Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Confined Body I (and 3/4ths) #imjustsayin

We went to NJ for the holiday (July 4th) weekend. It was fun, particularly the NY portion.

I lived in NYC for a few years, and found that it was the onliest place I have ever truly felt at home. And if you've seen me report otherwise, I was lying.

No drama here, #justsayin... race is real, the mental anguish of it is too. Being asked every day for much of my life what/who I am, to being asked a host of other ridiculous questions, none of which question my ethnicity, was like a gritty 3 year vacation. One filled with shiny and/or loose teeth, dark and/or light skin, men and/or women (yes) just wanting to flirt, to have conversation, to... well, spit ridiculous game.

And I miss that.

Sometimes, when I look around... ok, dramatic moment, I actually don't look around anymore. I just hold my head up as if I am, I position my eyes (sometimes) as if I'm making eye contact, I walk around "being" like it's ok being the only brown/beige/black person in many of my meetings, in the commuter rail ride to my suburban paradise, in the local public library, in my saditty hangouts.

It's decently lonely; a privileged lonesomeness I've earned with my degrees, and my telephonic prefix. Our polished ruralistic main street. Our emotional and physical distance from here to there.

I guess I could go to the hood. And do. I do so once a week, barely fitting in. Barely able to retrace the streets I walked once I lived with my grandmother, mostly because I don't remember them; I was, now, recalling in my adulthood, not allowed to wander/wonder. I know those streets from her 17th story vantage point.

I damn near didn't go outside for 8 years, ages 9-17.

And sometimes, even now, I still ain't outside. Still am not wandering or wondering. Still haven't gotten back to the steady gait I had in a City that does in fact sleep, and where brother/sisterhood does in fact cat-call, and in a place where sometimes you like that shit.

And I guess I'm admitting it now: I miss that shit. That place. That grit.

From my lonely-ish piece of privilege.

3 comments:

  1. damn girl. you make me miss that shit too.
    serious tho, i like how you write. I can't believe your topic and you're so, I don't know, "well-adjusted", but serious, I miss it too.

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  2. Thank you for putting stuff in words. I have that weird privileged longing for the comforts i take in places of struggle because some where inside of me, that is what i am used to.

    I am always so grateful to you when i read this blog over and over again.

    cry (aka janet, went to MX, i do not expect you to remember me)

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    Replies
    1. Janet of course I remember you. Your spirit/story isn't one easily, if ever, forgotten. I appreciate you rereading this, and in effect, getting me to reread too. It's been a while. Hoping you're well sis. Always.

      D

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