The scene? Florida Gulf Coast University. It's graduation day, and I received my bachelor's in communication. My mother? In tears; snot running down her nose like it's allergy season. My father? Gives me $1000 for all my hard work-as you can see, I'm dreaming big. We leave, I hop into my chili red 2022 Mini Convertible. Face? Beaming, joyful, and exuberant expression is plaster on my gorgeous face. My teeth are, in the words of Rihanna, "Shining bright like a diamond". It's November, just past 6 PM, and it's 78 degrees exact. Are my seat warmers on? Yes, I like my buns toasted. As I drive, I hear the ringing of my iPhone XR. The number?Unknown. But I live life on the edge, so I obviously pick up. Who's on the other line? None other than A.G Sulzberger, the publisher for The New York Times offering me a position. I respond with a simple, "sounds great, I'll talk to my manager about this", and hang up with a courteous "bye". Little does he know, I don't have a manager. I don't even know how to get a manager. Fast forward 3 years, I'm a successful journalist living in The Big Apple working for The NYT, and I have my big break: I get to interview the magnificent, gorgeous, talented specimen of a man that formally goes by Harry Styles; but I call him my air. The interview runs smoothly and my air, I mean Harry, loves the interview so much he invites me to dinner. Do I say yes? No. I have to make it seem like I am a busy, independent woman…because I am! Instead, I respond, "I can happily squeeze that in my schedule", with my teeth gleaming in those royal green eyes. We go to a restaurant that I can't even pronounce-one direction reference- and we talk about life, philosophy, and music. We exchange numbers, he gives me a ride to my overpriced apartment, and I give him a friendly peck on the cheek. Before I exit his Porshe, he utters "Let's do this again sometime", in his sultry British accent. With that, his dimples and his car fade in the darkness. I reluctantly go into my apartment, missing the curly-haired man. However, my sullen-state is uplifted when my Bombay cat, Jasper, greets me at my door. I gently caress his face and head towards my bedroom. Once my nightly routine of pampering myself and unwinding is over, I throw myself on my queen-sized bed and catch up on emails. It's the usual. Emails from Oprah asking for an interview, Beyoncé asking if I could go to Blue Ivy's birthday, you know, the usual Friday evening. But then, my phone chimes, and who would have thought. Harry Styles is texting me, asking when he could see me again. That, ladies and gentlemen, is what my future looks like.
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It's sixth grade, and I am embarrassed and ashamed to be me.
It wasn't because I didn't like myself, no that's not why. It was because for a good chunk of my life on Earth I was relentlessly teased. It wasn't because of my miniature stature, or my thick mustache that I shouldn't have been rocking at the ripeness of my adolescents, or because of my horrible sense of fashion. It was because I wasn't black. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the one black girl in my white-dominated school, was not black. But, I bet you're wondering: "But, how could a black person NOT be black?" Well, great question person who is reading who I pray I do not know in real life! Apparently, if you don't like rap, the latest fashion trends, can't dance, and "speak" white, then you are therefore excluded from the black community. Well, according to my cousins at least. Yes, my own family teased me for being "too white". But not only that, for having a big behind as well...the one "black" feature I had. So what'd I do? The one thing I knew how to do best: Mask. Become a facade I had not known, but yearned to be. I'd spend hours memorizing lyrics to Drake instead of listening to my usual One Direction, learning dances instead of pre-algebra, and more stereotypical things I believed aided one in being black-as if I was taking a "How to be Black 101" course. Anyway back to sixth grade. I'm in a new school and I have no friends...whooptydoo! It's second period drama class and I'm surrounded by kids who don't know me. ...They don't know me. This, this was my chance to whip out all of my hard work of playing Drake's Energy and watching Martin on a loop! I muster up the courage to speak to the girl next to me, and I say, loud and proud, "I'm Telequinisha!"... Let's stop there folks. Let's analyze the issue with this entire predicament I put myself in. Firstly, I lied. Strike one. Secondly, she knew I lied...my teacher had just called roll and I-naturally- rose my name when I heard my name. My real name. Strike two. Lastly, the name I blatantly lied about being mine was not only horrible, but also stereotypical and a little prejudice. Strike three and I'm out. With all these bad aspects of my lie weighing me down, oddly enough the girl laughed and asked me-or I mean Telequinisha- about herself. And that she did. With her thick, southern 'blaccent', Telequinisha discussed all her favorite songs, from Drake to Lil Uzi Vert and all her MCMs (Man Crush Mondays...its 2016 lingo guys). Realizing that being Telequinisha allowed me to gain friends, I soon coined her as "one of my personalities" that I used to gain friends and make people laugh. While I used this throughout all of middle school, looking back I loathe myself by bringing this persona into my life. Not because she brought anything bad into my space, no that definitely isn't the case. It's the fact that I manifested a fictional caricature of what I imagined 'black person' to be like because that's what the media kept telling me black girls were. Just weave-patting, loud, uneducated people. When I, myself, am a black girl and I am none of those things. Black people are so much more than what I and my cousins assumed. I didn't need Telequinisha in my life to show how black I could be. I am black and that's enough. My cousins are black, and that's enough. Telequinisha is black, and that's enough. Why? Because being black is enough. O say can you see, by the dawn’s early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilights last gleaming? In a world where immigrants are denied freedom because they aren’t “American enough”, Where horrific events from 60 years ago are reoccurring repeatedly, A country, Where families are getting broken apart every single day because the country that they came to for a new beginning no longer wants them. We are so called making America Great Again when all the policies that we need to succeed as a whole Are getting repealed, denied, and demolished. When after carrying a semiautomatic rifle to a protest and murdering two people in the process, Kyle Rittenhouse gets a slap on the wrist. Rallies are held against each other, with imbeciles retaliating saying “I did nothing wrong, it’s my freedom to carry", "It's my freedom of speech", "It's my freedom to breathe". Learning that Columbus “discovered” this country, When in reality he snatched an already discovered nation from the Natives, Killed them, While showing no mercy. Having those same Natives be the poorest people in the land that was stolen from their hands. Influencer suddenly “caring” about another Person of Color dying for the publicity. Typing a measly 'ACAB' or 'BLM' in their bio to show their support, Framing others into believing that they are kind and caring people, But replacing it weeks later with a discount code to get 20% of an online store. Making it a big deal when someone speaks the truth about the corrupted system that we call “home” is, when no one is trying to fix it. Brainwashing an entire society into believing that a single high-expectation body standard is the only tolerable one. Cloning young men and women to be the idealistic figurine that people literally kill for. Claiming that we “strive for equality” when we do not accept other for their differences. Making it okay when another shooting or bombing occurs because they didn’t look like your stereotypical terrorist, so they can’t be one. Public figures making others feel worthless. Teenagers and young adults fighting for what they want to transform this country in to. Adults praying that the new generations fix what mistakes they have made. Living in constant fear of a nuclear war, Of another bill passed to deport your loved one, Or another shooting might happen. This is the America we live in. O’er the land of the free And the home of the brave! |
AuthorHi! I'm La'Kennya Huggins and I'm currently a senior in high school. This blog is primarily for my college course. Archives
November 2021
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