Since I can’t even brain the words to say hello to you let alone tell you this, I shall write a note you will never see. I am entirely infatuated with you. Not just your physical beauty but also your humor, your intelligence, and an admiration for your triumphs. I am enthralled with your smile full of dimples and your eyes the color of the clearest ocean. Your dark chocolate locks and your fair skin kissed pink by the desert sun. I want to hear stories of your travels abroad and your adventures down under. I want you down under. I once had a vision of you, fingers deep in exstasy and prayed you thought of me that way too. I once imagined you laughing at a picnic and I hoped that one day we could share bokks on a checkered blanket too. Your name rolls around in my brain and collides in my everyday so much that sometimes I could swear you were there with me. I can’t brain the words though to start a decent conversation with you. I tried igniting a query from you by poking provoking thoughtful insight into your ideas and your passions, but since you are my professor… you kept it professional. You kept me at a distance and I was too scared to push it. Your womanly charms have trapped me in thought of you. and you will never know…
I’m always alone. I so desperately want to reach out. speak up. make friends. find love. but for some reason, I can’t breathe, my head is swimming, and my heart is dropping the beat so hard, I’m pretty sure it will explode. Please stranger, I really want to shake your hand, greet you, and be pleased to make your acquaintance, it’s just that there is so much trembling and scared feelings in the space between your fingertips and mine it might as well be the grand canyon. Please, lifelong friend, I want to call you to hang out, to check up on you, to just chit chat, but the phone is in the other room and by the time I get there I always talk myself out of it thinking you’re too busy, too ‘on the go’, too full of ‘hey can i call you back? I’m sort of doing something right now’. Please dearest and closest family member, I know we have spent years trading kisses for punches and congratulations with ‘you could do better’s’ but all I really want to do is curl up in a hug with you, but the space between your back turned and my arms wide open is treacherous and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to build that rocket to get to your galaxy. I am always alone. I wish I could rush past this tongue tied version of myself and just come out and say it, to invite you, to say I want to get to know you, your mind is the right shade of gorgeous and I am just dying to surround myself in the smell of you, but right now… all I can do is muster up enough courage to walk from my car into the coffee shop, place my order, and leave with my coffee, without panicking. I’m sorry people, I can’t hear you because without these loud ass headphones and music made to drown out the world, I would be rendered flightless in fetal position wanting it all to end now. I’m always alone, I so desperately want to talk to you, all of you, but right now… I cant even breathe.
I like wearing black and white. The contrast suits me, notso much that I look handsome or beautiful in such simply uncolored garb, but because it is me. The spawn of lower middle/poor class African American teenage mother and a financially similar Spaniard Caucasian father. I am the clearly grey colored female of my species. A species that, for me, is always a constant and perpetual reminder of my ‘middle-dom’. In life I have spent most of my life as my own contradiction and as my own shade. On one hand I clearly see a need for hair grease or conditioner and an appreciation of the wonderful nature and ever turning tide of Ebonics. The other hand sees a more musical need of hair metal and a decent green bean casserole on thanksgiving. An overlapping of clearly divided stereotypes left me headbanging to metallica after my mother bathed me as a child along with many days spent sitting on a porch watching my father spit watermelon seeds. Many times I did not fit in. The English language astounds me as is and I do not enjoy eating watermelon. In this world everyone seems to have a category. A place on the census taken once or twice a year by phone, email, or a piece of paper in a mailbox. I, however, do not have a place for my check mark.
I am easily offended by the phrase “please choose only one…” There isn’t only one for me. There is all and yet none. Panamanian grandmother coupled with a military straight laced African American from the east coast grandfather who just so happened to be stationed in Panama. My mother was born in Louisiana and raised me with what she knew best and with the best intentions. My deet was a southern belle who fell in love with a Spaniard native american bad boy. My father has always had his band and his woman for as long as i have known him.
I am not defined by nor setting out to live up to either. I do not see my gray in most TV. I hardly ever see my gray in movies nor in the history books and texts that I sit in my room and flip through to answer question number seventeen. In fact, the only mention that I can recall in history of my gray is light enough to work in the house, but too dark to be at the table. Somewhere in the middle of history, in between okay to look at but still not good enough.
Many laws and societal norms have kept me in the midway. Laws such as ‘the one-sixteenth rule” and societal norms such as “please choose only one.” Societal norms that state I must memorize text written by no one who resembles the gray me.
I am now the gray that defines it’s own path. I am living up to who I can become. I am my own definition. A living breathing beautiful contradiction, whom now, after being somewhere in the middle, see a similar reflection of me at the most powerful seat in the house. MY HOUSE. Somewhere in my gray, I sit on top of a free world paved before me. Using my own example, I intend to breach the middle and move beyond it.
No more is there a “please choose only one…”
If there is no singular encompassing definition for my gray, I will make one.
so I am a lesbian and I’m not exactly out to everyone I know. This may be unsettling to some people but here is the thing, I am way more comfortable being known for who I am then what I am to be labeled. Granted some might see this as me hiding in the closet or something to that effect or not being wholly honest with those around me but it’s almost the exact opposite.
People are naturally confused by me. I am a 6 foot tall mixed woman who squeals about shoes and kicks people in the head for fun. I work at a truck stop and study to work in a museum. I know how to dress for the occasion and how to be a stunner (both in “masculine” and “feminine” wear). I go crazy over good J-dramas and manga then turn around and laugh in horror movies. Everything about me really reads “wtf-word?”
I find that just by being me and being comfortable in who I am, people tend to judge me more for my actions than if I were to go around with a ‘dyke’ label. People see more of me in a human sense. People are confused and just accepting. In my life it doesn’t matter. I only talk to a select few about my love life (including my mother) and the rest is just me.
Hooray for those who came out! we are all proud of you! we all love you!
I just came out to those who matter in my life and the rest view me for me without the label.
The fall semester started with another tournament. Gold in forms, Silver in sparring. The Silver has me super disappointed, but i will get over with the next one September 28.
The only thing is… I have been distracted.
You see, someone has caught my eye. Maybe not just my eye. She has got my thoughts, my dreams, and occasionally she has got my heart racing. I have lots of training to do and only three weeks to do it now. I have a degree that i am working on which is getting harder and harder the more chemistry i have to take. I am trying my very best to do all i can and working part time graveyards to pay for it all and all i can think about is my distraction.
I can barely talk around her. It’s hard to let the words come out when she is around. All i can do is try not to get caught checking her out when she is around. Which, by the way, i think is super obvious. Sometimes i cant help it man, she is just too damn hot!
So to solve my problem, i have come up with a clever solution. I will distract myself from my distraction. I will train harder, work harder, find books, find movies, discover new music, and study harder than ever before! Distract from the distraction…
Except for when my distraction is distracting me from the distractions to distract myself from her… distractions….
It’s after the finals for my classes of summer and i have to admit, I’m feeling very down. The semester was exciting. I met so many new people. Way more than my first go for my associates degree. I was super open this time and I felt confident. I am excited that fall semester is only three weeks away.
But so is my tournament.
Taekwondo has taken a backseat to late night cramming and panic attacks over tests. I haven’t been to the dojang in a long time. I am nervous about going back on tuesday. I have the itch.
The itch every fighter gets when they aren’t fighting. The itch that makes us punch our friends in the upper arm even if the situation or conversation doesn’t call for it. The itch that drives us to kick random things, just to test to see if we could kick them over if we wanted to.
I have the itch to do ab burn outs and feel the pain in my legs after squats. I want my arms to sweat like they did during jab cross burn outs. I want to feel like i could float away but feel stuck to earth at the same time just because my limbs feel like two ton weights.
I worry… I started smoking during the summer semester and ate a lot more junk food than i should have. Have i killed all my efforts from before? Did that ice cream i had three weeks ago cause some momentary lapse in muscle memory and now i will never be able to execute a proper back kick into someones torso?
I love fighting. I love being in the ring… did i ruin it all by eating that candy bar?
Why do i have to worry about such things? Is wanting to kick people in the face not enough? that’s all i really want…. to kick people…. in the ring….
Starting degree number two. It has only been a week and already there is math and colloids. What is a colloid you ask? It is a mixture of matter that cannot be classified as homogeneous or heterogeneous. It is the great in between. Homogeneous would be tea. Heterogeneous would be a chocolate chip cookie. So what the f word is a colloid you might ask? marshmallows
Back in my day we had another name for marshmallows and it d word sure wasn’t colloid. We used the word in reference to tits. Great bouncing, jiggling, distracting tits. So I learned one or two things today. Somehow all during the “ta’s” demonstration and explanation of the colloid known as marshmallows. All I could think of was tits.
How is that for a chemistry lesson… still have no clue what we talked about….