AA

So truth be told, I'm a writer but I never try to because I'm afraid.  Truth be told, I'm a poet, and a designer but again I never try because I'm afraid.  If I tell you how many pieces I've written in my head, I'd be a millionaire.  I think a lot, speak a bunch but not really what I dream.  My mind thinks about things constantly.  Like how I would rebuttal an issue or the many issues I'm passionate about.  I think about how to make things.  I pull them apart in my mind, can unfold an object and rebuild it, find the problems and redo it again.  I think about poetic pieces and different topics to write about.  Honestly, there's nothing more than saying I just don't do it because of fear.

 

See growing up, I wasn't the artistic one in my family.  All three of my brothers could draw and I mean draw well.  They each had their own style but there were good.  I remember a piece my oldest brother did of a horse and you could see the definition of it's muscles.  It was simply done in black ink but what made it extraordinary was that it was done out of 1000's of small black dots, basically pointillism.  You wouldn't know from first glance but getting close to it, you could see his execution, it was amazing!  To the point that it got framed and hung in our home.  Then my second brother, he's the "artsy" one.  He is the "Renaissance Man", he draws and really well, think Avatar but with far more worlds and characters,(Avatar should have been his creation truthfully speaking, he's that good - shameless plug: Absolutely!!!) he sculpts, he writes, he designs, he's flipping ridiculous!  And my third brother, he draws as well, really good with landscapes and child like comics.  So yes, they all had some sort of artistic expression and were really good at it.  They didn't all pursue this as a career but for what it's worth, they are gifted.  

 

As for me, I wasn't the drawer.  My sculptures were truly like the menial gifts a child makes for their mother, and my drawing was solely of simple geometric shapes on my notebooks, lol.  I laugh looking back because that's not where my forte laid.  I love art, but more over pursued it with instruments and even then, I wasn't all that amazing and had to give them both up before anything could really come of it.  I did learn to draw portraits in middle school and that was fun.  For some reason I did alright at that and knew if I had a chance, maybe that would have gone somewhere but again, I let that go.  So as you see my artistic expression wasn't really anything to be doted.  However, though I didn't focus on the arts, I pursued science and I pursued it hard core.  I knew at an early age that I wanted to be a doctor so even before I hit high school I made sure to get into the right classes to set myself up to make my dream come true.  I did everything to the point of taking 2 math courses one year because that was what I thought I wanted.  I still remember my senior year classes because I didn't take the easy route, I wanted to achieve and so I did what any achiever would do and loaded myself up with AP courses: English, Calculus, Physics, and Chemistry.  Note, I would have added Biology if I could but my schedule wouldn't permit it.

 

Anyhow, this was me, the science driven achiever or so I thought.  What does any of this have to do with art, well here's how.  When I went to college, within my first semester I was bored.  Science, though fascinating bored me.  What I enjoyed was communication and I joined clubs like gospel choir, dance, etc.  I joined things that fed into my artistic side and that made me happy but I never thought about pursuing a degree in it, plus because of my background my parents were not going to have it.  It just wasn't what children of West African parents did.  Believe me, it was a battle not worth fighting.  Sadly, I continued in science to the point of convincing myself that studying genetics and going into research would help... though I really liked genetics, I was lying to myself and God knew it.  So what did He do... He literally left me in a place where I could no longer continue college because of family and financial problems.  I came back home not knowing what to do and what to make of my life.  I really hit a brick wall and this time, there was no way around it at all.

 

I worked for over 2 years with no direction and somehow in this time my artistic desires started to arise.  I began writing poetry more.  It started in high school because of one of my English teachers but I continued, secretly while going through college.  I began singing in a Christian group and we would travel to different churches, events, and venues and I l loved it.  I even started a dance ministry for the youth in my church.  Then I remember being at my younger cousin's house one day and she was flipping through a bridal magazine fantasizing about her wedding day and what dress to wear.  As she picked a dress that she liked, out of nowhere I told her why that dress wouldn't be flattering for her body type and what dress would look better on her.  She understanding and simultaneously perplexed simply looked at me and asked why I wasn't in fashion.  That question was the beginning of my reintroduction to the arts. 

 

Such a simple question but I didn't have an answer.  I couldn't give a reason to why I wasn't pursuing fashion.  I was always particular about what I wore and knew what I wanted even at a young age.  I remember dragging my mother from store to store looking for the perfect 8th grade banquet outfit.  I didn't want to be like everyone else.  I wanted espadrilles and a linen outfit.  I think back at times where I wanted something specific, not so much out there but just my own, I had a need to express myself differently and was not satisfied until I accomplished it.  I remember designing my senior prom dress in my mind.  I could see the soft purple color, the mini train, and the flowing chiffon but being disappointed because I couldn't get it made.  So when that question arose, I didn't have an answer better yet, I didn't have an excuse.  What did I do after that?  I decided to pursue my passion and go to school for fashion.  What a 180 degree turn from being a genetic doctor.  Funny though, my mother was down for my cause.  So I moved to Florida and pursued my degree in fashion design and graduated. 

 

See this is all interesting because I now, over a decade later am still just getting to a place to understand and accept more so that I am artistic.  Yes, I have my geeky side and I love that to but exploring my artsy side hasn't been easy.  I've tried keeping it structured and many a times down play it as well.  I tell myself and many others that I like that business side of fashion.  I like the behind the scenes, which I do.  I tell people that I am more business minded, which is partially true because I do see strategies and systems.  I've kept myself in this nice neat box which fits me, my family, my culture, and sadly enough society to believe that I am more business savvy then artistic when the reality is that I am both.  But truthfully speaking, I love the artistic side of me.  It brings me peace.  I'm at home when I'm creating and sewing.  I'm at home writing, journaling, or writing poetry.  It does something to me.  I love expressing myself in an artistic manner. 

 

I've not wanted to come clean with this or really admit this to myself because like I said before "I'm not the artistic one in my family."  However that statement is rendering itself to be a lie and God is patiently showing me this.  Even now as I write, I have memories of me watching TLC and HGTV because I loved seeing the design process, whether it would be a make over of a person or the interior of a home.  It really spoke to me.  I wondered where this artistic person came from in me but it's quite easy to trace, see every year when I was in elementary school and even into middle school my mother would sew a one of a kind dress for picture day and every year I received plenty of compliments from the other kids mothers who just adored my dress and were shockingly surprised upon asking where I got it at, I would reply that my mother made it. 

 

My mother was a great seamstress and still is.  You see, my mother not only sews but she also knits, crochets, does needle point and macramé as well.  And she has a great green thumb.  This drawing to being artistic is not just a matriarchal aspect but it also comes from my father.  He is not so much the drawer by my dad is more of a technical artisan.  He created and designed the blueprints for our house back in Cameroon.  All the furniture in our house in Africa, he designed and got made and just like my mom, he's an amazing gardener as well.  He would grow everything and together because of them, I understood the execution, creativity, and function of a farm.  Plus it helps that both of my parents are excellent cooks.  Whenever my father got a new maid, he would teach her how to cook and not just any meals but traditional Cameroonian meals, which is no small feat, and other things alike.  So this artisan, isn't as far fetched from me as I thought it would be.

 

It's crazy that it took this long for me to realize this but like it says better late than never.  As I grow in my artistic abilities what I have had to learn is that I can create whatever it is I want to create and not have to be like everyone else.  So designing and making jewelry out of Ankara fabric, creating interior home goods, writing poetry, and just writing however I feel is what is great about this because there is no specific formula to art.  That's what makes it art.  It can take on an organic function all its own self.  But what I find to be the greatest thing is that it is a reflection of God because He is the best artist I know.  Just look at the world around us from savannah, to the mountains, to outer space.  It's all art and it's all good.  So though my fear has definitely kept me back from sometime now, I think I'm ready to finally come out of my artistic closet and just say that I am an artist and there is nothing wrong with that.  I feel like I'm at an AA(Artist Anonymous) meeting: "Hi, my name is Fulei and I'm an artist."

 



Then God looked over all he had made, and he saw that it was very good!

Genesis 1:31a

Core

How do you love the unlovable?  That's the question that has been on my mind for quite some time now.  Honestly and truly how do you because the more and more I look around, the harder it is for me to really be selfless and mean it when I say "I love you", though knowing as those words roll of my lips in the moments I do mean it that instantly I am being shunned, negated, and overlooked.  Better yet, not even considered. 

 

In the wake of everything that has been going on I truly, desire to know how do you love the unlovable.  When you, like me, work a job where you see nothing but disrespect and feel the weight of the black race on your shoulders because to those around you, you are the closest and realest representation of the black nation to them.  How do I reach out and still love them?  How do I love those who say in the midst of such tragedy, what does this matter?  Things like this happen all the time.  What's so different about this?  How do I look them square in the face and still love them?  Or when you see the depths that white privilege has prevailed and still prevails in our everyday lives.  Whether it be, the elitism of a couple who deserves to live as they do, or children who are able to walk out to their back yard onto a lake a kayak because they feel like it, or when a promotion is passed onto someone white, whom you trained and technically still train from day to day because they know someone in upper management though you've been there for 5yrs and have seniority over them.  Tell me how do love them?

 

I'm asking all of this because this is a question that I have been wrestling with for a while now and it doesn't help that our nation has told blacks once again, you don't matter and most of all that you really have no value, no matter what age or circumstance may have occurred.  Nope, "You Don't Matter!!!"  This is what we have to face in this country, loud and clear.  See I could go back and start spouting what accomplishments blacks have had in this country.  The many ways blacks have contributed to make this country to making it into what it is today.  The many walls and barriers that blacks have had to overcome to be deemed as equals in written law.  Even the fact that America for its first time in history had a major monumental moment for electing its first ever black president, now two terms in.  Yes, I can sit here and go further and deeper and retrace steps but all of that pales in comparison to the reality of how America views her black children; unwanted, overlooked, and worthless.  Basically unvalued!  This was stated loud and clear to her babies. 

 

Blacks now in the modern age have become worst off then illegitimate children, no blacks are now late term abortions.  Good enough to create celebration for the sake of life, provide the mother with a feeling of longing and joy, bring others to celebrate the mother and her accomplishments, get lavished with promises and gifts just waiting, how the child brings wealth and status, have the mother feel a sense of euphoria at what is to be expected, even enjoy the small kicking she feels inside but when the reality hits of her life changing forever, the morning sickness because truth is creating and sustaining life isn't easy, having the child press on her bladder in her mind at the most inopportune times, showing her the truth of herself and that pregnancy also makes you dependent, that the child is going to cost money to raise, and that you have to rethink your priorities and stances, then it's too much.  The kicking that once was cute hurts, her backbone on which everything stands upon is sore and even laying down is uncomfortable, her pelvis spreading and shifting makes even the simplicity of walking a chore, the stretching and itching that comes along from this child growing now it's a problem and just like that America decides, this child is too much of a problem, a burden, and will change my lifestyle wants a late term abortion.  America calls the ever delinquent father named Justice and says I don't want this child anymore.  Though they may fuss and seemingly fight, in the end she wins and he gives in to her and it works out best for the both of them.  She got her gifts, wealth, and lifestyle, praises and even the I understand from her friends because it would just be too much.  "You're not in the place you need to be to support a black child, think of the cost and struggle you will have to do through" while the absent father, Justice, agreed and said he didn't have the means to support his black child and made the easy decision so that he wouldn't have to pay child support.  He chose this even though he showed his child off, boast about his mini me and what he said he would do and how he would always be there to protect, uphold, and pass down the values of his parents.  Tell me then, how do you love the unlovable?

 

 

 

 

Expectation

I've been told by others what I am good at and should excel in since I was a child.  I've been told you're great with words, you should teach, you should write a book, you should preach, you should do workshops, you should be in politics, you should do spoken word, you should... and the list goes on and on.  Honestly, I am all of that and none of that at all.  For me, I have a problem when it comes to expectations whether others or my own.  I've lived under this umbrella better yet, weight, of what others expect of me or for me to be and become or even what I place on myself.  Understand, I am a natural achiever, it is how I am hard wired, it's what makes me function as I do.  It's literally ingrained within me.  I do not know how to look at situations or challenges and not see how I or others can achieve or strive to in it.  Literally, my mind is hardwired to see strategies in everything and come up with some sort of solution.  It's me, it's who I am, so package that with having others tell you who you are supposed to be is a recipe for disaster and in reality that has been my life underneath it all.  

Let me back track and even explain why I'm talking about this especially with it being the new year.  I am not trying, just a few days into this year, to be 'Debbie Downer', I am just realizing somethings about myself and want to be honest about where I am in order to move forward.  Just recently because of a situation that took place, my friend and I were out listening to a live band and at one point I zoned out.  She saw that I was not present anymore.  My mind was somewhere else, my demeanor had changed, and my body language spoke volumes.  She, being a friend I can count on, proceeded to ask me what happened and I then tried my best to articulate or formulate some understanding of what had just taken place.  I knew what happened but I didn't know how to describe it.  The best way to label it was, "Questions & Quandaries".  My mind, in that split second of choosing to zone out, starting firing off questions of who, what, when, where, and how.  I was thinking about the future.  I was comparing myself and wondering how can I measure up.  I was questioning my ability, my presence, my purpose all in that small space.  Others that don't know me would not have thought anything of it but my friend did and thank God she did.

See, it's in moments like this that my mind projects expectations, whether false or real, most of the time false, and I start my game of "Questions & Quandaries" and then become very silently overwhelmed.  No one ever knows because I never say anything but mentally, I'm at the front door of whatever the situation is with my bags packed, ready to pick them up and walk out the door no matter what is behind me.  And best of all, I don't look back.  I don't look to see if someone is asking me to come back or if the door is shut or even if it were left open.  In my mind, it's over.  It was too much and I could not deliver so I'm out.  This is my way of running.  I'm not the dramatic, make a scene, scream or shout, or even the walk away looking back with longing and tear filled.  I am simple.  I pick up my bags and keep walking, at times this is the worst way to leave because either others don't know you've left since it was quiet or by the time they realize it's too late and you are way far off in the distance.  Worst off are the times when you don't give the other person a chance to speak or even come after you.  Really, I do this because I don't think I'm worth the hysterics or even coming after.  I've come to believe I'm not good enough and I cannot satisfy or reach whatever expectation has been placed in front of me, so I leave.

This has been my hidden secret, my weight, my shame, my failure.  I have lived with this weight of feeling as though I cannot accomplish anything I set my mind to or that even if I do the pleasure is momentary.  I do not know the feeling of setting and achieving a goal and it being satisfying because to me expectation is attached with disappointment.  As soon as I achieve something, I have 10 more people telling me what I should do next or become.  This has been such a detriment that now I place false expectations upon myself to obtain, that in reality should not be there.  As a young girl, I knew that whatever I wanted to do I could but somehow that changed and got twisted as I grew older. Then more and more I saw achievements as a burden.  The very thing that makes me thrive became the very thing that stripped me of my life.  "You should" translated to "I have to" and it shifted to what I should be when my environment or group of people changed.  I became such an amazing chameleon.  I was everything that others wanted me to be, yet nothing of that at all.  Behind closed doors, I was alone and would reel from the thought of trying to become anything, so I became nothing.  I didn't know who I was.  

For all the crying, trying to  figure out, personality tests, career tests, giftings, and prophecies given I was lost.  More lost than ever before.  Don't ask me, through all of this, how God was able to still keep me sane and speak to me.  Can you imagine living like that?  In church, people telling you what they see you becoming or how God's created you to be.  In school, teachers praising your intelligence and saying you should work at such and such because you will make it "Big", or at home having family tell you "You are the one...", whatever that's supposed to mean.  Everywhere I went, that's all I heard and that's what I received.  I started to become that very thing for each group, a poet, a preacher, a designer, a manager.  I was everything others wanted me to be and felt like an utter failure when I couldn't become "that" thing.  Even in relationships, I started taking on roles that were not me.  I had to think 10 steps ahead.  I had to anticipate and project and not be the nag, not be the bossy one, not be too opinionated, or show anger, I had to defy the unspoken code of expectations.  Yes, I had to be the desireable one.  

These lies and falsehoods were my skewed vantage point.  Taking on things that I never should have, reaching for stars that were never meant to be mine, and projecting a picture of poised personality no matter the cost.  This fake reality was always unraveling, yet I would pick up the string and convince myself that I was wrong for it unraveling and would work twice as hard to rewrap it up so it wouldn't come apart again.  Then slowly, the Holy Spirit would slip a knot out here, and by the time I realized, didn't know what to do. He would cut a string here; pull a thread there and have bundles of thread on the floor, while I tried just holding onto whatever the core of this was.  Prior to that fatal evening of awakening, the Holy Spirit had been working on and revealing so many things to me that when my session on "Questions & Quandaries" took place, I didn't even realize what had really happened.  I was baffled, overwhelmed, annoyed, full of shame, and just wanted to pick those bags up and leave.  I was back here again.  However, this time it was different.  My friend in her way stood there in front of the door looking at me and snapping me out of it, took my bags out of my hand, set them down, closed the door and walked me to the couch to sit down.  She didn't let me leave or better yet, she made me stay. 

Though at times, I had that sudden urge to get out by any means necessary, I stayed.  Somethings, I didn't want to hear because it meant, I had to acknowledge somethings.  It meant, I needed to forgive some people, it meant I had to see the truth and let my ball of thread go.  My security was showing itself to not be secure at all but interestingly enough, I found that in the middle of all that thread, was this beautiful object.  It had a familiarity to me but since it was covered for so long, I couldn't recognize it.  Small but brilliant.  In this moment, sitting with my friend, I could see the Holy Spirit at work telling me, this is you.  Trust me and let me show you who you really are.  What was interesting in all of this was learning that there were no expectations.  You have to understand how this blew my mind, better it shattered my world.  My friend said to me, "You know there are no expectations for you."  Not in a rude manner but in an honest, matter of fact kind of way.  She was letting me know that all I needed was to be myself and not worry about what others think or putting false thoughts of how I think I'm supposed to be.  That night gave me freedom.  It brought a perspective that I had NEVER seen.  So this is why I said I have a problem with expectations.  I don't know how to live up to them but truly I don't want to anymore.  I want what God has promised me as the Holy Spirit said, "Let me show you who you really are... small but brilliant!" 

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart,

do not depend on your own understanding.

Seek His will in all you do,

and He will show you what path to take.

Don't be impressed with your own wisdom.

Instead, fear the Lord and turn away from evil.

Then you will have healing for your body

and strength for your bones."

Provs. 3:5-8