Is My Black Really Beautiful

Just putting it out there, Asian men, #indian, #Pakistani and #Bengali men make me feel so ugly because I’m a #blackwoman. And I’m talking, next level, Smeagol, the Gollum from Lord of The Rings, type ugly. They make me feel like I am less than, beneath them; like I’m a mangy stray dog they found in the woods that they play with, have a great time, become great friends with but at the end of the day, leave in the woods because dogs aren’t allowed in the house.

Perhaps this may sound harsh, but it’s not meant to be harsh or offensive and I’m not backbitting simply by stating how I FEEL. And no one can deny, or bring up a defense to how I, or anyone else feels about something, so please, don’t try.

I’ve seen some of my fellow #BMW (black muslim women) speak out on this and have seen them verbally attacked and torn apart for voicing their experiences and feelings. You cannot invalidate someone’s truth just because it makes you uncomfortable.

And one of my truths is, as stated above, is that Asian men make me feel #ugly. They make my skin, hair, features, background, ancestors all feel ugly and unacceptable. And before you ask why I singled out Asian men, it’s because that’s where my experience lies. In my very limited experience with, say, #Arab men, they either deny my existence all together or I’m the dog they adore and want to take home but their mamas are allergic.

But here’s the thing, you dont need my experience, ask just about any BMW of a certain age. They nearly all have a story to tell. Let’s face it, black people, black women have been seen as the lowest of low globally since, well, practically forever. And if you don’t believe that, educate yourself.

And I’m not the kind of person who ever cared about or focused on #race, but when you’re constantly rejected because of it, your perspective starts to shift.

You have to start actively trying to accept and love yourself not just as a woman, but as a black woman. Honestly, growing up I never cared one way or the other about my race, it was just part of who I was, like being female or short. I look very, what one would call “ethnically black” and never did I see it as a problem. But as I got older and more exposed to the world and saw and experienced how much negativity is associated to that one aspect of me. I started to understand why women would repeat #MyBlackIsBeautiful, creating a positive association with our race and features to combat the hate we get from all sides. And when I say all sides, I mean all sides. Many of our own men find us distasteful and, wait for it, some of our very own black women think we should try to be “less black”, whatever the heck that means. 😐

In #Islam, racism, colorism, culturalism are all explicitly forbidden, but I suppose people will be people, Muslim or not😕. And for those with blinders on and are in denial that racism is alive and kicking within the Muslim community, it’s story time!

I’ve been on a Muslim marriage website for a couple years now, not and active or paying member but I wanted to get an idea of what’s out there. Well, let me just tell you, those websites, no matter how much they claim they are for practising Muslims are not really made for black #muslimahs. Now my profile clearly states that I’m black. But it’s as if guys are like “she sounds incredible.. but… dang, she why gotta be black though.. maybe she doesn’t look black 🤔 *requests photo*”. 99% Of the asian guys disappear as soon as they see me. (About 85% of the Arab guys disappear). Just the other day a guy messaged me, we coincidentally went to the same university. He was all gungho about getting to know me, said he uploaded some photos and hoped we could do a photo exchange. My… slightly irritated and possibly uncalled for response, “I’m so done with all the racism on this website. I’m a black woman, as my profile clearly states. If that’s a problem for you, stop right now.” He stopped. Oh I have sooo many other stories. A little tip, if a guy’s profile says he’s open to all ethnicities…. don’t believe it.. or maybe it’s not because I’m black at all, maybe I’m just #fugly😂💁

When She Loves…

Listen Here..

Take yourself off that pedestal sweet one and sit with me for a while
I’m going to say some things to you that most will disagree with
And you can take it or leave it
The choice is yours
But at least take a moment to think about it
Because I’ve been around a long time
And I’ve seen a thing or two
Now
Take yourself off that pedestal
I’m not saying you’re not special
Because you are
You are unique
Wonderful
Delightful and so many other great things by the grace of God
But
Stop treating yourself like rare treasure
Buried beneath the dark sea
Bound by steal chains
And guarded by sharks
Stop making it such a trial for people to get near you
Stop making it such a feat when someone gets you to open up that chest to see the trinkets that lie within.
Now hear me out
As I said before, you, without a doubt, are special
But when you view yourself as a secret
You’ll feel like you’ve lost a piece of yourself with every person you tell yourself to
And you become hurt, sad and angry for “opening up” to someone “undeserving”
You feel like people are stealing pieces of you
Am I wrong??
I say, instead
Be free flowing
A breeze
Sometimes calm
Sometimes fierce
Coming and going as you please
Giving people the delight of your existence or the ferocity of it
Trust me
The more open you are
The less vulnerable you are
Now I’m not saying certain things shouldn’t be kept private, because they should
But you are not something that someone can earn
That’s how powerful you are
You are a force of nature
Be your most authentic self with every single person you meet
No hiding
Take control by relinquishing control
By letting go of that death grip of who can come in and who can’t
Be wild
Silly
Loud
Shy
Funny
Ridiculous
Crazy
Irrational
Hysterical
Sensible
Confident
Unpredictable
Every single thing that makes you in the moment
Stop nitpicking about what you can and cannot show for fear of being stolen away
You are the a breeze
Wind
The air
No one
And I mean no one
Can steal the air.

– Krazy Aunt Kat

You can check out more of my writing on Instagram @kaptures.by.k

Ninety Days to New

wp-1486400610443.jpg

Hello Sweeties!

Spring semester start in 90 days! ( Yes I’m wearing that hoodie again from the previous university I attended) That’s 90 days to secure a new job….I REALLY hope I get something within the next two weeks. 90 days to decide if I should move closer to the university (Apartments are way cheaper over there). 90 days seems like a long time, but trust me, it’ll be Spring before we know it, and I’ll need to ready. Pray for me ya’ll.

Honestly, I’m seriously excited about going back to school! I love learning, and since I FINALLY have a clear idea of what I want to do, no more feeling lost, no more wasting money… Oh, money.. The route of all evil, Lol. I’ve applied for financial aid, but I don’t want to take out any more student loans. Student loans are the devil -_-. I’m still trying to pay off my previous ones. I gotta say, it’ll be quite an accomplishment to pay my way through school though. I can see me now, working by day, school by night (or vice versa), Hustling hard. Online classes would be ideal, except that getting internet service is out of the question. The last thing I need is another monthly bill. The struggle, as they say, is oh so real. But I got this.

“They plan, and God plans, and God is the Best Of Planners.”

Life is funny sometimes. So even though I have goals, and plans to achieve them, God may have another plan for me, or another route for me to get there. So I’ll keep doing what I have to do and take things as they come. Balance is key. Faith and action.

I had plans to spend my income tax refund to decorate me apartment. Yeah, well, now it looks like I’ll be spending it bills. But I ain’t mad though. I’m just grateful my bills will get paid. Decorating can wait.Or I’ll do it a little at a time. OOOOR, I’ll have a job by the time a get my check! A win, win, win 😀 We shall see shan’t we? A girl can dream right?

XOXO,

Aunt Kat

 

When Life Gives You Lemons..

They say, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade… But what if I don’t have sugar, honey, agave nectar or some kind of sweetener? Better yet, what if I don’t have water by which to make said lemonade?…. Yes I’m being difficult. I know very well that the age-old saying means one should make the best/something good out of a wonky situation. And that’s what I do, all day, everyday. That being said, it’s not always easy. Continue reading “When Life Gives You Lemons..”

This is My Face 

20170130_122414-01-02.jpeg

This is My Face
An average face it is indeed
Asymmetrical
Nothing outstanding or striking
Neither pretty nor hideous
Just a face
My face

This is my skin
Scarred golden goodness
To some, too light
To others, too dark
To me, it’s just as shell… except that it’s not
Not in this world
In this country
It’s a sign
A flag
A lightening rod for
snap judgements and discrimination

These are my lips
Luscious and full
A nod to my heritage
Holding back screams
As I helplessly witness
The agony of my people
MY people
My fellow blacks
My fellow women
My fellow Muslims

These are my eyes
Heavy-lidded and tired
Oh the tears these eyes have cried
Over so many things
Both great and small
Feeling the pain of others as if it were my own
Feeling my own sufferings

This is my mind
That worries day and night
Knowing
That my brothers could literally have been John Crawford III
That they still can be…
Carelessly taken out by the Boys in Blue

This is my heart
That races
Skips beats
Stops
With the fear and anxiety
That my nephews
My baby boys
Could have literally been
Tamir Rice
Could still be…
A bright young light snuffed out far too soon
By those who vowed to protect and serve us

This is my soul
That aches and trembles
Knowing that my mother
My sisters
My nieces
Are harassed
Assaulted
Set on fire
Because of the way they dress

This is my faith
That has never abused nor oppressed me
That has never stifled nor restricted me
Because I am blessed to know the difference
Between culture and religion
The only oppression I have ever felt is at the hands of the very country I call my home
America

This is my home
My country
And while they, in their ignorance,
might like to deport me
Jeer at me to “go home”
They are too blinded by my covered body
And their own hate to realize
I am home
The blood, sweat and tears of my slave and indigenous ancestors have irrigated the very soil they walk upon

This is my life
I don’t know where I am
Or where I’m going
But I’m am not lost
In a world filled
with confusion
Fear
Hate
Anger
And sadness
I shall rise
Fight
And overcome

This is my life
This is my face