Tag: Black

Cause Im Freeeeeeeeee, Freefallin

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Cover of "Up in the Air [Blu-ray]"
Cover of Up in the Air [Blu-ray]
Take your pick – the Tom Petty original or John Mayer, which Im partial to.

Today is an obvious title, because after the last few days, thinking more than a little bit is off the agenda. I tried to switch my flight so I could take some meetings here in Turkey, but it turned into a disaster, including me having no flight back to the Middle East. It took 4+ days of calling and hours on Google voice (bless them) to finally get calmly booked on a flight for tomorrow. Now that its all settled there havene really been any downsides. I got to explore the Asian side of Istanbul, which is far more financial and residential than the European side. I got to experience traffic crossing the bridges multiple times during rush hour, and I got to spend all day doing nothing and ordering room service. Not a bad trip.

I think the best thing was the feeling of euphoria after I checked in for my flight tomorrow, which was the even that led to me knowing I didnt have a flight on Sunday. I am so outrageously happy. I have been happy this whole period of time, since it finally sunk in 2.5 weeks ago that I managed to escape Provo, school and any other weight of my former life. Traveling has allowed me to make a clean break with my former life and do all the prep work necessary for preparing for my new super-awesome life, apparently jetting around the globe, meeting really nice people, and most importantly feeling free. Free from worrying about what I look like, whens the last time I waxed my face, what do my clothes look like right now, how crazy is my hair. Free from worrying about what others think of my behavior, me staying home from church, or buying Taco Bell on a Sunday. Free from wondering what people are thinking about me. I basically know here – its shes really tall and foreign. And Im ok with that – cause I sooooo am. It wasnt the most comfortable feeling in the world, but at least its honest and transparent and obvious. Not all the insidious things I wonder if people are thinking about me in Provo.

Im not saying the box I was in was anyone’s fault but my own. I wanted to be one of them, and considered them to be my people – but I wasnt. I never fit in. The nice thing about being out here is that Im not one of them, so I dont try to fit in, which makes it so much easier to actually do so! Ive made friends on the traveling road, so much faster than Ive made friends at any point in my life. I already made a friend to meet in Paris on my way back to NYC, Ive made friends with a girl in my same company in Turkey. I feel at ease and confident with myself so I am open to the world. Im still working out how to say no to hawkers and aggressives, but regular people and I are friends. Its nice not to suspect the whole world of being against you, and here when I do think it, at least there is a rational why they might, rather than all the weird reasons I didnt fit in Provo.

I just want to learn to hold on to this feeling. I could conquer NYC, my new job, anything, including getting back in shape without all the bullshit that comes with whys, and shoulds. Im really so grateful for being free. Its why I left Southern California to go to the East Coast – so that I could be free and make mistakes on my own and learn from them, without being hemmed up by someone else’s ideas of what I should do, or at least my ideas of what I thought others thought I should do. Its basically the feeling I get every time I hit Vegas and start seeing minorities again, and the band around my chest loosens and I can breathe. You are just one of the crowd, so everything is ok again, rather than the squeaky nail that gets pounded down per the Japanese saying.

It may be extreme, but Im free for the first time in my life I feel freaking free! And man does it feel sooo much better than all the weight Ive been carrying around my whole life about being me, and big curly-haired, and Black, and Hispanic and female and Mormon, and smart and whatever else I identified as different from the norm. All the things that I let define me, but now there’s just me. One whole person, who has flaws but I can own my own feelings about it. No more guilt or shame. Just me figuring it out. Much easier to do without that backpack with all the rocks I put in. Good job George Clooney. You really did know what you were talking about.

‘Cause Im Not Beautiful Like You, Im Beautiful Like Me

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The Loge of the Empress in the upper enclosure...
The Loge of the Empress in the upper enclosure of the Hagia Sophia. From here the empress and the court ladies watched the proceedings down below the basilica. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The Church of the Holy Wisdom, commonly known ...
The Church of the Holy Wisdom, commonly known as Hagia Sophia in English, is a former Greek Orthodox church converted to a mosque, now a museum, in Istanbul. It is universally acknowledged as one of the great buildings of the world. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Angry Girl Rock Band: Joydrop.

This is going to be a strange combination of my experience in the Hagia/Aya Sophia and my personal experience of , connected by the thin line of peace. That quiet inner peace you get when youre in tune with the world and yourself. Its a feeling I had in the Hagia Sophia and one that Im developing when looking in the mirror.

Its also about the feelings of beauty when you are so out of place in a culture – every time I see a group of locals on the street and I hear them laugh really really loud as they pass – I “know” they are talking about me and how odd I/my hair/my height/my whatever looks compared to what they are used to and I feel strange. Its not an automatically bad feeling, but after a few days of it – its really hard to feel positive, especially sitting in our new hotel in Izmir where the entire wall seems to be a mirror. And I feel ginormous. Like the bed in comparison behind me seems small – and its a full.

Its hard in a world where most people (from my perspective) seem to fit in to be in a place where you are constantly reminded that you are not the norm. Yesterday, we went to a park where all these elementary children were walking by. Every single one of them wanted to wave and say hi to the obvious foreigner. The friend I am traveling with, everyone keeps speaking to in Turkish. I get the “bye-bye” on the plane and he gets – well – whatever they said in Turkish as we got off.

Im not sure what I want exactly. Its not a bad thing to be different. Part of it means that I dont have to work that hard for people to remember me. At church, at school, apparently around the world, there’s just one me. Except for that girl my best friend saw in France who looked just like me. It also sometimes means people want to talk to me. Especially when Im new in a ward, people love to come “fellowship” me, assuming Im lost or a new convert to the LDS faith. It makes breaking the ice a bit easier, which is always a welcome event. But its also jarring. In my head Im just like them. The world is pretty stable from my perspective, so I think oh hey Im Mormon just like the rest of them, or Im a tourist just like lots of people walking by. And then there’s the wake-up call from my black friends learning Im Mormon saying “You know you’re black right” or the 10th Turk that day calling out “I like your hair” that just makes you think, right not the same, mental readjustment. Sometimes its not just physical traits – its also hearing from someone you trust, that you’re particular about things and people, while you think “I go along to get along all the time!”

The image I have in my head of what I look like and act/think like in comparison to the rest of the world, isnt as stark as it must be to them.  But when I take a beat such as when I was in the Blue Mosque earlier today, or the Aya Sofia earlier this week, I feel in sync with myself and my life again and its like the external forced awareness melts away again. There is something about places of worship – even if they are not currently used as such – that houses that quiet hushed peace that is so hard to find in everyday life. You can be in a room that people made beautiful in an attempt to express their devotion to God and feel the combined prayers of thousands of years of petitioners. You remind yourself that there is a God, and Im doing my best to do the things He wants me to do. It makes you feel a lot less alone and spotlighted when you are so out there on the spectrum.

Right now, doing what I think God wants, involves traveling and going places I have dreamed of going my whole life, while dealing with the truths you learn about yourself when you step outside of your normal routine. Im also grateful to be traveling with a friend who is far more flexible about some things than I am, and is always in a good mood regardless of outside events. Except when there is snoring.

So I may not be the size or look or personality that I think constitutes beauty – although that odd man the other day seemed to be a fan – but there is still a way to feel beautiful and content and at peace in a lonely world; if I can just remember that after each small crack in the foundation.

If I Could Take it All Back Now, I Wouldn’t

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English: Sultanahmet Mosque in Istanbul, Turkey
English: Sultanahmet Mosque in Istanbul, Turkey (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Its not my blog without some Eminem. Ive seen him twice in concert and both times were awesome.

So Im in Turkey and have been for a few days, after a few days in Jordan. I literally have no idea what time zone Im on, what day of the week it is or when Im supposed to be sleeping so its 2am somewhere in the world and Im awake. For a little bit – I used to think the story I told myself about getting back from China and only being awake for 3-4 hours at a time and then sacking out for 8 over a two week period was a ridiculous story. I now recognize it was completely accurate.

Life in Turkey is interesting after 1.5 days in Jordan. In both places, I am a novelty. I am taller than everyone in the country it seems, especially as a woman. I have seen very few Black people in either country, but the ones that are there are usually African and I dont dress or act African. I also have insanely curly hair. How people deal with those differences is the big rub.

In Jordan, I was with my best friend. When we go to restaurants, people do not look at or address me – it would be considered extremely impolite until I ask to be addressed. Although it seems many women in the country would expect the man to be the public face in that situation. Its not that different than in America, where perhaps the man might order for you – but its sometimes considered paternalistic and archaic. Well not in Jordan. People were very kind and willing to help. Its like there are no lines between the in-group and out-group, at least not publicly. A man standing on the side of the road when we are trying to get a suitcase into the car feels extremely comfortable weighing in on how we should position it for best use.

On the streets, there are just large bands of roving boys/men. The few women you see are always accompanied by a man, or you see them in the restaurants or shops, never just out on the streets with friends. When I catch someone staring at me, which happened constantly in the day I was there, they always look away quickly so they do not get caught staring impolitely at a woman. The roles inside the home seemed rather traditional as well. The family we visited – the woman was primarily responsible dealing with the children when they were problematic; but, the father spent just as much time playing with them and attempting to discipline them – they just didnt listen. 🙂 She did not speak much English and I spoke very little Arabic, so most of our interaction was the four adults sitting in the room watching Nick cartoons (which are really weird) and then some BBC programming. While the kids ran in and out with the new toys we had gotten them, that made a ton of noise. Im pretty sure the parents will disown us soon.

Turkey is a whole different world.  We are staying in the extremely touristy section of Istanbul – Sultanahmet. I got off the tram, after three hours of traveling from the airport, and immediately got accosted by a man selling carpets. I am apparently incapable of figuring out how to say no, without feeling guilty and rude, so I followed him around the corner and down the stairs of this building – knowing that I  would be the star of Taken 3 – Im an idiot. Fortunately, they just wanted to give me apple tea and try to sell over priced carpets to me. The next male encounter was on my way back from taking some scenic pictures of Istanbul that night. People just throw random English out to see if you will take the bait, and I did. He eventually showed me a phone full of pictures of random Asian women he had also taken pictures with. And then made me link arms with him as he walked me back to my hotel – I originally just thought he wanted me to eat at his restaurant! Apparently I was wrong, because when I forced him to leave me before he found out where I was staying, a kiss on the lips was requested. I quickly said no, and ran away, taking a detour just in case he tried to follow me. These interactions quickly made me miss the ignoral of Jordan. Here, Im just another American tourist, to sell cheap crap to, and potentially hook up with.

So a novelty in both worlds, but such different interactions. There is something dehumanizing about both styles though. In both, I feel like less of a person – one as an object to be held apart and the other as an object to be exploited  Neither seem to consider me and what I would want, although of course neither is my culture so I probably do not warrant an entire change of style, based on my mere existence. I dont know how I will make friends in either world. Im a third gender in Jordan. Men treat me more like they would other men – they can say things they would never say in front of their wives, sisters, mothers, (mostly consisting of gay jokes and farts), but I am still not a man. They still must treat me far more conciliatory than they would normally, without the strict structure surrounding their interaction with Muslim women. In Turkey, Im a tourist. Im neither gender nor human – Im money. And considering I do want food, and jewelry and maybe even a rug by the end of the trip, it will probably work for them to “Ask me one question” before I go. 

Im sure things will continue to feel unsettled – this is a lot of change for me in a short time, after what seems like a lifetime of same. And I miss my bed and my own bathroom and not traveling while having a period. But so far, I still embrace my decision to leave the known and travel out into the world that I still cannot believe I found. Im sure there will be many more surprising things to encounter during the next two weeks in Turkey, but I will try to post some pictures soon. My new hobby (photography) awaits.

You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman

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English: Wild hair
English: Wild hair (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My newest thoughts brought to you by Aretha Franklin. So for me the point of this blog is to talk about all three categories of my fabulously obvious title. So I try to mark by category what I think each post refers to although there is apparently massive overlap. Hard to tease them out in my life.

Today’s topic: Good Hair. I still havent seen Chris Rock’s documentary (on the list), but I have mostly whats considered good hair. Its curly and crazy, but it grows pretty long and stays straight with enough heat and no humidity. When I was really little, I used to cry everytime my mother tried to comb through my hair, and my sisters and I wore it in a ton of random braids sprouting out of our heads with the bubble bands that used to pop your finger and hurt terribly when you missed. But in 7th grade, surrounded by mostly white students with awesomely straight hair I desperately wanted to wear my hair out.

Thus began my Fridays of sitting 3 hours in a chair, while I was burned by extremely hot combs that sat in little metal ovens. You would sit in various chairs, while the sylist feathered other people in and out of your appointment time. It took HOURS to get it straight, and then no washing for as long as you could stand it and then back to the chair. Its a different life than most people – everything dries out black hair and scalps, so the less washing the better – and it does handle oils better than most white hair, but still it gets dirty. So every two weeks back in the chair. I tried relaxing it once in 8th grade. That resulted in me cutting most of my hair off, as it was damaged, not at all straighter, and it never grew past my boob again. It used to be all the way down my back. Im still occasionally sad about that experiment.

So I kept up that schedule – the chair and two weeks, through volleyball practice, track meets and summers, until college. Going east one would think it would be easier to find someone to deal with my hair, but even black hairdressers there had problems. So I started washing it on my own and trying curly every once in a while – in a big ponytail at the back of my head. It was crazy. And then when I moved to Utah – I let a white stylist handle it and it wasnt so bad. It didnt get as straight as it used to in California or for as long, but it was better than straightening it myself, which was never going to happen.

That story may feel fairly benign, but its amazing how much all women define themselves by their hair. Maybe because it takes so long – men can buzz their heads look like an idiot for two weeks and then its over. Hair grown back. Women are sort of committed to those bangs the second the first cut is made. I dont think even I realized how much having crazy frizzy hair was bothering me until I went to Hawaii, and I saw the Islanders walking around with their version of combed out fro. It was like heaven, and the first time I saw a white girl with her blond straight hair I was incensed. What were they doing here ruining the minorities’ good time? Ive never so quickly irrationally hated a person or group except for that first week in Hawaii. It was like paradise marred by the people I had finally escaped. The feeling of having found my people, my place was  lanced every time I saw straight short skinny mainlanders. I got over it eventually, but its probably why I like New York. It feels like freedom from an oppressive standard – and while it may not be their fault, its certainly stiffling to try to live amongst them as one who can never conform enough, even if I wanted to. Genetics is drawing that line in this instance.

So I finally gave up. I mean a bad short haircut saved by me figuring out that curly hair actually worked in it forced my hand, but still, in the past year and a half its never been straightened. Its a whole new world. I didnt do it to reclaim an identity or make a statement – it was too much money and time to maintain the straight look and I decided I no longer cared. Its amazing how much my hair means to people. To my mother, born two generations ago, its claiming “bad hair” and looks wild and crazy and unprofessional. To her, Im giving up the fight to assimilate in and gain the privileges her generation fought for but so clearly showcasing the things that are different between the two races. On the other hand, I get so many compliments I get on my hair from all people. Black, white, asian, etc who just looooove how much volume I can get and how it just seems to work. For me, I love waking up each morning to the ever growing mass, sticking in a few random bobby pins and going outside. Its my own liberation from myself and the norms I thought I had to live by. Now I spend my money trying new curly hair products – I still swear by Kerastase and now Devacurl – in case anyone was wondering.

So now there are people who know me who have never seen my hair straight. Its funny how we can change so much so fast – even though it seems so small. Maybe one day Ill go back to the occasional blow out, but until then, freedom is looking pretty – literally.

I’ve Been Trying to Get Down to the Heart of the Matter

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English: President Barack Obama tapes an inter...
English: President Barack Obama tapes an interview for the Daily Show with Jon Stewart at the Harman Center for the Arts in Washington, D.C., October 27, 2010. (Official White House Photo by Pete Souza) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A cover by India.Arie. So I was still mad today, until I spent some time at church and with some of my really good female friends, and then – the final kicker – went and stared at the temple for a while. It calmed down some of my anxiety and extreme anger to the point where I could see that I was stronger than I had been. Which makes all the nonsense worth it. Let me tell you another way.

Sometimes I imagine my future appearance on The Daily Show about my book (assuming its still running when I end up mattering). I have my mug that I will cherish forever in front of me on the desk and Jon Stewart props up my book and says, “So I read this book and I have to admit my first thought when they handed me this book was, really? there are some? enough to write a whole book about?”

The audience will laugh, and I’ll smile while taking a sip from my mug. Then he’ll say “But seriously, why are you a part of this church? You’re smart – you have to have heard about that ban against black men holding the priesthood? And remember when you guys were against gays? Preventing Boy Scouts from getting their Eagle Scout? Or when women received death threats for wearing pants to church?”

I’ll lean forward and this is what I’ll say, “So you want a logical answer for why I participate and believe in a religion that seems to be constantly be preventing some group or another from feeling accepted and equal and whose membership sometimes reacts badly to efforts to express and change the circumstances which cause those feelings?”

Jon nods or says something snarky. It is The Daily Show after all. “Well, Jon, there isnt one.” And Ill sit back. Eventually he’ll follow up the question and Ill answer for real. “Jon, faith isnt logical. It cannot be arrived at through thought alone or reasoned with. Most of the things we have faith in we have no control over. Sometimes past experience supports our faith – the sun came up yesterday, gravity existed last night – so all these things will most likely happen again tomorrow. However, we dont know that, we just know that they have, so our best bet is to assume it will again. But sometimes we dont have reason to fall back on, we have to take a leap to believe the voice or hope inside of us could be true and right and we jump forward into nothing. That is why I participate and believe. Because one time I jumped, and something/someone caught me.”

The interview will go on and on – we will talk about how I cant stand soda so I never think about the caffeine rule (even though Im addicted to Vitamin Water Zero’s energy burst, which is tons of caffeine). And whatever else is in vogue about Mormons in that day. But I will have told the truth. When I was small and everything else that supported me failed, and there was no earthly way to go on in such a world, I took a leap of faith that a God loved me, and He knew me and He was in charge and would make things alright if I just kept moving forward and listened to him.

Things didnt get “better” for a long long time, not until recently, like the last 5 years, would I say I finally was becoming whole. I spent a long time trudging forward with no idea of what happiness felt like. I remember a week in college that I felt light and looked up, and thought, “Is this what everyone else feels like all the time? This is sooo much better!” It wasnt permanent, but it gave me hope. God has continued to hold my hand and lead me forward through the darkness until I arrived at a point, where I feel like the world is mine. Ive never been happier and more excited for the future, despite being scared out of my mind, because everything that comes next is nothing like what came before. Its another leap of faith, but this time I know God will catch me. Just like He did tonight – he eased my heart and reminded me of how far we had come, and how great Now is given all the crap that came before, so think how much better Then will be if I can survive this.

So I stay. Because the organization lead me to God, and the God that I have come to know I will never leave. No characteristic about me, black, female or smart, will change the relationship I have forged. The religion and I will work it out, but the God that I love will never abandon me, despite how it feels to bear the hardships I may be called to experience, like dating, or dumb friends, or Utah. Its been ok thus far, and its only getting better.