Category: Life
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Recently, I was having a conversation with both my brother and a very close mutual friend of ours who we’ve known since we were children. We had a conversation about our personal growths since our high school days (we attended the same high school) and I began telling them about my journey through self-hate and…
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I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I care about the feelings of other people and try to be in tune with their sensitivities. I’m sorry that I prioritize not offending people because I care about how receptive they are to what I’m saying. I’m sorry that I try to choose my words carefully because I’m concerned…
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[*Note: I’ve purposely omitted the name of the primary subject of this post; however it shouldn’t take long to figure out who it is that I’m talking about.] Somebody died the other day. He was a popular rapper, from Florida. His death has been a heavily discussed subject on social media over the course of…
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I have been at a crossroads in my life for a very long time. I am interested in/passionate about a lot of things. I love writing. I love writing about things that I love, and writing has given me an avenue to express myself creatively. I love music. Listening to it, writing about it, creating…
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a concession
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A narrative, loosely based on an adolescent struggle with self-hate.
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During my junior year of college, I joined a few Black/African organizations on campus; one of the orgs that I joined was the university’s chapter of the NAACP. At the conclusion of our first meeting, we practiced one of the club’s traditions: the students form a large circle, hold hands, and chant the following Assata…
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I was walking out of Walmart after some grocery shopping. As I was putting groceries in the trunk, I saw a man walk up to the front of my car. He was a middle-aged Black man. He walked with a cane in one hand, and held a small towel in the other.
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[This story is adapted from an essay I wrote back in August 2016. It was written a month after the shootings of Alton Sterling, Philando Castile, and five police officers in Dallas. This narrative is about a real conversation with a friend. For discretionary purposes, I won’t use her real name.]
Black Spasmodic 