I'm Not Like Those Feminists.

You know when we were younger, and we just wanted guys to like us? So we tried to do whatever it took for them to see us in a different light?

 We heard guys complaining about girls who started drama, or girls who wore too much makeup, or used certain phrases, or talked about certain subjects.

So, not only did we go out of our way to eliminate that behavior, we also had to let our potential love interests know that we were "not like those girls." 

We were a different breed of girl. A smart girl, a worldly girl. The perfect mix of femininity and chillness that all of the guys wanted. We wanted to be a girl that exuded confidence and maturity, not one that got caught up in frivolous things that other girls our age liked.

Thinking back on those days is actually really sad for me. I was so young. I didn't know what a feminist was, and I certainly didn't know what internalized misogyny was. I just knew that I didn't want to be the last girl to experience her first kiss.

Now that I'm older, I'm able to analyze society, and the way it values the interests of young women. I'm able to realize that anything young women tend to cling to, is inherently "bad" or "stupid" or "vain", and therefore young men need to constantly express their disdain for it.

I'm realizing that there was nothing wrong with the girls who wore makeup, or talked like they were from the valley. They were just different than me, and that's okay.

I'm realizing that it even though I wasn't like "most girls," I didn't deserve a badge of honor, or my first kiss.

You would think that this type of thinking wouldn't be popular within the feminist movement, but it actually is.

Not a day goes by where I don't hear a phrase from a so-called feminist, trying to prove to a man that she's "not like most feminists."

Either it's because she doesn't hate men, or she shaves her armpits, or she uses tampons, or she has conservative values, or she actually values her appearance. It pretty much leads to her rambling about how evolved she is compared to them, and by the end of the conversation she's pretty much agreeing that she's not a feminist at all. 

It's totally cool that you aren't a carbon-copy of other feminists. It would be boring and sad.

But I just don't like this cycle of women-on-women bashing that happens throughout our lives just so that we can impress men.

You don't have to be like "those feminists." 

You just have to be yourself.

They just have to be themselves.

We all just have to be ourselves, and not sacrifice our values, just for the sake of fitting in.

-Kristina 

I just really want to talk about the steady stream of people disliking me because of my radical views.

Two weeks ago, it was a girl upset about my school talking about sex. She was also upset about the right that I have, to talk about her, on my blog. It pissed her off so much that she wrote a 600 word letter to the editor. 

That week, I also made someone in mymulticultural  student center upset because I did not approve of their terminology when discussing people who identify as transgender, and their depiction of black women.

Last week, I managed to get into an argument with a well-known misogynistic and homophobic "activist" on my campus, who continues to make disparaging remarks about black women, and constantly tells women what they should be doing in regards to their own sexuality.

I also pissed people off in class when I explained the myths about stop and frisk, affirmative action, and welfare. I also talked about the dangers of racial profiling. 

Today, I ended up in an hour long facsbook argument with someone about Allyship. I also was in a 1.5 hour debate with "allies" about their problematic behavior. I also pissed off white people when I talked about white privilege and called them out on their problematic statements. I now have people talking about me on YikYak, and asking for my safe space certification revoked.

Had this been a year ago, I would have broken down. But now, it gives me the fuel to keep pushing. I'm making a name for myself on this campus. And the more people I piss off, the more people that will start talking about me and my radical politics.

I remember I was talking about Lupita's skin tone, and how my goal was to be as dark as her.

My (white) co-worker scrunched her face and said

Um. I think you should stay the same skin color you are now.

Men are uncomfortable when they aren't the smartest person in the room.

Men are scared when a woman is.

Controversy never scared me.

I want to be remember as someone who shared their opinion eloquently

And fearlessly.

A lot of my writing centers around fear of losing my voice.
Fear of being ignored.
I know what it’s like to be a brown girl struggling to be heard
In a sea of people who don’t look like her
And certainly don’t think like her.
If my writing can make that brown girl’s voice just one decibel louder
Then my time was well-spent.

Think about how much of our fragile, delicate souls that we’ve spilled on something as metal, cold, and impermanent like the Internet.

Food for thought.

I’m half-Nigerian so I often struggle with trying to fit in with other Nigerians because I’m very westernized. So I was very happy to find out my co-worker was an international student from Nigeria. He’s one of the sweetest people I’ve met, and he’s quiet, but always willing to help.
Earlier in the year we had a staff dinner and he brought traditional Nigerian stew. No one really ate it except for me and my boss.
Today while walking home, I asked him if we could have a traditional Nigerian meal together and he was excited. 
But he also told me about how he wasn’t going to cook in front of our co-workers anymore. At the staff dinner, he told me about the rude comments people made about his food. Another time, he was frying plantains in the clubhouse, and someone walked in and said it “smelled like piss.”
I wish I could say I was shocked, but I wasn’t.
It reminds me of a post floating around here, of Ellen making fun of Chinese people’s names. The person who posted it said that their names were beautiful in ways that Ellen couldn’t even imagine.
It just matches this overall theme of Americans handling different cultures so callously, with no respect at all. 
The only time they appreciate it, is if they’re fetishizing it. 
For those of you who have had traditional Nigerian stew (or any other Nigerian food), you probably noticed how labor-intensive it was. Our food is cooked with so much love, and passion. Eating it in America is such a beautiful and emotional experience. It’s not processed. It’s real food, that holds real nutritional value. Not only that, it holds real sentimental value.
Cooking our food at a campus like Georgia Southern can make an international student feel just slightly more at home.
But people ruined that. It’s sad.

I don’t care about Hilary Clinton because Hilary Clinton doesn’t care about me.

If You Never Read Anything I Write Again, I Want You To Read This

I think the first step of allyship is recognizing that a certain community is being oppressed, and that you feel the need to do something about it. This step is fairly easy. 

The second step, is often hard. 

This step involves  realizing that everything you've been taught about this group of people your whole life, has been wrong. And even though it's completely wrong, it's what society as a whole believes, and it has been ingrained in you from day one. And because society as a whole believes this, you have been afforded many opportunities that people from this oppressed community have not had access to.

It isn't your fault, and you didn't ask for it, but you still have a privilege that you didn't even realize you had. 

This isn't a fun or easy process, and it's almost naive to think that it would be. 

The acknowledgment of one's privilege usually comes with a sense of guilt, and defensiveness. From one ally to another, I want you to know this:

It is not about you.

It is not the job of the oppressed to provide you emotional support to work through these feelings of guilt and confusion, because they already have enough on their plate. It is also not the job of the oppressed to educate you on your privilege, and their life. There are 100s of years of research and books, and movies that can probably aid you on your journey to enlightenment.

So when the oppressed goes out of your way to do so, it is a blessing. It is not something that should be taken for granted.

It's a sign that the oppressed think so highly of you, that they did not write you off as another lost cause. They saw the potential within in you to rise above what society has taught you, and to recognize their humanity.

Haven't you heard of "spare the rod, spoil the child"?

It can be applied to multiple situations. In parenting, it's pretty easy to understand that parents often discipline their children because they love them. And this discipline may be painful, and awkward, and uncomfortable, but the end result is ultimately worth it. And it's also easy to understand that when a parent doesn't care about the outcome of their child, they won't even invest the time necessary to discipline them. 

The same can be thought of when it comes to calling "allies" out on their problematic behavior. 

It is stressful, and emotionally draining to have to explain to people why their behavior harms you. So if a member of the oppressed group is willing to put that aside, the only thing you should be saying to them is

Thank you. 

A lot of my writing centers around fear of losing my voice.

Fear of being ignored.

I know what it's like to be a brown girl struggling to be heard

In a sea of people who don't look like her

And certainly don't think like her.

If my writing can make that brown girl's voice just one decibel louder

Then my time was well-spent. 

Iron sharpens iron right?

Well my iron is striking stuff like water, or wood, or rocks.

It's getting rusted, and dull.

My iron is being reduced to a small tiny nub.

It's all because it's being exposed to things like school, and meetings, and mindlessness conversation.

I hope that when my iron finally finds your iron,

it's worth even being sharpened.

“Sexuality is so much more fluid than we’ve been raised to believe.
We’ve built levies and dams for it. We’ve cut down trees and destroyed neighborhoods for it. All so it can flow in a straight river, and only through the route that’s safest.
But when we let it flow freely, it’s amazing. 
New curves in the Earth are formed, and new ecosystems created.
It’s breathtaking.

Do you really think I am?
Beautiful.
Because for those four seconds I felt.
Beautiful.
It didn’t matter that your breath smelled of tequila and your eyes were glazed over, because you found me.
Beautiful.
I’ve never thought I was, and very rarely do people think I’m.
Beautiful.
But those four seconds. 
Damn.

One time I shared my writing with someone I respect immensely. And they didn't even dislike it, they did something worse.

They didnt even bother reading it.

One day I want my writing to become so big that it is literally shoved down your throat and all of your senses are overstimulated by it.

I want My Writing to roll down the street and crush your house.

I want you to eat your favorite food, except it doesn't taste like your favorite food anymore. It tastes like My Writing.

I want your favorite artist to stop singing songs unless they're My Writing.

I want a national holiday erected in honor of My Writing.

I want your boyfriend to stop sleeping with you because he has to dedicate more time to reading My Writing.

I want you to rue the day you ignored My Writing.

Thank You

I just wanted to take this time to thank anyone who has glanced over anything I've written.

I really appreciate it. I know many people don't take the time out of their day for things like that, especially since I get the most feedback from people I don't know that well.

My blog probably seems like it has a ton of writing on it right now but it's because I've uploaded older things, and I'm trying to get things organized.

I'm actually trying to combine some of my writing and short stories into a book. I know that sounds illogical and impossible, so we will see.

But anyways,

Thank You.

You don't care about me.

We have that in common I guess.

At the end of the day a flag is a thing and a person is a person and one of these things is more valuable than the other and if you don’t understand that then maybe you’re just forgetting about a black man’s humanity.

People really think having a gay BFF is like it is on tv. You guys go shopping together and they pick out your outfits and they are sassy and shady, and it’s just so cute.

Well, it’s not like that. Your friend isn’t a cute little Pomeranian that you can stick into your purse. Your friend is a person, not an accessory.

I really wish we would realize that just because something isn’t offensive to us personally, the fact that someone is offended isn’t insignificant.

Just because something that’s offensive to most black people isn’t offensive to me, doesn’t mean that they are wrong or sensitive.

It doesn’t mean they’re being selfish, or they’re wrong. It means that their tolerance is different than yours.

Bottom line is, don’t put your community down to gain respect from other ones.

Is there every a polite way to say that you want to make out with someone without any emotional commitment? 

Do I send a text, a hallmark card, an e-vite? 

Do I put it on their Google calendar?

Do I say it in person? How do I phrase it in person? 


I just really want us to get to the space where I as a woman, can talk about my sexual needs and desires, without it being shocking or taboo. I am 20 years old, and if I want to get laid, I want to get laid. If it doesn’t have to be with someone who is my significant other, that’s okay. Physical intimacy without emotional attachment can be something I can enjoy, without society seeing me as though I'm some morally corrupt person. 
I’m not broken because sometimes I want to make out with people and not talk to them ever again. 
I'm not broken because sometimes I want to make out with my friends.
I'm broken for other reasons.

I feel like it's very hard for us Black Woman to navigate our sexuality today. Actually, it's always  been hard for us to navigate our sexuality.

On the one hand,we have a good portion of society seeing us as ugly and undesirable. Completely incapable of being liked, and unworthy of attraction. Especially for darker-skinned Black girls. Our bodies are seen as strange and scary. Sarah Baartman comes to mind when I think about my own struggle with this. Our bodies can cause people to look and be amazed, but the same way they would look and be amazed by an animal at the zoo, not because they are actually attracted to it.

On the other hand, we have society berating us if we do display our sexuality. Look at all the flack Nicki Minaj and Beyonce get for doing the same things as their White female counterparts. Their songs about sex (even sex with their husband) are seen as repulsive, and gross. Their sexiness automatically discounts their intelligence in the world's eyes. But the same thing doesn't happen to other singers.

And then there's another awkward category for girls like me. Trying to navigate being seen as desirable when the main Black Women that are actually called sexy have lighter complexions, weaves, and wear makeup. Also trying to accept the fact that even if I fell into those categories, society still would most likely not see me as desirable.

Where do I fit in?

"We only obsess over relationships that feel unfinished."

Damn, that Carrie Bradshaw was a smart girl.

But really though. I've been thinking. This unfinished relationship is like a cheesy romance novel, or a book in the three dollar bin. There's 200 pages, and I'm at page 120, and so far the book is just.. eh. It's not a book that most people would give a second glance, which is why it's so cheap. It doesn't have a shiny cover, and the author isn't that famous. But something about it intrigued me. I think it was the fact that it held opportunity for things unexpected.

I've been reading the book and there's been ups, and downs, happy parts, sad parts, confusing parts, boring parts. But the book hasn't been that good, it doesn't have me hooked. It's because halfway through, the plot took an unexpected turn. Ever since then, the author hasn't really been able to make it all tie together.

I was almost done, but then I lost the book. And even though it wasn't the best book I ever read, it still had about 80 pages left to change my mind. Those 80 pages held an ending that I had no way of predicting.

 It's been missing for about  month or two. I've been trying to get it back, so I can figure out how all of this ends. The suspense is killing me.

I guess it's okay anyways, because I lost the book and apparently you don't want me to find it again.

Trickle-down

Trickle-down?

What's stopping you from holding onto your cup forever?

What if you want to get drunk?

What if you get too drunk, and forget about the trickle-down part?

How come in order for you to embrace who I am,

you feel the need to erase who I am?

Enough of this equality, with conditions.

"I'll respect your humanity, if you become closer to me?"

Disgusting.

Accept every leave of this beautiful weeping willow,

Or leave me firmly planted. 

I don't like your feminism.

I don’t like Emma Watson, Tina Fey, and Taylor Swift feminism. I don’t like Beyoncé- hating feminism.

I like Laverne Cox feminism. I like feminism from hairy girls. I like feminism from fat girls. I like feminism from girls that make society uncomfortable. I like feminism from girls that don’t shave.
 I like feminism from girls that date girls. I like feminism from brown girls.

I like feminism from all of the forgotten girls. The girls that were pushed to the back. The girls who keep waiting for it to all “trickle down.” The girls who were not aesthetically pleasing for the movement.

I don’t like this bullshit I think women are cool feminism in the media.

I like the nitty-gritty, women are being murdered feminism.

I don’t like your feminism. 

I like OUR feminism.

Why I Won't Be Sharing That Raven Video

By now we've all probably seen the Raven Symone and Oprah video, so  I'm not going to link it. Most of my close friends-the social justice warriors they are- completely disagree with the video. Then there are some members of the GSM community who totally agree with Raven's lack of labels. For me personally, as a straight women, I do not think it is my place to comment on Raven's lack of labels in regards to her sexuality. However, as for her race... that's another story.


Labels are not a thing of the past.

I think there's this idea that if everyone started being colorblind, and just identified as human, racism would be over. The only reason racism exists is because "black people keep talking about it." The problem with colorblindness is that it's actually subtle racism. It implies that the only way I can be seen as human, is if race is taken out of the equation. I am a Black woman. I love my skin, I love my culture, I love the way we talk, I love the way we act. I will fight for that culture until the day I die. So try as you might, you are not going to take that away from me. And why would you need to?

Also, even if you don't "see race," the rest of America does. The judicial system does. The police system does.

Labels might be a thing of the past, but the oppression because of these labels is not. When I am being systematically oppressed, in America, I can't just say "I'm American," and rid myself of the problem.

 POC did not come up with the terms for races, but the second we start to actually embrace these terms, is when they become a problem.

Raven is still privileged.

Raven is still a Black woman (or an American woman) but she is also very rich and famous. Let's not forget that. It's a very privileged statement to say you don't want to be labeled Black when your repercussions for being Black are lessened due to your social status. Raven doesn't have to experience racial profiling because she's famous. She doesn't have to worry about being followed home after buying a bag of skittles because she most likely has a bodyguard. I hope to get so rich that one day I forget about my race, but guess what, that probably won't happen.


Raven does not speak for the entire Black community.

Anyone has the right to be labeled however they want. Which is why I want to be called Black, so please don't call me a human. Don't get it twisted. If I tell you to call me a Black woman and I hear "BUT RAVEN SAID," you are problematic. You are also confused honey, because I am not the one. I will not buy into your color-blind ideology to make you feel comfortable.

If you are not apart of the community...

Most of the links to the Raven video are from gross Glenn Beck. First of all, couldn't you find a better person to take that story from? But anyways, like I said before, I'm not part of the GSM community so I really don't have a place to talk about how Raven chooses to label -or not label- her sexuality. Not because I don't care. But because I've never been oppressed for being straight. So if you are not a POC, what gives you the right to talk about how people should or shouldn't identify themselves.

Keep in mind, Raven said she doesn't know where her roots are. This isn't out of laziness, this is out of the fact that her ancestors were enslaved in this country.

I could probably write a longer article with sources, and I could elaborate more. But it's 11:00 am and I just needed to get this out.

There's always a sense of urgency when it comes to relationships. I need to know if he likes me NOW. He needs to make his move NOW. I'm not going to wait around.

But why am I not going to wait around? It's not like I have several other options.

I think it's because I realize that my time is precious, because I'm precious. I'm not something you can just pick up at your convenience, and set down for a later date. I'm rare and valuable. If you wait too long I could expire.

I know it goes against the feminist code of conduct, but I would really describe myself as "wifey" type. I'm very motivated to do well in school, and professionally. I'm someone you can take home to mom, and I can make new friends easily. I'm smart, and I have a diverse set of interests. I'm fairly funny.

If you can't realize that by now, that's not a reflection of me.

It's a reflection of you.

Mourning.

Where is the POC solidarity when even a black man himself tries to silence me by using the "angry black woman" archetype?

Where is the safe haven for my Black body?

My Black Woman body?

There isn't one.

Reject the notion that even though I have more access to jobs than a Black man, that I can have actual power in the Black community.

Realize that we can march all day long for Mike Brown and Trayvonn, but there is no march for our Janay Rice, for our murdered sisters, for our beaten sisters, for our missing sisters.

Black people were the backbone of this country, the founding of America. Not one inch of soil would have been tilled had it not been for our rough and calloused hands.

And who was the backbone of the BlackBone? People who looked like me. Women who spoke like me. Girls who mourned like me.

We don't get anything besides a month and a stamp.

Besides MLK quotes used against us.

Besides a flimsy president, and a pat on the back.

Reject the notion that I owe you ANYTHING when this country owes us EVERYTHING.

The Timing is Wrong.

He's too young.

He's too old.

He's too close.

He's too far.

He's not mature enough.

He's too mature for me.

He has three years left.

He's already graduated.

Nothing seems to line up anymore. Remember the days of middle school and high school where you liked a boy, and you didn't have to worry about his life path? Because chances were you were both in the same grade, and you didn't even know what the heck a life path was?

Well college messes that up. Everyone is coming and going. They're learning, they're interning, they're studying abroad, they're graduating. It is extremely odd to find someone who's clock is aligning with yours anymore.

I kind of just accepted that I would have to wait until graduate school to date, but last night I was thinking. The timing will ALWAYS be wrong. The timing will be wrong to find a love, to find a job, to have a kid, to go to grad school. The timing will never be right in our eyes because we can plan and plan and plan but at the end of the day the future is still unknown.

So why don't I just enjoy the ride? Why don't I like the guy that is illogical to like, and just take the risk? We're young, and I just want to have fun. We can figure out the rest later. We can figure out the state, the date, we can figure out the education, the future, we can just figure that all out later but right now let's just focus on us.

Do we like each other? Do we want to get to know each other?

Then that is enough. The rest will all fall into place.

Mom.

Growing up, my mom was the epitome of the perfect woman. She was smart, confident, successful. She shopped at places like Ann Taylor, and Talbots. She was always off to a business meeting, or traveling to Germany. She had the coolest jackets, and she wore high heels. I could always know when she was on her way to pick me up, because I could hear her heels clacking, and her in the middle of finishing an important business call. My mom taught me that you could have it all. You could be a successful business woman, but you could always have dinner on by 5:00. You could never miss a performance, but you could juggle your job at a Fortune 500 company.

My mom taught me the importance of being a confident Black woman. She taught me about racism, and politics. About how people weren't always genuine, and that not everyone would like me for me. She introduced me to the wonders of NPR, Al Franken, and Rachel Maddow. I grew up looking forward to listening to the Rachel Maddow talk show on the way home from school. We used to sit in the driveway and wait for an NPR story to end before walking inside. I remember the time that a teacher made a negative comment about Uncle Tom when I was in the third grade. My mom made me march back into my school and tell my principal. Growing up my mom was the most liberal person I knew. I never thought I would be able to out-liberal her, even if I attended college.

But then we get older. We realize our parents aren't perfect. We lash out at them. Not because we're "disrespectful teens," but because our illusions are shattered. We are hurt because we realize our parents are no longer our idols. They are hurt because THEY realize that they are no longer our idols. Parents just don't understand, and kids just don't understand why parents just don't understand. Kid's feelings are discounted, parent's rules are ignored. The feeling of respect is essentially lost during puberty.

It's no secret that our parents let us down. I know mine did.

It's no secret that our parents aren't perfect. I know mine weren't.

It took a long time for me to trust my mother again. From the ages of 14-19 there was a lack of a bond. There was a lot of hurt, there was a lot of anger. There was a lot of mis-communication on both ends. There was also a lot of time wasted. 5 years we will never get back.

My mom always knew that she loved me, and believed that she was trying. It wasn't until I got to college that she realized love wasn't enough. There had to be an active effort to understand me, and appreciate me. It wasn't going to be easy. 5 years is a long time to hold onto resentment.

But she never gave up. She never hung up the phone when I called at 12:00 am yelling at her, screaming at her. She never hung up the phone when  I just pleaded to know why my parents "let me end up like this," and why I didn't deserve better. She never punished for me when I would just scream, because I felt so helpless. She didn't stop calling me, she didn't stop texting me. She didn't stop re-filling my prescriptions, and she didn't stop finding me doctors. She made an active effort to right her wrongs. A lot of parents wouldn't do that. A lot of parents would just give up on me. But she didn't.

And sometimes I still DO call crying and upset. Sometimes I DO ruin her day. But you know what? She is trying. She is trying to understand me, and how I feel. She is trying to understand my progressive values. She is trying to understand the fact that I probably won't become a successful business-woman, and that activism is what makes me happy.

I think the best part about my mother is that she isn't perfect.

 But she strives to better herself every day. Whether it's work or her relationships. She just keeps trying.

Happy Birthday.

I am a Black Woman.

And don't you forget it.

I am not a stock photo for your diversity pamphlet.

I am not a token you can drag out for more donations.

I am not a wind-up doll, I am not a source of entertainment.

I am a Black woman.

I am strong.

I am resilient.

I am soulful. 

I am a Black woman.

And don't you forget it.

I really appreciate people respecting my opinions and writing. But it's really hard to resist the urge to scream sometimes.

I like speaking for those who can't speak for themselves, but I like doing it from the heart. I don't like feeling like an automated opinion machine. 

You can't put quarters in me and expect me to sing. 

Worker.

Worker.

I am not a worker, I am a writer. 

My words matter. They have a meaning, they have an impact on people.

And not just the words in the school newspaper. The words I write on here, or any other medium that I choose.

No matter what I write, my words say that you will not silence me. You will not shut me up for your comfort.

My words represent my mother, my aunt, my grandmother. They represent my friends and cousins. They represent every Black woman who has had her voice silenced. 

My words are beautiful in ways that your mind can't even comprehend. My words take more thought than you've probably done in the past year. My words are more healing than any therapy session and louder than any concert

Yes. My words are often angry. But they are dynamic and passionate. They make you think. They make you feel. They cut, but they also heal.

And the best part about my words, is that I don't need anyone's permission to write them. Not you, not society, and not your religious convictions, not your pre-conceived notions. 

They are free of care for stereotypes and judgements. They come faster than they can even be written. They are permanent, they are strong. 

They will not be moved.

I will not be moved.

I will not be stopped by your coded language, and your subtle attacks.

Worker.

Worker?

Is that the best you've got?  

I am not too dramatic, or emotional.

I am perfect.

I'm wondering why people like my articles?

Do they genuinely agree?

Or am I the sassy black friend they always wished they had.

And now that I'm in the paper, it's less dangerous than actually befriending me. 

The stress of everyday life is getting to the point where it's paralyzing.

Writing is my only outlet.

And just like that, he was gone. 

He took the pill with a glass filled with his mother's tears and sweat from his grandfather's brow.

He laid down and closed his eyes. 

He knew it was wrong. 

 But the highness of acceptance made it all worth it.

 He starts choking. 

He hadn't swallowed the pill completely.

He had actually bitten it.

The ashes of his creamated potential filled his lungs.