Memorial Day & George Floyd

Reasons We Need To Be Reminded That Black Lives Matter

Memorial Day is a holiday paying homage to the ones before us who’ve contributed to this world. It could be a family member who was a teacher and taught many people, a father, a grandmother, a man of honor and duty. This is a day we’re supposed to be respecting the lives of others and remembering all the good times we had and the opportunities made possible because of these people.

On Monday, May 25th, of 2020 Memorial Day, the disparity of black men was relieved. George Floyd was the 46-year-old man, who was killed by Derek Chauvin, a Minneapolis police officer on a day where families honored the memory of their loved ones.

Racism is blatant — still in the year 2020

Luckily, the former Minneapolis police officer seen in a video with his knee on George Floyd’s neck has been arrested and faces charges of third-degree murder and manslaughter, according to Hennepin County Attorney Mike Freeman. As of Friday, May 29th, 2020, an investigation of these charges is underway.

Black Men, Police, & Violence

Of course, everybody’s life matters. Black lives matter wasn’t a statement to belittle the lives of others. When people say all lives matter, they often ignore the fact that black men are murdered more often than any other people.

I have been guilty of placing my life ahead of others. My Life Matters is the name of one of my earlier blogs. The blog wasn’t even speaking for all women, it declared the importance of my own life. On the other hand I was also a service member for this country. Bottom line — we’re all important! The fact is that black men are murdered by the police more than any other people.

Where would this world be without black men and the culture (which most people think is their own)?

When I speak about black men I’d like to be non-biased to genuinely consider the pilot of a black male.

Since the beginning of being black in America, the black male has had to fight for his life and the opportunity to live and be free. I feel like many of these men are probably triggered, threatened, and hated by authorities. It seems to me, if I were a black male, it would be a question of life or death when dealing with the police.

We’ve all seen police abuse and kill a black man on camera. Many times the officers aren’t even penalized for it. (Let me stop preaching to the choir, we’ve all seen it.) I suppose this is why Amy Cooper, visiting New York’s Central Park, thought the “African American Man” (as she called him) would be frightened if she called the police on him and reported that he was threatening her life.

I do believe this man began recording Cooper because she was getting aggravated by him demanding her to put a leash on her dog. The woman didn’t put a leash on her dog, and she drug it along by its collar as she approached the black man. The park rules, however, requires all dogs be leashed during their visit.

I bet Cooper thought this black man would fear for his life. It reminded me of the movie Rosewood when the white woman said that a black man raped her and caused the white men to go on a lynching rampage through the community.

My mother calls the tragedy with Floyd a modern-day lynching. Instead of tying a noose around his neck, he used his knee. The police may not have punished Amy Cooper, but once the video went viral, her job surely did. It proves that times are gradually changing because Cooper was fired from Franklin Templeton.

Years ago, there was a video circulating Facebook of a black male wearing a red Trump (MAGA) baseball cap on his head while yelling at the police, giving them a hard time. The black male driver videoed his entire interaction with the officers as he argued with them. Most of the black people I know on Facebook commented on his Trump hat as the greater disappointment in this situation, rather than the fact that he’s yelling at the police. I mean, I can’t even remember why they pulled him over because the backlash from him toward the police was what made the video clickbait in the first place.

Have you ever seen a video, featuring a black man terrified of the police, throwing his hands into sight, apologizing, and making excuses when pulled over by one? An excellent example of that happened recently with a twenty-one-year-old black male named Tye Anders in Midland, Texas, who hid behind the support of his ninety-year-old grandmother. No this isn’t the first or only time this has happened, of course.90-year-old grandma tries to defuse tense confrontation between police and her grandson

When police stopped a Texas man for an alleged traffic violation, the confrontation turned tense, videos of the…

The aftermath of police brutality has everyone whipping out their phones, recording their interactions with the police and exposing it on social media.

Another incident of police brutality happened in my hometown of San Leandro at the local Walmart. The police shot thirty-three year old Steven Taylor after he brought a baseball bat into the store. The Guardian article states that the young man was suffering from mental illness, but with continuous murder of so many black men due to violence it’s not a wonder why he may have been distressed in the first place.

Out of all the black men I personally know, I don’t even want them communicating with the police. I’m afraid they’re going to get hurt. I’m worried about what either party might say or do. The relationship between police and black men needs modification. Police brutality needs to stop. It’s the responsibility of these law enforcement departments to find a way to reconnect with the community rather than being the ammunition against it.

Other Minorities & The Police

People with power will protect it by trying to maintain the social hierarchy structure in our society. Whites overpower people of color, men overpower women, wealthy overpower poor. Yes, there is often intersectionality in between, but this is the cut and dry version of the power structure.

It seems to me that the one with the most power dominates the other. The police are scared of minorities and, first, they protect themselves. Then they back up whatever decision they’ve made, and we’re supposed to accept it as a just solution.

An example of this happened to me in a relationship with a man. After a heated argument with a boyfriend, the police demanded that I go to a homeless shelter, for my safety, while my boyfriend was able to remain at my apartment. Can you believe it? He was able to stay at my place.

When I lived in New Mexico, I dropped out of a master’s program because I couldn’t stand to hear these married, old white women talk to the class about domestic violence. Dr. Wanda Jorome emotionally spat out racial statistics, targeting Hispanic women as victims of abuse. The Spanish women in the classroom were quiet, but I spoke up. Many women pursuing a family or love relationship are abused, women of all colors and socioeconomic backgrounds. Why point out racial groups of people and make us feel so unloved?

Racism is systematic! Believe that! There is a psychology behind it, a psych that makes us want to hate ourselves and accept our social status in this society. These are the ways we’re made to feel inferior.

“It’s like a vicious cycle called fight to live. No matter how hard you try, it’s a day you got to die” — “Krazy” by Tupac Shaker, Machiavelli.

Rioting, Misguided Hate & Self-Destruction

My brothers and sisters, destroying our own communities isn’t the way to get justice! Throwing a fit and being destructive is also a pattern in the black community. We’re endangering our own communities. Stop looting and rioting. We need to respect each other and our homes. What are we teaching the children of tomorrow? This isn’t the way. Acknowledging the injustice is a start, but I think we should get ahead of it.

How? How do we get ahead of it?

Some people might tell you to find a better community of people to be apart of as if we can just change who we are. Many people will go as far as they can in a world full of prejudice until they’re discriminated against, and all eyes are on them for being who they really were in the first place.

Some believe they can play this game by being “good,” which won’t happen to them. I think there’s a whole lot of truth to that. Not behaving like we’re expected, not exaggerating the stereotypical micro aggressions that warp our society could potentially aid us in staying alive.

What does one do with the anger from all of the injustice placed upon us? The wrong thing to do, which we’ve been doing is to take it out on each other. We harm each other, trying to survive. Black on black crime, hate of our own kind, domestic violence, killing over money or drugs will lead to the demise of our people — like going extinct.

It’s best to live with a sense of purpose and have an intense oneness as a people. We’ll need to learn to stick together versus competing or hating each other so “they” can no longer minimize “us”.

Love Our People, Motivate Change And Practice Non-Violence!

Little Fires Everywhere: A False Impression of Perfectionism

By now, I’m sure you’ve heard of the best selling novel Little Fires Everywhere, written by Celeste Ng. I just recently read it since I’ve been in quarantine. One of the reasons, I’d tell you to read this book is because it’s now a somewhat-still-new-series on Hulu. As someone who’s read the book and watched the series, here’s my take on both of them.

The Setting

The novel takes place in a historic community, located in Ohio, called Shaker Heights. This is where the author was raised from the age of nine. I like how Ng used a real suburb and provided a brief history of the locality, so the reader could better understand the culture that emerged there. Shaker Heights was a meticulously “planned” community. The precinct is strategically designed, from the architecture of each house to the number of acceptable minorities living there.

The Plot

At the start of the story, we’re introduced to Mrs. Richardson, Lexie, Moody, and Trip because they’re on the street watching their house in flames. The story starts at the ending. Of course, readers are going to want to know what happened to their home. It’s a way of luring the reader into the details. Why did it burn down? So we continue reading and find out more about the Richardson family.

There’s a child in the family missing in action. She’s not on the scene watching the firefighters try to retrieve the remaining ashes of what used to be their home. Apparently, she’s the one who started the fire. She’s guilty. It’s Izzy — the reader is lead to believe. I love the way the story begins almost like a mystery of who burnt down the house.

The Richardsons are the typical well-to-do family — privileged with an impeccable reputation that proceeds them. Elena Richardson was born and raised in the Heights and breed on the Shaker culture. The entire town is somehow tight-knit.

Elena, who is refer to as Mrs. Richardson in the narration, has connections within the community. She’s one of the big wigs being that she works for the local paper as a journalist and her husband is a well-respected lawyer. Lexie is the oldest daughter. She’s the classic perky, talkative, teenager, who does her best in school to please her mother. Trip is the eldest son who’s an athlete and eye candy for most of the girls. Moody is the second youngest under Trip. He’s quiet and easy-going most of the time. Lastly, there’s the spark plug, hellraiser daughter Isabell. Besides Izzy, she won’t go by any other name. Against her mother’s wishes, of course. The family has a togetherness about them. A way where they strive for perfection in whatever they do because they have the means to do it. They are the privileged white American dream.

Later on in the narrative, a legal custody battle between a wealthy white family and an illegal Asian mother causes upheaval among every Shaker Heights resident, who has their own opinion about who should gain custody of the misplaced child? The battle is a subplot in the novel that depicts the socioeconomic hardship of a mother who abandoned her baby at a fire station in Cleveland.

I like that discrimination is placed on an Asian minority rather than the Mexican or African American one. It seems the Asian community has been idolized as a less resistant and more adaptable community. Therefore, the novel was successful in unveiling hidden social dilemmas that could happen to any marginalized groups.

Women & Mothers

The narrative personifies motherhood for a few women. One of the most important themes that emerge from Ng’s work was the importance of a woman’s choice. Women, being the ones who carry life inside them, are vital. How will we know when we’re ready to handle the responsibilities of being a parent? Mothers hold the future in there hands when raising a child. How can a mother be perfect? Is the value of a mother based on how much she can provide for her child? The potboiler challenges these questions in an artistic collaboration of women’s issues and how it affects the community.

The Book Vs. The TV Series

There were a few critical aspects put together for television that differed from the novel. For one, Mia was not black in the book. Otherwise, I think the author would’ve noted that. However, Mia was underneath the Richardson family socioeconomically. She depended on them just the same. Mia also didn’t smoke pot in the novel. It’s awful that she’s black and a pothead in the series, but don’t let that ruin it for you.

In the novel, the children didn’t help Izzy in the end and the mother didn’t blame herself in the same way. Also, it was more clear what happened to Izzy after the major incidents where completed. In the series, there were just scenes flashing unclear pictures of what happened next. Although the series did provide the character’s thoughts as a voice-over, the ending of the novel was more thoughtful and heartfelt.

Not A Spoiler

I would say I enjoyed the book more than the series. The series was definitely made for television. I say this because the book provides more details. The novel also has the best flow of the story. The author did great in connecting the story together without leaving the reader behind. Even the sentences are abided together, linking the relationships of the characters and the events in time.

In the book, it was clear that the tables turned for Mrs. Richardson. This is the same woman who supported her friend, Mrs. McCullough (another privileged woman) and judged other women’s parenting abilities. In the end, she felt the type of hurt that she needed to feel to fully understand the severity of losing a child.

Go on and read the book. I don’t want to ruin for you, so I won’t tell you anymore. Overall, I give the novel two thumbs up for realism and fierce eloquence.

Quarantine Buddies & Dating Apps

Pandemic Leads Us To Find Creative Ways To Have Sex

Who cares more about you than you? Why not spend more time on yourself in these stay-at-home days? Work from home, order delivery to support local business, cook as much as the grocery store will grant you the available items for the recipe, and have great sex — as much as possible.

As a single woman, I don’t know how married women do it. Is it amazing, headboard banging sex every night for you ladies? For some reason, I don’t think it is. It’s not that way for married people, gay people or anyone —  except maybe nymphos. Most people would agree that sex is sex after a while with the same person. However, this brief quarantine has caused couples to look beyond appearance to see the more magnificent beauty in their partner — especially when it’s time to get between the sheets.

Image By John Rocha From Pexels

What about those of us who don’t go a whole two weeks without seeing a nail or hairstylist? The two most important things a woman can keep up while in quarantine. For most women, it’s our culture that braids a design upon our heads. Our hair is volatile and we groom it regularly. Some of us are skillful and never visit a professional stylist, except for maybe an occasional hair cut.

Being in this quarantine, many people have learned how to DIY for the services they previously requested from small businesses. For instance, there are plenty of grown women not ashamed to go to Walgreen’s and buy basic nail polish, just so their nails attractive for their significant other. Now come on fellas! Isn’t that trying? 

Me, personally, I’m dating a guy simply for this quarantine period. Yep! You guessed it — friends with benefits. He’s my quarantine buddy! Do any other single ladies have a friend or two they call on to keep them company? I know I do and I’m not ashamed of it. While everyone is at home trying to figure out how not to kill each other, we’re having countless hours of sex that’s caused us to become more inventive.

For all my single ladies, dating apps have seen a rise in usage here lately. We’re at a millennial plateau of computer love success. Flick left if not interested and swipe right if he’s a match for you. It’s a hit or miss. Some of us are even fortunate enough to even have our own reality show objectifying our quest for love.

The quarantine has made it very difficult to date. Social media, cell phone and other computer-generated applications are our main source of social distancing communication. I heard the uprise in dating app usage information on the news, therefore, I know it must be true. My computer has been my best friend. If I’m not blogging from my laptop then I’m watching Netflix, if I’m not watching a flick then I’m working from it. That’s all I seem to do during this quarantine — oh, or I’m having sex.

Image By Cristian Dina From Pexels

Phone Sex

OMG! I almost forgot to mention phone sex. It hasn’t died, just evolved with the times. Many people are still doing it! It’s the next best thing for those who are stranded from their loved ones. I don’t know what world you live in if you’ve never had it. However, I wouldn’t recommend having any kind of sex with just anyone. It’s dangerous.

I have faith that eventually things will go back to normal. A life where we’re allowed to roam around from one destination to another freely. A world where everything is open and operating. An experience where we could meet others at a coffee shop or a restaurant for dinner after a long day. Slowly, we’ll be getting back to regularity. So we can slip out of our little love cocoons and get back into the swing of things.

Google’s The Best!

The Web Engine Honors Our Heroes During The Quarantine

Out of all the websites that I can think of, the one that’s made the most significant impact on the world is Google. The internet may be primary to the search engine, but the tool used to navigate through a world-wide system is equally as important. Search engines and the internet go hand in hand.

Google is the vehicle we use to cruise through the internet galaxy, searching by names and topics to fuel our destination. Otherwise, the internet is just a universe of floating information, hoping to be discovered. What would the internet be without all the websites that keep people connected? From events happening daily, to the best-fetched sources, to honoring birthdays and anniversaries of outstanding people who’ve given back to society — Google leads it to our fingertips. It’s the most informative search engine of all time.

I’ve used the website ever since I can remember. I’m apart of the x-generation. The first time I saw a computer was during grade school in the library. It’s usually the primary search engine on most cell phones and other computer devices nowadays. Therefore, I know it’s the best. I can count on Google to pull up the most up-to-date, reliable sources from the web.

I love the artistic word designs that change daily on Google’s homepage. The image above is what inspired me to write this post. The word art designs on the website make the company’s brand name a perpetually changing logo in itself. What a great idea! There are masterminds consistently at work within the company. Innovation is a reflection of an evolving society.

The letters of the title are portrayed as human characters. Each letter at home in quarantine, the first one was reading a book, another creating music, a character exercising, and two of them talking on the phone to each other. All of Google’s word art is displayed in variations of red, yellow, green and blue, as it’s the company’s logo colors. That images on this post are examples of how Google captivates web surfers and makes the user-friendly experience at their site worthwhile. I take the time to gaze at the homepage every time I visit the site. I can always count on the word art to be thoughtful.

The image above is Google honoring the researchers and public health officials during their part in trying to protect the world from the COVID-19 virus. Lead healthcare officials in LA county such as Director Barbara Ferrer and Supervisor Kathryn Barger have been all over the Fox channel 11 news, publicly speaking about the regulations and policies designed to serve the community. Able healthcare workers are dedicated to their duties. The news reports have also revealed the upheaval and stress the pandemic has placed on the entire healthcare system.

Again, here is Google giving love to our medical providers, who risk their own lives to save the majority. There have been many healthcare workers who have lost their lives in fighting against this deadly disease. So, it’s good to see a thriving company like Google honoring them.

The site credits workers at routine jobs that don’t pay very well. Teachers, for example, are frequently overworked and underpaid. Due to the pandemic, many of them had to become technology savvy if they wanted to keep their teaching positions. There’s a great need for teachers to reach out to their students during this quarantine. The best way for them to do this is through an online curriculum, webchats, emails, video cams, and online classroom sessions. We all have to keep learning, growing, and surviving.

The state of the art company is making an effort to acknowledge professions in the workforce that engage with the public regularly. We don’t realize how necessary the underpaid jobs are for the community at large until we’re without them.

It was just today at the grocery store I saw one of the store employees wiping down the fruit stations that display our fresh produce. He wiped down the circle refrigerator that held an open area of different cheese and a few of the baskets in the aisles. Thankfully, more items were stocked on the shelves. I noticed some grocers hiring stockers and cashiers, who interact with the public and handle money for every purchase made. It’s mind-blowing how these simple tasks are literally putting their lives at risk. On the plus side, they are willing and disciplined enough to keep their jobs and keep serving the community so our society can function.

The image of the delivery man is my favorite one of all. My elder cousin works for United Parcel Service (UPS). He risks his life every day to provide for the public. He’s always hard at work and he’s been working at UPS for about twenty years now. He’s the coolest.


An ode to all the bus drivers out there. I’m actually surprised that our bus systems haven’t stopped running. Yet and still, the bus drivers are needed for commuters without reliable transportation to work. Not everyone can afford to be off work. Living is learning to survive. The number of people the bus driver faces who might be infected gives me chills. All of the in and out of different people through the bus doors, trying to keep their social distance and not spread germs is a hazard.

During this quarantine, there’s been a skyrocket in unemployment. I’m assuming there’s also an increase in the number of starving families. Food banks have been popping up in several locations throughout the city of Los Angeles. Often, these types of resources are organized by business programs and funded efforts. Imagine that these resources are collaborated by those who have lost their jobs, but still want to give back. Regardless of who serves the community, these acts of love are what keep our civilization alive.

Google has chosen to honor our greatest supporters with a heart floating onto them. The company is an up-to-date host for an abundance of sources and a fantastic website that pioneers internet research and aids in maintaining public information. Thanks, Google!

I Matter

Single isn’t a curse. Now, I put my life first — and you should too!

Photo by Sydney Sims on Unsplash

As I’ve ventured out in the world and learn a few lessons or two, there’s one particular inspiration I’d like to pass on to other women . . .


Abuse from a significant other is serious and it comes in a lot of forms. Domestic violence is a punishable crime and when in doubt it’s best to get out. Love yourself first!

Allow me to share a reflextion of a time when my life was more complicated — all because I didn’t love myself more . . .

I heard his keys rattling in the doorknob before my fiance walked through the front door. He’d been out all day and night in my car, doing God knows what. It was midnight when he came back home.

I pulled back the covers and stepped out of bed. I wanted to question him about where he’d been, but I knew that would start a fight. My plan was to take it easy on him. I let out a deep breath before opening the bedroom door and stepping into the living room.

“Hello.” I replied, plainly.

He said nothing to me. Instead, he moved over to the love sofa and plopped down on it as if he’d had a long day.

I remembered how much I had to stay on him about finding a job in order for him to contribute to something in the household. I had to drag him to the furniture store and force him to rent that sofa where he was sitting. Once he got a job he wasn’t interested in keeping it. He said they worked him too hard. So instead of keeping it, he blamed me for losing it.

I worked at the shelter a few blocks down the way on a secluded street. The job paid the bare minimum of eight dollars an hour. I mostly had to make sure there was nothing too crazy going on in there. I had to do the intakes, interfere in catty arguments, and clean up after grown-ups and their kids. However, the job was challenging in other ways. It was hard to listen to the stories and see the faces of women who were mistreated and abused.

Photo by ian dooley on Unsplash

My fiance and I had moved to Grants, New Mexico where his parents lived and he’d tried to convince me that life would be easier for us living here. I’d pack up everything I could easily maneuver and moved into a motel with him until I could get us an apartment.

The town was so small that it had once been a train station. The culture in New Mexico was also new to me. There were only about three percent of black people who lived in the state. The population consisted of mostly Native Americans, Mexican Americans and white people.

With the money I earned from working at the shelter, I’d moved us into the apartments next door to the motel where we lived in a crystal meth complex. Our next-door neighbor was one of the biggest users. My boyfriend would talk to him anytime he was outside smoking a cigarette.

We’d been together four years already and I began to believe that our first two years were as good as it would ever be. It didn’t seem like our love was growing any stronger. We weren’t moving any closer to any kind of engagement and we couldn’t afford another mouth to feed either. We couldn’t even equally take care of each other and I was miserable.

“Where you been all day?” I questioned him.

“The store.” He replied.

“Did you bring me back anything?” I asked him.

“No!” he shouted. “I don’t give a damn about you!”

Immediately, I spun around, heated in the moment. Part of me wanted to go back into the bedroom, yet the anger inside of me had to be released. I was so sick of him disrespecting me. I’d had it! I pushed the 50-inch television off the TV stand onto the floor and it hit the coffee table. He’d only gotten that television through a loan.

Photo by Reafon Gates from Pexels

He jumped up from his seat and snatched me by my t-shirt. He was livid. He swung me around toward the longer couch and body slammed me onto it. He used his forearm to hold me down by my neck and he put half of his upper body weight on me. I couldn’t breath. I began flailing and kicking because I couldn’t breathe, let alone lift myself from the couch. I was fighting for MY LIFE and it was a hell of a fight because I was using up all of my energy without gaining any oxygen. I couldn’t move my neck or my upper torso, but I could move my arms and legs fairly well. I lifted my legs to kicked him everywhere they could reach. I scratched up his face and slapped it as hard as I could.

After nearly three minutes, he finally raised off of me on his own. I quickly gasped for air and sat up straight on the couch. He lay on the ground almost as out of breath as I was. We only looked at each other without words. He looked like a nightmare. I’d tore open his hot pink face with deep scratches that were beginning to swell. He suddenly jumped up and ran out the front door. I could hear him banging on the neighbor’s door. I sat on the couch, still trying to catch my breath. I was stuck in the moment and my mind began to boggle me down.

I knew I should’ve never let the situation get out of hand. I should’ve already left him. Yet, whenever I tried he’d beg me to get back with him. That also meant he’d stalk me whenever he felt the need. He’d continuously call me, he’d call my job and my mother, ask people I knew of my whereabouts, show up at where ever I moved, steal from me when he found me, and peg my social media accounts. It was to the point that I only stayed with him because it was harder to get out of the relationship and get any kind of protection after I escaped him. He’d purposely taken me away from everyone I knew and I’d followed along with him majority of the time. That was the only way to keep him from harassing me. He forced me to provide things for him such as housing and anything else I could provide with the little bit of money I had. I believed he pressure me to be with him, only so he could use me for his personal needs and livelihood.

Ten to fifteen minutes passed while I set alone in the living room. I heard them coming up the apartment stairs. Then I heard him outside telling his side of the story and giving them this whole spiel about how his father is white and he’s a preacher.

“It doesn’t matter!” I heard the police officer yell at him. “You’re still black!”

I remained on the couch, quietly trying to gather the thoughts that were racing through my head. I was trying to keep calm about what’d just happened.

Two police officers entered the living room.

“What happened?” one of them asked me.

“He choked me.” I told them.

“If he would’ve done that, you’d have red marks all over your neck.” The same one explained.

“You’re under arrest for domestic violence.” The other policemen replied, as he made his way over to me.

I got up out of my seat and hurried over to the kitchen counter to grab my car keys. I asked the police if I could grab my purse in the bedroom and they told me ‘no’ while they hand cuffed me. They said I had to take it up in small claims court.

They escorted me out of the apartment while he smirked at me on my way out the door. I watched the red and blue turret lights on the top of the police car and I thought about the value of my own life as I was escorted down the stairs. I thought about how much my life mattered and what it would be like if this pattern continued. Black lives matter wasn’t just about men getting shot. My problems with society were often ignored and I knew the world thought I was to blame for most of the injustice I endured. I wasn’t getting shot, but I was definitely getting disrespected and abused. Any other time, I was only an object for a man’s sexual pleasures.


Yet and still, I was dismissed and made to believe I wasn’t good enough. A culture without respect seemed to be progressing by the generations. I wasn’t willing to be anybody’s bitch or whore (like they call us in the rap songs) in hopes that I would try so hard to gain respect and validation. MY LIFE MATTERS TOO and I wasn’t about to lose it to someone who had more power than me. That’s why I was willing to fight for it.

Photo by Mateus Souza from Pexels

How much worth do you honestly have, if your value is placed underneath others?

It seemed that I was furthest away from the idea of the American dream than anybody. I thought about what it meant to be inferior or a subordinate, only secondary to a man. I didn’t think I was worth very much as a black woman, especially because I’d rather fight back than cry and beg for my life. I shouldn’t have to feel inferior to anyone! I had the right to live without oppression. After that night, I wondered if my perception would change. Would I be wrong to start placing myself first and loving myself more than anyone ever loved me? It took a while, but I began to learn that I need to matter to me most of all.