In Trinidad....

On vacation....back later...but in the meantime, I came across this while getting ready to write my essays for summer jobs...this was the start of my original lsac personal essay - but I was advised to change it and not shock the admissions officers...lol...can't remember if I had this up already or not...

Gazing at my surroundings, my heart beats frantically. My breaths hitch as my eyes dart around nervously like a deer caught in someone’s headlights. I am petrified. The year is 1996. Our group arrived in St. Louis the night before for my first United Youth Congress – a denominational gathering that occurs every 4 years. The morning is vibrant with excitement and promise. As I walk eagerly into the Dome, my steps falter until I stop completely. A cold clammy feeling encases me.

The place is teeming with black people.

Whenever I relate the above experience to others, I am usually confronted with shock, disbelief and/or laughter. After all, I am black. Few can understand the idea that I was afraid of my own race.

Growing up in an immigrant household in the United States, and as one of two black girls in my classes was instrumental in shaping my perspective at that age. By 14 I had given up wanting to have blonde hair and blue eyes, but my interaction with other blacks, particularly Americans, had been limited to church.

At this period of my life I teetered between false snobbery and serious insecurity. I always knew I was considered “gifted” from an early age. Getting good grades was easy for me. Winning my elementary spelling bee at 10 only served to enhance my pride. I was inundated with accolades from teachers – pats on the head when I performed. The phrase “you’re not like other black children” was constant. And I doted on it. I was special. My parents were Trinidadian. They weren’t weighted down with the repressed mentality or search for identity so often associated with African-Americans. I was different and better than my peers.

Or so I thought. By the time 1996 had rolled around I was more comfortable with my race, but only those I knew from church or school. I was the only black girl in school to hang out with the “Goths”, Latinos, Asians, Christians and “nerds” alike.

Encountering a host of black youth made me feel intensely insecure and unsure of how to behave. Should I try to adopt the popular slang that was never allowed at home? Teasing from my black peers about being “white” or never “black enough” haunted me.

Initially, it was a terrifying experience. However, it became one of the most important experiences in my life. By the time I left St. Louis, I was in love with blackness – the struggle, strength and variety of it. I realized that though the media and my environment presented powerful forces in shaping stereotypes, I could choose not to accept their negative influences.

I feel like I've just been violated. Ks sucked. It wasn't even that it was terribly difficult per se, after a while I just had nothing more to say. At all. I was waiting for the time to be up, while my classmates were scurrying around the statutes and furiously typing their treatises.

I sat there and wondered what they were typing...

Not good.

Letter to 13 year-old Me

So, I was tagged by CiC to write a letter to my 13 year-old self. I tried to keep it short, but thats up for you guys to decide. Anywho, it was definitely fun to write...if you get a chance you should do it...

Here goes:

Dear Young Idealistic and Self-Righteous Me,

The year is 1995. You’ve made it through your first half of freshman year. You thought you’d be miserable in a new state and school. But you’ve begun reinventing yourself. No one here knows anything about you. Soon you’ll have your first sip of Jack Daniels from your friend who has a stash of bottles in her room. In a couple of months you’ll be caught up in a huge school riot where your classmates are beating your teachers.

It’s scary, but you’ll find it interesting, so not like private school. The people are different and you are not teased and made fun of – here you find your place and hang out with totally random groups. You’re gonna play tennis soon, and later recall the games at Columbine and how you and your classmates used to envy them.

But as soon as that year ends you head back to California. You cry and promise to write your friends. Back to that private school where no one knows you’ve changed, and you quickly revert to that same totally awkward, shy girl. You’ll also get braces soon, which doesn’t help with the slouching, glasses and nerd moniker.

High school will fly by as your parents beg and borrow to keep you in Christian school – junior year at another public school and senior year back at the academy. The guys at church will call you the Ice Princess and other names. But you’ll wrap yourself up in self-righteousness and being a “good girl” because it helps you cope.

After graduation you go to Trinidad for your freshman year of college. It will be one of the best decisions you make. You lose the braces, cut the hair and fly off to the Caribbean. All of a sudden you are hot stuff – still shy, but American and exotic. You grow. You date. Meet a tortured soul poet right before you transfer to a college in Alabama.

But still – no first kiss. Make a pact with your cousin to get your kiss by the end of the semester. And you do. He’s 26, you’re 18. You’re bold. Excited. The next day you’ll decide that you don’t like him and tell him that this is not going to work.

For the next year or so you have fun. You totally enjoy school and your friends. You “talk” to different men. You are on this quest of turning guy friends into more. It never works, and you’re always losing friendships. But you’re still very much a prude.

You go back to Trinidad and meet up with the poet. Your minds connect and you have the greatest 2 weeks just being with him. Making out. Writing. He writes songs for you. Totally infatuated. Ignoring everything and everyone else. He gives you a “promise” ring. You’re 19. He’s 25. You think it’s perfect. He’s perfect. He’s not. He will subsequently try dating your sister and cursing you out in a very eloquent but terrible way. You’ll never talk to him again.

Almost immediately afterwards you start robbing the cradle with the juvenile. It will be fun for a while. But you know it will never last. Just enjoy the ride. You’ll also be interested in your best friend’s brother. Save yourself a huge amount of heartache and wasted years - leave him alone. He will not be good for you. Not only will your self-esteem be torn to shreds but partly because of him you visit the Asshole. The older married male cousin who unlocks the bathroom door while you’re in the shower and wants to have sex with you. This will not be a good time. But you’ll get through it. While losing a lot of your naiveté.

Fast forward to recent times. You’ve finished your MPH, worked for a while, traveled, jumped on a plane by yourself and stayed in Guatemala for a couple months, and grown. You’re no longer a strong adherent to the Christian faith. But you’re happy. Content. You’re in law school. I know – total shock. But you’ve come full circle and realized this is where you want to be.

You are about to embark on your first final in a couple days, while dealing with the fact that the guy you finally let introduce you to X doesn’t want to be in a relationship with you. It’s tough. But you knew that from the outset. I still have to see how that plays out, but you’re strong.

Just know that being a people-pleaser is not a good thing. You have to live for yourself. Love yourself. Don’t allow other people’s opinions dictate what you do. Let go guilt for not living up to others standards. Be humble. Understanding. Trust yourself. You’re rarely wrong.

The great thing is, once you get to where I am now, you won’t have any regrets.

Live passionately and enjoy.

Love,
YOU