Scarce Identity: The Purple Side

Scarce Identity: The Purple Side

d2ec576031cfa11b906fc4802eb54c13I wouldn’t say this is a Prince tribute, but between his continuation and reading Frank Ocean’s tribute post on Tumblr, it encouraged me reveal a few passing thoughts.  Since Prince unforeseen move, there is a plethora of articles, think-pieces, opinion post about his non-conforming identity as a black male.  Frank Ocean alluded to this throughout his entry,”He was a straight black male who played his first televised set with bikini bottoms and knee high heeled boots.” Prince even eased Franks own self awareness when he said, “He made me more comfortable with how I identify sexually.” Now, not to be all in the mix, but we know exactly how that went down when he pulled that New York style butch-queen stunt right before releasing his debut album. Thus, collecting his coin from the gays dashing away into the mysterious leaving his fans and the newly gay fans for dry. Hopefully, Prince didn’t teach him how to Forest Gump…I digress, though. Prince own morals permeated the lives of many in the idea of self expression. However in my coming of age when sexuality and masculinity becomes the point in question out of every pubescent’s mouth, my inner thoughts always asked how can they respect his expression and not mine?

The high heeled purple spirit in bell bottoms, hip hugging jump suits, and Halle Berry short cuts was not around when I had to prove my manhood. He was before my time musically. The only time I would see him would be flashbacks shown on MTV some random Saturday afternoon. In those moments when he is wearing one his iconic flamboyant attires, I am thirteen trying to put him in a category as many currently did to me. Is he gay? What is he? People are allowing him to do these things? Boys can wear heels, since when? What seems to be homophobic questions from a sassy kid himself, were nothing more than inquisitions trying alleviate the suppression I put on myself.  I had to be meticulous in the way that I speak, dress, and act. Picking the tone in my voice and the way my hands move about with my words was a process as delicate as plucking petals. I was poor at suppressing those categories, but in how I dress I had no control over and Prince’s tight assembles were in contrast to the standard black male uniform of oversize everything. I had no celebrity hero that was equally accepted into the straight community and LGBTQ+ community as flagrant as Prince. No safe haven for me to conceal behind or vicariously live through. Either way, people loved him for his mystery while in the same breath try to breakdown what they couldn’t understand in me and people alike, even my mother.

My dad thought he dressed a little too feminine for his taste, my mother loved his music, Daily News front cover is of him with his legs crossed in his legendary heeled boots calling him “Sexy” While I struggle to put on leg warmers in hopes that I won’t get menacing looks and sarcastic questions at the age of 23. Do you see where I’m going with this? What partitioned him from me, what made his being acceptable and praised and not the tone of my voice, or the fit of my clothes, my proper dialect,  the glide in my step, my interest in things feminine? Something as simple as going out with leg warmers on a brutally cold New York winter day was an audacious task. the alarming feeling of fear heating my chest, sitting in the back of my throat as I timidly decide if I should place my jeans over them or not. Would I get looks and sly comments? What would my coworkers think? Would my mom question my gender for the hundredth time as she did when I accidentally left foundation in the bathroom? Is it going to bring unwarranted attention? I went ahead and placed them over my knee after drilling to myself, “Don’t matter who says what to you, you bought it, you like it, it’s cold, wear it.” Then someone later asks, “What is that on your legs,” when clearly it is obvious. “Don’t girls wear that for dance?”  Although my sarcastic responses were so keenly sharp with shade, deep down I felt like I called it upon myself.

prince-08  In trying to decipher it all between him and I and others alike, I came up with the idea that Prince gave the straight community something to look past his gender fluidity: His music. As long as you give them something to look past you will be okay. Got to have that something else that will be big enough to water down their ignorance. You can’t just be a regular feminine black male. You need a superior talent. One can express freely as long as you can slay a weave, design their home, shady humor, make them best dressed at the Grammy’s, and write the best gossip column. Or in another case, sleep solely with women. That way the determining factor, who one lays down in bed with, will decide the likeliness of positive receptivity. A women can listen to Prince and wish to sleep with him, while a male can do the same and assume his lyrics are about females and feel comfortable singing them. There shouldn’t be a pass for Prince in heels and a guitar while men like E.J. Johnson; Magic Johnson son, is chastised. Along with  Miss Lawrence and Derek J being slandered because of  who they sleep with is the determining factor of acceptance.

This isn’t about Prince. This is me trying to understand my self identity through him and question why society accepted him and cannot accept  me and others alike. No, I’m not crying out to wear heels. However, like Prince, he was an unapologetic spirit. I need to be that. Part of me is still healing from the past wounds as it still plays a part in how fully self express today. Part of me needs approval. I am working on that, I know I don’t need it. I don’t need Kid Cudi and Will Smith to make it okay for me to wear a crop top or Jaden Smith to pick a shirt from the girls section. I don’t need a rapper to be dressed in all pink for me to wear pink. I don’t need a straight male or women to vogue in order for me feel comfortable voguing in public. I don’t need Tank making a video about his salad being tossed for me to toss mine with organic toppings. I don’t need an presumably straight male to approve my fluid expression, my feminine side of a young black man. It’s the unwavering confidence in my self expression I am perfecting. Thanks Prince!

 

Within In Myself.

Within In Myself.

It’s really hard loving yourself wholeheartedly. As much as I want to, I wish it was so easier said then done. It’s not that easy to know wholesomely who I am when I am consistently changing. It’s rather difficult to identify yourself without the ego. Unless, there is no identity through the fall of the ego, which is the voice that keeps us attached to ideals, image, habits, people. As I read all the time, the fall of the ego brings the feeling of oneness. What I question is the process in which it happens, what do you feel in this transition?

The difficulty is trying to understand what is the ego in you to know what changes to make within. I  have some sense, some minuscule understanding of it. However, I am not sure when exactly my ego comes into play. I know when it’s off usually in times of advice giving, I can sound like the most level headed, open minded, Ghandi-loving therapist ever. But with me, I am a lot less straightforward. I barely listen to my own advice.

Maybe I need to relax. That’s why I am writing this now. Venting.

At times I feel like I love me, then at times I feel like I don’t. Okay, saying I don’t sounds so much more downgrading then in actuality. When I say I don’t, I mean I feel as if I don’t love myself in its fullest potential. We all fall short right? and that’s okay?

Where we are now, we are so obsessed with self identifying. Maybe from a mutual understanding that we all lack a true understanding of our self. You have to have some identity going on. One much define themselves through something. One must have an obsession with something, a favorite something. Becoming nothing more than walking brand, walking egos.

And the minute you want to dis-identify you feel the forces that makes you identify with something or someone.

I don’t know where I was going with this. I just feel conflicted.

I want to be me to the my fullest potential. I feel that I am not, because there are more “important” factors that needs to be worried about, making good income, getting a degree, anything and everything outside of me.

Damn you early 20s.

No Excuses by Alexi Panos

Her name? Alexi Panos. Who is she exactly? I honestly don’t know. I am just learning about her as you all will be once you hear this intriguing, uplifting  message about responsibility, or better yet, “Excuses.”

How often do you find yourself putting the blame unto others for mishaps in your life? How often has those blames been justifiable? Not many I suppose.

Her explanation is quite simple, everything is your fault.

“We either cause it or allow it!”

Circles and More Circles and More

Circles and More Circles and More

If you were a geometric shape (e.g. square, circle, isosceles triangle, etc.), what would you be and why?

So I am going to do part of the The Finicky Cynic “June ‘Jour’ Challenge” I am rather late in it, but this prompt stood out to me the most. It took me no time to answer either. What geometric shape would I be…hmm, easily, a circle?

So why a circle? A circle is too me the basic, original geometric shape that has the deepest meaning. It’s the basic design leading into the Flower of life symbol which is said to be the design that created the universe. As every math problem, every line, every thought stems from the creation of the Flower of Life. It is only right I pick something that represents the deepest part of me.

The Flower Of Life

 The Flower Of Life 

The flower of life is part of the sacred Geometry our ancestors some how strangely knew of. The great ancient civilizations in our human history all shared this one symbol. It can be found in every major religion some are remixed into portions of the symbol, but overall, it reaches every cornerstone of the world. It can seen etched in stone and clay tablets in flow with the story of their civilization. Somehow, the civilization knew all about this symbol with no connections with each other. How is that even possible?

The makings of the symbol consist of evenly drawn circles overlapping each other to form flower like symbols. It’s actually very easy to make with a protractor. you just draw a circle and then at the anywhere on the line of the circle you place the point of the protractor and draw the same pattern over and over. It’s quite the learning experience as every inch, every placement counts.

This symbol is everywhere in nature. As for me, while going through my spiritual journey I was enamored at the mass of information I was receiving. Learning I am part of everything and everything is part of me is astounding. A Circle is never ending as I am never ending. We are never ending. We are always is!

How fun is that…( better then being told I’m a sinful, dirty beast, born into a evil world and wickedness).

Here is SpiritScience  Better in-dept explanation on The Flower Of Life. These People are just Ah-May-Zing!

The Past Discombobulated Months

The Past Discombobulated Months

The tragicomedies of my life still prevail! The last–I don’t know, six months has been marinated in molasses having me feel like I’m swimming in mud. I won’t even dare equate it too sweet like honey-dew. I would be lying like politicians. I had to subside on the blogging due to the daily clutter. Yes, I could have updated during the desolate work hours, however, half of my mind will constantly remind me how I should be doing school work instead. “You know all this energy you put in celebrated Mariah Carey’s song release, you could easily start your paper…and go to class on time,” my thoughts said undoubtedly. Did I listen to myself? Of course not, do I normally? Sometimes. On that particular day I just didn’t. Instead, I randomly posted an entry like a random boyfriend who unexpectedly vanished from home coming back to his relationship like, “Hey girl!” Clearly, my stats responded, “Bye Felicia!”

The precarious relationship between me and college worsen like an infectious wound. Leaving me in a deadly quandary, I had to meet with my academic advisory after being put into my last probation, “You know I’ve been trying to contact you last semester also, we were suppose to meet and speak about your grades.” I believed she lied. Although I may not always check my school email, because it’s very annoying to remember to do so, I don’t recall at all! I rolled my eyes in my mind at that statement. Whatever, anyways, she continued on about signing a promissory note that included my academic plan and what my GPA should be if I plan on to survive in that school. “Honestly, you got into this school by the skin of your teeth,” she said as I briefly explained my interminable struggles of college, including my dismissal from my last school. “Had you sent your college transcript from your last school, you wouldn’t got in.” Yeah, she is so right, but colleges want my money.

This lady probably in her late twenties, early thirties tried to reason with me through my explanation desperate to find something that will vindicate my poor grades. “So what happen that causes this?” she asked. I lifted my head up looking to the ceiling pantomiming my speechlessness with my hands and face. I couldn’t come up with a solid, plausible reason why. “Honestly, I just hate college. These loans make me question how much I really want my career. No one is forcing me other than myself and society making me feel as if college is the only way!” I ranted, “These classes are extremely uninteresting, you guys don’t offer much after radio, emotionally and mentally I feel stifled. I pay so much money to still walk into a radio station feeling inadequate.” I couldn’t be any more frank with her. The meeting went on to her concluding how internally inflicted I am, how I should really reconsider college, and so on and forth. With all things considered, I signed a few papers, promised I’ll do well and meet with her weekly for checks up. I assure you I did not attend those weekly meetings. In addition to, she wanted me to speak to my professors about my grades. I left that meeting trying to forget all that just happened to hear my heart like a siren.

Henceforth, the rest of the month followed by trying to take on too much on my plate like I tend to always do. I started a radio internship, while still doing another internship, which swallowed my Tuesdays up–my only open day. Luckily, my mom was able to drive me to Brooklyn in the mornings to my radio internship. It’s been low-key sweet; a nice one-on-one time with my mom. Also, I had the usual work and school added to the list. So, my schedule told me I had no days off. And I didn’t, for balancing school, two interns, work and some social life was emotionally draining. I started to think I was doing too much…maybe I was, though, I continued to persevere.

Meanwhile, I went through my typical emotional downpours which lead me to think I needed help. Reason being, when people asked how I was doing I felt like crying on the spot. I felt myself literally faking the smiling, saying “I’m okay.” My body in an exigency to express my truth. I wanted to say so badly when asked, “I am not okay, I feel horrible, stagnant, money-less, lost and so forth.” This has not happened to me before, mainly because when asked I don’t feel the issues at that giving time. However, in that bracket between November and March, it became really hard to compartmentalized my nerves. I started noticing people asking me if I am okay; I believe It was starting to be visible on my face, which, yet, again, is not usual. This will happen during the rare times I am not talking and my mind is bounded in tumultuous thoughts. I was a ticking time bomb or a dam collecting droplets from every upheaval, whether it be from missing my bus, some dramatic turmoil with my partner, or doing some paper, I was at the edge. I told myself plentiful I needed to speak to someone. With tiny bits, I expressed my ongoing issues with me and school with a few friends who been through therapy. I sought out for a counselor, but it never pulled through. Eventually, as I knew it would, I lifted myself out of the funk. I tried concluding the reason to be the warming weather. I tried so hard to pinpoint the downpour thinking it was just a multitude of unsatisfied areas.

Be that as it may be, I am glad this is all passing. I don’t believe my school is going to dismiss me, my interns are ending, school is ending, and I joined another radio program. Through speaking to a dear friend, I realized I am in a much better position than many people with a degree. Comparatively, with my job, radio internship, and program, I have skimmed my field closer than those whom graduated. She told me not to rush myself or be too hard as the process of adulthood molds me. Things will fall into place as they have been in the midst of my strife’s. Though, I am trying to transfer into the school that dismissed me while learning I have a 15,000 balance from my current school with no loans I can take out, due to my grades, I know things will work out.

I swear when I left high school, I was not expecting all of this.

In response to State Your Fear