my window pane. The sky looked barren and emitted a kind of strange desolation. I got out of bed and fumbled with the curtains at my window to get a better view. It suddenly occurred to me that i had not seen the moon, let alone stars, for longer than i cared to imagine; after all, gongoozling at the celestial body is not exactly a pastime in a big city. I opened my window for a preferable view but only so i could further study its uneven pale face. I soon realized that there were no pimples or wrinkles, except a few minor scrapes here and there. I retired shortly after to the comfort of my pillow top mattress with a blithesome feeling of discovery that you can only get from the physical world. Eventually, i was able to fall asleep, and sleep did come easy but not without companions. I had two disturbing dreams. The abridged version of the first is that, for a reason i could not understand or, perhaps, remember, one of my incisors had fallen out and another was loose and pulsating. I held on to the one intact partly because i did not want to lose it, and partly because the pain was agonizing. The other dream was less painful but equally questionable: i was having a bowel movement over a long period of time with three other individuals in the same room impatiently waiting their turn. Luckily, i awoke to the piercing sound of my alarm clock and with only a sudden urge to urinate.

In West Indian culture, each dream has a meaning, good or bad. A dream is also considered a dose of luck for the dreamer, since it can be a solemn call for lottery winnings. There is a dream interpreter in every West Indian family, religious or non-religious, who is always willing and ready to tell you exactly which subconscious symbol matches a number; and the interpreter does not have to cajole anyone into buying a ticket; it is expected that you would not want to miss the chance of winning, and would, therefore, buy...(to be continued).

However...

2007-08-30T19:58:00.000-04:00

sometimes we are our harshest critic. I am still very much in love with academics (in spite of our recent quarrel). I am still trying to figure out who i am, really. And my brain is always working overtime...

Academic Musings

2007-08-29T10:05:00.000-04:00

As i embark upon this new and exciting journey called graduate studies, i am, again, thrown into the corner of my own meditations about higher education. While it would be quite an accomplishment for anyone to receive higher learning, the (abstract) reality and truth of what such learnings actually do to the human element inside us is nothing short of a systematic moulding. What i'm trying to say is this, and it frightens me to the core of my being:

When people become academics, it broadens the gap between them and the not-so-accomplished "others" in a way that is at once both a (capitalist) conspiracy and the workings of an intellectual cultism. I am thinking about the cons of academic learning, here, for i grew up hearing the pros. What happens is you go through a long period of undergraduate indoctrination wherein you learn various theories and literary practices through the political views of various professors whose views, in turn, reflect the dogma of the university as a whole. When you are being indoctrinated, you think that you are actually learning because you are told to "think critically". The irony is that, in the end, when you sit down to write an exam, or an essay, you are told that you have to "support" your opinions and "cite" sources because it reflects academic integrity and shows how talented you are. What students don't realize is that as they "cite" and "support" their "opinions" they invariably mirror/mimic/reproduce a knowledge system that is equipped with the glorious power of a (contained) intellectual tradition. By the time you begin to have an opinion, you not only realize that it is not your opinion but the branch of knowledge you have come to associate with, you also notice that opinions come after influence.

O.K, let us say that you decide to go further, and you wish to pursue the Arts. Now, you are a part of an academic elite, you can now do something which up to 98% of the world's population cannot do: you can comfortable speak in an abstract language which only a few people like yourself can understand, you help to maintain an elitist pool of knowledge (and maybe add to it) and you could close your eyes to the gaping gap between yourself and the uneducated poor; in other words, you can close your eyes to concrete reality and never be asked to open them; unless, of course, you decide to use your "credentials" to work for Red Cross, UNICEP etc. You may say, "i will be an activist!" But how far will your "activism" goes, and who will most likely be left out?

When we use words like "academic musings" we are already in a different fan club. We belong to, or at least, trying to get into, the club of "privileged decision makers" and "movers and shakers of the world", whether we know this to be true or not. Some say that poor uneducated abused women are abused because they do not have an education. Well, o.k., education/indoctrination gives you some choices, but. What happens when the abused woman goes to find help and is turned away because of red tape, perhaps, who knows, there is a waiting list at the shelter? Who, then, becomes the "problem" to society, the drunken husband or the educated service worker who is also under the guidance of her more educated "superior"? What about other things like having a government that ensures that all the people it is supposed to be "protecting" have equal access to food, clothing, shelter, jobs, medicare, libraries, technology and the pursuit of happiness? Surely, the well being of citizens should always come first, or at least, be on the top of things. But what does this have to do with higher learning? Academic learning shows you the gap between the past and the present, it gives you intellectual tools to notice the difference and then subtly helps you to widen those gaps and differences. So, if we must have it, an academic education should not be our only education, i'd say. We should also learn about the core of what makes us human, that is, vulnerable mortal flesh with a brain, a sex drive, and an insatiable appetite for progress. Academics must be introspective and self-critical.

Academic learning can make us all hermits, in some a sense. And whether we cripple beneath it, crumble, or reign supreme over it, we must understand that it's a language/knowledge cult, and that there is nothing "equal" about it. A medical doctor can spend three minutes with a patient (and not so much as call her by her name), and in this three minutes, examine her and hands her a prescription without explaining a diagnosis or getting to know her personally because he's not paid for all that trouble. The greatest task for all of us, i believe, is to find an equilibrium between higher learning and "other" learnings: that would be quite an accomplishment.

Nativity

2007-08-28T10:32:00.000-04:00

The theorem of confinement
sits on the brow of each native,
on the wings of creatures
painting cirrus across heaven.
The halo of the native is the curse
of the fallen saint. There are no gods
for scavengers who raid the
earth, for in sin they must
rest: the cauldron of despair

The natives embark on
a journey befouled
by an invisible rod,
their decampment marred by
limestone pebbles and sulfur.
Their feet carry the sounds
of migrants mauled by
rough times

Their gazes avert to an
empty dream
as their eyes congeal the sorrows
of mass murder.
Hardened souls,
the neologists had thought
about them
for the native sees nothing

They cannot see themselves,
they are not allowed to,
their lives elude transparency.
Blinded by the beam of history
shining upon their land,
a land without soil, bearings
not to be found.
The natives are lost in time.

The lines of their palms are
the (new) fixation like
brick walls cascading,
a mirror without reflections.
Their wrinkled skin stretch to
fit rows of expressions of
the Ashanti, Apache, Yoruba,
Mandingo, Kalinago, Ibo, Cherokee,
Blackfoot, Taino, Cheyenne, Inuit,
Creole, Métis...

They see the hopes of their ancestors
betrayed
they must not remember.
The songs are dying, slowly
they will have no voice to sing praises
the beating sun recalls their destiny,
the cages of their minds

Ask the natives,
their lives are open like
fresh wound
deep with goo to fester
and spread like wildfire
but the cards show they
must live to conquer...
the cards show, they must live

Anxiety, Plus

2007-08-27T22:14:00.000-04:00

Oh my, i'm nervously excited about starting GS next week. I keep wondering if i will be able to handle it; you know, all that "serious" work. Truth is, i wondered the same thing when i started my undergrad, and here i am. I am very intellectually insecure but i'm the only one who knows that. I told one of my professors that i was shy to speak when she invited a guest lecturer (*embarrass*) and i believe she was surprised :); i don't know, i certainly become a different person when i write. I feel more free to be honest and could care less what other people think when i'm being ethically or morally open-minded. As soon as i begin to verbalize, i almost become too cautious.

What annoys me most is a seminar in which nobody talks and we all just show up because of the participation marks and could care less if the instructor speaks for the entire three hours. To sit and listen to an instructor for three hours is more excruciating than getting my wisdom tooth out; not because he/she isn't doing a great job, but my attention span is not that long. In my first and second undergrad years (which are the listening years) i would often dream and wake-up to reality many times over before the period would be up. It's amazing how, somewhere between dream and reality, i acquired knowledge.

I like when i can look forward to a seminar, and when it's over, wish the next one would be the following day. I'm weird like that :). I have to get over my shyness though. Sometimes i get so nervous before i speak that when i do begin, i am, literally, out of breath. And my contributions are often times productive, i would like to think. Oh well, we all have things we have to "get over". Now, if i could only get over my fear that the MA program will be unmanageable...

Ten Things and a Poem

2007-08-25T19:51:00.000-04:00

Here are ten things you didn't know about me...

i have been to the Cayman Islands
i received 100% on my citizenship test
i make my best decisions in the shower
i don't care for flowers
i don't gamble
i bite my nails
i dream a lot
i can't swim
i 'm faithful
i like diamonds

Accursed Romance

As a girl, she'd met him.
He took her, tempestuously
raped her, made her want him
she hated him.
He saved her, ruined her
she opened, like a jasmine
to his promises, kisses
playing for keeps, she couldn't.
He was her secret,
her "little white lie",
her escape, her jewel
her confidante.
They played chess, naked
with words, without language
he touched her, she cried
in pain, in ecstasy, in hope
that nothing was lost
between the sheets
of her heart, feign.

My "Fix"

2007-08-24T22:14:00.000-04:00

I finished watching "Millionaire" and "Jeopardy" and needed a fix (i don't drink or smoke, i watch tv) so i scanned the channels and bumped into "Miss Teen USA 2007". Actually they reached a milestone this year: they gave the title to a brunette instead of a blond! Good for them! I'm much better at the "millionaire" questions than the jeopardy clues, maybe because i want to be a millionaire :). But that's ok, i'm more than happy with the little that i have. Some people win pageants, some people win money, and some people write blogs; who said life wasn't fair?

I'm feeling a little anti-establishment tonight, can't stand red tape.

Over the last couple days i have been reading and working on my proposals of which i now have one page (single space); one more page to go!

I had some shrimps for dinner today, again. I've been having it once per week for the past two weeks. I was allergic to all seafood except codfish and tuna. A couple weeks ago i tried shrimp (haven't had it in 10years)and realized that i didn't swell up, so i was happy and had it again, and again, and again. The next step is crab and lobster; scary. One step at a time. Now, if only i had 20/20 vision...

Making Preparations

2007-08-22T13:17:00.000-04:00

Today i will be reading, reading, reading, and focusing on my SSHRC and OGS proposals.

Free Will

2007-08-20T09:45:00.000-04:00

We should strive towards our own perfection.
In other words, we should strive to be our best self.

Mr. Dean

2007-08-19T13:04:00.000-04:00

My prayers and thoughts go out to everyone in the Caribbean who have, and will have, experience the wrath of hurricane Dean. The Caribbean has taken too much beating from natural disasters; the man upstairs probably forgot to do a roll call to see who have had enough. I mean, since the arrival of Columbus, the roll call seemed to have stopped in the Caribbean sea. The man just bring pure bad luck wid em from Europe, cho. It's seems like Caribbean countries are set to beg their way through history since damages from natural disasters are always in the millions. Every time these countries try to stand there is always something there to beat them down. Residents can only watch in fear.

As usual, only the tourists can leave. Natives have never truly had the luxury of "leaving". I can just imagine the loss that the poor will face, not to mention those living on the edge of cliffs and close to the shores. People who have nothing before the hurricane will have nothing-plus afterwards. I spoke to my sister-in-law last night and she told me that hurricane Ivan almost lifted her house off it blocks and it was category 3 on a 5point scale. My sister's house was flooded from Ivan as well; this time she is reluctant to face Dean. I encouraged everyone to stay strong and they all agreed that they will have to. They refused to be beaten down in spirit by Mr. Dean.

Looking Back

2007-08-18T13:35:00.000-04:00

I accidentally (?:)) came upon an article that i wrote for the University news paper over three years ago. Darn, i was pissed back then (still am about a lot of things).
Here's the link http://tao.ca/~cupe3903/web/documents/criticaltimes-1-5.pdf

It's on page 4, entitled, "A Black Statement or Writing Resistance"

NOTE TO SELF
Keep writing.

A Lousy Day

2007-08-17T21:34:00.000-04:00

I did not do anything constructive today. In fact, everything i did was personally destructive: stressed over the uncontrollable, stressed over the controllable, got so darn pissed at Children's Services that i could barely contain myself.

NOTE TO SELF
Because i am perfect (and i mean this in the humblest way possible), it doesn't mean that everyone else is.

The "L" Word

2007-08-16T23:15:00.000-04:00

"If two people love each other, there can be no happy end to it." - Ernest Hemingway

"Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden where the flowers are dead." -Oscar Wilde

Amidst all that is happening around us
i desire to think about love tonight
about how love makes us human,
both vulnerable and strong
about how love hardly negotiates
or compromise.
To love, and be loved
is such an amazing thing
it gives you stability, eases your pain
but it also makes you ache inside.
When you experience love,
it's like floating through air
with the clouds cushioning you
and drying away your tears.
Ain't nothing like love,
ain't nothing like the smooth,
sensual movement of love over your body.
its touch, its stroke, its rhythmic flow
through your brain.
Ain't nothing like love
it's like sunshine peeking through a storm,
it's a surprise and call for truce.
It hits you hard, and leaves you breathless
Ain't nothing like love
It smells like the first day of April
and the and the last day of Christmas.
It never leaves you cold but feeling warm
and peaceful inside.
Love is to die for
love is for keeps,
but never, ever, wear your heart on your sleeve.
Love must be genuine, and it usually is
when it has matured.
Mature love is less magical but no less heavenly
if you take the time to show the person you care.
The meaning of love is in its temper,
if it's angry love you have to think it over.
if it's shy love just give it wings
if it's disguised in a smile or small gesture
give it life
if it's stubborn give it time
love never fails, though it surrenders
in the battle of love the soul is often the loser.
Take heed to love and remember, all is never fair in love.

It's called LIFE

2007-08-15T22:14:00.000-04:00

It started out as a very good day, actually. I woke up a bit late but, nevertheless, well rested. I went out to arrange daycare for my little princess as i will be heading out to grad studies pretty soon. After such formalities we went out to lunch; i decided to enjoy the outdoors as we are usually cooped-up inside ruining her summer. I made mac and cheese for the princess' dinner (it's her favourite), and stir fried rice with shrimp for the rest of the family. We watched "Baby's First TV" together with daddy and big sister, and we all ended up having too much water melon as we were very hot and thirsty; mind you, we do have central air, but for some reason, someone turned it off, and the whole time we couldn't figure out why we were so hot. Anyways, it's up and running again. I watched "Last Comic Standing" at 9pm because i enjoy a good laugh, and because i actually find it quite relaxing. My husband received a phone call from his sister at around 10pm. His father had been diagnosed with prostate cancer. As a matter of fact, today is not a good day for the family.

Lights, Camera, Conscience

2007-08-13T22:50:00.000-04:00

"Thus conscience does make cowards of us all" - Hamlet

"I think we have to own the fears that we have of each other, and then, in some practical way, some daily way, figure out how to see people differently than the way we were brought up to." - Alice Walker

"Thou shalt not be a victim. Thou shalt not be a perpetrator. Above all, thou shalt not be a bystander." - Holocaust Museum, Washington, DC

Besides taking a trip to the doctor, and coming face-to-face with the red-hot scorches of the outside world, and grappling with some very hard personal decisions, and succumbing to an endless parade behind my daughter because she vowed to never keep still, and praying that the headache that she was giving me was just a phase, and wondering why life was so hard, and wondering why my life was so hard, and realizing how problematic it was for me to say that my life was so hard....I happened upon my own personal meditation about conscience and fear...

When i thought about the responsibilities that i had as a citizen of the world, and the fact that sitting on my couch reading a book written by an highly acclaimed author didn't exactly placed me in a position to do anything, call me crazy, but it made me think long and hard about my own complacency in allowing families living in cardboard boxes, children going hungry, children not having access to education and so on, it made me think long and hard about my own complacency in allowing these things to happen because i did nothing.

I also thought about my own political views which surprised me because i didn't know that i had any. When i thought about all the people who went up against powerful authorities and risked their lives in the name of revolution and change, even while knowing that their own lives were at risk, it made me feel more like a coward than i had ever felt. As i sat on my couch, i thought about this. And i realized that i had never felt more powerless in my entire life; and like all people with a conscience, i thought: "what can i do?", only to hear my own voice echo my own incapability. I didn't have the weapons, or resources, as they say, that i needed. I came to realise that my only weapons were my words. And nothing hurts more than a willingness to do something, and understanding the pressing need for something to be done, only to find that you could have only written a blog about it and move on. Cold, isn't it? I wondered how my life would have been different had i been so circumscribed by the rations of history (and the lord knows my life had been much circumscribed).

My only solace, and conclusion if you will, was that: knowledge gives us all a conscience, and it is also knowledge, not ignorance, which causes us not to act. A friend once told me that i always tended to put other people's need before my own. Maybe that's my problem, or, maybe, just maybe, i'm just being human.

Stories, Essays and Friendships

2007-08-11T11:56:00.000-04:00

I woke up early this morning, well, not too early, around 9am as i went to bed past 1am last night. I was up doing nothing in particular. I like stories a lot, so i urged my hobby to tell me stories :). He insisted that what he was telling me were not stories but reality; in the end there was a long debate between us about what was a story and what was, in fact, reality. I could not convince him, try as i might, that when we re-tell something that happened in the past we all add and take away from it to create our own version, and that that in itself fictionalizes the "reality" of what we were telling.

He told me about two men who went into the bush to cook (flour) dumplings. While one was cooking the dumplings, the other went fishing for shrimps in a nearby river. When he was away, the dumplings, when cooked by the other man, came to nine in total. Soon the second man came with his catch and found that the first man had already cooked and shared the dumplings: five for himself and four for the man who went fishing, and he insisted that he got five as he was the one who cooked them. The other man thought that was unfair and asked the man who cooked to divide it equally so that he got four and one half, but the other man disagreed. A fight ensued between them, and, in the end, the man who cooked stabbed the other man to death over one half of a dumpling. My hobby insisted that this was a "true" story. Yea, sure. I'm a sucker for stories; i'm hoping my daughter will also be a sucker as i have quite a few to tell her when she gets older!

I have three or four essays that i have to lengthen so that they can be published and i know that i have that to do but i can't seem to get started. And i had the entire summer to "get started". When classes begin next month i won't have time, and they will get pushed aside until next year and i cannot allow that. So, i promise myself that i will start tonight (fingers crossed).

My best friend is no longer my friend, it seems. I'm not sure why, but that's the least of my concerns right now. I've learned that if people make themselves inaccessible to you, ain't no way you gonna reach them. God knows i have a good heart; i never kept many friends while growing up, but the few that i had were always dear to me, regardless of our differences. I hope the aforementioned have a long and prosperous life.

Beyond Pearly Gates and Picket Fences

2007-08-10T21:59:00.000-04:00

I am writing this blog out of a profound sense of grief; almost like a parent who does her best to parent her child only to find that her child develops into someone she can no longer recognize, and she constantly thinks about where she went wrong, or if it was something she had said to the child, or didn't say, while it was growing. This blog is for those who like stories and never stop listening, even between the raindrops...

HERE'S A STORY

There is so much good in the world, yet some of us can't find it.
There is so much love in the world, yet some of us can't feel it.
There's always enough to go around but we don't spread it.
Why are we so selfish and possessive?
Why do we allow others to feel isolated and do nothing about it?
Love and kindness are free, yet we don't share it.
Life doesn't have to suck for those who don't have IT.
People who are hurting often show it, yet we turn and look the other way.
Pain is universal, yet specific.
Pain is individual, yet affective.
Can't we, each individual, take time to listen?
Can't we take time to hear the silenced stories?
Can't we say "fuck you" to social differences?
It's complicated, but it doesn't have to be, if we, each individual, won't let it.

Reading and Housekeeping

2007-08-08T22:23:00.000-04:00

So, yesterday i cleaned and moved around some furniture. Today i did the laundry and continued reading Cormac McCarthy's BLOOD MERIDIAN in prep for my grad-English-lit class next month; it is, by far, waaaaay far, far, the bloodiest and most nauseatingly disgusting book i've ever read! I won't give a full review because then i would only be exposing myself for torture. But, boy, it's nasty. The setting is 1849 wild wild west, American frontier, manifest destiny kind-of-idea complete with the hunting, scalping and massacring of Indians. Every couple of pages, the reader is treated to gruesome murders, mutilations and all manner of body butchery. Men are eating raw buffalo liver, raw mule, raw horse meat, raw whatever *puke*. I'll stop there. What kind of imagination does this author have??? I know the book is based on real historical events, but lord! No wonder he avoids interviews :( . One blurb (in the book) about the author says, "McCarthy is a writer to be read, to be admired, and quite honestly- envied." Yea, sure, whatever. The book is extremely well written, but i wouldn't recommend it, unless you have really good control over your gag reflex!

On a more palatable note, I had some really nice baked chicken for dinner today, and guess who cooked? Moi! I know, i'm just so full of myself :) I don't enjoy cooking though. When i get rich i will be sure to hire a chef, that's it. I can handle everything else :) Hmmm, i will leave you with a happy note:

Roses are red, or yellow, pink, white... whatever,

violets are blue, i think,

sugar is waaaay too sweet,

and so are you!

...by the way, i did finish that Margaret Atwood book, ALIAS GRACE. Yea, the one that weighs 12pounds. It's thick, but superb. I'm not a huge Atwood fan, yet, but she is an amazing writer, simply amazing...

Ramblings about Remembering

2007-08-06T17:23:00.001-04:00

You know that you are _____ when the lonely blank pages of a book can no longer contain your (life) writings and you need the public space of the world wide web to announce who you are and what you're about. The thing is, i spend way, way, too much time inside my head for my own good. Ha! Is there anyone else out there like me? I feel a bit special, but it's a weird kind of special. I am also caught up in the modern need to record and remember and i'm not sure why. Many people thrive on forgetting, like my mom, who remembers nothing (or pretends not to). I can't help but think about the trauma of amnesia, to permanently and completely forget. Forgetting, voluntarily, would be like killing a part of yourself, wouldn't it? The task, then, is not just to remember, but to figure out what parts of yourself to kill. Some people cannot afford to forget even though memory is sometimes painful. I remember when i first got my ears pierced at around six years old; i even remember the horrid pain and the twitching and crying that ensued as my sister passed the needle and thread through my ice frozen ear, inside our outdoor kitchen. Yet, i cannot remember what i did that night or the following day. Hmmm, it is probably a good thing that we can't remember half of our experiences, which is where stories from older siblings and grandparents while you curl-up-under-a-blanket-in-the-dark is always a treat better than ice-cream! But don't we always tend to remember the really good and the really bad stuff that happened to us? I mean, who remembers the name of their 3rd grade teacher? I know i don't. So, yea, this blogging thing could be the next best thing to (the trouble of) remembering...

Peaches, Please

2007-08-05T21:57:00.000-04:00

She hopes she dreams she wants to take a bath in the tub of ease without worry she's faithful grateful needs to end the struggle as a child she cries in the corner of her dreams to be awake she eats nothing she walks for miles she fetches water labours long without before meals she's tired and needs to rest she cannot rest before she sleeps she tastes hunger on her lips and sucks her own tongue to quench her thirst she tries to live but dies each day as mama takes solace in another's arms she yearns for love while she sleeps on the floor at night to the stirring lullabies of mosquitoes ants nest beside her she studies the noise of crickets, bats and dogs and prays for daylight she cries each day for rescue but hears the footsteps of a stranger next to her she sees her future in the haze of her dreams for she dreams, many.

Let's Talk Trash

2007-08-04T12:59:00.000-04:00

Many people drown in the wilderness of poverty having the weight of their dreams pull them down until they hit the-rock-bottom of hopelessness. If there is such a thing as survival, it is individualistic. People do not "survive" as a race or gender or class, but as individual soldiers of an incessant war. The "right kind" of race, gender and class certainly does make survival a lot easier, but not always. Many of these soldiers walk around with a lot of pain in their memory; and since memory is history, the nightmare of it is always at bay and hovering over the present. The social aspect of insanity, for there is a social and psychological side to each individual, is the result of the pressure to stay in line with the other surviving soldiers and the inability to keep up. Thieves, prostitutes, pedophiles, spousal abusers, alcoholics, drug addicts, obese patients et cetera, all suffer from social insanity because the main organs of society have failed them, deliberately or not. The war on terror has been home grown as it started with slave revolts, race riots, civil wars, bra burnings and hunger strikes. Social insanity was there from the start, manifested in the attempts to overthrow/eliminate oppression in its varied colours. People have to live with the cards that they are dealt; some have the losing hand and others the winning. There are definite winners and losers regardless of what capitalism says. There will only be one Oprah Winfrey and one Bill Gates. Parents tell their children the same lie that capitalism tells them: that they can be anything they want. Even though they know it's a sham, parents tell their children because they desperately want to believe it themselves. The truth is, it's a toss what they will be; whether they will weather the storm of life like a stone or dissolve like substance in solvent depends on that toss...

What Time is it?

2007-07-31T22:07:00.000-04:00

Time is an amazing phenomenon. I became friends with time in the delivery room and we haven't parted since. During labour i begged time for reassurance and pleaded for it's speed. I was consumed by time: the timing of contractions, breathing, pain. At times time stopped, as it was, in my mind. I became nauseated just thinking about time, and when my baby girl was delivered, time and i became even closer: "1 o'clock, feed her, burp her, change her ", "3 o'clock, repeat diapering, feeding and changing", "take a 30minutes nap and repeat procedure", "take a quick shower between baby's nap-time and eat, quickly", "limit yourself to your personal space and be sure to sneak in enough naps as time may run-out!"

At fifteen months old, my daughter still takes much of my time, or is it her time? I still chase time, always trying to catch up. Time has become an obsession, another person in the family. There's breakfast, lunch and dinner time, nap time, play time, story time, visiting time.... time is the master and leader. There is never enough time, still, everything takes time. I had never been more time sensitive: i constantly check my watch, CONSTANTLY; i am always in a rush to catch time because i simply cannot afford to waste time. My life sits behind the wheels of a speeding time, and there are no brakes so i cannot stop time! My time isn't my time and her time dominates all times. I resent time, but i need time as without time i would be timeless; this is why i cannot waste time.... oh, why did i.... what time is it?

In Good Spirits, They Say

2007-07-29T20:21:00.001-04:00

Well, i am in a particularly good mood today and for no other reason than that i'm happy. Every once in a while i have these little bouts of joy that covers me like a sheet fresh from the laundry. I find that i have to entertain positive thoughts nowadays when all else seem to evoke havoc and mayhem. We are living in times when smiles and happy faces are running scarce like grains in the middle of a famine. I'm very glad that i can find some peace within me and that my family is together and strong. I hope that those who scarcely have joy in their lives will someday find its solace. I cannot bring world peace (though i wish i could) and i now believe that such a thing can never be achieved. Human beings, in my opinion, have a subtle propensity to evil and it takes the workings of numerous chemicals on the inside and numerous social workings on the outside for us to be "good". We are like wild bears ready to prance only to find that we are caged into certain norms and codes of conduct. I choose to believe this over the other theory which says that we are all naturally good creatures because i feel like goodness is something that we achieve after knowledge; and, even then, we still have to try our very best to "be good". I hope that in our daily struggles we can successfully fight our own demons and emerge, close enough, to, well... this goodness.

Red Light, Green Light

2007-07-27T23:25:00.000-04:00

The answer,
it coils in the veins
of a single blade of grass

Mother and Child

2007-07-23T22:20:00.000-04:00

A lone dry tear caresses her
cheekbone,
it carries her (woman's) pain,
the weight of years it bears,
like a crow.
She is haunted by the loss,
of stars
in the dark (deep-blue) sky
her soul, raped by death,
consents.
She tries to speak, but her words
betray her
her heart beats, but without life
she sleeps
only to find herself awake,
mad grief!
She died her son's death
the grave
is left open, waiting
by numbers
the hole, is now home.