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Art by Erin Armstrong 

It’s time to have “the talk”

A few weeks ago, Procter & Gamble released a “controversial” commercial on having the race talk. The video, full of emotive scenes and realities, depicts throughout the decades the obstacles and lessons Black parents have had to express to their children, even to this day. The main lesson being taught? Teaching children of color how to build resilience to combat racism. 

As defined by Google, resilience is: the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties; toughness.

In other words, you are building a protection and an ability to snap back from adversity. Sounds hard, and it is, but as we recently have seen, racism is very much alive in the U.S. And, because of the constant afflictions thrown at parents of color, it is easy to neglect our future is in our children. We mustn’t forget parents exert the most influence on who and how they grow up to be. Our children, who are inevitably viewing the unnecessary deaths, venomous hatred, and hostility through millions of portable screens, are absorbing the information that seems almost impossible to filter out. What we need to be asking ourselves is, how do we prepare children of color for the reality, rather than let them fend for themselves? Continue reading

It's National Wine Day!The older we get the less prevalent gifts are. Even the pair of socks we despised receiving when we were children are a glorious gift nowadays. Yet, my parents being the incredibly considerate (and slightly spoil me…) people they are, always intend on giving me something on my name day. Touching, I know. This year, as I have been doing for the past 5-6 years, I asked for nothing. I don’t need anything materialistic, I have all that I want and need, so please don’t buy me anything. 

Mom: “Okay, what about a class?”

Me: *my ears perk up* (my mom has a knack for finding underground art courses that are wildly enriching and fuel my creativity), “I’m listening…” Continue reading

Thought #9: Bush, no bush, your choice

f4edba6394a31118132668a6811697a6.jpgI received my first bikini wax when I was 16, when I was young, naive, and easily corrupted. My teenage-hood wasn’t one that caused my parents headaches or involved nightly escapades to drink beer acquired from bums outside the local 7/11. I was relatively calm, confused, and enthralled by things most teenagers paid no mind to (holler in classic rock, magical realism literature, and British TV shows). But I did get my first bikini wax when I was 16. 

I can’t remember the exact reasons why, but it probably had to do with the media molding me into looking a very unreachable idyllic way, one that I still fight with today (I’m winning the battle I promise!). Continue reading “Thought #9: Bush, no bush, your choice”

Evolving Hopeless Romantic

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For as long as I’ve been on this earth, I have been a hopeless romantic, and the worst kind too. My entire teenage-hood was enveloped in countless imaginative encounters with “The One” and quite literally running off to be happily together. In my mind, there wasn’t anything love couldn’t resolve or mend. And it was pure, my creations were simply filled with happiness and connecting with another human on a level that was so palpable it oozed out of a lover’s stare; the sort of connection strangers envy when they notice the uncontrollable longing gaze and drunken smiles. Ohhh to be in love. 

My thoughts were constantly solidifying and shifting. When I visited Paris, I immediately imagined a life in which we would discuss culture, linger by the Seine and make love in an apartment riddled with history and a balcony opened to the cacophony of the French language and streets. Continue reading “Evolving Hopeless Romantic”