A Work In Progress...

The past week...
Well, let's just say I'm glad it's over.
It was truly one of those experiences truly ordained by God himself to buff and refine one into a better version of himself/herself. And I am better for it.
I learned:

• People need to handled with a level of detachment.
• Love is not black-and-white.
• Exercise and/or a good walk with blasting headphones is a great stress buster.
• I need to do more with my life.
• I am the one I need to be unconditionally in love with--not anyone else.
• ALL MEN ARE DOGS!
• I was meant to help others.
• Although I must learn to love myself, the world does not revolve around me.
• My world does not revolve around a man.
• God loves me.
• I must cling to Him, and never forget.
• Writing, after God, is my saving grace.
• I am a burgeoning feminist.
  
• I love my hair.
• I can do this.
• I will survive.

If you're going through hell, keep going.
Winston Churchill

Alert!

As of this moment, I have decided that the "romantic" musings uttered in this blog will not be in reference to any interaction with anyone of the opposite sex, but my slowly unfolding romance with myself. After one of the most painful/mind-reeling/enlightening weeks of my young life, I have learned that I truly need to fall in love with Altamese...and that is just what I intend to do.

That will be all.

Give Me a Side of Beef With That...Beef

I've been trying to "go veg" since my junior year of high school.

I'm a junior in college now.

And in the midst of my vegetarian aspirations, I've allowed 20 pounds to creep onto my 5'3'' frame.

Not cute.

I've always had a curvy figure, and it has always been the admiration of many. However, my figure has slowly warped, changing it from curvy--to just plain curved. And while my shape still looks decent, even with the added baggage, and while some may still admire it, I'm not happy with it.

I. Myself. Me.

I know what my body has the potential to be, therefore I am dissatisfied with the added packaging that has become the recent makeup of me.

And, if I become truly honest with myself, I have been in denial about the weight gain, avoiding mirrors and such, until church members back home pointed out what I had tried to ignore for so long.

"You got fat," one old lady smiled and pointed out, obviously clueless to the fact that she was a big mass herself.

"What size do you wear now? I got some clothes to give to you," another said, also oblivious to her gargantuan frame.

"I thought you would've lost weight by now," said yet another, while at the same time her ankles were actively melding permanently into her feet.

Hence my distress.

I always live in denial while away at school, ignoring any kind of health and fitness regime, and instead ordering Pizza Hut, Chinese food, Burger King, Philly cheesesteaks, and more!

I'm growing more dissatisfied with my sedentary and soda-heavy lifestyle even as I write this! (I just got finished polishing off the dessert portion left over from a hearty feast at Pappasitos.)

This is where vegetarianism comes in.

As part of my "wanna-be" healthier lifestyle, I have continued to log vegetarianism in as a mainstay in my regimen. Not only do I feel living a plant-based existence will allow me to shed excess pounds, I feel it will do my body good healthwise. I come from a long line of heart disease, high blood pressure, hypertension, diabetes, and many other ailments that creep in as a result of unhealthy living.

I don't want to be unhealthy when I get older. I don't want to rely on prescription medication. I don't want to lose the use of my legs. I don't want to be forced into dialysis three times a week.

I don't want to die before my time.

However, while my spirit is willing, my flesh is so constantly weak.

I actually succeeded in becoming a vegetarian for a full month after a year of on-again, off-again, plant savvy living. Then I fell off the wagon.

And now, as I write this, as I mentioned earlier, my stomach cries out in protest of the torture put upon it, and in agreement to the words I place here. It's as if my stomach and my mind are working together to push me back into a state of healthy living.

I'm so stuffed from dinner. And it hurts.

Now I make my claim. Now I decide to take the reins of my health. Now is when I choose to live.

I will become a vegetarian! I will lose this weight! I will be healthy! I will live!

Let's see how this goes.

The only way to keep your health is to eat what you don't want, drink what you don't like, and do what you'd rather not.
Mark Twain

Fed Up!

Sometimes I feel like I'm talking and talking, but no one is listening.

Maybe I'll just shut up, and let everyone figure it out on their own.

Much silence makes a powerful noise.
African Proverb

Last Night, Yoga Saved My Life

As a college student, I'm currently on Spring Break, and naturally, when I have nothing to do, I tend to wreak havoc. My most current havoc-wreaking endeavors have been directed at a young man with whom I accidentally fell into an online "non-relationship" last year. (He says he doesn't want a relationship, but wants me. Go figure.) Let's call him "Bill." Anyway, Bill and I constantly have the same back-and-forth argument about the lack of effort he puts forth in our "relationship." Every month or so, around the same couple of days, (you get where I'm going) I turn into the antithesis of my usual sweet self, and make a dedicated effort to destroy my relationships with all the important people in my life. (friends, mom, guys, etc.) Thus, Bill and I have recently had our appointed argument, where I whine and cry, and threaten to walk out of the "relationship," and he sits back nonchalantly and calls my bluff. To be honest, this time around, he was so arrogant and insensitive about such topics as his refusal to commit, his refusal to stop flirting with other girls, and his insistence on pointing out how needy I am that I actually considered putting weight behind my words and leaving the entire circumstance. (I'm still considering that option as I type this.)

And then yoga comes along.

Safe and sweet, with the subtle ability to sweat and contort my shape into a soothing mass of inner peace. I just finished my yoga practice, and I feel a high that cannot be brought down. I feel...peaceful. I feel...empowered. And I feel that I'm going to have to do this everyday.

What's even funnier is how a centuries old practice rooted in the Hindu tradition has become the missing fragment to link me back with the one Guy I never should have left, be it for Bill or any other man...God. While lying on my hot pink mat, I can actually hear Him speaking to me, teaching me the lessons that I cannot learn while screaming into a phone at 2,3,4,5, and 6 in the morning. God speaks to me through my yoga mat.

What did he tell me just a few minutes ago?

Let go.

I think I just might listen.

And I think I just might enter into a relationship with someone who really deserves my attention...myself.

When I was young I was sure of everything; in a few years, having been mistaken a thousand times, I was not half so sure of most things as I was before; at present, I am hardly sure of anything but what God has revealed to me.
John Wesley

Let's Start at the Very Beginning...a Very Good Place to Start

And now...

The beginning of the discussion!

I'd like to talk about hair, particularly mine, since I've been obsessed with it for the last three months. If you couldn't gather by the title, or the blog summary, my hair is nappy, or kinky, or natural, or whatever you want to call it. This means that I go against the norms of a straight-haired society, and I choose to embrace my wild and bushy 4b hair texture. I actually became a naptural diva in the fifth grade, however, at that age, I did not realize the power and beauty of my tightly coiled strands. At the time, my decision to go natural was not mine, but my mother's, and only after extreme hair breakage had ensued, courtesy of a TCB no-lye relaxer. (Boycott TCB hair products!) I wore a wig after getting my big chop (BC: to be explained later), and was teased endlessly. I even had my wig pulled off in front of the entire class! It wasn't until I started wearing microbraids later in the year that I broke free of the chains in my personal hell. Needless to say, my first encounter with "nappiness" was not a good one, and I was thus socialized into believing my hair, in its true state, was inferior, as many African-American children are also socialized into believing. As I got older, and the "fried, dyed, and laid to the side" pressures of middle and high school loomed overhead, I once again embraced the "lye" and permed my hair over and over again, spending countless hours and dollars at the beauty salon, all the while ignoring the lost strands found in my comb/brush/sink/pillow everyday. I accepted this "lye" until 12th grade, where a quiet persuasion in my dreams led me to the barber, who held the clippers, which snipped the strands, that left my head round and my curls short and tight. Back in school, I was misunderstood, I was ridiculed, I was pointed out....

And I've never regretted my decision once.

Now, back to the regularly scheduled program...

I've been obsessed with my hair for the last three months, ever since I cut it, once again, into its pre-12th grade style. The second Big Chop (capitalizing that term makes it analogous to the Second Coming, lol) came as a result of my damaged locs, which were slowly falling out, dread by dread. (Now that I think of it, both of my "chops" were because of my damaged hair! Interesting.) The reason for this fall-out was my lackadaisical approach to hair care. I didn't shampoo regularly, I never conditioned, I misused grease...I was the poster child for bad hair days. Anyway, after a tear-filled consultation with a natural hair stylist, who bluntly told me that my locs would have to go as casually as one reminds someone that their oil needs to be changed, I went under the knife. (or clippers, whatever floats your boat, right?) Since I got my freedom cut, I've been insatiably educating myself about the facts and fictions of natural hair. Turns out, I've been doing a lot of things wrong. And that naive 5th grader could have really benefited from this information. Did you know:

• Nappy hair isn't as strong and coarse as it is made to be? It is actually very fragile, and must be handled with care.
• Any petrolatum or mineral oil-based products should be avoided like the plague? These heavy oils don't absorb into kinky hair; they just coat the shaft, robbing curly strands of moisture and air.
• Shampoos with lauryl or laureth sulfates are dangerous, as well? These ingredients, mainly used for lather, strip the hair of moisture.
• Deep conditioning is a must, must must?
• Brushing the hair should occur as infrequently as possible? (As stated earlier, our hair is sensitive, and should NOT be subjected to rough handling.)
• Cowashing (washing with conditioner) is a great alternative to shampoo, and can be done daily?
• Water is nappy hair's best friend, both inside and outside?
• Essential oils, such as tea tree oil, rosemary oil, olive oil, and more are good for adding moisture, softness and shine?
• The aforementioned oils can be added to conditioners, both before and after shampooing, for extra hair health and moisture?
• Protective styles, such as locs, braids, and twists, help our hair retain its length and grow long?
• Eating healthy and exercising aid in healthy hair?
• Natural lengths should only be combed through when sopping wet, and slathered in conditioner?
• Shea butter is an excellent hair moisturizer and alternative to grease?
• Natural hair is fabulous, flawless, and a facet of God's glory and genius?

Before my second BC, I knew none of this. Now that I know, let's just say my hair gets much TLC. And to be clear, I do not advocate natural hair at the expense of Black women who choose to wear their strands straight. I just love being in love with my kinks, and will make it a point to shout from the rooftops how great they are, all while slathering some shea butter on them.

I love my hair. And that statement has been a loooong time coming.

Hair style is the final tip-off whether or not a woman really knows herself.
Hubert de Givenchy, Vogue, July 1985

What to say?

First post.

The pressure is on.

What exactly am I supposed to say in an introductory post? Some generic explanation about what this blog will be about?

Okay.

This blog is about love. And hair (the nappy kind.) And yoga. And being a lifelong outcast. And my constant, on-again, off-again, love/hate, fall-off-the-wagon relationship with vegetarianism.

And feminism. Now look at the summary below the title.

I know. Redundant.

I suppose I'll just jump in with a topic, then. That's what all these blogs do anyway, right? Indeed. The next post will be the beginning of the discussion.

Till then...

Insist on yourself. Never imitate.
Ralph Waldo Emerson