LuSea Bee | Singles
A true story - bra(h).
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i. If you are reading this…I’m not dead

This year was a good one, started off roughish, ends with me having the worse cold and back ache and new abs from the extreme coughing BUT all in all, this was a great year.

See, I am terrible at expressing my emotions in words, I really find it too difficult. They call it Alexithymia. There’s a name for it. English is like the App Store, there’s an app/word for every phucking thing! I feel a lot, I supposedly “wear my emotions on my sleeves”, I swear I hate that phrase, but I suppose it’s appropriate for how I relate to my feelings. As an African, a Nigerian – this could be tricky, apparently, emotions are for the westerners.

Wrong!

I stumbled on a piece one of the most talented authors who’s ever come out of Nigeria wrote about a certain feeling I’d come in close contact with in the past years.

Depression.

See, I’m glad it has a name, I’m glad I can encase it and not take it as just “a phase” because, truth be told, phases are shit and they rarely exist after a certain age. right?

“It is… as though a strangeness swoops down on me every month, better on some and worse on others”.

I admire writers a lot, they have the gift of words, they can afford to play with them, write big words and still make the reader feel at home, making whoever is reading, irrespective of the nationality or gender, sexual orientations or beliefs, nod in unison, unanimousity binding them wherever they are sitting or standing, knowing that someone, somewhere, out there, shares these feelings, they simply can’t put to words.

“Time blurs. Days pass in a fog. It is morning and then suddenly it is evening and there is nothing in between. I am frightened of contemplating time itself: the thought of tomorrow and the day after tomorrow, the endless emptiness of time. I long to sleep and forget. […] Mornings are dark, and I lie in bed, wrapped in fatigue. I cry often.”.

See, as an African, it is unfathomable how that can be. Depression, tf does that mean?

We don’t commit suicide, that’s a white man’s problem […], they need Jesus

..and that’s surprisingly true, there are quite few cases of suicidal events or whatever, that could veer in the area of psychological distress, so, even though they are few, it’s almost frowned upon in the society, you see?

Titi killed herself for a man? Damn, what a shame! But wait, Is she that stupid, doesn’t she have parents? Why didn’t they teach their daughter to stay away from men? Doesn’t she have siblings to talk to? She’s to blame for her mishap. She’s a….

We don’t do this #OedipusRexMyLifeSucks bullshit, we are strong people, we suffer and smile, it is asked of us by birth, a pre-requisite, you don’t have it? You are not born with it? Well, you are to blame…right.

“…….talking brings to me a great and listless fatigue. Why bother? What’s the point of it all?…”

I remember couple of years ago, in two different occasions, for 2 weeks, I barely said a thing, for a chatty person like myself, I clammed up, for no reason, I coudn’t literally pull myself together to utter a sound, I couldn’t externalise the emotions, I seeked for tears, I found none (still can’t) not because I didn’t want to, but because, I barely knew what I was dealing with. Everything kicks in at the same time you see? My failures, setbacks, procrastinations and I suddenly feel trapped, unable to break loose. I felt dumb. My folks were worried obviously, they thought I did something probably or maybe I was in trouble or I saw something and I couldn’t tell anyone, inside I was laughing..hard.

The best geniuses (?) dealt with depression apparently, some shot themselves, some cut limbs off, I’m not a genius, I’m just a 20 something wannabe-IhaveADreamOrTwoCosmoPolyglot trying to get by…

…as it came though, It left. I literally snapped out of it. A pair of trousers my sister bought me did the trick apparently.

Not because I needed anything materialistic but because the dark black bird decided it was time it left and not to return… for the time being.

But this year, the year when Harambe was killed? I felt happiness like never before, from June downward, I felt at ease and I fear the new year would try to take that away from me. Fingers crossed. Prayers up.

#BeHappy #StayHappy

Rachelle Ferrelle | Bye Bye Blackbird

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s. Soirées

I comici afroamericani, il più delle volte, durante i loro stand-up, tendono a scherzare sul fatto che tutto il resto della popolazione non “di colore” stenti a credere che possano (i neri, latini, asiatici ecc.) essere diventati ricchi o meglio, benestanti, senza aver dovuto ricorrere all’illegalita’.

Un paio di anni fa, circolò in rete la gag di una commessa svedese (??) di un noto negozio di alta moda che non volle far vedere ad Oprah Winfrey (!) una borsa che riteneva troppo costosa per la “signora di colore” che aveva davanti.

A me fece ridere.

Qualche tempo fa ero all’aeroporto Charles de Gaulle, in fila per imbarcare e come saprete, c’è la fila pè i poracci (presente) e quelli che hanno optato per il servizio de la classe prioritaria. Ebbi la fortuna di assistere a questa scena di un signore nero che si era posizionato nella fila prioritaria e la hostess che continuò a fargli cenno di spostarsi nella fila Economy finchè lui non le ha lanciato un occhiataccia e non ha mostrato la sua carta d’imbarco al collega della ragazza.

Anche questo mi fece ridere.

Non è una caccia alle streghe – non è neanche razzismo vi dirò, nè tantomeno ignoranza, io credo sia semplicemente una reazione quasi aspettata poichè é quello che la societa’ continua a rifilarci: Spara (un giudizio a caso) poi confermi (alla persona da te diverso se ciò che si sia detto sia effettivamente veritiero).

Chiunque vi dice che non abbia mai sentenziato (pre)giudizi verso uno che è socialmente “diverso” da lui non dice il vero.
Il che mi fa pensare che siamo tutti “razzisti”. Chi più di altri, chi con una mente più critica di altri.

Di che colore è il (pre)giudizio?

Frank Ocean | Novacane

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