I read an article posted on Facebook about someone's struggle with being other. It's got me thinking about my own ethnic identity and my decision of the last few years to identify as Other rather than Black. Now lots of folks nowadays have a really diverse racial/ethnic background. This is just one chick's story.
I am a product of multiracial parents. My father's father is Indian and his mother was a descendant of African slaves. My mother's heritage is a bit more confusing...there's a some Spanish (her maternal grandparents are from Venezuela), there's some Asian heritage of unknown origin and there's some African ancestry.
Like many Caribbean families, my family is a hodgepodge of ethnicities. Five of my mother's seven siblings are Hispanic. Not Latino mind you. Their father was a pure Spaniard. I think they identify as Black, at least the ones living in the United States do. Interestingly, it's a question I've never asked.
My father's seven siblings all look Indian except for one who looks more like his mother, a light-skinned Black woman. Their last name is Singh. My father is the oldest and didn't meet his father until he was in his 20s. His mother is a dark-skinned woman of African descent. The story is an interesting one I won't tell here but he has his mother's last name and, much to his father's chagrin, decided against changing it when they finally met. I wonder what my life would have been like had my last name been Singh. No doubt it would have added another layer.
I identify as Black. I've fought long and hard for this privilege. Through my high school years and in my early twenties I was teased by my peers about not being Black. My hair wasn't Black enough. My skin wasn't Black enough. And my heritage wasn't Black enough. I wasn't Southern. I'd never had chitlins. I didn't know you ate black-eyed peas on New Year's for good luck. I wasn't African-American. I owned a t-shirt with "Just Black" emblazoned across the front. When I arrived in Chicago at the age of 24, and started hanging out with people whose ancestors were mostly from Alabama, Arkansas, and Mississippi, I received quite an education.
Growing up in NYC, I was regularly mistaken for Dominican, sold on being part Korean by quite a few shop owners, and possibly from a plethora (i love that word!) of African countries. When I arrived in Chicago, I was Black/African American. I remember the first time someone assumed my ethnicity as Black/African American, I was startled.
Among my three siblings, I am the Black one. One is...hmmm...no idea, one is Pakistani, and one is Mexican. True story.
Over the years, I've changed the way I think of my racial/ethnic identity. I'm more comfortable with my multiracial background. Yet, I solidly have a Black woman's mindset and identify as such. I can't imagine mating with a man who is not Black. I prefer them dark. When I was younger, it was intentional. If I ever had children, I didn't want them to doubt, in any way, that they were Black. So i needed some sure nuff Blackness to counteract all of my stuff. And on some level, I still feel this way.
I think this is another Part I blog. There's so much to explore here. We haven't even discussed the fact that I now mark Other on forms, or that I'm okay with identifying as Black, after all it is a diasporic term, but not African American. Nor have we discussed the fact that my mother refused to identify as any racial/ethnic group but instead insisted she was colorless and Christian.
So there's more to come. Some day.
Always remember Jesus loves you...doesn't matter who you are, what you've done, or what your issues are. I'm living proof.
February 29, 2012
February 27, 2012
my relationship status is single.
I think because my fortieth (I can't write the number yet...) birthday is approaching faster than I'd like, I've been thinking a lot about the status of my life. Usually, I start thinking about the state of my life a month or two prior to my birthday but I think because this is a big one, I'm preoccupied with it. In a million years, I would never have thought that I would be this age, unmarried and childless.
I've wanted to be married since I was 12 years old. I remember thinking at 12, that I would be married by the time I was 18. Thinking back, I'm pretty sure my mother would never have allowed it! At 17/18, I thought it was right around the corner despite the fact that I wasn't actually seeing anyone I could marry. I went to lunch with a male friend every day my senior year and we would talk about that type of stuff. In my college essay, I wrote about my future which held a thriving medical practice but also marriage and five kids.
I believe that, like many women, my relationship with my father has heavily influenced my status. I have a hard time trusting men. I have a hard time believing the things they say. Now that I'm older, I can see how my early experiences shaped my relative intolerance for what I perceive as bullshit. Unfortunately, and I recognize this as something I need to work on, once you trigger my bullshit detector, I find myself unable to deal with you. This makes me a bit intolerant. But I'm not sure that's an entirely a bad thing.
Some folks would say its me. That I'm standing in my own way. And perhaps that's true. I don't often meet men who I find stimulating. I mean I meet men who I want to see naked but really nothing more.
It could also be that the kind of man I want/need they don't make very often. And I'm probably even more limited by the fact that I prefer a black man. I guess I would consider a Latino but a Caucasian or Asian...not so much. There's a variety of reasons why that's the case. Well really one main reason I won't mention here. I don't have a list of the type of man I want but I do know that he would need to be an open kind of man and one who wasn't too interested in trying to control me. At the same time he would need to be able to tell me to go sit down somewhere. I'm a little on the strong side.
I think I come off too hard or something. My mouth is too smart. I'm too independent. I appear to not need a man. And on some level that's true. I own my own business. I own my own home. I travel and do what I want to do and don't need someone else to fund these things. I'm not rich (yet) but I'm certainly not poor. Men tend to love me for the same reasons they end up not liking me so much. I'm a great friend but Lolah is a whole lot to get involved with. Most men don't seem to have that type of energy. I've even been called scarey by a guy who I was attracted to but ultimately could not have been with.
I have thoughts of adopting a child when I'm 42. It's enough time for me to get out of debt and get my life together and I'd still have the energy to mother. I desperately want to mother but I don't desperately want to be married. At least I don't think so. Or at least that's what I say. I think I'm loathe to admit I want a husband. I think I perceive it as a weakness. I'm not sure why.
Don't get me wrong...I'm not lamenting my situation. Please don't post any comments that I could perceive as encouraging. Perhaps it's true I just haven't met him yet. Perhaps it's true that I just need to stay encouraged and hold on. Perhaps. These things I already know and have been told a cajillion times so, really, it's not necessary. This is just a topic I've been thinking about and reflecting on. So you may see related posts.
Thanking you in advance....always remember, Jesus loves you. It doesn't matter who you are, what you've done or what your issues are. I'm living proof.
I've wanted to be married since I was 12 years old. I remember thinking at 12, that I would be married by the time I was 18. Thinking back, I'm pretty sure my mother would never have allowed it! At 17/18, I thought it was right around the corner despite the fact that I wasn't actually seeing anyone I could marry. I went to lunch with a male friend every day my senior year and we would talk about that type of stuff. In my college essay, I wrote about my future which held a thriving medical practice but also marriage and five kids.
I believe that, like many women, my relationship with my father has heavily influenced my status. I have a hard time trusting men. I have a hard time believing the things they say. Now that I'm older, I can see how my early experiences shaped my relative intolerance for what I perceive as bullshit. Unfortunately, and I recognize this as something I need to work on, once you trigger my bullshit detector, I find myself unable to deal with you. This makes me a bit intolerant. But I'm not sure that's an entirely a bad thing.
Some folks would say its me. That I'm standing in my own way. And perhaps that's true. I don't often meet men who I find stimulating. I mean I meet men who I want to see naked but really nothing more.
It could also be that the kind of man I want/need they don't make very often. And I'm probably even more limited by the fact that I prefer a black man. I guess I would consider a Latino but a Caucasian or Asian...not so much. There's a variety of reasons why that's the case. Well really one main reason I won't mention here. I don't have a list of the type of man I want but I do know that he would need to be an open kind of man and one who wasn't too interested in trying to control me. At the same time he would need to be able to tell me to go sit down somewhere. I'm a little on the strong side.
I think I come off too hard or something. My mouth is too smart. I'm too independent. I appear to not need a man. And on some level that's true. I own my own business. I own my own home. I travel and do what I want to do and don't need someone else to fund these things. I'm not rich (yet) but I'm certainly not poor. Men tend to love me for the same reasons they end up not liking me so much. I'm a great friend but Lolah is a whole lot to get involved with. Most men don't seem to have that type of energy. I've even been called scarey by a guy who I was attracted to but ultimately could not have been with.
I have thoughts of adopting a child when I'm 42. It's enough time for me to get out of debt and get my life together and I'd still have the energy to mother. I desperately want to mother but I don't desperately want to be married. At least I don't think so. Or at least that's what I say. I think I'm loathe to admit I want a husband. I think I perceive it as a weakness. I'm not sure why.
Don't get me wrong...I'm not lamenting my situation. Please don't post any comments that I could perceive as encouraging. Perhaps it's true I just haven't met him yet. Perhaps it's true that I just need to stay encouraged and hold on. Perhaps. These things I already know and have been told a cajillion times so, really, it's not necessary. This is just a topic I've been thinking about and reflecting on. So you may see related posts.
Thanking you in advance....always remember, Jesus loves you. It doesn't matter who you are, what you've done or what your issues are. I'm living proof.
February 21, 2012
Jesus was a harm reductionist. (reprint)
So in another life, I attended seminary. I wrote this article about Jesus being a harm reductionist. Haven't thought about this article in quite some time but am pretty darn steamed at the Christians who continue to misrepresent Jesus. You're welcome to post your thoughts...I'm pretty sure there are those who would disagree...and yes, it's a bit long....
Before I came to seminary, I used to supply condoms and lube to young people for a living. It’s a paradox, I know. Christians don’t do that kind of stuff, at the least the ones that I know don’t. The Christians I know pretend that young people don’t have sex. We pretend that abstinence-only education works. We pretend that it’s okay to tell kids that condoms don’t work. We pretend that young people are not following our example, telling them to do what we SAY not what we DO. We pretend that sending kids messages about sex that say sex is bad and dirty is somehow going to save them from disease and unintended pregnancy. We pretend that because we are not talking about sex that we are not sending messages to kids about sex. We pretend that this is what Jesus would have us to do.
Before I came to seminary, I used to supply condoms and lube to kids and every once in a while, someone would ask me, “Doesn’t your job conflict with your faith?” And I would respond, “No. Jesus was (and is) a harm reductionist.” (Harm reduction is a simple concept. It is the process of encouraging and affirming behaviors that decrease the risk associated with a particular behavior. Most people are familiar with this concept in relation to needle exchange, where intravenous drug users can trade in their dirty “works” for clean “works” or cleaning agents like bleach in an effort to reduce transmission of blood borne diseases like HIV and Hepatitis. Or the commercial sex worker who might continue to work the streets but who now gets her johns, or most of them, to use a condom. It is allowing people to make their own choices and participating in what would be considered “risky” behaviors but offering, encouraging and affirming safer alternatives.)
After you’ve seen your 3rd or 4th 15-year old contract HIV, no, after you’ve seen your 1st 15-year old contract HIV, you realize that only offering kids “JUST SAY NO!” just doesn’t cut it. You realize that this is serious business. You realize that even though you would like for every kid you know to stay abstinent until they are in positive, healthy monogamous relationships (in my head that equals marriage but I know that’s not everybody’s take on it), the reality is that they are not. The reality is that there are 12 year olds having sex. The reality is that there are 13 years olds having babies. The reality is that there are 14 year olds getting sexually transmitted diseases. The reality is that there are 15 year olds contracting HIV. And these are not just kids who are juvenile delinquents or on drugs, these are young people in yours and my church youth group, Black, White, Latino, and Asian, rich and poor, high academic achievers and athletes, hip hoppers and preppies. These are your kids, and some day my kids, too.
At that point you realize you have to advocate for comprehensive sexuality education, laying out all of the facts for young people so that they can develop some critical thinking skills and make choices for themselves. You realize that you have to practice harm reduction when it comes to kids and sex even if you know that the possibility of being excommunicated from your church will become real because of it. You have to tell kids about condoms and other forms of barrier and non-barrier protection and make sure they know how to use them properly. You have to tell kids, “There are three things that can happen as a result of having sex: 1) Pregnancy 2) STDs, including HIV 3) Nothing at all.” You have to ask the questions that embarrass the youth you know and give them answers about sex that most adults are afraid to answer.
And you do all of this not only because you’ve seen a lot of terrible things but because you remember what you were doing at that age. See, I started participating in sexual activity when I was 13. I grew up in a stable home and was raised in a conservative church. I am sure my mother is still pretending that I have not had sex because I am an unmarried daughter. And I wonder if I had had an adult in my life who told me the real deal, who told me I would get horny, who taught me how to use a condom, who explained to me about choices, passive and active, who told me that I could be sexual without having intercourse, who affirmed who I was as a sexual being, maybe I would not have made some of the choices I have made and been through some of the horrible stuff I have been through because of those choices.
See, when you are a teenager and you become aware of yourself as a sexual being, then it is ALL about that. Your whole life is about who likes you and who you like, and how far have you gone and how does that compare with your friends and are you fat and are you too fat for boys (or girls) to like you and why doesn’t the person you like like you back and …. And because everyone is so hush-hush about sex you think that you should definitely be doing it and its fun because it’s forbidden and after all, you know everything, so why not. And he doesn’t look like he has a disease. And my best friend told me that his cousin told him that if he sticks his finger in his ear and gets some ear wax and then puts the finger with the ear wax in the girl’s vagina and it burns her, then she has an STD, so I have a fool proof way of finding that type of stuff out. And I can keep from getting pregnant by shaking up a can of coke and spraying it up my vagina immediately after having sex, so no worries there.
One night you get a phone call from a 17-year old kid in your youth group at church and after he has hemmed and hawed, he’ll ask you about emergency contraception. He’ll tell you that all he and his girlfriend ever have is unprotected sex. You will be torn about whether you should give him this information but you do it because you realize that he is turning to you for help and guidance and you have to give it to him. You believe Jesus would do it. You tell him that you do not advocate emergency contraception. You tell him to call the local Planned Parenthood in the morning and that he and his girlfriend can receive care for free or little money there. You tell him that if they decide to go that route that he had better be with her every step of the way. You realize this is not the time to berate him for being irresponsible or for having sex in the first place. You tell him that this will require a follow-up conversation about sex and relationships (including his relationship with Jesus) at a later date. You thank God that this young person thought enough of you to call for help. You pray that you did not let him down. You follow-up.
You reflect on the fact that you believe that Jesus is a harm reductionist. You think about how none of the gospel stories ever talk about him forcing someone to do what he wanted them to do. You think about how all of them offer grace, mercy and forgiveness without condemnation. You think about how all of them offer choices. You think about how Jesus loves you despite the choices you have made in your life. You think about your own sexual journey and how it was a journey to harm reduction for you that has found completion in abstinence and advocacy. You believe that was God’s grace covering you. It affirms your belief that Jesus is a harm reductionist. You know that Jesus would give out condoms, too.
Always remember, Jesus loves you. It doesn't matter who you are, what you've done or what your issues are. I'm living proof.
February 20, 2012
it's my funeral and i'll plan it how I feel.
I spent most of my weekend thinking about work, Whitney Houston, Bobby Brown, Facebook, God, and church. I also read a book by Jill Mansell. I love her. You know I think I'm British or at least that is where I should have been born...just sayin'... Reading is my favorite procrastination.
I was completely enthralled by Whitney Houston's funeral. I've never been a huge fan of hers (just not into balladeers) but she is someone who was part of my life in that her music is definitely associated with certain points in my life. As a Christian, I was amazed that God used her so tremendously in death. I mean there was preaching...unapologetic Jesus preaching...on CNN!!! I never thought I'd see the day. It tickled me that people spoke in tongues. It bothered me that they kept referring to the service as Baptist. I've been to a traditional Baptist funeral...that wasn't it. It definitely had a neo-Pentecostal flair to it. Although, Pentecostalism is NOT a denomination and Baptist is....but I digress.
I was rather appalled by the way Bobby Brown has been demonized by Whitney Houston's death. She was taking drugs before she met him. They were addictive personalities living in a co-dependent haven/hell. She was getting her act together and he's been doing the same. They were married for 15 years. He shouldn't have NEEDED an invitation to her funeral. He's her daughter's father and she was step-mother to his kids and those kids knew and loved her. He is grieving, too. He was Whitney Houston's family. Confused as to why anyone would think differently. Whitney Houston's choices are not Bobby Brown's fault. She was a grown woman making choices. It just made me kind of sad. Facebook was venomous.
The other thing about the funeral...Uncle Ray. I couldn't listen to him after a while. His pain was the realest of everyone I heard speak. It was too much for me to bear. I ended up putting him on mute.
Death of another always makes you think about your own mortality. While watching the funeral, I thought I needed to plan out my own memorial service. What if I die tomorrow? I don't want a funeral per say. I'm not interested in a casket. Just a really nice picture...preferably one where my eyebrows are done, I don't look greasy, and I have on makeup. I was thinking I should plan because if I remain unmarried and my mother plans it, I'm pretty sure I won't like it. I want everyone to wear black just because it's my favorite color to wear! I want people to get up and say really nice things about me...whoever wants. I want there to be lots of laughs. I doesn't have to necessarily be in a church. I want one of my friends to eulogize me. I know lots of pastor types...so I'm thinking Joy or James or even Tahir. I love my current pastor, but these people know me in a way he doesn't and they are ministers of the gospel. I want Andrea and Mya and Stephanie and Anne and Corinne to say some words. I want my sister to write a poem or maybe a short story or even a play. I want there to be a favor of some sort...not a bookmark or a little card with my picture...but maybe everyone gets my favorite lotion (Booth's Egyptian Aragan Oil Body Butter) or some of my favorite tea (which is currently Honey Ginseng green tea from The Republic of Tea). I'm still thinking it through but I want it to reflect my uniqueness and my differentness. After all, I do black differently.
Okay...this is getting long. Lastly, I thought about God. I think about God a lot. I don't do right by God. God loves me with everything God's got and, at best, I'm a lukewarm lover. I want to do better but my best laid plans are constantly foiled by my utter laziness. I struggle with feeling ashamed (although apparently that's not enough to make me do better) and yet God continues to love me. It frustrates the heck out of me. It makes me want to cuss.
So there's no particular resolution to any of this...similar to one of the stories in my most recent Jill Mansell book...to me she left one of the story lines unresolved and without a happy ending and it frustrated me. Such is my life....grateful though I am for it since I've got a pretty darn good life. I hate sounding even the least bit ungrateful although I liked this quote by Stephen Elliott - "White people problems, someone could say. But I don't think there's anything to be gained from dismissing someone's troubles."
Quick thoughts about church...I love church. I am a church person. I love going to church. I love being the church. Amen.
Yes, I know. I crammed in A LOT.
Anyway, don't forget...Jesus loves you (I'm trying hard not to). It doesn't matter who you are, what you've done or what your issues are. I'm living proof.
I was completely enthralled by Whitney Houston's funeral. I've never been a huge fan of hers (just not into balladeers) but she is someone who was part of my life in that her music is definitely associated with certain points in my life. As a Christian, I was amazed that God used her so tremendously in death. I mean there was preaching...unapologetic Jesus preaching...on CNN!!! I never thought I'd see the day. It tickled me that people spoke in tongues. It bothered me that they kept referring to the service as Baptist. I've been to a traditional Baptist funeral...that wasn't it. It definitely had a neo-Pentecostal flair to it. Although, Pentecostalism is NOT a denomination and Baptist is....but I digress.
I was rather appalled by the way Bobby Brown has been demonized by Whitney Houston's death. She was taking drugs before she met him. They were addictive personalities living in a co-dependent haven/hell. She was getting her act together and he's been doing the same. They were married for 15 years. He shouldn't have NEEDED an invitation to her funeral. He's her daughter's father and she was step-mother to his kids and those kids knew and loved her. He is grieving, too. He was Whitney Houston's family. Confused as to why anyone would think differently. Whitney Houston's choices are not Bobby Brown's fault. She was a grown woman making choices. It just made me kind of sad. Facebook was venomous.
The other thing about the funeral...Uncle Ray. I couldn't listen to him after a while. His pain was the realest of everyone I heard speak. It was too much for me to bear. I ended up putting him on mute.
Death of another always makes you think about your own mortality. While watching the funeral, I thought I needed to plan out my own memorial service. What if I die tomorrow? I don't want a funeral per say. I'm not interested in a casket. Just a really nice picture...preferably one where my eyebrows are done, I don't look greasy, and I have on makeup. I was thinking I should plan because if I remain unmarried and my mother plans it, I'm pretty sure I won't like it. I want everyone to wear black just because it's my favorite color to wear! I want people to get up and say really nice things about me...whoever wants. I want there to be lots of laughs. I doesn't have to necessarily be in a church. I want one of my friends to eulogize me. I know lots of pastor types...so I'm thinking Joy or James or even Tahir. I love my current pastor, but these people know me in a way he doesn't and they are ministers of the gospel. I want Andrea and Mya and Stephanie and Anne and Corinne to say some words. I want my sister to write a poem or maybe a short story or even a play. I want there to be a favor of some sort...not a bookmark or a little card with my picture...but maybe everyone gets my favorite lotion (Booth's Egyptian Aragan Oil Body Butter) or some of my favorite tea (which is currently Honey Ginseng green tea from The Republic of Tea). I'm still thinking it through but I want it to reflect my uniqueness and my differentness. After all, I do black differently.
Okay...this is getting long. Lastly, I thought about God. I think about God a lot. I don't do right by God. God loves me with everything God's got and, at best, I'm a lukewarm lover. I want to do better but my best laid plans are constantly foiled by my utter laziness. I struggle with feeling ashamed (although apparently that's not enough to make me do better) and yet God continues to love me. It frustrates the heck out of me. It makes me want to cuss.
So there's no particular resolution to any of this...similar to one of the stories in my most recent Jill Mansell book...to me she left one of the story lines unresolved and without a happy ending and it frustrated me. Such is my life....grateful though I am for it since I've got a pretty darn good life. I hate sounding even the least bit ungrateful although I liked this quote by Stephen Elliott - "White people problems, someone could say. But I don't think there's anything to be gained from dismissing someone's troubles."
Quick thoughts about church...I love church. I am a church person. I love going to church. I love being the church. Amen.
Yes, I know. I crammed in A LOT.
Anyway, don't forget...Jesus loves you (I'm trying hard not to). It doesn't matter who you are, what you've done or what your issues are. I'm living proof.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)