Monah and BK

Live Your Best Life as a Brooklyn Babe !- A.S.

A Letter between Roy and Roiann.

February 14, 2013

Dear Daddy!

First and foremost, I love you. I do not say this to you enough and I know if I am dating around and connecting with different men, I  first have to say with a genuine heart “I love you” to my father before I say it to the man I choose to give my heart to.

I want to say thank you for teaching me about men. Real men. Men who give nothing but their whole selves but only in few words; Because of you I have learned to watch the silent movies around me. You can tell so much about a man by the way he moves. You can understand his heart’s intention by the way the bass in his voice can be stable or quiver.

Thank you for showing me how a man dresses. A man who exudes confidence does not have to do too much. He does not prance around his masculinity in his clothes and he never has to hear from people how cool he is. He knows it. He owns it. He leaves people in awe.

Thank you for showing me I am of worth. You have always gone above and beyond for me even if I did not like your execution. You have exposed me to the finer things in life while showing me to carry humility in my purse. You taught me not to base my agency on the pockets of a man or the lip service he may usher into my ears. I will never forget when you told me at thirteen to always let a man, be a man. Go with the natural order of things and most importantly, never nag. Nagging is a sin in the Bible of Man.

I have learned from you, forgiveness is key and keeping score is not. Men make mistakes; they will want to wander only to find home again. I have observed you and the uncles- men want to play. Men want to pack light. Men want to be kept safe while thinking they are the protectors, because they are but sometimes it would be nice if they can just let down their guard. Men will do things in their own time. A man will think before he acts, when he cares. A man will order his steps before the world orders it for him.

Thank you for your lectures about risk management. Thank you for being you and crafting my healthy perception of a real man and not the one Disney wants me to believe in. It has been a riveting 23 ½ years being your daughter. You have ultimately prepared me to go deeper with men and never stay on their surface. I will never apologize for not accepting the novels they push because we both know the truth is what moves us from one step to the next. Thank you for allowing me to understand you as a man before I understood your role as a father or husband. I will be sure to do the same for my significant other, when the time comes.

Love,

Lauren Roiann Daniella

 

Soca, Mas and other Drugs

Like a semaphore your culture was birthed through a triangular movement, precise yet abstract. Ships flowed across the Atlantic Ocean from Europe, Africa and the Americas. Your ancestors unwillingly came and had their religion, tongues and bodies tied to colonialism. They were allowed, however, to have some sense of freedom- a liberty to expose the skin on their backs and brown hues. Carnival is defined as the emancipation from one’s flesh. This cultural celebration allows one to become in tune with their sensuous side. Ask no questions and you will hear no lies. For we know Caribbean culture likes to appear noble and its women, gracious. Caribbean women and their sexuality have had an on and off relationship—no one wants to appear as a Jezebel. They keep their “wukkin’ up” to themselves and pray the dancehall walls keep their secrets as they ‘brace and wine’. You can relate to this. You do not want yourself to be misinterpreted or your sexuality translated wrong.

As you examine your pedicure toes you realize your feet still hurt and back, a little sore. Your skin now has a golden hue; you smile to yourself, remembering the cutie who complimented you on it. Oh gosh! Tomorrow is Monday, the start to your busy work-filled week. Your bags are still not unpacked and all you can think of is: “an’ every fete geh de numba to me cell phone”. Yes, di vibes cyan done for you and neither is procrastination. Instead of unpacking and preparing for the week ahead, you go to the kitchen to warm up some leftover Saltfish and Bake from your Aunty. Carrying the food into your living room you decide to upload your Carnival pictures unto Facebook. But then you pause. You do not want any foolishness on the comments. Yuh nuh want no one asking if your mother knows if you “get on bad” or better yet, your nosy co-worker giving you the “side eye”. You realize American society does not understand what you and your people are made of or even stand for. They often believe Soca and Calypso to be misogynistic. Caribbean women are given the labels of weakness due to how power is constructed within their society. It is said by academics and politicians:

 “Caribbean women are vulnerable because gender inequality makes them economically dependent on men.  Because they are subjected to domestic violence that reduces their ability to negotiate safer sex, and even in matriarchal societies where women head the house and provide the income—as is widely the case in Caribbean society—it is still accepted that the man will sleep around, because masculine norms of aggression, control, and risk taking allow him to”. (playingwithink.wordpress.com)

Besides the label of vulnerability it is often assumed by those outside of West Indian culture that, Caribbean women are hyper-sexualized by their own culture. American feminists who are not Caribbean often wonder if a bag has been slipped over the heads of West Indian women. Who in their right mind would be subjected to such raunchy behavior on a regular basis?

The question is: Who is allowed to deem what is of substance or not? As this question rolls around in your mind, you remember how people responded to pictures of Rihanna from last year’s Crop Over. She was labeled as a “slut”, “whore” and some even chuckled at the idea of her crying over rape alluding to her “Man Down” song. Although her traditional Mas costume was barely there, yours was too. Other commentary came from those of African-American and African descendants who used the necessary language that conveyed an “Us versus Them” thematic. It was made to believe, West Indian women were the only ones within the Black race to behave in a “lewd” nature. It was even stated that, we as women were confused. “How can one celebrate the cultural holiday of Carnival and yet not support homosexual or reproductive rights of others?” (Clutch Magazine August 2011- ‘After Carnival, Are People Too Hard on Rihanna’) Others proclaimed Rihanna’s participation in Carnival (Crop Over) was not a good marketing decision because she is a role model and companies would not allow her to be the “face” of their products. And last but never least, there were those who believed Caribbean women should not participate in playing Mas because it was not viewed as celebrating culture but celebrating sex.

As you continue to edit your photos, making the sun beam brighter and occasionally turning your photos vintage, you wonder if it is best to keep who you really are to yourself. Or should you only give those who went on the trip permission to see the album? Though you may not be Bajan, you and Rihanna’s cultures align under the Caribbean umbrella. She could have been your sister, aunt, niece, cousin or even, you. Those insensitive comments were directed to you, whether you care or not. What does a girl do with the ethnocentric views of others?

You upload your one thousand plus pictures, carefully dividing up the albums. You do not make your albums private; you have plans for your allyuh Facebook friends to see that it was what it was. You played mas, jump and waved, celebrated your roots…half–naked. You “wined up” on complete strangers and enjoyed it. Why? Because your favorite Nadia Batson song played, drinks were flowing and “chippin’ down de road” never felt better. The icing on the cake: you felt at complete peace with your sexuality. Your curves, yuh bumpa and waist line wrote sentences and mesmerized eyes. And besides, it is about cultural control. Who is going to define you, your sexuality and culture? You should, because you help create and evolve it.

 

 

Title: Post-Grad Narrative with Shakka and Cladia

As the Isley Brother’s ‘Don’t Say Goodnight (It’s time for Love)’ beat entered my ear canals, I was immediately transported to Brooklyn summer nights. You know, the kind where you can still smell the jerk chicken on the grill or taste the Shandy you were drinking on your tongue. But in the midst of this you have friends and family around you; and you rather not be anywhere else…unless it is with a person who feels like home.

The British artist Shakka’s song, ‘Take Our Time’ allows me to stay in the present through the midst of my reveries. I have been focusing my attention on, who the career woman in me will be. Will she be creative, fun-loving and youthful or will she care about her ‘racks on racks on racks’? Money has never been my thing but it scares me to hear so many young women around me, constantly talking about how much “bank” they are making. As my best friend Cladia says: Money is not eternal. I do not want to be comfortable because of my income but because I really love what I do in the skin I do it in.

On the flip side, I have been adjusting to a new social life, friends and men. I am no longer a college girl who wants to get “effed-up-tonight” and dance off my Jose Cuervo (Silver, please) shots on tables…Well, not on the regular. Ha! I am getting myself together spiritually and I no longer find myself running wild to seek advice over the little things. I have two options: pray and then pray some more. It took me two months to get to this point; seems short but the beginning of a process always feels the longest. What I have learned thus far is to take my time with everything. My friends have set me up with different guys and in between the: “Do you like getting your feet rubbed”? and “Girl, you got nice thighs and legs”, no one has compelled me to advance with their advances. This is new to me, since I love taking risks- I blame being a Cancer (on the cusp of Gemini). I like everything to come quick like my Big Macs, large fries and Sprite. I am understanding, though, not everything should be treated as though it has the value of a Number 1  from Mickey D’s . I remember all the relationships that came quick, did not allow me to really be my wild/cranky/feisty/ musical/ creative/ poetic/ loving self. I think it is so important to reveal layers, at the right time. My wrong timing has gotten me into trouble too many times. I am over bad judgment.  I want to be in tune to the energy around me.

What I want most out of my post-graduate life is: to be okay with what I think every area of my life is really worth instead of just allowing things to just enter, all willy nilly. It is dangerous when you think about it- to allow any and everything to become a part of you. Or giving others permission to tell you what they think is right for, your life. I accepted the fact that my educational journey is far from over. I accepted the fact that I will be probably be a girlfriend who acts as though she is from the 1950s- call me old fashion/cultural but when I love, I love hard…for the right person. I accepted the fact that I will never give my friends or family members good advice, after the fact. I do not want to see anyone who is a part of my life fall on their face because I have been there. It is an intangible feeling that hurts when felt but can never be grasped, until time does its thing and heals.

“Do you mind if we take our time? ‘Cause I’ve been here before and it nearly took my life…Let’s take it easy”

Thank you, Shakka.

 

Title: A Conversation between Two BK Besties.

“I think with Devon; he had you at “HELLO” whereas Ethan massaged his way into your life.”

I started to cackle.

“You right, you right. I mean, I think Devon was there for me. ”

I sounded so unsure; I hate comparing guys but Ethan is my best student (Owww!) and Devon has a consistent case of truancy.  On the flip side, I have a soft spot for Devon; I am sweet on him. He holds me down when I need to be placed back into reality. He feeds me perspective when I am starving because of my blindness. At the end of the day though, it makes me wonder who should credit be given to: the person who is there for every moment or the person who is “not always there when you call, but always on time?”

 Is timing everything? Does timing equate to “Are-You-The-One” points? As a twenty-something Brooklyn girl, I want things to come fast like the B46! Fast can get you to where you think you want to be in good timing but I am realizing more and more taking the slower route (i.e. the G train) gives you time to really understand you do not need a million different ways to get home.

I personally believe, whether you have a team of people you are casually dating or enjoying the glue of monogamy we all want someone who feels like home. Home, for me, is bright lights—Las Vegas style, boys on the corner, bodegas and spice (Jerk style). It is gritty, tender and enduring. My home has been so loyal but complex; it makes me wonder can I ever find a person who represents all these things for me?  Is it safe to have someone as spontaneous as New York City and sexy as Las Vegas? Sorry for all the questions but how will we ever know if we never go beyond one’s blueprint?

“You have to put your pride aside whenever you meet a new person or get a new job. You cannot be guarded. Do your part and make your money. Know where your focus is”.

“I know! That’s what I was telling her; it is hard though…I mean, it was hard when I was in high school”!

“Wait, let’s pause. Are we being hypocritically”?

“Nah; I think we have a case of ‘been-there-done-that’”.

Home. HA!  That is what I love about it: the nasty and self righteous sh*t talking we tend to do in NYC. It is so rude and considerate at the same time but it has your best interest at heart. Home will “dead”—“leave,” for those who live outside our five borough radius—anything that does not allow your needs to be meet. How can you doubt its intentions? You have plans for it and it has plans for you.

Just ask Foxy…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Monah and BK supports Paper Le Chic!

 The people who surround me constantly remind me of what is inside me. With this being said, I am proud to showcase (as well as show off) my cousin’s new business, Paper Le Chic.

Whether you are glamorous, fly or eccentric, she has the stationary for you.

Check out her growing business  and be sure to support! www.paperlechic.com

Sample work:


“You can’t catch me, nana nana boo boo”

My best friend of eleven years is my mentor. Although we are the same age, I feel she may have been my older sister in a past life. She always tells me what I do not want to hear but manages to give my ears what they need regardless of how my heart is feeling. A real friend will do that. Recently she told me: Do not run to heartbreak. When she said that, I found it to be a hard and rather large pill for me to swallow. I had finished telling her about my plans to visit my current beau in his city. This decision was made after he blatantly told me he would not visit me in my own because he always seemed to get a headache whenever he did find himself in my neck of the woods. Obviously complete BS, but somewhere deep inside of me I did not want to “lose” him. Maybe because his resume and education screamed: Barack Obama Junior or because his voice made me blush without him even being in the room. Who knows? All I knew was, I wanted to make it work for reasons unknown to me.  

I have come to the conclusion though that I was running away from…him. No, not the homie who did not want to visit me…the other Him, the one I always seem to return to. He makes me feel safe. He feeds my cultural appetite. He is the subway stop I get off on, so I can take a less crowded bus home. Shit! He is home. I returned to him when all else failed; I used to believe he was the only ‘good’ I could ever receive.

We have gone back, back, back and forth- Aaliyah style. We have “guh down”- Soca style. We have broke each other off (figuratively)- Roots style.

I thought I got rid of him until I found myself unable to sleep one night.  I had one of those “I am going to slap somebody” days. So instead of Jesus, I called unto him. No answer. In my city girl attitude voice, I said: “It’s whatever”.  I rolled over in bed and put the covers over my head. Four hours later, Frank Ocean’s ‘Thinking of You’ blasted from my phone. It was him. We exchanged pleasantries with ease and then I asked him for guy advice. Throughout our questionable friendship I never did that because I did not want to let go of my cushion, so I always played it safe. As usual, he came through, told me what I needed to hear and left me with this: “Be your own woman”.

No, I did not fall in love with him that night.

Why?

Because…

He was never mine to have or vice versa. He did help me run to where I needed to be: not to heartbreak but to a place for me to come into my own, without him.

Maybe, just maybe we will “be” but currently, I would not want to change a thing.