The Return of Negative Nancy

We all have those days when nothing goes "right." I have been having those kind of days for the last 3 months or so. You would think I learned the first time but when you are warped in the world of fear you become unaware and consumed by it. We forget our power because fear blinds us. The return of Nancy came swift and quick. I didn't even notice it. And when I did I continued to let Nancy guide my feelings and decision making. And the minute something unexpected happened or I knew it was something that I did not have control over Nancy would come out. She (read: me) would be angry, frustrated, sad, and depressed. Until last night, i put a stop to letting her (read:fear) try to keep me down. It is then when I remembered the power of the mind. If I continue to let her take over me and consume me with negativity and fear I will continue to be unhappy. I made a choice today to change the way I "see" things. (thanks Brittany!) Just recently I lost my wallet and everything in it. "fuck! This is NOT happening today. Im so pissed. I have no money to get on the bus to see my family tomorrow." i thought I was helpless. I really had no way to buy a ticket. However, when i changed my view on this situation. I "see" an opportunity for humility, to slow down and learn from this situation. I lost my wallet because I needed to slow down. I have been a worry nut, neglecting myself and my needs and I have been working like a robot. I lost my wallet because I needed to see what I have been doing to myself.
This morning, I made a decision: "I'm going home. God will make a way for me." And that's when it happened. A ride to NYC tomorrow morning. Then my mother sent me $ for my ticket back to Philly. What a blessing! Im actually not happy i lost my wallet but glad that it allowed me to change my lens and/or perspective. I'm grateful to my alter ego and unpleasant friend Nancy. I'm not always happy and the sun doesn't always shine on me. Fear will always be here but i am working on lessening its power in my life. I also know those are lessons (even if they are unpleasant) that become blessings. We all have our days..but it's how we handle those crazy, out of control, wacky moments that matter most. Remember the power lies within you. Find the courage to unpack those fears. Accept that life's lessons are not always packaged in pretty, happy, joyful gifts but they come in unexpected, not so pretty and maybe even shitty packages but they are gifts nonetheless.

With courage,

RPoet

Complex identities

I was named girl
I became woman
And now I am object.


With courage,
RPoet

Negrita Chronicles: Feminist Avengers

We all have our moments where we just want to get away and escape. I have those moments often and sometimes I imagine myself in my alter ego (Feminist Avenger) fighting the crimes of racist patriarchal capitalism on a daily basis....sounds fun, doesn't it?


making faces

i fear writing because i fear to be seen. instead i make faces when i experience isolation, frustration, distrust, discomfort and anger when folks prefer to objectify me and my existence. haciendo caras para que ellos sepan que estoy enojada. making faces so that i can finally be human. 'haciendo caras' is something i do to protect myself.

invisible

ella hablas espanol? me dices la senora que no deseas ver mi cara. she acts like i dont exist because to see me is to see herself. she prefers to silence my presence so that she can protect her prejudice beliefs about what it means to be dominican, latina, or a person of color. ella hablas espanol? si, yo si hablo espanol pero eso no es indicacion de mi latinidad. yo, soy negra, triguena y si dominicana. 'ella?' como si no tengo nombre. "she" like i don't have a name. like i am a nameless. like i am subhuman. a zombie who lives on this earth with no soul, sin corazon, sin cara, bodyless. mi lengua no es el unico simbulo de mi identidad. porque tengo que hablar espanol? para prueba que soy como usted?

present absence (incomplete)

i exist in the presence of others
who need me to affirm their realities
i then fail to exist in the presence of them
i become nothing
and then i am invisible again, and again.

untitled

i am finally at peace
the storm is now over
the winds have calmed
the clouds cleared
the sun is finally shining
i am simply me.

Negrita Chronicles: Embracing YOUR Voice

Today I felt like I was going to explode. I repressed my feelings about a coworker who was way out of line with her negative feelings she has against me (that is a long story but I will spare all of us the details). I am disappointed that I have been letting this get to me for the last twenty-four hours. But it has and I need to speak on it. I am also struggling because I struggle with the "right" words to stand up for myself while still being "professional."  (I think it continues to be my fear to be fully vulnerable around folks in positions of power.  And those who benefit from power and privilege. You know the self-proclaimed woman identified or feminine patriarchs). I'm thinking to myself the "heck with that." I want to tell it like it is. Go Bronx on my coworker!! Whatever that means. But is that really the way to go? 

There is this tendency that to be professional you must be polite. To be polite you must be a good liar. It is like bell hooks has argued in All About Love. We are raised in American culture to be "polite"  is acceptable, appropriate and the norm in how we navigate and develop "healthy" relationships. As early as a toddler, we are taught to be polite. I think we can all recall one moment in our lives when we heard "don't say that that's not nice!" So does this mean I am not nice if I am being honest? We confuse the difference between the truth and a lie. Now I am not saying that we should all stop being polite. But I think that we must not confuse polite behavior as an excuse for lying. Being polite is about showing respect and being considerate of another person's feelings. However, that does not mean that we should not be truthful.  And that you can only choose to act polite or truthful. As if there is only one choice. In this society, we are so obsessed with dichotomies. Black/White.Yes/No. We got to move beyond dichotomies. I can be polite and truthful. I can have both or neither. But I do not have to choose one over the other. I do have the power over my thoughts, behavior, and actions. 

As for professional demeanor, behavior, and/or etiquette is void of emotion. To be professional we must not show our true selves. We cannot let them "see" us. We must not be vulnerable. I continue to struggle with this notion of professionalism. And the ways this behavior allows white supremacist capitalist patriarchy continue to have power over our lives. I also must admit that I don't want to be vulnerable in those hostile, dehumanizing, and sexist spaces but sometimes I want to step out of character [being professional] call some people out. But I don't. I find comfort in the ways that I express my forms of resistance at work by implementing my own acts of courage and black feminist avenging (as I like to call it). So in some ways I do speak up. I do speak the truth. It may not be the way I sometimes imagine. (With my alter ego--feminist avenger--teaching and educating each person I come across on the ways they can be better human beings practicing anti-racist, heterosexist, classist behavior). I guess actions do speak louder than words. Having the courage to embrace my voice. To listen to the voice inside of you telling you to do what you know is right. I might have not confronted my coworker (in the way I had imagined) but I know that my presence and contributions to the organization. For example, the impact i have had on my high school students and the ways that their parents/families gravitate, respect, and show me love matter more. That regardless of the energy she projects on to me. It is not about ME. It is her insecurities. That is NOT my issue. The courage to embrace my voice. The courage to let that situation go. The courage to continue to love that coworker (from a far, of course) despite the lack of self-love she has for herself. That is what matters most. 

Sometimes I can't let it out. 

Sometimes the feelings are too much to handle.

Sometimes I contain them until they burst. 

Like  my appendix did when I was six.

The pain hurt and hurt for days on end.

I should have learned my lesson before.

When we repress our feelings

When we do not speak up

It will build

and build

and build

until it cannot hold on anymore

and it will just burst like a bubble, like my appendix

spreading those contained infections, contained emotions

everywhere and on anything that makes me ME

And the only one that it really hurts is my SELF, yourself, all of US...

With Courage,
Rebel P

Negrita Chronicles: resentment

i am disturbed and frequently feel isolated because my existence as a black dominicana is constantly neglected or silenced within formal and informal spaces.

i am troubled by the realities of most latinas like myself who are underrepresented in the U.S. depending on where we live.especially where i live. i feel shame admitting it. but there are times i resent my closest hermanas. "i resent her for the access she has to her culture, her people, and her experiences as a Chicana, Boricua, Dominicana. but i cant be mad at her or her privilege to this form of access. i have the right to be mad but she still is my sister.sometimes i am troubled by her failure to recognize my silence." over time i learned that i must turn this anger into transformative action. this anger, this silence into something that matters. madness only drives you to do 'crazy' things. and i now just need to learn from this experience and move forward. i felt shame feeling resentment. and this shame led me to silence myself for fear of exposing my vulnerability to the ways in which internalized forms of oppression affect communities of color.

this is why i can relate to gloria anzaldua's "las fronteras" ( the borderlands) i am confined by these imaginary lines of demarcation that attempt to deny or neglect my experience. sometimes i dont know what to do. there are moments when i am angry, sad, frustrated, and most times i just want to scream. i am so sick of having to explain myself or feeling the need to explain myself. it is upsetting and so dehumanizing. at times i am more upset at the fact that people of color treat me worse than whites. i never feel quite at home when i am in a space that should be "home." but anzaldua has helped me understand that in some ways i may never be home. that home is what you make it. and not in the physical sense. but home lies within me. i reject those patriarchal notions of home. "home is where your (nuclear/heterosexual) family is?" Shit, home is where love is. and love is more than a feeling. it is an action and intention. love is not a physical place neither is home. i also learned that  being an outsider is not necessarily a bad thing. trying to fit in and be seen is not the goal. i must love me! i must accept me! i must know that i am worthy. while some dominicans will not accept me. and most latinas will reject me and my blackness. all that matters is that i accept me. it's about love. it is the willingness to extend yourself for another person's spiritual growth and vice versa. in this vein, home (love) begins inside of me. 

while there are these lived realities that shape our sociopolitical experiences that i cannot avoid or deny. i must find peace/love/comfort within before i can take action on the structures and institutions that continue to dehumanize us. i must work to let go of my baggage before i can work to overthrow years and years of institutional and ideological baggage.  

with courage,

rebel p.

The Negrita Chronicles Series: Me Llaman (They Call Me) La Otra (Other)

As women of color, we deal with silence and invisibility on a daily basis. We experience it from whites, non whites, and especially folks we call "our people." I experience silence and invisibility at retail stores, school, church, work, social circles and even in my own family. "You are not Dominican enough. Wow!? I didn't know you were Dominican!? I thought you were African American." Even in our own communities we try to divide ourselves. We buy into these neocolonial constructions of identity. We begin to see ourselves in the eyes of the oppressor rather than seeing ourselves through the historical lens of what we had to experience as slaves and indentured servants. Or even looking at ourselves through an ethic of loving action and intention. Due to this white supremacist capitalist (i.e. neoliberal and neocolonial)patriarchal society that we live in, the ways in which we communicate and relate to human beings precludes our ability to organize a collective struggle around injustice due to the traumas that continue to haunt our lives. This does not mean that we are helpless victims and that there is nothing we can do to stop these forms of oppression. To live in a world where health care, education, housing, food, shelter are universal rights not commodities that only the rich can afford. A world where communities of color are not seen as disposable. WE do have power to change our situation. Yet, many of us walk around, zombie-like, unaware of the realities or choosing to deny the truth of our oppression.

Growing up in the South Bronx, in a predominantly African American (not West Indian mainly African American and a few African Immigrants) and Puerto Rican neighborhood I had to consistently deal with being an outsider in a neighborhood where folks did not understand or know Dominicans. Of course I felt alienation, isolation, and totally misunderstood by peers and neighbors. As a child, I found comfort in my journals and books. I gave up on trying to fit in with peers and embraced my uniqueness. I spent more time with my family and as I got older these same peers accepted me and my "difference." And then in high school, they began to resent me (which is another story.) I learned early on to embrace my uniqueness and see it as a precious characteristic that made me special. I reflect on this experience and I am grateful that early on I honed the skills to navigate this form of invisibility when I went to college and graduate school.

The poems below capture countless experiences where other people of color used the master's tools to deny my physical presence. There were times where I spoke up and others where my silence became a source of strength for me.

Que Disfruten! Enjoy!

Present Absence
I'm right here.
why don't they see me.
i am waving my hand as high as i can.
standing on my toes. trying to find. seeking to find. visibility.
but why can't they see me?
i mean, how can they NOT see me?
afro-mile high-caramel skinned tone.
thick bilingual via south bronx accent.
don't-mess-with-me attitude.
i know they know.
they must know.
don't they know.
that i am really one of them.


untitled/unfinished
does she speak Spanish?
is she African American?
where are you from?
i'm so sick of the pronouns.
i am right here.
in front of you.
looking right at you.
why don't you see me?

With Courage,

Rebel