Atlanta, GA//Month: June (or July) 2005//Date: Hot Sunday Night//Location: Apache’ Cafe
I was an Apache’ Cafe Virgin. The innocence was written all over my face. Although the veil of consciousness had been removed
(realizing there’s more to life than tunes of snap-lean-rock)
my cherry of “baduizm” had not yet been popped.
Enter Stage Left: HAZIQ
{music plays softly in the background}
“I don’t remember the first time I heard Kweli/I don’t remember what I was doing/There were no remembered witnesses to my doings/But it seems like I’ve known him forever”
[everything man by talib kweli]
I am now in the fifth year of my Post-Consciousness Cherry Popping.
Haziq has taught me that holding cake and not being allowed to eat it is tomfoolery.
Rubbish.
He allows me to have my spoken word & hip hop wrapped neatly in a toasted wonton wrap that I can consume while rocking my Chuck Taylors instead of a dashiki with matching head wrap.
For those of you who haven’t figured it out yet, Happiness is a decision.
I wish I would of had sense enough to figure that out when I was in college. Fall semester 2005 – Clark Atlanta University, New Residential Apartments…..My dry erase board read: “My one wish. To be happy.” I wasn’t ready to admit that I was unhappy, but I knew I was not happy. The funny thing is, I scribbled that on there like happiness was something I would magically trip and fall into one day. “OOOPS! Waddy’a know, I’M HAPPY!!!” ….yea right.
I was as delusional as they come. Happiness is purely a decision. It’s true. We DECIDE to be happy. I have proof. Watch this video from www.TED.com where Harvard psychologist, Dan Gilbert asks “Why are we happy?”
Crazy right?! That’s how I felt after I saw it. Then I tried it. It worked. Our brains seem to have a mechanism that believes whatever we tell it. This is why affirmations work so well. This is also the key difference between The Happy and The Unhappy. Those who are happy have made a conscious, and very active decision to be happy, unlike The Unhappy….who have not.
This is not to say that The Unhappy choose to be unhappy, they simply have not yet chosen (or figured out how to choose) to be happy.
Here’s an example: A guy I had been getting to know, and was starting to catch feelings for is engaged. I found out on facebook. How nice. Right? It gets better. He sent a text saying “We aren’t together, yea I’m engaged. Why are you mad?” Classic.
Tears streamed down my face, but I was laughing.
Although it was the gut punch of all gut punches, I smiled.
I laughed through the tears. Never mind that the man who molested me, my father, and a string of jerks (including this one) have made it impossible to trust men. Forget the fact that this was a major betrayal of the trust I cautiously extended. Ignore how foolish he made myself along with the good friend who recommended him feel.
I laughed.
In a split second I made a conscious decision to remain happy. I laughed because God was looking out for me.
Instead of being sad some jerk lied to me and dashed whatever daydreams I had conjured up, I was happy. I was not the woman stuck with this fool. I was not the woman whose fiance’ cheated on her. I was not the chick about to marry a habitual liar. SAFE AGAIN!*whew*
Sometimes it’s the blessings we don’t initially know how to count that bless us most. Wether you look at it spiritually or as a strange loophole in your brain:
The streets of Kansas City claim more lives and cause more pain than any serial killer ever could. They claim the lives of thousands of Black men each day. Most don’t realize it. People seem to recognize death as the only sign of life departed. Ignored are the living dead. The lives of little Black boys thinking a gun, stack of cash, and an inventory of drugs makes them a man.
The soldiers.
Protecting a block against hallucinated enemies. Twisted fingers thrown up. Thizz face on deck. Baggy jeans, White T, Fresh fitted….Soooo Flyyyy
Run the streets all night. Sleep in the day. Up by noon. Roll a blunt. Puff Puff. Count yesterday’s earnings sayin,”This is the life AND life is good.” And i ask what life? Life for you is gone. It’s not your own. Governed by the laws of the hood. The imaginary brotherhood where you pledge allegiance by being down-4-tha-cause:
Fi-Blocc on MINE Cuuuzz / I fucks wit da Tre / Deuce-Sev
Take the oath: “On my mama, On my hood, Bust serves all day, Sm0ke til I feel good.” What – The – Fuck. I drop my head and cry. Salty tears sting my eyes, I’m asking God, “Why?” I’m just stuck. These are MY black men. MY black sons. MY son’s future.
I know Mama Africa is crying. This wasn’t her intent. She wanted black men to have pride for their village, for their tribe. Protect their people against invasion. Cherish their women. Be the providers. Now this…
Another One Bites The Dust.
My puppy-love sweetheart is gone.
My first love is in jail.
My little cousin, soon to follow suit…….either way.
