Where is that Child, This ain't for you

I went wandering...

Romans 8
14 The true children of God are those who let God’s Spirit lead them. 15 The Spirit that we received is not a spirit that makes us slaves again and causes us to fear. The Spirit that we have makes us God’s chosen children. And with that Spirit we cry out, “ Abba,[b] Father.” 16 And the Spirit himself speaks to our spirits and makes us sure that we are God’s children. 17 If we are God’s children, we will get the blessings God has for his people. He will give us all that he has given Christ. But we must suffer like Christ suffered. Then we will be able to share his glory.

I went wandering...

 Taking a quest hoping for a new way of thinking. Fore a stressed while, I only felt safe enough to live within my thoughts. Never before have I felt so threatened to speak, again. Damn, my voice makes them that mad? Must be something wrong with me. "Free me" ain't English, so let me figure out how to talk to them better. But, some days my mind is just too tired and my  thoughts get weary. Depressed tryna learn how to get you to learn. Internally I became angry and impatient with myself. I did not know who was right. Maybe I am criminal and ignorant. Maybe I am an overthinker, over analyzer, over the top... anxiety said. And I let the anxiety and fear talk to me because I do feel very passionately about what is right and wrong. I cannot stand injustice- it is a sickening sight no one deserves to bear alone. So, for the right answers- to calm me down

I went wandering...

Learning is my escapism, my literal liberation. Quickly we learn that liberation is nothing that can be achieved without struggle, questioning of self, and pain. And I stepped on thorns before knowing what they truly stung like. Adrenalin kept my head up, but numb for about 2 more weeks. But the holes in my feet began to puss. Ain't no such excuse as getting tired when you're wandering. Searching for answers in books, relationships, google, myself, prayer, sex, myself and myself. Still frustrated, irritated by the sting of my wounds. They will not heal I cried every day on the inside. Why does it still burn once the torn has been removed? I begged my ancestors. 

Wandering...

 I began to cry. Outside. In front of people, while reading books, watching movies, receiving good news, thoughtful gifts, and running in the arms of distant family. Crying at the reassuring sight of myself within all these God given things. I cried like hell. Cried at the possibilities. Some nights, I wanted to wander in the water just to get to the moon. Only 2 inches away from the edge. Just a brave foot. There was no strength inside me and I cried harder. And the tears ran down my legs, in-between my toes, reaching the soles of my feet. The saltiness stung my wounds shut. New feet made me search more, in new people, places, and things. Found me some shea to heal my soles and toes. Rubbed it real good in my chest to get to that soul too. 
I wandered into someone and they told me "You gotta have heart." I listened. I can't count how many of my folks told me stuff like that. Oh and "Girl, you better grow some thicker skin." Maybe because Black is an extra layer of skin, and woman is a deeper layer of courage. "What the fuck did I get myself into??" I've been crying since birth. Many tears, but the walk got warmer. Ain't quite seen the light, but God I feel it. God, I found it. A rainbow in my tear. 

I'm calling July 5th, 2016 my liberation day. The day, the time, the heartbeat where I fully decide to commit to the journey to forever letting go fear. 

I wrote to myself: 

Dear Kayla, 

You earned your freedom at birth, do not listen to otherwise. You have the right to say whatever the hell you want. Use your magic, protest and stop whatever injustice that invades your homeland. Love whomever and however you please. Write whatever your Truth moves you to. We good, so you good. 

Understanding My Magic

Here is a piece I wrote for my school's newsletter. Enjoy :)  

I spent my elementary years drawing over my homework, reading outside books about Greek goddesses and mermaids, and then talking to my friends about them in class all day long. I would show my friends “Look! This is the Goddess of Loveeeeeeee, Aphrodite. Isn’t she perfect?” But when class ended, I would close my mouth shut all the way till we got home. My parents would ask me “So how was school?” I wondered what if I told the truth and said it was horrible. Instead I said “good” and closed my eyes to try to recreate my mermaid escapism until I got home. Theories like the Bermuda Triangle were always enticing. The constant thoughts of disappearing. I never wanted to go back to school.

All I ever wanted is to be open, curious, and explorative just like the mermaids in my books. Instead of Western Civilization they learned about spells, swim tricks, and the deep mystical history of the sea. I read series after series, watching these mermaids blossom into adult mermaids- taking on Queen leadership of the sea. My 8 year old life was nothing like that, and that was depressing. I was jealous, yet obsessed on how they were able to go outside in their backyards and find treasure as they had the ability to manifest different worlds with the power of imagination. They were all white girls. And I was a city Black girl with opossums and raccoons in my backyard. At night there were gunshots or maybe a tire popping. Either or, the fear made me stop everything I was doing and surrender my head to the closeness of the ground. When I stepped in water, there was no turquoise fish tail that rescued me from reality. And I hated water for that.

I got scolded for being distracted in class every day, even in high school. I beat myself in the head for truly never connecting with my work. It took college to realize that I could never attempt to connect to Abraham Lincoln, before ever learning about Sojourner Truth. Page after page, no one ever looked like me. There was no citing of magic.

When I started to write my own short novels in class, my teacher confiscated my work and told me I was being disruptive, and to focus.

My 8 year old self needed narratives and truths. My 8 year old self needed to know Black girls possessed magic too just like the mermaids in my novels. I wish she knew about the Orisha Goddess like Oya and Mami Wata spirits of Africa. But now I am 20 years old and I could not think of a better age to embrace such truths. The truth is there was nothing wrong with my rebellion against what I was learning in elementary. Studying African and Black Diaspora Studies was always apart of God’s plan and I am proud of myself for never being satisfied with what my teachers told or taught me. The depth of who I was destined to be was always fighting with the Eurocentric pedagogy forced down my eyes and ears. And the pain, confusion, and lack was necessary in order to be glorious in this moment. Now, I can liberate my 8 year old self as my adult self has been placed in the hands of the Wise. And yes I still oppressive teachers, but I no longer feel sad or unmagical, but challenged.

The Black Women professors I have met at DePaul have truly become the fairy godmothers of my future. Like the blossoming characters I use to read and dream about, but they look like me and have conquered everything that I once thought was an impossible task for a Black girl. My freshman year I witnessed the Black woman magic of knowledge when I met Doctor Robin Mitchell in WGS 100. In her class I found healing, and honestly a new beginning, feminism. Everything is a social construction. There were Black women narratives, but institutionalized racism, sexism, and classism benefits from hiding those things from me.  Then, I met Doctor Valerie Johnson who exposed me to the realities of African American politics, but pushed me with her wisdom to go outside and do something about injustice. She also taught me the importance of self care and preservation after my choice of protest. I had to be in my best mindset before I could take on anything that dismantled systems of evil. Doctor Julie Moody-Freeman liberated me when she assured me that no theoretical work in academia is off limits, and you have to find pleasure in the hard work you do. The realities of Black women lives are violent, but we are still here. Because of our magic.  And our magical narratives have touched every corner of the Earth, and with the help of another we can all bare our mystical lost treasures. (Click to tweet!)

White Feminism: Disturbia Rant + Happy Ending

The battling discourses between Black feminism and white feminism are nothing new. But, being a black feminist in a world full of white feminism makes me tired. Black feminist scholars, artists, celebrities, bloggers, musicians, and youth have been promoting the radical notion of loving Blackness. I've never felt more blessed to be a Black woman. But in academic settings (or even online) I always feel a cold tensity come over me when I enter a dialogue about intersectionality and cultural studies with my white feminist colleagues in the room. 

White feminists having been inserting themselves in the critique of Black issues for too long. Being unhelpful as fuck. Trying to merge Black women's issues with all (meaning white women) women's issues. And I'm like how? Tell me how you know what is best for me? Yes, you read some amazing supplement journals and articles that introduced you to race, class, and gender, but that is it. That is not connecting, or living the true experience. White feminists have about 2 friends of color-- probably from a upper/ middle class and met them in college. White feminists who are queer think just because they possess that marginalized identity, that they have every right to critique the problems in the Black community. Nope sis, you get called out, too.

Your input is not only irrelevant, but violent. Black people cannot "just be vulnerable" Or whatever exclusive mechanism you find appropriate that has your privilege value on it. It is more than "just do it" solutions when there are systems of racism in play that do not allow us to "just be vulnerable" in any space. Any space determines the next breath of our lives. We don't need your comments or solutions, we need solidarity.

Buuuuut, this morning I was in the warm embrace of true accompliceship at the LGBTQA annual breakfast at my university. And the speaker, J Mase III, poet, educator, and founder of AwQward Talent, left the audience with some tips about what solidarity actually looks like:

Solidarity is

• Backing up
• Redistributing resources
• Asking how support is needed
• Understanding and owning your privilege
• Being more invested in justice than your own comfort

So please, take this bomb self with you in peace. Embrace the side line, girl it ain't that bad!

From Brother to the Night to Loving Black Man

An Essay

Darius Lovehall and Nina Mosely quickly jump into a steamy relationship after exchanging poems, music, photographs, and sex. The movie, Love Jones takes place in the urban city of Chicago in the early 90s. A common theme throughout the movie is lust over love. And from the movie, it seems like it's the Black men rather the Black women who prefer lust over love and vice versa. The miscommunication about this often led to loveless lives. But, even though bell hooks would argue that during this time these Black people were submerged in a consumer culture that greatly encouraged dishonesty, she would also argue that love prevails in Darius and Nina’s relationship as in the last scene of the movie, Darius Lovehall illustrates the Black love practice of honesty as he finally admits in the pouring rain to Nina that after a year of absolutely no contact, he is in love with her.

In the beginning of the film, Darius Lovehall proudly calls himself “brother to the night”, he does not fall in love, but he wants everything to do with sex. He is reducing his capability to love to simply what his sexual organs can do. When he meets Nina Mosely for the first time, we see him allured by her beauty and elegance. He vigorously chases after her, asks for a date and proceeds to spend ample time with her. From the audience’s point, it looks like the beginnings of a loving relationship. But, after Nina tells him that she has some unfinished business in New York with her ex boyfriend, Darius finds himself hurt. To protect his feelings, he lies to Nina claiming he does not care what she does. The audience see Darius actions toward Nina not lining up with his words. This only leads to more confusion in their relationship. In All About Love: New Visions by bell hooks, hooks says “The heart of justice is truth telling, seeing ourselves and the world the way it is rather than the way we want it to be” (p 33). Darius and Nina’s relationships’ downfall was the lack of honest communication. Darius lied and danced around the truth when it came to Nina for months. He only does this to satisfy the pimp identity of “Brother to the night” And when Nina was finally done with his lying, she was gone. And that is when the audience see Darius growing and coming into self realizations about his actions. hooks talks about in her book how men lie early from childhood as a way to spare people’s feelings, mask their own, avoid responsibility and confrontation, and to obtain power over people. She also discusses how consumer culture encourages men telling lies through movies, advertisement, and other forms of media. Men are constantly seeing other men advance and glorified for their manipulation of women, children, and other men! This “characteristic” is consumed as an exertion of manhood, but it is dangerously spreading lovelessness all over the world. In the very last scene after Nina finishes her poem to Darius at Sanctuary and goes outside to catch a cab home when she thinks Darius is not at the club. But, Darius finds her and stops her. In the pouring rain, he confesses his past mistakes and tells Nina for the first time that he is in love with her. hooks also says in a motion toward true love, “To be loving we willingly hear each other’s truth, and most important, we affirm the value of truth telling” (47).  Despite their past verbally abusive encounters, when Nina hears “I love you” for the first time, we see her embrace Darius mutually, not punishing him for any mistake he made in the past.

Darius and Nina are not a perfect couple, but that last conversation in the rain illustrated the Black love practice of honesty that no matter what happened in the past, love can progressively heal anything. And to truly love “we must learn to mix various  ingredients-- care, affection, recognition, respect, commitment, and trust, as well as honest and open communication” (p 5). Because of the consumer culture we live in, Black people are often entering relationships knowing nothing about true love, but they are subconsciously driven away or toward love by what they have seen and how they’ve experienced love at home. Lovelessness because of lack of open and honest communication are our reality, but this film is important, because we see a redemptive, Black love at the end.

Works Cited

Hooks, Bell. All about Love: New Visions. New York: William Morrow, 2000. Print.

SIS2SIS Maya Angelou Is So Proud of Toya Wright

Sister 2 Sister is fictional platform I came up with that displays the conversations, jokes, and moments of intimacy I think some of my favorite Black, woman writers and artists (historically and currently) would have with each other. I will be hosting the dialogue and mashing up my own personal lines with actual quotes from these women. We all learn from our ancestors experiences, and this is my expressive way to do this! Enjoy ♥

A Tuesday Afternoon Sit Down with Maya Angelou and Toya Wright

Please welcome, the vibrant, American reality TV star, businesswoman, and author Antonia 'Toya' Wright!
And, the PHENOMENAL, author, poet, playwright, stage and screen performer, director, former nightclub singer, Maya Angelou!

This conversation shared the heart felt theme of positive, Black womanhood and defying the stereotype of inherent failure. We are more than our past.

The majority of this conversation excerpt will be celebratory toward Toya Wright, who is the author of Priceless Inspiration and her new novel How to Lose a Husband! When she first hit the hip hop scene, she was only know as Lil Wayne's babymama. But in her life Toya always fought to be more than just a baby mama. Her own mother abandoned her when she was young, but left her with written testimonies that now inspires women all over the world. Toya Wright has reclaimed her name through truth telling, being an amazing mother and human, and lastly by putting her happiness first and Maya Angelou is definitely affirming!

Here is a excerpt.... 

JOHNSON: It feels amazing to be the presence of two very pivotal Black women writers. Thank you! My first question has to be to Toya. What not only led you but inspired you to write your first fictional novel, How to Lose a Husband?

WRIGHT: Well, Kayla. My husband and I were going through some rough times. Accepting my new success as a businesswoman and author was really difficult for him on top of other personal issues, which I definitely understand. “You see he’s acting out on Instagram. How he chooses to deal with his stuff is how he chooses to. How I choose to deal with mine is different. I’m hurt too. I decided to write a book called “How To Lose A Husband" (Wendy Williams Interview). This is a fictional novel based off real situations. It’s like a modern day Waiting to Exhale. The moral of my story is, you have to be whole before you commit to being someone’s half. I was pumped by the feedback of my last book to try something new, which turned out to be the extra push I needed to complete this project. Art imitates life! *laughs*

ANGELOU INTERJECTS: See, Ms. Antonia Wrights slays, because through her existence she understands that “Image making is very important for every human being. It is especially important for black American women in that we are, by being black, a minority in the United States, and by being female, the less powerful of the genders. So we have two areas we must address.” And she does that so truthfully in her art. She challenged all stereotypes against her by putting herself at the forefront of this necessary dialogue with men.

WRIGHT: *blushes and warm smiles*  

JOHNSON: Ms. Angelou, what advice do you have for Toya and other Black women who are trying to heal through writing?

ANGELOU: *laughs* Ahh, there is so much advice. Paracelsus once said, “The main reason for healing is love.” And if we want love which I know we all desperately want, "Take a day to heal from the lies you've told yourself and the ones that have been told to you.” The art form that healing manifests into is up to the human being. It may be poetry, prose, a song, or an essay, but the art will happen. Ain’t that right Ms. Toya?

WRIGHT: *laughs and winks*