I have no idea who my mother is. Sure I know her name, where she resides, where she was born and what she looks like , but I have absolutely no idea who my mother is. I’ve experienced several broken relationships in my life but the first one, the most hard hitting impactful one was with my mother. I wish at some point we will be able to renew the relationship that was broken nearly 18 years ago. Naturally, as the baby I’ve always been attached to the idea that she was going to show up and be there, that the mother-daughter bond was going to exist and she was going renew her responsibilities as a parent. But this isn’t the DMV and things don’t work out that way. I’m not a child anymore; I’m no longer living in a falsehood believing that such a thing will happen. However, I’m still waiting for that day when things will be renewed and when people ask about her I’ll find have something to say. 

I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, leaning forward and I’m ready to jump. But no, I’m not attempting to commit suicide. It’s simply the dream I have every time fear overtakes my minds and holds me captive.  In the beginning I thought it was representation of a fear of falling but that doesn’t scare me. For a while I was standing at this cliff, leaning and waiting, as I feared death. It took some time before I was standing straight again, realizing that death was apart of the cycle of life and it’s going to happen regardless of how I feel about it.  And then I feared failure.  But then I discovered the Samuel Beckett quote, “Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.” Yet, while I’ve freed myself from my greatest fears I’m still leaning at the edge of the cliff. My mind is a hostage of many fears, pushing me forward as I attempt to release each them one by one. One day I’ll be standing straight, far away from a cliff, but until then this dream will continue to leave me hanging and leaning at the edge of a cliff. 

“You left for school and you’ve changed.” My response: “Great” Change, that six letter word that makes some weary and uneasy, has never been a problem of mines. In my eyes change is a representation of growth and progress, not the latter. I can’t leave my hair in one style for more than a week, my room cannot stay the same for more than a few months and I can’t stay occupied with just one thing for too long. I’ve grown accustomed to change because I’ve realized it’s never-ending part of life. I’ve at close friend at Howard every year because of money issues (see how it remains inconsistent? ) and this year will be no different. I miss them without a doubt but I’ve just come to look at is a change that will benefit them and our relationship in the future. So whenever I come home and someone tells me I’ve changed, I just smile because I wouldn’t expect to return and have made no progress. 

“We have reviewed plenty of applications and while you were a very good candidate, we have decided to offer the position to someone else.”  The first couple of times I received that message in an email my feelings were crushed. I would stare at the screen for a couple of minutes questioning whether or not I was really suppose to be a journalist. But it didn’t stop after just a few, rejection after rejection kept flowing into my inbox. After awhile I was like spare me, don’t send me this nonsense. Like what exactly do you mean I was good? Well why didn’t you pick me?  I was starting to lose my faith. I was a finalist for two programs I really wanted and then I was once again turned down. Several times I wanted to put my recorder back into the box, Oscar (my Canon) back into his bag and place my pen and notepad down. My faith in myself was dwindling. I was losing confidence in my skills. Then came the burden of paying for my final year in school. Tuition went up, my pell grant was decreased, another grant stripped. My job was ending in April. I felt like a broke ass failure chasing a faulty dream. But then I remembered I had faith in someone who will give up on me even though I was giving up on myself.  So I did what I do every night, go on my knees and prayed. But this time I asked for restoration of my faith, the belief that everything would workout. Then it did. I got an internship with the local CBS Radio affiliate (WNEW 99.1) [which now has turned into a part-time position], a fellowship which pays for tuition and a job at department store which I loathe. I may not have too much faith in my generation or society as a whole but my faith in God will always remain strong. 

Just for one night, let’s get physical. Y’all are probably thinking, Letese’… And I’m thinking, I only need one night. Give me one night with that one person, when there are no words to be exchanged and we get completely… physical. Let me write my name on your tongue, nibble on your bottom lip and find the one spot that makes you weak. Make my legs shiver, put an arch in my back, make me walk away with a smile on my face. Give me one night with that one person and let’s not talk, let’s just get physical.

But lets be real, I won’t be getting physical for a while, these are just my celibacy blues.

*I could’ve written about working out or how I’m tired of hearing about how skinny I am but I decided to be a little more raw, a little more honest today. 

Nearly two years ago, I stood in the middle of Truth Hall with a group of young women I did not know, and tears continuously fell from my eyes.  My best friends back at home have witnessed me cry once out of the eight plus years we’ve known each other. But there I was, open and vulnerable shedding tears with people I’ve never met before that day. And the most applauding thing was that it was with women.  Naturally I have a greater connection and better friendships with males. I suppose its because my daddy raised me. But on that particular day I connected with them spiritually on terms I didn’t even understand. I wasn’t standing there crying because of my own personal problems, I was crying for them and all they’ve been through. Now if you know me then you know my emotions are trapped away in their own little zone. And out of the emotional setting, I would develop one of the greatest connections a young girl/woman could have, sisterhood. They are there whenever I need a laugh, to vent, to cry or whatever. We have a connection, a bond, which no matter what other people may whisper about us cannot be broken. They are my sisters and I love them. 

Can I Live?

 I am not that “natural” woman. This is not the 1960s, my hair is a not representation of no one’s fight, but my own when it comes time for me style it. I am not a member of a team so spare with the #teamnatural captions and tweets. Just exactly what are y’all playing for? I am not buying anyone’s expensive “natural hair” products. I am not afraid of a cotton pillowcase. Hello, that’s what bonnets are for.  No there are no incents in my room.  And no, I am not against those with relaxed hair.  The most important one, no I cannot do your hair.

 Stereotypes unfortunately follow us throughout life and these are just some of the ones I’ve experienced over the past two years since I transitioned from relaxed hair to natural. I had no idea that the decision to change my hair would mean so much to others, probably more than it means to me. Yes my hair is natural but it doesn’t define me, I define it. If I allowed it, stereotypes would bury me alive and I would die satisfying other people’s expectations. But then again, maybe no one will care because being natural is in now. 

Dear Dead Presidents, 

I need for you to be consistent. No, I’m not talking about that half-ass I work 25+ hours and I barely receive a $200 check nonsense. I’m talking about that I can finally work one job and be able to pay my bills, consistency. I want you to be my sweet love, you know, where you enter my life and make that lengthy “I don’t know exactly where my money is going” Howard bill no longer be a concern of mines.  Those student loans? Eliminated. My phone bill? Taken care of. Food and a few happy hours? I gotchu. Some say you’re the motivation. But you’re not mines and your inconsistent ass will never be. I can handle the multiple jobs and the unpaid internships. See I’m not out for dead presidents to represent me; I have a passion for that. I’m not asking for you to be the love my life, just a little consistency.  

Sincerely,

One-struggling ass, not-yet-broke student journalist