The very first event I attended in the "art scene" in the "conscious community" was one I'll never forget. I spent the past two hours at work arguing with my "none man" about all the guys he assumed liked me and my alleged relations to them. All of my feelings were bottled into one word-- DRAINED. My trinidadian curves burst through my dress, causing me to search for a spare. The last thing I needed was this mans vulgar text and uncontrollable attitude. So what did I do next, you guessed it.. I had left my job uptown and headed to Riverside Park where his event would be.
I could hash this argument out face to face, while enjoying the flow of the water. Or so I thought. I arrived, short T-shirt dress and sandals, work purse spilling off my shoulders and pursed my lips. "You know what, I'm going to enjoy myself--F** this." I scooted up behind my bestfriend, shaking hands, giving hugs. I was not only representing for MLNNNYC, but I was representing for myself. Left, right, and center, I was asked, "So what do you do?" And I was glad to answer, "Well, not much, I'm just the founder of a black girl collective blog that we just launched last month, I have some new things coming to you soon." I smeared positivity all throughout the space before seating myself on a rock near some of the most beautiful, organic women I'd ever seen.
We shared our laughter, our joy and most importantly talent. We were melanated goddesses all on that rock, toes in the dirt. We were everything I had imagined when I begun. As these sisters and I were nothing short of reflections of the sun, spreading light and love into such an open space. I had my nose wide open, proud to be seated amongst greatness and future connections. One sister and I got particularly close, we spent the following hour discussing her work, and how I could never seem to write after Trayvon Martin died. I spilled my soul on that grass. I left my old ways there to die and I felt her heart in me as I told my story to a stranger.
My "none-man" passed by and I excused my sister so that I can go handle my business. He looked into my soul, a feeling rare and yet somehow romantic. His anger was fruit for me, it fed me. His passion was a bridge between honesty, and perspective. He lifted me into the air , my legs elevated to the sky, and ran clear as day toward a skunk. YES HUNNY--A SKUNK! I kicked, and belted out screams as laughter surfaced from his core. I hit him as he placed me back into my ancestral grounds. Suddenly death rose up between us, and we parted with lividness.
I returned to my sister, and I felt my soul crash as she smirked and acknowledge that it was her who would be "Going home with him tonight." I Paused. Shocked. Appalled. My old self, would've snapped but I remained calm. I simply laughed and asked who? Surely she was joking. But unfortunately the joke was on me. Unbeknownst to me, she already knew who I was.
As a woman we often blame the sister. When people ask me the challenges of running a sisterhood , I simply refer back to that moment, where a woman, sharing similar skin, similar familiarity, similar debacle chose to blight me with her tongue. I never knew how I recovered from such embarrassment, such hurt and disappointment. I never knew how a sister could attempt to hurt someone who looked exactly like her, who was in the same position. We come to a place within ourselves where we always want to compete with one another rather than uplift. It's a year later and I still think of this moment as the day I grew up. The day I understood how deep I was in. And how much it would take to heal myself and other women. We were broken, and through the cracks we let comfort in. I encourage you all to never stoop below the barrel with petty, snide behavior but to love each other as your own. Although she'll never be my friend. (I don't want her to) everytime i see that sister, I hug her not because I'm being childish or funny, but because her sufferance is pellucid.