Flying makes me nervous. Everything about the process is stressful to me. Getting to be airport, waiting in line for security, going through the X-ray machine, being patted down, putting on my shoes fast enough when they’re finished, finding my gate, waiting for my group number, boarding, takeoff, flying, landing. It’s just a nerve wracking
I’m starting to forget the names-turned-hashtags of Black people who were extrajudicially murdered. I’m forgetting which city they were in and I have trouble keeping straight which name goes with which killing. I forget details, or match them up wrong. It’s getting to be too much. It’s always been too much.
I’m writing this in the Dr. King library in downtown San Jose. I think it’s a pretty appropriate place to get all of my thoughts out here. This library is both a city library and a college library, sitting on the edge of San Jose State University‘s campus, so there’s a mixture of students and
Hollywood is racist. Of course it is; it’s in America and America is racist. These are both facts. If you don’t like facts, then now is the time to exit this article, because it’s based on aforementioned true, 100% factual statements. Be it refusing to hire actors of color or allowing Adam Sandler to continue making
My phone case broke today. Well, it broke a couple weeks ago actually. It’s just getting to that point where I need a new one. It’s one of those with the hard back and gel-soft sides. These always break for me after a couple months; the soft part starts pulling away from the hard part
I’m trying to write something on here everyday. It’s a lot harder than I thought it’d be and I’m already doing bad at it. But, as of this sentence, I still have an hour and 7 minutes left to write something so here goes. This is gonna be a sort of sad thing, just FYI.
I often find myself craving the approval of white people for the Black things I love and, conversely, feeling attacked when white media disparages those things. Even the simplest critique makes me angry. Knowing they even exist, knowing that a white critic could form an opinion like that or even think it was in anyway appropriate
Originally published August 19, 2016 on creators.co I’ve loved The Wiz since I was a little kid. Although it scared the bejeezus out of me (please don’t ever ever talk to me about Evillene’s fingers curling back onto themselves), it was one of my favorites. I loved listening to Diana Ross belt “Home,” I loved
“I don’t have the answers. Does Beyonce have the answers?” Definitely not something I thought I’d be hearing today.
This is the end of an era.
