Did you miss me?
I’ve missed you.
I’ve missed this. Writing, here.
If I am going to be perfectly honest, I stopped writing here because I felt that things were getting monotonous. Each line I began to write (and each draft that I saved) followed the same theme: I’m not alright, but I’m doing alright. I’m not going to lie and pretend I am past all that, I am not. And I’ve decided that is okay. This my blog. I can write whatever I want, whenever. So here I am. And here is what you’ve missed:
I cry an average of three times a day but I also laugh a lot too. I’m seeing a badass counsellor who understands the life of a PK without me having to explain it and notices when my edges are on point. I cut off my hair last summer. Did I mention that? Left a few inches on at first but the barber was braver the second time round and left me near bald. Looked like I had jumped straight out of Star Trek. I tied my scarf on my head and told my ex that I was cold – you cannot exactly have them thinking that they dodged a bullet now can you?
On that topic. Boys. Let’s just say that my encounters with members of the opposite sex are still just that, encounters. Fleeting, often fun, mostly embarrassing, but hey. I’m still not sure what I want from this aspect of life, much less what I need. I am still in the business of putting anything that has the potential to be meaningful and long-lasting to the side, for now at least. Until I sort out the rest of my life.
Sometimes, people think I’m exaggerating when I tell them life gets in the way. That I don’t have time to think about my future or happiness or love. I don’t. And even if I did, where would I begin? I cannot even remember what it was like to be that carefree and frivolous child. I had an operation earlier this year. Went under the general anaesthetic, woke up drowsy and went home in pain. I boarded the train at 7.15am on Monday morning. Held back cries as passengers bumped into me unaware. 8am I arrived ready to work. Someone recently told me that if I did not take a break, I would run myself into the ground. They are probably right.
I’m going to AfroPunk London this summer. Excited does not even begin to capture how I feel. The last few weeks have been especially painful as a bearer of brown skin, but I have also found so much healing from black communities. There is also something extremely cathartic about bringing traffic to a standstill while holding placards and screaming words of defiance and resistance. Being a black woman in a white man’s world is already defiant. Excelling as a black woman in a white man’s world is exceedingly so. Being a loud black woman in a white man’s world is revolutionary and every fibre in my body screams with joy when my cries rise.
I am learning to fall more and more in love with black womanhood. My womanhood. I am falling more in love with me, and the body I am in.
My hair has grown to a couple of inches now. I kept forgetting to go to the barbers. Now it is long enough for braids so I’m going to be experimenting this summer. The summer has got me feeling myself. Sun’s out and activating my melanin. I’ve gained a bit of weight too, in the cute places. I still need to slap myself back to reality whenever I pull my thighs apart just to see what it would feel like for them not to touch. I do it less now, thank God. I leave the house without foundation a lot more now too. It has forced me to get more serious about this CSP and give my skin a break. I am about to (slowly) come off my medications as well. This will now be the second time. Sertraline was an absolute babe but I’m now done with having to use the loo several times a day and I also have this weird fear about hyponatremia (a pretty rare side effect of SSRIs) due to the number of past exam questions on it.
And that reminds me. I have exams in a few days. I am supposed to be revising.
Still, I feel a lot better for having written this.
Even if noone else ever reads it, its good to be back. Hope to return soon, with something more eloquent and interesting to say.
Featured image: Sisters Uncut Occupation