As borndays go...it sucked I guess. I mean I was stood up by three people, only two people from my family called me (one was my mother because it was her birthday too) and only one of my so-called friends called me. Suffice it to say, I was upset. In retrospect, I guess there's so much going on in the world right now...who really cares about my bornday. I mean, in the grand scheme of things, me being alive one more year doesn't really matter to anyone but me, my children and my mother. Unless of course, I commit a heinous crime or make a startling contribution to society. The highlight of my bornday was when my Sun and daughter strung up banners throughout the house while I was in my room napping. When I awoke I was quite surprised and touched to see the messages of love and appreciation hanging on walls and from the arches of doorways. What wonderful, considerate, kind, creative, industrious little people I am producing. On this day when no one else bothered or remembered to extend a kind word my way...they did. They are all that really matter. Not having a roomful of friends and family share in the celebration of my making it through another year or even receiving gifts that I'd probably hate anyway. My Sun and daughter are my legacy...the only pieces of me that will remain when my body gives out and my spirit transitions. They are the greatest gifts I could ever receive from and give to the universe. I pledge to ensure that my seeds are free and strong in mind and spirit. They are the reason for my bornday. The only reason. It was a great bornday after all.
Oh, and I've decided that once I have 2-3 inches of new growth I'm shearing the tresses and I'm changing my name. It is time to shed the last vestiges of my mental enslavement. I am tired of physically endorsing eurocentric beauty standards. I am tired of this european name. I am tired of destroying my African hair with poisonous chemicals. I am tired of denying my Afrikanity in favor of eurocentricity. By God, I aim to be free of those that oppress me and my people. White is not right. Black is not evil. Straight hair is not good hair. Khadijah is not a ghetto name. I'm gonna be nappy and happy. Don't call me black either. There is no country called black. There is no language called black. I did not descend from blacks...I am descended of AFRICANS. Slave and free, those that walked on African soil and those that soaked the ground of ameriKKKa with their blood and sweat. I am the dream realized. I embody Marcus Garvey's hopes, I epitomize Kwame Ture's fire, I am that which Huey and Bobby fought for. Through me Patrice, Assata, Haile, Fred, Sojourner, Harriet, Nzinga, Shaka, Imhotep, etc will live. I am the dream realized. Fuck you self-hatred!
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