Operation: Grow Up

Being the baby in the family is one of the best and worst things. You get spoiled rotten and can get away with damn near murder but being the last of the Mohicans also makes it hard for everyone to let go. It’s still hard for them to grasp that I’m living with someone of the opposite sex (gasp!) and that there’s a good chance we may be engaging in more than just pillow fights at night… But hey, that’s life and we all gotta grow up at some point. And now my big grown up moment is days away… my College Graduation (cue choir).
First off let me say graduating from college is NOTHING like graduating from high school. So much is different about being 21 than being 18 and it’s more than just the freedom of enjoying the perks of alcohol worry-free. When I graduated high school, I knew I’d attend Ohio State and I knew I’d still come home on weekends and for breaks.
But this time around something’s different…
In fact, a lot of things are different. For one, I will more than likely never live with my parents again. There will be no “going home” on breaks and weekends because I will more than likely never have a “winter break or spring break” again. I’m about to enter the real world and it all seems surreal.
Just yesterday I was moving in the dorms on Ohio State’s campus horrified to find one of my roommates had already met a guy and took him back to the room. (Let’s just say that was the moment I knew I’d be living off campus real soon.)
Just yesterday I was learning my way around such a massive campus and was proud once I knew where all my classes were by heart and then disheartened when I realized how fast the quarter had gone by and that I would need to memorize an entirely new schedule.
Just yesterday I was still getting the O-H-I-O cheer down and getting used to responding back with the appropriate letters on cue.
Just yesterday I was learning what a pro show was and seeing where all the black people on campus liked to congregate.
Just yesterday I was discovering that icebreakers would run me $30 if I didn’t get in line before 10pm or was lucky enough to be Greek. I didn’t make the cut for neither so I soon gave up on icebreakers.
Just yesterday I was learning the techniques of the almighty college sport of beer pong… and that black people usually would pass on a game.
And just like that it’s all coming to an end.
I’m about to be an adult with real adult bills and real adult problems.

Welcome to the Real World.

Love Don't Live Here Anymore...

People walk in your life & back out again... Everything happens for a reason though. But why? Why can't I live my life full of the bliss portrayed everywhere else but in my sad little world? Love is a strange thing. It can build you up & tear you back down in seconds. 4 tiny little letters made into a powerful word, a word paired with 2 others that can be a dramatic sentence when heard. But how real is this so called concept of loving another and giving them your all. Taking the good, the bad, and ugly regardless of anything because you love this person. I've loved. I've been loved. I've lost love. So is love really worth all the tears, heart aches, pain? YES. Love is pain and through all the rain & pain there is joy. Joy with having someone love you for you, all your flaws & mishaps. Joy knowing that when you wake up in the morning, somebody is waking up somewhere thinking of you, too. Love is the joy felt when you're with your significant other. The joy of love gives you a sense of purpose. Though we will never fully know our purpose on this earth, being in love gets us one step closer to realizing this destiny. Once in love, we live our lives for one another. We laugh harder & cry harder with our significant other in mind. Nothing but our significant other comes to mind. Love is an instinct of humans. We live for love, we die for love.

Why Michelle\'s Hair Matters

Why Michelle\'s Hair Matters

I had to touch on this one... It really annoys me how black people find a way to put one another down ALL THE TIME. Now we have some people claiming that Michelle Obama is "conforming" to white society by having relaxed hair instead of an afro...

Two years ago, I made the decision to go natural. Not because I was on some "trying to get in touch with my inner roots/black self" but because I wanted to give my hair a break from chemicals.

The beauty of black people is that we come in so many different shades and our hair comes in so many different textures. My sister has what we call "good hair." Wet it and it gets curly and cute. But I was cursed (or some may some blessed) with a thick grade of hair. Wet it and it gets tight and hard to comb aka not cute.

I remember getting my first relaxer in like 4th grade and I felt so different. I no longer had to get a hot comb to my head everytime I wanted a nice hairstyle. Let's be honest, there are just things natural hair won't do.

Nonetheless, after years of relaxers I decided to give my hair a break. My hair wasn't growing much and it just seemed less of a hassle to go natural. It was nice to go swimming and not care or be able to buy 88 cents shampoo knowing that no matter what my hair would still come out the same way even if I bought $88 shampoo.

But now, I've decided to go back to relaxed hair. Why? Because at the end of the day it's easier. Hands down. Sure, it's a lot more expensive but there are days when I just want to jump up and go. Natural hair doesn't give you that option.

Whether Michelle Obama's hair is relaxed or not (no one really knows, maybe she gets it straightened) I think that doesn't matter. It's not about wanted to be "white" or "black." It's about personal preference. And I can attest to that. Not every woman can deal with the rigors of having natural hair. I myself included.

Say it ain't So

Ok. I get it. Newspapers are dying. Journalism is changing. Global warming is happening before our very eyes. Oh, by the way the entire world is going to hell.

But of course, being the stubborn hard-head I am, I refuse to succumb to the "the world as we know it is coming to an end" ideology.

Therefore, I will not give up my dreams of writing for a paper. No, I don't want to do PR work and no, I don't want to write for a trade publication. I want to do real journalism.

I want to be the outlet for many people to share their stories when no one else would listen. I want to be responsible for letting people know what's going on and explaining various political decisions to them in plain English.

This is what I want to do. This is what I plan to do. This is what I WILL do.

And I refuse to be told otherwise.

Dear Steve Jobs, Thanks for iPods

This one will probably have all the old heads shaking their heads in disgust.... But hey, this is life through MY eyes...

I consider myself to be a tech savvy person. Sure, I text like crazy & can do so with my eyes closed, sometimes FB status updates are the highlight of my day and I listen to music on a daily basis on my iPod. Yes, that lovely little wonder that the smart guys over at Apple created has saved me plenty of times.

How so?

Because those white earbuds give a clear warning to people, "I Can't Hear You!"

It's exactly what the older generation is complaining about... "young folks don't know how to communicate properly anymore."

Think about it. How likely are you to approach someone vehemently bobbing their head to their tunes, oblivious to the world about them? Very unlikely. And you know what? I love it.

For the many times I've been on campus about to be approached by clipboard weilding Earth Lovers, asking "Excuse me, do you have time for the environment," my iPod has saved the day.

I mean, what type of question is that anyways. Who doesn't care about the environment so much that they don't have time for it?

What I am I supposed to say, "Uhh... No I don't have time for the environment. In fact, I drive a gas guzzling Hummer that I always fill up before 6 p.m. since I travel a ridiculous amount of miles for no reason throwing trash and toxic sludge out of the window and plowing through gardens to destroy plants..."

But instead of saying all of this I can just let my iPod do all the talking for me by simply walking pass appearing to be so caught up in my jams.

Or better yet, ladies how about when you know a guy is going to try to approach you... even though you know he shouldn't be trying his luck even on a good day-- a good day meaning holding a box of Lucky Charms and three bouquets of three-leaf clovers? But for some reason the brother has heart.

Not wanting to be rude, you turn that iPod up on full blast mode & keep walking... Making him "realize" you couldn't hear a word he said.

Now I know there are some that say, "Why not just talk and say you're not interested instead of using your iPod for a cop out?"

And that's exactly what it is... a cop out.... and a lovely way to use technology.

**Insert evil laughs here**

Anxiety Attack

Approximately 24 hours from now I will be in Tampa, Florida with some of the biggest names in journalism at the National Association of Black Journalists Convention. For most people a convention of writers would seem like another big item on their "Things to Avoid" list, but for me this is a dream come true. This is the opportunity of a lifetime for me to network with both already established journalists and those up & coming like myself all in one place, totally at my disposal.

I doubt I sleep at all tonight. Anxiety is taking over now, my nerves won't settle down. This trip to Florida will be the turning point in my life. It will separate the real journalists from the wannabes. Time to put the game face on.

As they say it's a long way to the top and I see this trip as a big boost in my climb up that mountain to success. I feel as if so many doors will open for me after this trip. Sure, it was expensive--took me to eating turkey sandwiches, crackers, and water for lunch for the past few weeks, just so I can save every penny possible--but I'm highly optimistic that this will be well worth it.


Wish me luck.

Hate

My heart burns black
From
Loneliness.
Isolation
Runs through my
Blood
As I stare at your
Broke picture frame.
The frame that told
Broken
Lies.
I look at the smile
That was once
My
Sunshine.
It's
Now
My
Cold
My Hate
But worst of all
My
Defeat.

Temptation

Temptation came to visit me last night.
Fine & young--a real black man that knew how to treat a black woman right.

First, he kissed me long & hard. Then he kissed me short & sweet.
Totally submissive, I simply laid there entangled in the black satin sheets

All while knowing he was too much for me to handle.
But I loved him with a passion, I was in love with my midnight vandal.

I tried to not let him overtake me, I tried my best.
But the sexy twinkle in eyes had gotten me undressed.

His distinct voice whispered sweet nothings in my ear,
Telling me of all the things a woman would want to hear.

Once our lovemaking session was over,
The love in my eyes was gone and I became sober.

Temptation left as quick as he came,
Leaving me alone, naked and ashamed.

Innocent

I was once as innocent as a flowering child,
As innocent as the very seed it grew from.
I outgrew my innocence--the innocence I used to wear.
I shed my innocent skin once I got too big.

Now that the innocence is lost forever,
Nothing but another flowering child's hand-me-down
Does that make me guilty?

Dear GOD, Holla if Ya Hear Me

Growing up, church was really seen more as a chore rather than something to look forward to. I’m not Baptist so luckily I didn’t have to sit through a full day of church shelling out money two-three times in one sitting. But I must admit I wish I could’ve grown up with that music. As a former aspiring singer, you don’t get to do much singing (at least not the kind I like) in a Lutheran church. (Yes, I’m Lutheran.) And for those who aren’t familiar, a Lutheran Sunday service is much like a Catholic service without the Hail Marys. And I shamefully have to admit when I was younger I hated going to church. I have to use such a strong word because that’s how I felt. While most kids loved Saturday, I dreaded it because I knew after Saturday comes Sunday—always. And what I didn’t understand was why me and my sister had to go to church and no one else. Well, I was told I had to “pay my dues” like everyone else had did and then I’d get my chance to sleep in on Sundays. So, that’s why I saw church as a chore, something I had to do but didn’t enjoy nor looked forward to.

And now I’ve let this whole “dues thing” get in the way. I used college as an excuse as to why I couldn’t go to church. “Oh, I have no ride there” or “I haven’t found a church home yet” or better yet “I’m not looking for a church home, I’ll just go back to mine when I can.” But now I feel as if something’s missing. I need that spiritual fulfillment. In fact, I crave it. But it really is hard finding a new church home. I grew up in a mixed church that was very welcoming.

I honestly don’t care what denomination church I attend, though my significant other keeps driving for a Baptist church. That’s fine. But predominately black churches never fared well with me. Its as if you’re always an outsider unless you were damn near born in the very pew you’re sitting in. I hate the all eyes on me vibe. But nonetheless, as I’ve grown in my faith I’ve deemed the stares to be unimportant.

But yet I still have no church home and can’t remember the last time I’ve been to church. Now I’m not saying church is mandatory for a relationship with God because its not. I still pray everyday I don’t need a sanctuary to do that. But it’s just something about being in the House of the Lord that brings me a sense of calm—a sense of calm that’s really been missing in my life since my long absence from church.

I have not forgot I’ve just gotten lazy but I know I really need to make my way back to Him.

A Letter to my City

Dear Cincinnati,

I been meaning to get this one off my chest for awhile now. I never thought I’d see the day when I’d be telling you this but I think you and I will need to split. As much as I don’t want to, I have to. You’ve been there for me for the past 21 years and I’ve enjoyed it. Avondale is truly the best—and all I gotta do is mention two words: Blair Park.

But as I’ve grown from a sneaky flyy girl running the streets tryna make it home before those street lights, I’m afraid to say you have not grown much. In fact, you’ve downsized. The Jazz Festival or should I be correct here and say “Macy’s Music Festival” is no longer the premier social event of the summer like it used to be. Earth, Wind & Fire has been the headliner since I can remember. Now don’t get me wrong I can jam to some old school tunes but really can’t we switch it up a little?

Secondly, the social scenes at Eden Park on a beautiful Sunday afternoon or the Strip during afterhours have both dwindled down to a select few trying to keep the tradition strong but who can’t keep others on the bandwagon. Honestly, you’re not much fun anymore. You’re not trying new things. When I see up and coming artists’ tour dates, you are a rare stop. Only established artists stop to visit because you can’t give new artists the love they need. Hell, you don’t even give your own the love they need. There’s talent there that needs to be fostered but you’re not helping much.

And as much as I wanted to stay in denial and say that you really can be like New York or Atlanta, I know the lies have to stop. And they have to stop NOW. Let’s face it. You’ll never be like them. The only similarity among you all is the cesspool of wannabes: ie, models, promoters, rappers, singers, and whatever other “–ers” there are. But at least some wannabes in other places make it to the “being” stage.

But with you no one ever progresses and this is why I have to move on. You will always be my favorite but I gotta do this for me. Sorry.

Yours truly,

Ms Mila J

Untitled

I

cry ahead
Scared
To face the desire of an
Enchanting tear
We cry rainbow paths to our sorrowful pasts
And our optimistic futures
Gentle sounds embrace
All around
To sprout wings of joy to fly away
Away