Fall is Here - Ain't No Tellin' What She's Got up Her Long Sleeves.

I am not a fan of Fall. You can keep the strange chill in the air, tree defecation by way of foliage everywhere, and Karen and her pumpkin spice.I do love Fall for its impeccable fashion sense, photographical nights, apple picking, fire pits, nature’s art, and kiddos in their Halloween costumes. 

Oh, and I did like the pumpkin cookies Ms. Newton used to make at my childhood church.

Fall interrupts the freedom of Summer. Pedicured toes sinking in warm sand as the ocean whispers rejuvenation. Maxi dresses and window seat views to anywhere but here. Watermelon cocktails, goosebumps in central air, and passionate sun kisses on melanin hydrated skin. Not to mention the pandemic stole Summer’s whole essence and Fall vaingloriously slid in with the rebound. 

My Daddy died in the Fall of October. He was the true definition of chill. Too chill. Chiller than Fall and not in a strange way. Just relaxed. Centered. I used to watch the reflection of the TV flicker on my Daddy's face. His Blackness was strong, unmovable. I think he knew that but was never one to gloat. He was stubborn and proud. Don’t piss him off though because that chill could transform in to a sweet sounding verbal annihilation in a millisecond. I’m honestly, a carbon copy of the man. Fall stole him too. Gave him back to the Most High. I honestly don’t blame her though he was the man to be around. I’d steal him back in a heartbeat.

Fall is death. 

The slow burn of change. 

Fall is music no beat.

Festivals no heat. 

Trick or treat.

Fall is spooky.

Fall is fury. 

Fall is side eye talks around turkey dinners. 

Fall is mouth shut - internal simmers. 

Winter’s closest friend. 

Summer’s untimely end.

Fall is panic driven election season. 

Fear of a race war.

Keep your ear to the ground.

Keep your prayers in warrior mode.

Fall is here. Ain't no tellin' what she's got up her long sleeves.

#WeAreDoneDying: It's Different This Time

Art by: Markus Tyree

Usually it takes me awhile to process occurrences that happen in society. I can confidently say that I understand the human condition especially from an empathetic lens. I, however, struggle with being empathetic when the human condition manifests itself into deplorable human acts. At the top of the list of deplorable human acts that I can not process or empathize with is racism. I have gone so far as to do extensive research on what happens in the brain of a racist. I often wonder what causes them to act in such heinous ways? I have not been successful in my research.

I am also one of the many people who watched the videos of police officers murdering unarmed Black and brown men and women. Some of the videos I watched over a dozen times. I watched seeking understanding and hoping for some sort of guidance that would prevent me and my brother from being killed by the police. I never gained the understanding or guidance sought. Not an ounce.

What I did see was:

Trayvon Martin (killed by a "night watchmen") trying to get home from the store. Followed. Scuffled for his life. Shot.
Micheal Brown on his knees with his hands up in the air. Shot.
Philando Castile reaching for his license. Shot. His girlfriend and her child in the car.
Alton Sterling linebacker ransacked. Fell to ground. Police on top of him. Lying on his back. Shot.
Ahmaud Arbery out for a run. Followed. Guns drawn. Scuffled for his life. Shot.
Walter Scott running in fear away from a drawn gun. Shot.
Tamir Rice playing with a petal gun alone in the park. Sitting alone in park. Police arrive. Shot.
Jermey McDole sitting in his wheel chair. Shot.
Freddie Gray handcuffed. Dragged. Thrown into a police van. No seatbelt. Coma. Died.
Eric Garner communicating, "I CAN'T BREATHE," while officers kept him in a chokehold. Stopped breathing. Died.
George Floyd communicating, "I CAN'T BREATHE," while officers kept him pinned to the ground. One officer had his knee on his neck for over 8 minutes. Stopped breathing. Died.

These videos haunt me everyday.

As a Black woman, I can't help but also be haunted by the murders of fellow Black women just like me. Aiyana Stanley-Jones, Tanisha Anderson, Atatiana Jefferson, Charleena Lyles, Breonna Taylor and so many others whose names are buried with their bodies. Black women rally around our Black men without hesitancy but our names seem to often be an after thought, if thought of at all.

I, along with my community, are traumatized and tired. So the current state of unrest is not a surprise. Protests, boycotts, riots, marches, looting, speeches, letters, and GoFund Me pages happened after all of the deaths that made it to mainstream media. "But this time feels different," I've heard many say.

Here's what I believe is the reason why this time feels different:

2020 arrived with the hope of perfect vision that would lead us through the new year. I saw many people proclaiming this was going to be their year, nothing was going to stop them, and vision boarding the hell out of any self doubt. The answer to our prayers of newfound success and opportunities were met with COVID-19 and worldwide stay at home orders. This prompted disappointment and a condemning of 2020 and her motives. Quarantine, in my opinion, was meant to be a gift of a reset. For once the world had a moment to take a break from it's sick, sad, self that had worsened throughout each decade. There was now time to realign with our individual humanity. Get back in touch with our core values. Find new ways to reach our goals.

But even in quarantine white privilege and supremacy continued to rear its ugly head. The Black community was not afforded the same luxury to solely rest, love up on our families, and fully take advantage of this reset quarantine offered like the white community. We watched with anxiety the coronavirus death toll numbers rise disproportionately in our community. We were met with live footage on social media from Ohio federal prison inmate, Aaron Campbell, who begged for help saying, "they literally leaving us in here to die," and zoomed in on his bunkmate wheezing for air allegedly suffering from coronavirus. We then became virtual witnesses to the murder of Ahmaud Arbery as he was gunned down in broad daylight. Mind you, this murder happened months before it reached mass media. We had to stomach hearing that essential worker, Breonna Taylor, was murdered by police while asleep in her home. Police were executing a search warrant on the wrong house. We watched Amy Cooper call the police on Christian Cooper after he asked her to leash her dog. It didn't stop there, we again became virtual witnesses to the murder of George Floyd who cried for his mother while officers had him pinned to the ground. One of the officers had his knee on George's neck for 8 minutes and 46 seconds as he pleaded for his life.

All of these deplorable human acts were coupled with many in the Black community losing their jobs due to quarantine, Black owned businesses struggling to stay open, and Black parents trying to homeschool their children in and inequitable education system. The Black community was exhausted yet tolerating when we entered quarantine. We are exhausted and infuriated now. The Black community can no longer bear the weight of a racist world on our shoulders.

This time it is different. The world was at a stand still and the world is forced to see us. 2020 - perfect vision. This is a world wide exhaustion and fury has incited a revolution in cities across the US and overseas in Paris and the UK.

Time is up for murdering us, oppressing us, discriminating against us, denying us our basic human rights, appropriating us, belittling us, mocking us, victimizing us, demeaning us, falsely accusing us, chastising us, blocking us, punishing us, treating us as lesser than, benefiting from us, lynching us, emulating us, and demonizing us.

BLACK LIVES MATTER.

No more addendum's. No more caveats. No more accommodations. No more explanations.

Black men's lives matter.
Black women's lives matter.
Black boy's lives matter.
Black girl's lives matter.
Black LGBTQIA+ lives matter.
Black disabled lives matter.
Black mentally ill lives matter.
Black poor lives matter.
Black middle class lives matter.
Black rich lives matter.
Black incarcerated lives matter.
Black at home lives matter.
Black outside lives matter.
Black liberals' lives matter.
Black conservatives' lives matter.
Black creatives' lives matter.
Black scholars' lives matter.
Black entrepreneurs' lives matter.
Black seen lives matter.
Black unseen lives matter.

EVERY BLACK LIFE MATTERS ACROSS THE WORLD.

White privilege will no longer get to dictate the quality or expiration date of Black lives.

White people,
your silence will be exposed. We are done tolerating white supremacy's infliction of genocide at the expense of Black bodies.

2020 gifted us with the time and vision so, "we got time today!"

#WeAreDone Dying

2020 - The Gift of Isolation

Right before 2020 gifted us with isolation via COVID-19, I had a chance to escape to Paradise Island. 

Paradise Island, nestled offshore of New Providence and connected by a bridge to Nassau, Bahamas. The Atlantic Ocean cradles Paradise Beach in her bosom washing burdens of reality away with the tide. White sand of plenty coupled with bright smiles and kindhearted gestures. They say Paradise is for lovers, I would agree. Paradise for me, is also a place for wounded warriors seeking solace. 

You see, Paradise too has had to weather the storm. 

2019 Hurricane Dorian had his eye set on Paradise. Why wouldn't he right? She's gorgeous, charismatic, and her essence is unmatched. Dorian hovered over her for a day. Then attacked her for 2 days.  Dorian tore Paradise to pieces, destroyed what she had built, damaged her livelihood, and even killed members of her community. The world watched, whispered, donated, and gave their op-Eds. I think y'alls President even "Nasty Girl" Twitter fingered her. No one knew if she’d ever recover. She would never be the same.

That was September 2019. February 2020 she was back breathing life into lovers and healing into the wounded. She herself proved to be a wounded yet healed warrior. And yes, she would never be the same but what she birthed out of her wounds was far greater. I was there February 2020 wounded and seeking escape from the burdens of reality. I was exhausted mostly. But I also had been facing the Hurricane Dorians of life by way of human indecency.  I was in Paradise seeking solace and I found it. In the stillness the island brings I could hear God's voice clearly.  

Today, I along with the rest of the country and people across the world have been forced for months now to sit still and listen to God's voice. This time I don’t have the luxuries of Paradise Island but occasionally a breeze will saunter through the living room window giving me deja vu. We all now are left to find solace in our own reality. I realize we all are warriors healing wounds. Some seen and many unseen. Many have been Hurricane Dorian and inflicted these wounds. 

We can't go back to the way things were. 

Why would you want to?

What we lost during this time deserves the best of what we will birth moving forward.

The healing, the answers, the guidance, the next step is in the stillness of the isolation. 

Be still. 

Stay home.

Pray.

Meditate.

Listen. 

Listen.

Listen.

The answer is far greater than what's outside.

2020: May Your Joys Exceed Your Expectations

& here we are...

entering a new year. 

I've noticed every year people post to social media about how bad the year was for them. Those posts always make me sad. This confession that out of 365 days, there are more moments that bought them angst than joy is heartbreaking. We all live with the hope that our lives honor our best selves. Life will inevitably bring hard times, trust me I know, but in honoring your best self life will gift moments of joy both old and new. These joys have a right to be apart of the cover art to your biography.

2019 for me did just that. She brought me joys both old and new.

• I finished the first stage of a documentary I’m working on. 
• I traveled to Ghana with my family to celebrate my Nana’s 90th birthday. 
• A poem I wrote was apart of #50in50 and was performed in NYC and LA by award winning actresses. 
• My film, Critical Missing, made its way through a few film festivals and showcases. 
• I found an amazing grant writer who helped me conceptualize all these dreams and goals I have into a wonderful portfolio. As a result, I was awarded 3 grants that will help fund some of my 2020 artistic efforts. 
• I was given the opportunity to be apart of an AD fellowship and got to witness first hand the ins and outs of how a professional theater and show runs. 
• I strengthened both old and new friendships which I am really happy about. 
• I still am a full time God Mommy during the week and I’m really proud of myself for forging through a very hard yet extremely rewarding responsibility. 
• The latter half of the year I completed a Ph.D application and I’m excited about the possibilities of this program. 
• I was asked to be one of my closest friend’s bridesmaid. That meant more to me than she’ll ever know. I’m so happy to support and pray with her on her marriage journey.
• I got to perform at the Kennedy Center. Such a big deal to me. 
• My students, colleagues, and parents nominated me for the Excellence in Theater Education Tony Award. I didn’t win but ya girl can add Tony-nominated to her resume.
• I was nominated for a Kennedy Center award by someone I adore. I hope I get it!

There were of course moments in 2019 that I like to say, “grew me.” 

• You know the quote, “when people show you who they are believe them?” Well confession, I rarely do and that’s something that grew me this year. I found myself this year overlooking signs that people didn’t have my best interest at heart but I chose me and discontinued those relationships immediately. 
• I also learned first hand that a lot of doctors can not serve Black women, especially those of us who are "overweight." It’s a scary thought for sure, but I am more aware of it and have taken my health related issues serious enough to research before speaking and finding homeopathic solutions. 
• I learned that I allowed myself to feel inadequacies in introversion. Society is more receptive to extroversion and when my therapist at the time challenged me to activate that side of me more I took it seriously. But it wasn’t helpful. I’ve grown to understand that introversion doesn’t mean you are inadequate or deficient. I’m more than capable to do the things I want to do in life and I don’t have to do a 180 to mirror that of societal norms. If someone wants to date me, go out, build a friendship with me that will happen naturally whether I’m introverted or not. Being who I am is a benefit not a deficit.

As always I have so many goals for 2020. But in living so long I realize that my goals often fall short of the big plans God has for my life. For instance I’ll say, I want the opportunity to direct professionally and God will put a whole fellowship in my lap with financial remuneration. So I’m not going to announce new goals for the new year. I’m just going to continue to pray, practice patience, work hard and watch God move. I know she got me!

Happy New Year everyone. I pray that your joys in 2020 exceeds your expectations.

With all my love,

Creme

The Friendship Soapbox

A Hand to Hold by Shelby McQuilkin

I came across this post on Twitter that read:

"Losing a trusted friend hurts me more than losing a man. I expect my true friendships to outlive all my relationships cuz these [n-word] may be for everybody but b*tch you were supposed to be for me!!!" -@DontWorryBoutB

I’ve been thinking about friendship a lot lately mainly because my goddaughter brings it up a lot. And when I say a lot, I mean more than my already crowded brain has room for. She’s 9, so her idea of friendship is continuing to evolve. However, one thing that admittedly worries me is how she gravitates towards building friendships with kids who don’t like her, treat her unkindly, or put their hands on her inappropriately etc. It boils my blood that on Monday Lil Peanut punched her in her stomach but by Friday my goddaughter is like, “Lil Peanut is my best friend! Can we have a play date?” Internally I’m like, “Hell no! Lil Peanut can go kicks rocks!” I sometimes find myself unable to contain my inner thoughts during her friendship soapbox spiel. My anxiety chile, forces me to blurt out, “THEY ARE NOT YOUR FRIENDS GIRL!” She in turn looks at me for a moment in shock with a face of wonder. Looks like she's thinking, "what's wrong with God Mommy?" But in a matter of minutes she chalks up to me having issues and is back up on her soapbox preaching about her non friendships! Evidently our many inquiry-based conversations on what friendship is and is not hasn’t yet sunk in to her already crowded, yet can’t quite process brain. 

So when I came across this tweet I did a double take. 9 year olds grow up to be 39 year olds who still have the same struggles with friendships when they were 9. Which means friendships along with empathy are social skills that need to be actively taught. As if parents and teachers don’t already have enough to do right? Trust me I know.

The sad reality is that as adults, many of us mount our soapboxes too with common sentiments like, “I keep my circle small,” “I can count all my real friends on one hand,” or “No new friends.”

Growing up I resulted to introversion as a coping mechanism to avoid friendship trauma. That very mechanism has transcended into my adult years. I’m strategic about what I share and whom I share with. I shut down and disappear at the mere scent of mess or drama. I’m mess intolerant. But that causes me to see the world and the people in it through a stained glass lens. A beautiful rigid lack of clarity. As an adult I fall under the category of people who say, “I keep my circle small.”  Evaluating the why has been a hard yet necessary journey because teaching true friendship and empathy to my goddaughter without tainting what’s left of her innocence is extremely important to me.

The common misconception about building a strong friendship is that you have to “show yourself friendly.” We all are different and the way in which we communicate and treat people is different. Your definition of a friend(ly) could be totally different from someone else’s. I’ve gotten my feelings hurt numerous times thinking my act of friendship would be reciprocated in my time of need and it was not. I realized later that it wasn’t reciprocated because I was acting on what my perception and expectation of what true friendship is. I say all the time expectation without discussion will make an ass out of you. And just because I may not have the same perception of friendship as someone else doesn’t make either perceptions wrong. This is why I’d argue that the key to building a strong friendship is being clear with friends on what you feel friendship is and is not. Not just from a surface level either. For example saying, “friendship is support” is surface level because support too looks different to people. 

I think it’s also ok to recognize when compatibility in friendship isn’t working and to bow out gracefully. This is where this Tweet stings a bit because I have held on to people I deemed as friends for a long time even when I knew we weren’t meant to be friends. This is a trait I see in my 9 year old goddaughter. Ending friendships, especially ones you’ve had for years, is a different type of hurt. But in most, not all, cases the ending is a necessary bridge to wellness. A well person receives and gives the love in friendship from a whole and empathetic place. 

Empathy is the driving force in a true friendship. 

I think I’ll write how empowering yet bazaar it is to be an empath in another blog post...

Having a connection of understanding and shared feelings with another person will guide you to being a better friend and human being. I’m at an age where my friends are chasing dreams and trying to be exemplary contributors to society. We see each other on occasion and we stay locked in via text messages. But there are pockets of time we don’t see each other and the group thread or independent texts are silent. Empathy has driven me even in silence to check-in because I felt something was going on. Every single time, I kid you not, my independent friends were going through life altering and challenging things they had not had the time to share or encouragement from a simple, “are you ok” inquisition. Empathy requires the ability to see and feel beyond yourself and align with others. 

I’m not truly sure how to get my goddaughter to a place where she can develop a holistic approach to friendship and I know it could take years as it’s taken me. But she deserves to blossom into a 39 year old who doesn’t have to endure the fickleness of 9 year old friendships. Everyone deserves that. 

So I guess adults need a friendship and empathy social skills class too.

I Write

Art by Aaron Griffin

I’m not angry

I’m just tired

So I write to gain some sort of resolve 

Internally

Cuz externally this space we live in

The hyphen between birth and death

What we inherently label life 

Couldn't be life, could it? 

Cuz we ain’t living

It’s a civil war 

Physically and spiritually

A game of Four Corners

In that corner the "Socially Accepted"

In the other corner the "Politically Correct" 

Over there the "Religiously Programmed"

And right there the "On Trend Buzz Word Bullies"

The rest of us 

Very few of us

Are left alone in a room full of people

Chameleon'd into believing 

This is just the world we live in

I’m not confused

Just voided of scope

So I write with hopes

That my words 

Help regain peace 

With a glimpse of optimism 

At the very least 

I wish the fluidity of empathy and respect was pushed just as hard as war heroes push sexuality.

I wish we could listen more than we talk 

So our plans are effective enough to activate

. 

I wish we would put sanctions on history repeating itself

I wish we’d learn to tap into our own humanity

So we are able to see the humanity in others

I wish we knew how to individually control and govern ourselves 

So we can stop surrendering to ego that yearns to control and govern others 

I wish I didn’t have to spend my days wishing for shit...

That I honestly don't believe ain’t going to ever really happen.

I’m not hopeless

I’m just dejected

So I write a prayer of healing

Knowing that with each prayer is a call to action

I pray for a world affirming that GOD controls this space in time

I pray for a removing of idle sit backs

set backs

back tracks

I pray for a move into a new mindset 

A kindred virtue

I pray for a move towards explicit healing 

Ourselves 

Our families

So we don't continue to ferment the toxicity

That poisons generations

Alone in a room full of people

I write

Tired

I write

Void of scope 

I write

Dejected

I write

Prayerfully

I write

I write knowing 

This is my contribution to revolution 

To The Nova Bordelon's of The World

Photo: Skip Bolen (Warner Brothers Entertainment, Inc./ Courtesy of OWN)

I was late getting into the newest season of OWN Network's Queen Sugar. The internet seemed to be up in arms discussing the one and only Nova Bordelon, who actress Rutina Wesley says is an "exhausting" character to play. In a Vulture interview Wesley states, “I feel a lot of pressure being Nova. Her messiness, which I love, is exhausting. Sometimes I want her to just be quiet and have a stable moment and keep her feet grounded. But it’s also fun because she’s very active in me. She activates me. I love that she’s unpredictable. I love the mess that is Nova because you never know where she’s going to go.” Well I'm all caught up on this season so far and had to write my peace on the ever growing debate surrounding Ms. Nova. 

As you may know (or not), this season of Queen Sugar starts with the release of Nova’s new memoir Blessings and Blood. The New York Times has given it a stellar review, Nova is press package ready, tour dates are set, her manager and PR team are gassing her, and she's proudly taking her moment in scintillating ethereally like African goddess Mawu.  Blessings and Blood tells the story of Nova’s life as she sees it. Her story, as she sees it, is incomplete without telling the stories of her family members. Stories that have remained barricaded. Secrets. Though this should be a celebratory time for Nova her anxiety is at an all time high. Nova Bordelon wrote this memoir, pitched, shopped, and had it published without consulting with her family. Knowing that her family's very private information would be shared publicly in a matter of weeks, Nova inadvertently slid her manuscript on her family member's desks while they were busy, went home, and waited for their reactions. Whether you watch the show or not you can predict that her family's reactions were far from pretty. What is Nova’s end goal? Why would she do this to her family? These are fair questions. Nova's goal through her writing was to invoke healing in her family and families around the world bounded in shame by their secrets. 

The internet, much like Nova's family but without a filter, has virtually condemned Nova and has sided with her family’s ostracism. As I read through many of the comments I couldn’t help but think about Nova’s place in the real world. Though Nova Bordelon is a fictional character she resides in a very real realm of human psyche today especially in writers who write to heal. What does this virtual lapidation mean for them...for us? I see a lot of Nova in myself. 

Though Nova’s intentions are pure in heart I do agree writing a memoir that shares her family’s secrets without their knowledge was indeed the messiness Wesley described her Vulture interview. As a writer who writes to heal I have written several pieces some of which I share publicly (many I do not) that upset people. Writing and bearing stories can heal the bearer. Reading and discussing those stories can heal the masses. So I understand Nova’s passion and have experienced her urge to regurgitate truth on paper. To those of us who have an ounce of Nova within it is imperative to remember that mass healing can not happen until you yourself are healed. That’s Nova’s truth. She wrote the memoir to heal others but has yet to heal herself. Now she's invoked another layer of trauma onto  herself and her family. 

Nova’s Aunt Vi said in an episode that every secret in a dark corner doesn’t need light. I’ve been wrestling with that sentiment because secrets like some plants can still grow in darkness. Many families hold on to secrets not realizing that that hold can be as detrimental to a family as genocide is to nations. Especially in the Black family. Secrets don't remain isolated in a moment in time they transcend generations. Secrets do indeed grow in darkness. I think the Novas of the world have a responsibility to heal their families. We also have the responsibility to bear the internal light until the family has begun healing and is open to external elements. However, we can't bear internal light from contaminated distortion. 

I am very intrigued on where Nova Bordelon’s role in the Queen Sugar saga will take us as viewers. Queen Sugar itself is dark in emotional drama and could use more elements of joy in its characters. But I as a viewer find joy in seeing my likeness on screen through powerful episodic content. 

To the Nova Bordelon's of the world: continue to empathetically be the light you seek.