RUFARO FAITH
I’d love to meet her, I’d like even more to be her, but I can’t. Sometimes I can be strong, but more often than not I’m a ball of emotions alternating between sunshine and tears like pouring rain. I’d like to think that I’m independent, but there is always a part of me yearning for more—for people who anchor me, tell me when I’m being irrational, say nice things about me when I’m feeling down, push me to be better and love me when I can’t love myself. I don’t need a man, but it would be nice, and I don’t think feeling that way is a bad thing. The black women around me can be strong and can be independent and they don’t need a man, but those are only aspects of who they are. Those feelings are only moments of their existence the glimpses of their lives that they chose to show. That is not all there is to them and that is not all there is to me. The stereotype of the strong independent black woman is deceptively positive. When I have to do work that I’m not particularly enjoying, or when I push myself to do hard things it’s aspirational. But when it’s the label I’m automatically attached to, it doesn’t allow me the space to breathe. It calls on girls like me to deny ourselves the right to feel, reducing us to cardboard people meant to just withstand all that life throws at us. It denies the complexity of each black woman, our experiences, our emotions, our opinions, and our individual personalities, pushing us into a box that doesn’t give us permission to determine how we want to be seen. I’d love to be all of those things, but it’s exhausting. Sometimes I just want to cry to my mom about school and all the insignificant things that make me feel sorry for myself. That doesn’t make me weak. I want to sing along to silly love songs as I cyber stalk a random boy who smiled at me in the hallway, without feeling as if that detracts from my independence. I’m complex, but stereotypes ignore that. I love watching reality television as much as I love reading and writing about classical literature. Some days I wake up in Sasha Fierce mode ready to take on the world, other days just watering my plants and making my bed feels like an achievement. There is so much more to me outside of that stereotype and I shouldn’t have to feel constant pressure to always be at the top of my game—I just want to be me. Sometimes that girl is strong and, depending on the day, she’s independent, but that’s not all there is to her.
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I’m learning to be OK with that; there is more to me than some lazy trope. I feel and will express my feelings even at the cost of being labelled “angry.” There’s so much I want to achieve, but not at the cost of my health relationships and wellbeing. I won’t aspire to fulfill a stereotype that dehumanizes me. I don’t have to be all of those things at any given time, I just have to be me. Even if me is often fearful, occasionally dependent, with emotions that can be fragile, and what others might perceive as weak. It’s me, and that will always be better than any stereotype. ♦
That is not all there is to them and that is not all there is to me.
RUFARO FAITH
GREY AND BRIGHT
LISTEN TO : BLACKBIRD
There is something intensely comforting about rainy days especially at this time of year when the constant darkness has me switching on every set of fairy lights and lighting every candle in my vicinity . I don ’ t know if it ’ s the loss of things I thought I had or just the fact that winter makes me feel all nostalgic and introspective , but lately I ’ ve been find a lot of comfort in nights like this . When I ’ m lying in bed being kept awake by the sound of rain and wind pounding against my window I cant help but feel safe . I know it sounds strange , after all storms and the weather can literately destroy people , but sitting in my cosy bed knowing that there are people who love me only next door and having this sense of warmth and comfort within reminds me that everything is going to be okay . I might have to catch a packed bus and walk into countless puddles to get back to the comfort that is my bedroom but that means I have a home . I might feel like the world outside is nothing but darkness and rain but I know that no matter how heavy it is for a moment It will eventually come to an end . I have people who love me , hope and faith to get me through and I can find the beauty in every puddle every raindrop on my window and every day when the world feels more grey than blue .
MOMENTARY INFATUATION LISTEN TO BLACKBIRD :
I ’ ve never been in love , but dear friend ’ s , there is no doubt that I ’ ve fallen . Usually against my better judgement , usually for strangers I ’ ll never meet again or silly boys that I know aren ’ t worth my time , usually just in my head . It ’ s amazing what the human heart is capable of feeling for a relationship that only exists in your mind .
The boy I made electric eye contact with one day over a desk at the library , a guy I saw for the the first time at a party I ’ d been reluctant to go to , a dangerously good looking actor in a movie that left me staring at the end credits wanting to simultaneously laugh and cry Once I allow myself to walk down the slope of momentary infatuation everything in the world feels right ; the sun suddenly comes out of the clouds , the colours of the brick walls and seemingly lifeless trees become brighter . It ’ s as if God himself has captured the moment , increased the brightness , turned the saturation up a notch and breathed a layer of sepia . The moment is no longer just me thinking ‘ hey this guy is kinda good looking I wonder if his mind is as bright as his smile ’ , no no no , it ’ s the first moment of forever . This boy ’ s smile is drawing me in , his eyes make me want to go dancing , we could get married , my parents would love him , there would be an array of multicoloured tulips in our front garden , we would go on spontaneous adventures around the world and give our children names from our favourite books , he could be the one , I truly think he is the one and then , they speak and ruin everything .
WHAT LIES BETWEEN ME AND THE BLANK PAGE A DOCUMENTATION OF PROCRASTINATION 5:35PM
Fear, the fear that this is it. All my creativity is gone and gone forever, destined to never return. I will never write another thing, make another thing or say another thing that will mean anything to anybody. I'm destined to just write lists about random things that nobody is interested in, essays about books I don’t even like, and sad sad emails to the people who I’ll end up having to work with in some sad day job that involves sitting in a cubicle and working for a company I don’t like.
5:42 PM
The millions of emotions swirling through my mind. I can never focus on one thing my mind goes from thinking about (and not doing) that 3000 word English essay that’s due in two days to wondering why any of us are here. I’m 18, I’m still so young and everybody keeps on saying I have potential and that I’m going to be successful one day but honestly if they read my journals and saw all of the half baked project and unfinished essays, they would take it all back.
6:04PM
My own fingers. Why did I never learn how to type with more than just my index fingers? Every other finger(or thumb) besides the first two feels all weird and confused now. What am I even supposed to do with them, will they just stop working and lose all of their strength if I don’t start using them more? is this why it’s taking me so long to get to the middle of my novel? Yeah, that’s it. It’s the fingers not my own inability to work at something until it’s finished.
7:20PM
I don’t even know why I’m writing. What do I hope to gain from this? Another document to add to the ever expanding folder of ‘work on this it could be good’ files on my desktop? It seems to be always growing, making me want to run for the hills and wish that I’d fell in love with something like lemon slicing, lemon slicing now that I could commit to and speaking of lemons I should probably go and slice some, I want my skin to glow and need an excuse to leave my desk, again.
8:25PM
I’m hungry that’s it yup. Yeah, I ate dinner an hour ago but I think my blood sugar is low… I’m going to be honest I don’t even know what that means. I stopped paying attention to year 11 biology somewhere between enzymes and micro proteins so maybe that not what I need. Education, that’s what I need! Why write something when I can just read other people’s books and then feel super intimidated by it all and pretend for a few days that writing isn’t even a thing I need to do to maintain my sanity.
10:10 PM It’s me, I’ve worked it out it’s just me.
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