All In The Fullness of Time...
...this is a quote from one of my favorite books. And it just recently started making sense to me. At the time, I thought, gee, this character is unrealistically patient. But that was a few years ago, and now I think I am grasping the concept.
If you think about it, time is full. It is hard for us to wrap our brains around time. The beginning, the middle, and the end. It is all abstract. And people are always saying things like "in due time" or "it's only a matter of time"..."only time will tell"..."time heals all wounds".
How many days is 'due time'? How much time is in a 'matter'? What exactly is time going to say when it tells? And what healing properties does time have? A little out there, I know, but if you think about it, none of it makes sense.
So this guy in this book is dealing with a love interest, who is being a little impatient. He looks at her says, "all in the fullness of time". And it shut her up. If you can think about time being full, you won't worry about how much time...it doesn't have a task or a responsibility. There is no due or matter attatched to it, and it doesn't have to heal or tell anything. It is just full, so deal with it. All it's asking of you is to wait. You feel me?
So this thought process took me back to when I first broke up with my one true love. I took the break-up pretty hard. I thought I would never get over it. And people kept telling me all the time sayings -
don't worry, you'll get over it in due time. Time heals all wounds, he'll talk to you eventually. It's only a matter of time before you won't even think about him anymore. And yet when I least expected it, I realized...that chapter of my autobiography is finished. Closed. Done. The door is closed on that experience, and is finally ready to open for a new one.
And it didn't happen in due time, or in a matter of time.
It, along with everything every nano-second of the day...happened in the fullness of time.
I really like the sound of that. And since my life can be full of time, I can be free.
What Do You Look Forward To?
I have been assessing my happiness lately. You know, trying to figure out what little things in my life make me happy. I thank God for my family, and friends, and waking up, and living one more day and all that. But I was trying to figure out what could make me happy on a day-to-day basis. Here are some things that can happen in a day that can make me happy:
I get to see someone I've got a crush on. (Am I too old for crushes yet??)
I get to buy something without the decision pending on whether or not I can pay the rent that month.
If there is a fresh-baked dessert in my kitchen.
If I have a job in my desired field.
If I'm getting my hair done, nails, facial, massage, anything-to-pamper-myself done.
I'm wearing a new scent.
If I have new clothes to wear.
If I get to see my friends that I don't see everyday.
If someone is visiting me from out of town.
If I'm dating someone, and we are going out that night...(one thing could lead to another...)
If I get a chance to work on a knitting/crocheting project.
If I get to read some of a book I was reading.
If I can call home with good news.
The list goes on...what are some of your daily pleasures?
Untitled
I couldn't think of anything clever to name this entry. So here is basically what it is about.
I ran into my ex this past weekend. It was horrible.
This wasn't just an ex; this was
the ex. The one whose name comes after just about every sentence I start with "my first". The one who introduced me to a type a man that, three years later, I still haven't seen or met again. The one who completely changed me - take that as you will.
So I was visiting my college for our Alumni weekend. I was high from seeing everyone that shaped my college experience - my girls, my fellas...just being back in that environment made me nostalgic and full of happy memories. I knew in my gut that I would see him, and I thought I was ready. I prepared myself. He's married now, and I'm over it.
I'm sitting with my two girlfriends at a table, drink in my hand. First one of the night. I look especially fierce this evening, I must say. He walks in. The minute he enters the room, my eyes go straight to the door. They lock with his. He acts like he doesn't see me. He makes his way over to my table, greets my two friends, and completely ignores me and heads for the restroom. My mouth, and my friends' mouths drop open. I'll admit, I look a little different, and I haven't seen him in about three years. But not that different, and why wouldn't he acknowledge someone else sitting at the table? I remember him to be a lot of things, but rude wasn't one of them. Anyway...
On his way back out, I grab his arm and ask him coyly, "
You're not gonna speak to me?" He looks at me as if he has seen a ghost. Literally. I roll my eyes, and cover it up quickly with a smile. He makes small talk, all while watching the door. I crane my neck to make my eyes meet his and say slowly, "
What are you looking at?". He makes some excuse about waiting for someone to come in and cracks a stupid (albeit typical) joke. I give him a courtesy laugh. After an awkward pause, I close the "conversation" and sit back down. We soon discover that there is a more happening club down the street. I silently sing the hallelujah chorus, and agree to club hop anywhere else but there.
Walk into the next club, which I don't remember how it was, because I was still in the cloud of what had just happened. And of course, in he walks, deliberately avoiding me by being everywhere that I was and always having to walk right past me no matter where I was.
Later that night, I tried to assess how I felt. I had no words. I didn't feel hurt or angry, although from the minute I saw him untill I got home, I was fighting tears. This is the best way to describe how I felt: I felt like since the last time I saw him, someone slashed me in the face with a blade, and when I saw him again, I looked the same, only with a huge scar on my face. Still haven't made sense of that metaphor, but I have no choice; it's how I felt. If there was a word that meant more over than over, that is how over this is between us. He couldn't even look me in the face. I wonder if I need closure, but I have it. He wanted it to end, so it ended.
Never mind the fact that he was my forbidden fruit. Before him, I was an innocent, wholesome girl, looking for love in all the wrong places, but never giving up hope. Now I'm just a woman, who can sometimes be a lady if I have to be, but I'm not looking for shit, cuz I know exactly where to find what I want when I want it. Now I'm just a girl with a big ass scar on her face.
Thank goodness scars heal...at least on the outside.
What Are You?
So, I was working tonight at the bar and I had group of older guys sit down. They started talking, and of course, flirting. I was smiling and being witty (translation: shucking and jiving for tips) as usual, when one of them asked me what I was:
Him: What are you?Me: Excuse me?
Him: You know, what's your background? Are you Brazilian?Me: I'm Black.
Him: And what else?Me: Just Black.
Him: You're not part Mexican or Spanish or anything?Me: Nope, just Black.
Him: Wow, you look like you're mixed with something. You're so pretty.This bothered me tremendously. No offense to anyone who is comprised of multiple ethnicities, but why do people think it is such a compliment to be multi-ethnic? And I'll go here too: why was the "pretty" comment followed by "I thought you were mixed"?
We have a problem here.
For as long as I can remember, people have asked me these types of questions. My friends in high school would actually tell me to tell people that I had "Indian in my family" so that guys would think I was exotic or something, which basically meant prettier than the other girls. Now I am sure that there was some race-mingling a ways back in my family, but I identify myself as a Black woman. Plain and simple. It saddens me, however, that being just plain old Black isn't as appealing as being "mixed". The guy in the aforementioned example was not Black, but Black men are just as guilty. How many songs have I heard with Black artists giving shout-outs to all the Black/Asian beauties, or the Black/Cuban chicks, or the light-skinned honey with light eyes. Have your preference, but geez, don't influence all the brothas!
As a people, we have always had color complex problems - if it ain't light, it ain't right. But I refuse, in 2005, to claim four different ethnicities just to make some guy think he has found the hidden treasure of all women.
Maybe that's it. The more ethnicities you have, the more unique you are.
Right.
I have actually gone through great pains to find out all about my heritage. And to be honest, there were a few nice and naughty slave owners that thought no one would notice if the newest slave baby came out a little light. That's it.
I am a Black woman. And I'm beautiful. But not because I'm Black, but because when my Black parents' genes came together and had a meeting on how I should look, they came up with some pretty good ideas.
It's that simple: there it is, in black and white.
What About Your Friends?
TLC were a bunch of young girls themselves when this song came out.
My mind rushes back to high school, when in my opinion, things were a lot simpler. By the second year there, you had your group of girlfriends; your clique, if you will. You knew who your best friends were because they were the ones that you had to talk to on the phone every night before you went to bed, and you had to spend every weekend together whether it was their house or yours, and they were the first ones you called when your crush said hi to you for the first time. You arranged your class schedule so that if you couldn't have at least one class with them, you could all have lunch together.
And when things went wrong, it was because he said that she said that Monifa said that Jackie said that your friend was talking about you behind your back (gasp)! When there was trouble in the clique, the whole school knew about it, and people immediately start taking sides. Your classes with that friend are uncomfortable, and lunchtime is unbearable. But after about a week or so, that one friend that couldn't pick sides decides to mediate. You forgot what you were fighting about, and by the time the bus comes, all is well. You're already making plans for the weekend.
Then you become an adult.
You can only get together for an occasional after-work happy hour, and that rare weekend when you all have nothing else planned with the significant other or the family. Your friends are good for so much more than just good cafeteria gossip; they are there for you, and better know how to communicate....
So what do you do when there is trouble in the Grown-Up Clique?
You don't see your friends every day, so there are no funny stares across the lunchroom. You can only wonder what is happening in other lines of communication that don't include you, and that one friend that can't choose sides is tired of hearing both of them. You feel yourself slipping away from friends you thought you would have for life...what do you do?
How do you know if the friendship is worth the heartache? On one hand, a good friendship should have enough of a foundation to where you should be able to talk things through and get to the root of the problem. On the other hand, you are a grown-ass woman and have little time to be going back and forth and racking your brain over a friend that may have only been meant to be in your life for a reason or a season instead of a lifetime.
You have a million things to worry about; the bills gotta be paid whether you have friends or not.
So what about your friends? At a certain age, you should know who your real friends are, right? Should the question be 'what are you doing wrong' if you don't?
The saying goes that some people are meant to be in your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime...and it sucks when you don't know if your "friend's" reason has been processed or their season has come and gone.
