This is the unraveling of a twenty-something year old woman. I broke. I cried. I laughed. I hurt myself and others. I grew a backbone. I did many things and had many things happen to me. This story; well, it's the healing of it all. Enjoy.
Jay-Z and Beyonce don't keep their relationship a secret. They keep it sacred. You have to be your lover's best friend. It's about the basics. The foundation, the crux, the groundwork. You have to be each other's best friend. I've titled this year "The Recovery." It has been almost 365 days of applying the lessons learned in the last year. There have been epiphanies and condolences. There have been whirlwinds of truth; the type of truths that knock you off your feet; that require you stand before God and weep. How dangerous is shame? It makes you lie to yourself, convince yourself that you deserve better while still living in a very mediocre manner. It's a shame, it's a bleeding shame that we crumble underneath our own truths. And we focus so hard on being the perfect partner and we forget to be an honest human. I may not always have a boyfriend, but I will have redemption. It will always be within my grasp. I always have the opportunity to become a phenomenal person, I just have to decide that being phenomenal is worth more than being afraid. How many mistakes have I made? Countless and yet there's been an improvement anyway. This year, I can count the mistakes on hand. Before, I had so many mistakes, I could fill a football field with the type of regret I had weighing down on my chest. That's God's mercy moving. It's not enough to fix everything but it's enough to have faith that everything will be fixed. I'm probably not the girl you want on your arm, or the girl who made all the right decisions. But I see you the way God sees you. I see perfect blood in your veins. I see sculpted excellence. I could drink a case of you and still be on my feet for the simple fact that your humanity is so sobering with a divine lens. You are magical and I probably don't deserve you. Thank God we don't reap what we really sow. And thank God, I'm different from you. You stay even though you don't forgive me and I hide in the shadows and forgive you anyway. But I miss my friend the most. Not even his lips, or his skin, or the way his bones curve underneath his flesh. I miss the faith he had in me. I miss the days he thought I was the most beautiful woman in the world and I miss the days where I thought our love was sacred instead of thinking our flaws would be a spectacle. Somewhere I started doubting the man, I started worrying myself with the concerns of others. I started performing instead of living and I lost my best friend. And I miss him in the most gentle way ever. It's as if he was a beautiful flower in an unlikely place. I wouldn't pluck him from the ground. I would simply watch his petals dance in the wind. I would just watch and inhale his scent. I lost my best friend and now when I look at him, I'm just happy to be here. Be your lover's best friend. Friends have a way of making us feel safe. That safe place, where you can lay your burdens at the door and roast your truths into the warm fireplace, that safe place is where healthy relationships are born... Fall in love with your best friend. And if the first time doesn't work, fall in love again anyway. It is the wings of best friends that allow us to fly.
I'm glad he didn't give me what I wanted. It was nothing I needed. When I told him to "leap," I never imagined it would be out of my arms. I told him to chase whatever he had faith in. I didn't prepare myself for him having faith in another woman. A part of me is happy for him, truly. He is with the very thing that he has true faith in. He is not making more empty memories with me. He is not robbing me of a magnificent love. He is freeing me from a mediocre one - one which was simply out of comfort. I was his comfort zone, he had to move to really have a chance at living, at loving. I was his safety net and what are safety nets for? They're just there to tell you that you'll be ok when you leap and if you don't land on something amazing, you'll survive landing in something ordinary. It was time to put to use all that I taught him. I thank him for not keeping me. I served my purpose in his life and he served his purpose in mine and maybe when I finally left, her true purpose was revealed. Maybe I made a better man of him and maybe he required me to be more than a safety net for someone else. Either way, we taped each other back up, healed one another and put the other back into the world. I thank him for putting me back into the atmosphere. I was lost in America; wounded by many and recovery was more of a burden than the light at the end of a very dark tunnel. He loved me when I was broken and I loved him before he was a man. He was just a boy with deep dimples when I held him. Still, it made us who we are. It made him for her and it made me for...well me. No matter how tall my tree grows, I will always bear his fruit; ripe with experience and soft to the touch.
Don't read any of this until you watch the video above. Loving intimately after losing someone is a strange thing. Last month, my ex-boyfriend passed away from the same disease that took my father. Since then, every opportunity to love again is overshadowed by this crippling fear. And let me be more specific, losing Daddy has raised questions and concerns I never considered before. Every time I see a wedding, I think to myself, who's going to walk me down the aisle or who's going to lean into my husband's ear and demand that he take care of me. And every time I think of love, I think of sickness. Will he love me when my hair starts to fall out? Will he help me get out of bed when my knees are too weak to carry me? Will he be strong enough to watch me die? In sickness and in health stands out to me now. Every time I think of love, I think of death and if I will find someone to love me through that. I'm terrified. That's what losing daddy does. The last two days, I feel like I started being self-sabotage Tass. I started to pull myself away from it. The fear hovered above me like an overcast and I wish I could define it for you. I wish I could define it for myself. My dad was my first love and the video reminds me of that - how hard it is to lose and how all the preparation in the world doesn't make it easier. While love is love, romance changes often. Love letters and intimate dinners used to be romantic. And now, letting me watch my favorite show even if football is on is pretty romantic. Or telling me that I'm still beautiful with only half of my hair blow-dried. Romance changes and I guess, the fear is that I won't find a love grand enough to survive something as scary as cancer. Daddy said the same thing Danny said, 'he has a poor gift for me and it's himself but he gives it to me anyway.' I have no fear that I won't find someone amazing like that or that I haven't already. I just want to know if like Danny and Daddy, will he love me to death? [thank you Tyler for the video]
I guess it's like all of the stars falling out of the sky Their whiteness plunging into the darkness of the sea beneath them The world wouldn't even know what to do if the entire ceiling opened up weeping its condolences We'd stand there feeling small, reminded how heavy the earth can be and how even its seams have breaking points I feel like that's what cancer is... falling stars misguided light misunderstood energy It's a loss too great to bear and too much to fathom and we can't even catch the burden it slips through our weak fingers too unprepared for the unimaginable and you want to scream you want to yell into the darkness but your pride convinces you that it will only do more harm because God forbid, someone hears you God forbid that anyone hear you and if only sound travelled at the speed of light the pain would cause explosions in the sky every star is a grave every grave is a star that gave up that fell out of the sky that realized heaven isn't that comfortable and even with all of the things you've dreamed of no gift is greater than life no gift feels as good as breathing but what's a gift to cancer? what does a gift even mean to cancer? cancer's never woken up early on Christmas morning to even know what gifts feel like never and now, the people that it takes won't feel that Christmas morning joy ever again and they won't see the sky crumble upon their arrivals and we'll never get to see them in their wings we'll never see their faces full with healthy blushing blood and we'll never hear their laughs carried by the wind again but we will see the sky crumble we will see the magnificence of pain and we will feel the weight of all the angels above us and there, we will crumble too
My dear family, friends and gracious supporters,
It's been a long time coming and it's been a wonderful journey. In 2009, I started this blog as a homework assignment and slowly but surely, it's changed my life. I am so blessed to have experiences, support and a gift that allowed me to transform my entire world, imaginative and real into an eternal body of work. Your unconditional love and encouragement has shaped me into not only an author but a woman of tremendous faith that the human race is powerful beyond measure.
I present to you, 25 exclusive FIRST EDITION copies of my first novel, She's Your Daughter Too.
"A girl's first love should always be her daddy. A young Dylan grew up dancing on her father's feet and sitting in his lap while she pretended to drive his white Chevy. They were best friends - he was her hero and she was the sun in his sky. When dating, Dylan often thought back to her dad's wise words. Her search for prince charming would always remind her of how much of a king her father was. When tragedy strikes unexpectedly, kings become memories and lessons becomes the scriptures she never fully understood. Guided by her father's voice, Dylan navigates her way through betrayal, assault, infidelity, and loss. As she struggles through the muddy waters of her womanhood, she finds herself hanging from the threads of men who never knew how to love her anyway. And if any of this sounds vaguely familiar, it should because She's Your Daughter Too."
I registered to the Social Good Summit for the first time ever this year. I consciously decided to come as press because I wanted to use the opportunity to absorb all the information I possibly could and hold myself accountable for relaying it. I had never even heard about the summit before scrolling through my personal list of socially conscious tweeters. (Following socially conscious accounts is relatively new for me so this was monumental) At the time of registration, the agenda was not yet available and I still had a sense that those three days would somehow change my life. Once seated in the Digital Media Lounge with the agenda and my laptop in front of me, I was instantly overwhelmed. There were...Read MoreShared from +SocialGood
You are my October the autumn in my smile the curling edges of my fallen leaves your exhale is the crisp air beneath my wings longer nights and ripe pumpkins find their way to my doorstep looking for you there's a sweet aroma only you can bring making me hungry simply from the thought of you the hues of you the blues of you smear across the sky and nighttime is always the right time to sip your cider You are my October not necessarily the perfect time for a vacation but no better time to reflect a time to speak vows into the growing fog a time to wear your breath on my neck you warm me from the inside out that tingly feeling down to my feet the entire year waits for this moment just to cuddle I can feel you against my spine Goosebumps in my fragile places You are my October the month so precious, I added life to it laid down and let another person move through me just to witness its beauty magical potions, wielding broomsticks, babies and suede love seats You are my October, just in time for me to count you as one of my blessings on Thanksgiving and as one of my favorite presents on Christmas I've had enough time to practice my greeting I've picked out the perfect sweaters and the best mahogany colored boots I had more than enough time to wear the sun's hickeys before kissing the summer goodbye You know how many stars have moved in the sky just to make room for you? I have made room for you. Lay right here, my sweet October.
Also, wrapped in tiny scrolls were the previews to my first novel, appropriately revealing the chapter describing from the main character’s perspective on what it was like to live with cancer.
At these tables, ladies sat in their highest heels. Their shimmering dresses were the perfect complements to their handsome dates. Wall to wall, there were beautiful people – longtime friends reuniting, aunts and uncles chit chatting in the corners, sporadic flashes from the cameras and the DJ playing crowd favorites. Dj AlterEgo, who's only eighteen years old navigated the emotional celebration with classic R&B songs from the 90s from artists like 112 and then new hits from Beyonce. His older brother, O'Shane the MC even created a special moment to introduce the song "Dance with My Father" by Luther Vandross which is one of my father's favorite songs. Tearfully, I danced the in the arms of my godfather instead, to which he promised that he would do the same one day at my wedding.
Ironically, held on the same day as my father's passing, Kisses for Cancer was filled with true sentiment and sincerity. Our guest speaker was a friend and college classmate of mine, Andrew Prince of Temple University, who revealed his own battle with a rare childhood cancer, which he was diagnosed with at 22 years old. In a room full of his own peers, the startling admission brought everyone to tears. It revealed that although, most of us are in our twenties, that feeling of being invincible is simply just a feeling. By no means is anyone invincible, no matter how times, we escape the growing statistics of cancer.
In addition, we honored two mothers, Joy who recently lost her little girl Jada and Nadine, whose child is still fighting. Briana, being the little fighter she is, was also in attendance but unfortunately was too sick to stay for the duration of the entire event. Cancer was definitely in the room with almost 200 people. The atmosphere was overflowing with a need for healing and comfort. The guests were asked to raise their hand if they've ever encountered cancer and every single person's fingers reached toward the sky. It was a sad and necessary reminder that there was work that needed to be done. We also honored the names of people living and deceased that were sent to us by our guests and donators. That same week, my college roommate and friend of thirteen years, Stacy McDonald lost her battle with liver cancer. She too was among the name of angels.
Nearly 200 guests watched in awe as singer, Carvens Lissaint serenaded them with the famous Sam Cooke song, A Change is Gonna Come. His voice brought chills down the spine of everyone, as it was eerily reminiscent of our purpose and intention. We were working toward change and we remained hopeful that with our efforts, a change is indeed coming. We danced, cried, spoke and clamored over handmade goodie bags well into the night. Our female guests tried on different color lipsticks from the Lip Bar, courtesy of Melissa Butler and kissed canvases to signify the cancer they were affected by. Our guests came from all over the east coast came to support, our farthest visitors flying in from North Carolina and Florida.
Shane Lloyd, Bianca Singleton, Malisa Amado, Me & David Holliday
Everyone enjoyed multi-colored cupcakes and cake pops donated by two wonderful bakers - Jenn and Diana respectively. These adorable pins in the shape of lips were donated by Kristin Logan and they too were in the different colors associated with cancer. Our artwork was photographed and designed by Shane Lloyd and David Holliday. Their artistry will forever be linked to a cause bigger than we can even imagine. Shane also photographed the event and David designed the cover for my first novel, She's Your Daughter Too, which was also inspired by my father's battle. All in all, with well wishes and smiles, Kisses for Cancer was a success. It did everything it was intended to do and then some. Easily, it was one of the best nights of my life. Though, the motivation for the event was sadly inspired by the death of my father, it was the first time in an entire year, I found purpose with my life, the one that was left behind to still be lived.
His phone was like a fire alarm every time she called. Get out the house, leave everything behind. Material things turn into memories but your life will turn into a tragic ending if you don't get out in time. I wish I could have. I wish I could have ran out without my clothes, without my phone and whatever else I could have bought back easily but it wasn't that simple. I had no intention of going anywhere. I was going to stay, naked as the smoke hovered over me, and with each breath getting harder and harder to breathe. I was going to stay. It's hard to say why, not because I can't express it but because it feels insane. I'll try anyway.
We have the type of sex that epic novels are made of, the type of sex that causes war on stretches of land between two territories that shouldn't even realize the other exists. And it's the chemistry, the way his breath borrows mine to create a soft hum of ecstasy. We are biologically made for one another. The taste of his skin would never starve me. My teeth sink into him like a lion's jaw into the soft flesh of a terrified zebra. I mean, we are animals and I notice it even with my eyes closed. The wetness of it all pouring down on us like rain in the islands, there's an earthquake coming from my pelvis and it feels good. It feels really good to shake and tremble on the epicenter of his entire being – I live for moments like that so much so that I'm willing to die for them. In those moments, I'm pretty sure I pray for pregnancy because I feel guilty if the only purpose of it is to feel good. We can at least make another human being to replace us, as we are surely destroying ourselves with each stroke. We will become like ancient ruins of Egypt if we keep it up. Once majestic and filled of purpose – soon just a sight to see, a reminder that something beautiful happened here. I'm trembling even now at the thought of his grip on my shoulder blades and my grip surrounding his manhood in the pouring desires of my soul. I couldn't leave even if I wanted to. While everyone else is worried about the house burning down and while everybody's ears are ringing with the alarm, they don't know what we know. They don't feel what we feel. We are the fire. We are necessary and dangerous at the same time. We burn. We suffocate one another in the mahogany of our flesh. We claw in adoration of one another, a long streak of fingerprints indented in our skin. If only we were that adamant about escaping. I want to say that I love him, but love doesn't seem strong enough. I want to tell you that I dream him, but dreams don't seem real enough. I want to tell you that I need him, but necessity is not the same as addiction. I breathe him, even if he's all smoke. I touch him, even if he's all flame and I burn from the inside out because the alarm is not scary enough. It's not loud enough. It's not frightening enough for me to climb off of him. I would rather die never having told this story than to live and not have a story at all.
I tripped over her shoes when I was walking in and my only consolation was that I would not trip over them upon my exit. I knew this because I was sure, I would never leave. Ring the alarm, we're staying.
There's this thing about pain. It's addicting and it wears clothes that makes it look like love. I know. Even pain fills out the lonely pockets, tears are better than nothing right? At least you're feeling something. Even it's raw and twisting, pain lets you know that you're still there. Within an inch of your own death, you're just glad to be feeling something. Being mad at him means he's still there. For a while you think you're glorifying his presence, but really you're lighting fireworks for the pain. You welcome it home with open arms. You throw a party for your own suicide. It's like a gunshot. It burns and stays stuck in a piece of flesh you never even paid attention to before. At first you're in shock; the warm feeling, the leaking feeling - it gets your attention. Seeing your fingers covered in blood makes you queasy. You rub it to make sure you're not imagining things. You realize that it's real. You're hurt. You're wounded and you need help. But that can take a few days, weeks even, maybe months. Some of you let the bullet stay there and rot inside of you. By then, the pain becomes normal. That twinge, the twisting, the discomfort - that becomes part of your routine. You forget what a day without pain is like. You are in a constant state of distress. It makes you cranky. You're not your usual beautiful self because you're uncomfortable; because you spend so much time pretending that you're ok that you can't be anything else. Healing seems impossible. The thought of it seems like a mountain you're not strong enough to climb, not with the wounds you have, not with the kind of pain you endure daily. Healing is beyond the statute of your limitations. The first step is to take the bullet out. Open the wound and remove the obstruction. It will be messy, you will lose parts of yourself - blood, flesh, and maybe some confidence. It will humble you. Put the tattered pieces of metal in a safe place, probably somewhere you don't have to see it every day. You will come back to it later, trust me. It's not over though. Not only do you have to remove the bullet, you have to remove yourself from the path of those inflicting things. Think back to where you got shot. Seriously, close your eyes and recall the day you got hit. Smell the air, look down at your feet, feel the air flow across the back of your neck, listen to the sounds of voices in passing cars and dribbling basketballs. Do you remember what you were wearing? Do you remember the way you styled your hair? Think about it up until the second you got shot, then open your eyes. Look at yourself in the mirror and promise yourself that you will not return to that place without an armor. Do not go back until you're strong enough to be an opponent and not just a victim. In the meantime, start the healing. And I don't want to lie to you. The healing is harder to deal with than the actual thing you're healing from. The healing is harder to deal with than the actual thing you're healing from. The healing is harder to deal with than the actual thing you're healing from.It's hard to walk again. Teaching yourself to do the very things you've taken for granted is not easy. It's discouraging and sometimes you just want to quit. Being in pain will seem easier than being productive. But the truth is, and it's a hard truth - pain and joy cannot occupy the same house. So make a decision, do you want to endure pain or create joy? Do you want to live with what happened to you or truly overcome it? Stop seeking reprimand from the person who pulled the trigger. There's no justice like joy.
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For everyone who already has, thank you! Can't wait to see you!
Lately, I've been writing on topics completely outside of my comfort zone. A few weeks ago, I was asked to cover a BBQ. Now, most people would think, "Who would want to write for a BBQ? Why would a BBQ even need a writer? Is it really that interesting to write an entire story on?" But this opportunity wasn't for any regular BBQ. This was the UABBQ, thrown by 21 men, all alum from the University at Albany. This year was the third installment of the consistently growing event filled with free food, liquor, music, goodies and beautiful people. Just 72 hours after posting the date, 1000 people sent in their RSVPs! Still, think it's a regular BBQ? Over the course of the last few weeks, I've conducted 21 interviews, written four articles and currently am preparing to post nearly 40 full interviews as a bonus to the final RECAP. But that's just behind the scenes. What I can't fully describe is actually being in the middle of nearly 2000 people on a hot summer day with music, macaroni and cheese and memories that will last me a lifetime. It's something you just have to see for yourself. Octavious Wilder of #TheCommittee presents to you the trailer for the #UABBQ.
Sometimes I wished him out of my dreams Haunted by his smile Curling my body to the words I wished he'd say I buried the apologies I never thought I'd hear from his lips We were obituaries now Words that once had life in them and are now sad reminders of rotting flesh I remember thinking to myself, God if you can just watch over him for me If I had three prayers in my pocket, I saved two for him The last one I kept just in case the first two didn't work I wanted him to come back And heal me Kinda put his hands on the broken promises and put his lips to the tears he left behind I wanted him to play back my voicemails and see if he could hear me pleading for his return in just a sad hello There were so many things I wanted to say but only kisses could replace strange words Only two dancing tongues could express the kind of pain I dared not speak into the universe I thought to myself why would I let him get a placeholder so pretty And I kinda tortured myself for being so ugly when I was there Those are the kind of moments that novels come from Where miracles happen and songs come belting out of wombs that once carried babies of parents who no longer loved each other So sometimes I wished him out of my dreams I begged God to take him away from me I would have rather mourned a dead man than to love one who didn't love me anymore It's exhausting That kind of unconditional is tiring It makes it hard to breathe and yet you have to because you don't want the first time he comes back, to see you in a casket God, I loved him And when we woke up, tangled in awkward moments He remembered how hazel my eyes were and for a second, I think he loved me again.
“Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.”
Have you subscribed to TassikaLloydPR@gmail.com yet?! If not, hurry up. Send in your full name, mailing address and any questions you have regarding my first novel!
Catch up here to get some insight on the main character.
1. Is this a coming of age story? And is it loosely based on the author's own experiences?
The entire story is a longitudinal observation of a young woman over the span of 10+ years so she definitely comes into her age and prompts other women to do the same. She also serves as a guide for women coming into their own age. We have several "comings" in our lifetime but I think this story addresses the primary one - the delicate stage between puberty and what we find out later to be 'senseless passion.' That's a rough spot to navigate and because that's where the book takes place, it's safe to say, this is definitely a coming of age story.
Everything that comes from me is based on my experiences, but that doesn't always make it my story. That sounds crazy but think of it this way, the things I've done or said - those are mine. But the things that I've seen or heard from others don't necessarily belong to me but that's still an experience. The book itself is based on my world and doesn't always include my personal participation in it. It could have been my homegirl or her boyfriend but I think it's almost a compliment when people think everything is based on me because that means I've done my job as a writer. I've made it so real that it sounds like I'm recalling a memory instead of just throwing some arbitrary thoughts together. I wish I could take the credit for living a life worth writing a tell-all for but I can only take the credit for being creative.
3. When is the book going to be finished?
It's finished my love.
3. Do we have a release date for Dylan yet?
Yes!
4. When is the novel being released?
On Dylan's birthday.
5. How much is the book?
I have absolutely no idea. What do you think is a reasonable price?
6. What is the process in ordering it?
These are really good questions. That's up to the publisher though. From what I hear, the goal is to make it available on its own website as well as other websites that offer E-books. I guess it all depends on where the consumers want to buy it. And I mean there's always the possibility that I'll pop up in your neighborhood and surprise people with the opportunity to purchase it on sight. Keep your fingers crossed!
7. Is Dylan and her story based off a real life situation or person?
Yes and no. Dylan is a completely fictional character so she's not based on any one person. I literally constructed a woman I would want to have a drink with or go get my nails done with. Her story is based on several things and people. Her story is really a culmination of the important (and very real) topics relevant to womanhood - loss, love, betrayal, faith, family, etc. Ooh, I'm giving too much away, but yes and no.
8. What inspired you to write a novel?
You.
9. Is it a self help book?
I get this question a lot and I giggle every time. I always want to say no because when I think of self help, those instructional books like "How to get a man in 10 days, step 1..." come to mind. But it's time to say yes. It is a self help book in that it helps you face yourself and the decisions you make as a friend, a partner, and most obviously a human being. I think people will find themselves reading and relating to subsequently ask themselves, how could I do it differently the next time? More than help, it's a healing narrative. The intention to help and guide is there. It's definitely the motive.
10. What's one thing you hope I will learn from reading your book?
How to love others from a place of purpose instead of possession.
He wanted to just be comfortable. I told him, love is outside of the comfort zone. It was as if he wanted to sketch Sunday sunsets with his fingertips, while rocking back and forth on our porch. Maybe he wanted to drive the minivan to our son's soccer games and go apple picking in the fall. Those things sound comfortable, they even sound beautiful. Maybe one day, I will do them all, maybe I won't do any of them. They sound like comfortable things, like tamed waves and bridled horses. They sound like fair weather and perfect body temperatures - all beautiful and necessary things but it doesn't seem that my love operates that way. My love is fever. It is a boastful, crashing wave that slams into the shore for more abuse. The salt and the sand mixing into the grainy gray areas called "feelings we just don't know what to do with." My flaws be the jellyfish. Sometimes they sting, but most of the time, you just enjoy seeing them up close. I am the tug and pull of the ocean, you know, kinda arching my back to the moon, glistening under its light and sh.t. Yes, touch me like that there. Pull my hair like that. Yank my head back to find my mouth on top of yours. Let the horses run full stampede into your chest. That's what your heartbeat sounds like in my head. You take up so much room in soul, I have no appetite for the scrumptious, just the necessary. When I take the time to describe what loving you feels like, none of that sounds comfortable. It doesn't sound easy like Saturday morning pancakes. I want to push you to greatness and I want you to pull me from the depths of myself. I want to fill in the rest of your sleeve because I want to be the only person who remembers what your naked looks like. I want you to peel my tattoos off because you want to see the scars I was hiding under them so bad. I mean, this just doesn't seem comfortable. It doesn't seem easy but for you, I would move out of my comfort zone. Rip the lease up, pay a ridiculous amount of rent just to live on the edge of your love, on the cusp of my own sanity and on the line where Heaven begins to descend onto Earth. I want to live there and love you there for an uncomfortable eternity. But you want to be comfortable and that's the one thing I do not have to offer you.
"You will find true success and happiness if you have only one goal there really is only one; to fulfill the highest most truthful expression of yourself as a human you wanna max out your humanity by using your energy to lift yourself up, your family and the people around you."
I struggled with how to return to you. I searched for the right way to say "I'm here y'all. I'm back from the dead or so it seems." Nothing seemed appropriate or witty enough so I'll start with "Hello." My name is Tassika and 2012 was easily the most devastating year of my life. Did I tell you that already? Well, whatever. I'm still not ready to disclose all the reasons why yet but at least I'm one step closer today than I was yesterday. 2012 was the catalyst to writing and completing my first novel. It had been in the works for years to come, I mean this blog is the beginning of it. But last year, God moved himself in my life so viciously that I had to sit still and observe. In my observation, I discovered so many things about others but especially about myself. The more I observed, the more I found a stillness in my own soul, and the more words came rushing out of me. I promise you, there were tidal waves of wisdom coming through my fingertips. What else could I do but write a book? Maybe I could have talked it out but I am much more fluent on paper - that in itself is a gift and a curse. Anyway, I came back to tell you that the book is complete in the sense that I know how it ends, I know its purpose and I figured out how much of myself and my observations I'm willing to expose. The writing will never end. I'm constantly editing, tweaking, adding commas, pauses and sessions of lovemaking every time I look at it. So, in a sense, it's also not done, but the version I have designated specifically for you? Well, we can say that's done and in its final stages of completion. What took me so long? I had it all figured out until I didn't. Something else happened (like I needed another disappointment) and it convinced me that I must change the ending. I had to tackle the feeling too many of us feel - the feeling of not being good enough, not being chosen. In hindsight, I couldn't believe that I didn't mention that, considering that the feeling of insignificance is sweeping across our population in monstrous proportions killing some of us quickly and others slowly. It is a sad epidemic and I want to say there is a cure but even in my own self awareness, I know that there is none. The feeling of not being good enough is a disease that sits quietly in your veins and flares up at the most inconvenient of times. It is mostly dependent on external factors and even the most confident person will have moments of frustration, defeat, unworthiness and low self esteem. The worst part is being made to feel any of those things because of someone you love. And I am so sorry but there is no cure for the person you love, not loving you back. It is not a wound that time can heal nor is it a wound that is purely superficial. That kind of disappointment can very well be fatal. But because I can talk so candidly about sadness, I have also learned how to be vocal about joy. Joy is easily becoming one of my favorite words by the way. Moving forward, there is joy in each of you. That joy is defined by your purpose and your purpose is defined by you. Defeat is a choice. It's a pitiful one, one that I am far too familiar with but it is still a choice. We choose to die in the arms of people we love. We choose to accept the mediocre men and the whining women. We choose to settle for a job instead of chasing our careers. We choose to torture ourselves with old memories instead of exciting ourselves at the thought of making new ones. I am telling you, from the bottom of my heart, CHOOSE YOURSELF. You are so much powerful than the combination of events that you have gone through. And I will also tell you this - serving brings you more of what you need than what you give. Did you hear me? SERVING BRINGS YOU MORE OF WHAT YOU NEED THAN WHAT YOU GIVE. It's up to you to decide who and what you're serving but keep in mind that what you receive from it is a byproduct of that decision. If you serve hate and judgment, you are going to get loneliness and depression in return. If you serve hope and passion, you are going to get favor and opportunities in return. The decision is ultimately yours but remember, within you lies the POWER TO PROCEED. Personally, these last few months, I have felt so much joy, unspeakable joy, the kind of joy that you hear in Whitney's voice when she's singing gospel. And don't get me wrong, I've felt pain too, the pain of not being good enough and not being chosen. But I chose to multiply the joy. I made the decision to focus on the joy and that joy was the healing. You know how they say, "a watched pot never boils?" The same applies to your own heartbreak. The heart does not heal in front of you, it heals in spite of you. Focus on the joy and the healing. Focus on serving and the blessings will pour themselves into your lap. Focus on your purpose and your passion will give you wings. I know these things to be true, so true that almost 60,000 words of healing poured out of me. Yes I have been hurt but yes, I have also been healed. I love you.
It's as if people think having a voice shares the likeness of riding in on a chariot ready to save a neighboring village from some impending doom. I wish it were, this voice, that is. I wish it were intended for saving small children, young women and their absent minded husbands. But this voice is nothing like that. It does not bear intention or hope to breed a mass following. It is just a voice, a tiny voice that was designated to free the soul within me. A voice trying to rid me of any shame I felt or any excruciating curse I felt trapped under. It wasn't built for you. I built it ... well I didn't build it. It came rushing out of me like tidal waves, a vomit of emotion, I was nearly bulimic with my own thoughts. Either way, it wasn't for you although it makes me no less happy that you found something for yourself in it; that you found something to relate to, that you found a place to rest your aching limbs. I am glad that this voice can be comfortable for you. But it is not always comfortable for me. These thoughts conflict, these emotions clash at one another like titans trying to find love. These thoughts that manifest themselves into this voice fight through hell to sound like a slice of heaven. And I know that may be hard to grasp because by the time you're reading, it's like "YES, SHE'S SPEAKING MY LIFE" and you never stop to think for a moment, that I live that same life over and over every time I speak it into a place in which you exist, into a place where you are comforted. And how lucky you are that you get to relive it in the privacy of your own home, probably in the nook and crannies of your bed with the lights out, long after every one else has fallen asleep. Beside you, the condensation builds on your cool wine glass as you sip through the painful memories, anguished questions and characters who were once lovers. You can cry in the dark, recall his smile in the moonlight, laugh at yourself or hide your shame in the glimmering light of your screen. How I envy your privacy. How I envy that your voice has no desire to press itself into words for others to manipulate, enjoy, grieve over, analyze and appreciate. I wish I was as quiet as you. But I'm usually not and in the haste of my voice to purge itself, there will be things you do not understand, things you will not agree with, lands you will never feel under your feet and men you will love never knowing that they died in my arms once upon a time. I think I'm getting used to the fact that no man loves me anymore. Not in the romantic sense, not in the count my eyelashes as I sleep sense, not in the 'as long as she's happy, I'm happy' sense. In those intimate senses, no man loves me anymore. They are the dust of my memories, too dull or too much of a liar to grasp how good I would potentially turn out to be. They, unlike you, were afraid of this voice. They were afraid of being a character. They were afraid of being a story. Too bad they weren't afraid of being sweaty nightmares or haunting images in my mirror late at night. You're probably wondering how we got here or if that was a random tangent. It wasn't. It was proof that just like those men aren't mine, I am not yours. They do not belong to me, I do not belong to you. I am a spirit, a winding breeze that can brush against your cheek or lift your hair. One day you may love that about me and the next you may hate it. But we, you and I do not belong to each other. We share a space that we hope will be enjoyable and everlasting but there will be times that it is neither. In those times, there will be a creeping desire to disrespect and lash out. I urge you to dim your humanness when it gets to that point and return only when you are driving with grace on your dashboard. I love you but I do not belong to you but maybe, one day, if I was owned by you, I would behave better.
Dear woman, Your are built for this. The tiny body within you curves itself to fit comfortably against your spine. It waits for nourishment to fall from your lips to get a little plump beneath you. You worry mommy. You worry that you're not strong enough. But don't look away. Don't howl at the moon. Don't tear the walls down. Focus. Concentrate. Bring forth joy. Your body was made for this. The tingling, the nausea, the weakness, the cold, the warmth. The labor is the earthquake. You are opening up at your creases to bring heat to the surface. Breathe. Pray. Focus. God is on your side. This is not punishment, this is paradise. Sunshine is pouring itself through your legs. Breathe mama. Your soul is working overtime tonight. In. Out. In. Out. Cells collided enough to give you a miracle now bring it forth. You cannot fail. You will not. I promise you, your body is built for this. You are the mother of the world, one child is simply one day's work. Breath. Acquaint yourself with the truth that you are. Delve into your own greatness. Throw your hands down to the opening of your hips and grab hold of your earth. Your bursting sunrise. Your package. Your home cooked meal. Seize your work. The pain will cease. It will be just a memory, just another day's work. Mommy, fear nothing. Fear no one. Giving birth belongs to you as much as your name does. Mommy.
I love Solange. The young mother and artist seems so humble despite having the voice of an angel and a sister who has taken over the world. Since following her career, it is quite apparent that her first job is being a mother and that beauty spills over into everything that the young talent is made of - her writing, her singing, her fashion, her hair, etc. She is currently featured on Black Cab Confessions, where five friends came together with the idea to see their favorite performers by inviting them to record acoustically in the back of cabs in London. Watch the beauty and control below.
If you haven't noticed, you're standing in a pool
of feminism here. I'm always searching for something to empower and
inspire our young queens and it seems I have struck gold.
Ava DuVernay has become the first black director
to ever win "Best Director" at the Sundance Film Festival. It's 2013
and the black race is still kicking down doors, moving mountains and peeling
the sky back to find a new ceiling. And Black women? Burdened with
two identities of inferiority, we are striving. We are working. We
are present in a different capacity than our mothers and sisters before us, but
we're here. The soft spot I have for women is not really soft at
all. It is a solid reassurance that there is still work to be done.
There are still souls to save and tears to wipe away.
This short film starring Gabrielle
Union, Alfre Woodard, Emayatzy Corinealdi, Adepero Oduye and Goapele
is a direct representation of female friendship. It is the evidence of
evolution of a woman experiencing a breakup, the distress, the healing and
unconditional love by her friends. Sometimes splitting up with a man is
really splitting up your soul into dividends you can't even piece together in
peace. God, it hurts sometimes. And sometimes it hurts all the
time.
Your friends, your sisters, the angels God sent to watch over
you - it is their golden duty to bring you back to life. What an
honor to be blessed by them. This film, The Door, shows me how nurturing
our hands are, how sometimes her heart has to beat for the both of you.
And we will resist, we will fight because we are hurting inside but she
does not retreat. She is not afraid of your ugly. She will not
surrender you to a devil that doesn't love you anymore. She is your
friend, your sister, your queen. And as much as we share ourselves with
the men in our lives, we belong to a feminine circle, a pool of womanhood. We
belong to an honor society in which we have to repair one another. We
must feed each other, clothe each other, and drag sunshine into each other's
windows.
I remember when this was me. I remember
not wanting to eat, my hair falling out when him and I fell out. I mean,
I was a wreck over and over again. The sun couldn't even melt the frozen
tears on my eyelids. It was my sisters who brought me back, who
resurrected me, who beat my chest in until my heart mimicked life again.
They pulled him out of me like a tape worm sucking the nutrients I tried
to ingest. My sisters brought me back and I'm so
unapologetically thrilled that this film was made for us and by us.
I share with you the display of our kind
womanhood. Enjoy and then share.
P.S. The fashion is nothing short of amazing. Below the two videos are some stills I captured attached to the poem I heard in my head.
Sometimes I lay still, hoping if I'm still enough, the rest of the world won't notice that I'm even here anymore
And then she comes over with her attitude and her healing
Her resilience
I wish I could be as strong as she is
But I'm not
I'm nowhere close
It hurts to even stand up
She invites the sunshine in
The darkness is still here though
In the corners, in the crevices of my couch
In the creases of my skin
When she touches the ice that is my flesh, her warmth almost makes me cringe
Her pulse is the only music I've heard in days and my ears are just not used to the sound of life anymore
Let me sit here for a moment longer
My bed has become a casket
The most comfortable part of death is the linen
She wants me to put clothes on
Doesn't matter what I wear
They will see the scars
They will see what he did to me
They will see me
I will see me
And I'm sure I won't like what I see
As she slides the plate closer to me, I'm reminded of the dinners he made
The way he diced the tomatoes and washed the lettuce
This plate is just a memory of all the pain I've digested
Too full of absolutely nothing to try
I am defeated by our failure
Skeptical toward my own healing
Back in my robe and back into the confines where broken hearts hide away
I'm not ready to dance Marie, there's no music here
There's no melody
The silence is deafening and I just want to sleep until a tune is beautiful and honest enough to wake me
She holds my hands and pulls my body into motion
I move my hips to her happiness
I borrow her joy, I borrow the brown of her hands
I borrow her glow
And a smile creeps out of me
From a little tiny place within me, the smile comes out to play
And I sway to the curve of that smile until I'm too tired to remember I'm in pain
But here Evelyn comes knocking with two tickets to an emotional paradise
I can't enjoy anything, it hurts too much
I just tried walking and dancing, my limbs are still on fire
Leave me here
I guess I have no say in your attempts to heal me
The dress looks nice
In awe of her silhouette
She is so put together
You can't see her stitches
You can't see her scars
I know she has them, I have them
They are there
I am not making them up
Am I just a bag of bones?
Is my silhouette anywhere near as beautiful as it once was?
She sings
And heaven crawls out of her voice
Her happiness makes me remember mine
With my short white veil, my open arms and a band to promise to love till death do us part
Indeed
Death has parted us
It is real
And she kisses my sadness away
I kiss her back in gratitude
And finally return home
To arms that have sometimes been too critical but always open
Please Mom, just help me
Just tell me it will be okay like you did when I had a stomachache in the first grade
She watches me arrive, her scent for me still strong
She can smell my weakness
She can smell her blood in my veins
Clasped in her wings, it is safe here
It is warm here, her eyes beaming at my experience
Her heart thrilled that she can be here to receive me
Like the day she first held me, she gazes at me as if it were that day again
Two things are true, I am her baby and tea cures everything
I inhale the steam and I am amazed that a tiny cup can warm my entire body
