That old familiar pain re-emerging from the crevices of your DNA?
It was once so easy to believe what others told me to be true about America growing up. That this was a space of opportunity. I was the outcome of a dream believed by someone who was allowed the opportunity to prosper. I was borne into a dream many believed she was probably crazy to believe in. The naive little girl from Trenchtown just wanted to be a doctor. She believed in a vision of herself that had nothing to do with me at all. I just happened upon the life my mother manifested when she was a mere child.
I came from a family that migrated to this land and did well in the face of adversity. With that as my daily reminder, I believed the myth that America was fair enough. I believed it was up to the individual to decide to do and be better. Cuz if we don’t, we’d perish and fade away into the pages of time written by those who would suggest we loved our own suffering. I knew that if I could believe, then I could achieve. I sang the songs they told me to sing believing the status quo felt the same:
This land is your land, this land is my land From the California to the New York island From the Redwood Forest, to the gulf stream waters This land was made for you and me
I know I’m a good writer but I feel like I’m going to be the cause of my own demise. This medium takes discipline, something I don’t have. As soon as I think that I’ve finally gained stride and conquered my habit of being inconsistent here I am again. Weeks and months without any body of writing. I fear failure so much that I might just create a self fulfilling prophecy. Don’t choke, a part of me tells myself, the part of me that’s saved my life too many times to count. I never officially give up but God am I tired of being at square one over and over again. I should have been further then where I am by now. I should have multiple scripts and manuscripts and short stories and essays by now. It’s all backed up in my mind.
When on Earth will I move forward without stopping? What more must I lose? I’ve lost the job I thought would be the foundational mortar for my career. I’ve lost the home I thought I’d always return too when the world grew too cold. I’ve lost the relationship that everyone considers to be the greatest of all; the one between mother and child. I’m living on my final few hundred dollars as I make the best of my brother’s charity on his couch.
I’m so full of doubt.
All I have is my writing. It’s all I have now. Even with that I still find myself being…reluctant. Despite the confirmations I’ve received from prominent writers here I am, seemingly choking. Will I ever gain the tunnel vision necessary to conceive these illustrious tales that pollute my imagination? Everybody says success requires 10% talent and 90% hard work. If those are the odds then my God I’m fucked.
Same God, I’m trying. What I can say that I like about myself is that even when I go idle I cannot bear it for too long, not until the point of no return. I want to rip my skin open with my blunt fingers and offer my flesh raised high to the stars as my offering, my sacrifice, anything it takes to rid me of this doubt. I feel its roots deeply planted somewhere within my chest and the cosmos of my soul. I want to tear myself apart and rid myself of the poison within me. The lies I tell myself are crimes against my own spirit. I want to see it die before me. I believe it will, it has too. I recognize my blessings and know that it’s all up to me. Doubt won’t win, the world is depending on my visions. My people are waiting. The true battle of Heaven and Hell is happening within me and my God I swear it – I will come out shining.
**REAL TALK DISCLAIMER: The following article is strictly a think-piece. Any attempts from intolerant trolls to disparage the following analysis as hate speech or otherwise will not be entertained. This space is for critical thinking and uncomfortable topics will be indulged.
I’ve been witnessing a major split of reactions amongst the liberal-minded over the death of Fidel Castro.
On one side I’m seeing celebrations because to them a totalitarian* dictator has finally died (peacefully in his home at age 90), and their argument is that he was evil because many Cubans died, were exiled, and were denied basic freedoms under his regime. Other tamer arguments are that he was a poor leader because his economy fluctuated from ruin to stabilization.
South Carolina lawmakers have finally voted to remove the confederate flag from their capital. This is great news, but I can’t help but feel underwhelmed because it is just common sense to me. To be honest, I am trying to understand why the confederate flag hasn’t been banned nationally altogether. This is not a states’ issue; it is an issue that permeates across this nation. Why hasn’t a treacherous battle flag that evokes trauma for black people been banned ages ago? I guess that’s a dumb question with a simple answer: because racism. It is an American tradition. The fact that we have to even discuss what this flag represents disgusts me and I do not have time for it. If people refuse to even get past the simple truth that the confederate flag represents concentrated white supremacy, then how are we going to discuss the foundational errors of this country? How will we reach that point reasonably? But kudos, to South Carolina for taking the flag down – but only to an extent. That damned flag would have waved on with no remorse had Bree Newsome not taken matters into her own hands. And that brings me to another point…