T.Notes#40: Lilac Sheets

I woke up feeling overwhelmed by life this morning.
The routines and the unending tide of shi&%y happenings,
With only brief respites in-between.

I attempted to make a nice list of my life motivations -
You know, the things that keep me pressing on.
My raison d'etre.

Pay the bills, Support the family, Save more money and Take good holidays.
It turned out mundane and mildly depressing,
So I turned to the less tangible motivations.
Faith, Hope and Love.

Faith, Hope and Love
It really is for those three that i let go of my cozy duvet every morning
And take my place in this madness.

I thought about faith this morning.
About how a good faith has to be more pleasurable
than that toe-curling kind of sex.
I want a good faith.

I'm not talking about that
Ticket to heaven,
Else 'thou hath damned' type of faith
A good escort can easily arrange those.

I am also not talking about the happy clappy motivational sorts
I'd rather have a good book and a long holiday instead.

But there is a type of faith that knows the depths of me
And recognizes my soul amidst a thousand.
It is that type of faith that stirs my affection.

What gets you out of bed in the mornings?
What fuels your hustle?

T.Notes#39: Dia Fada

I cannot pull any Shaku dance moves to save my life,
But BasketMouth's new song has been doing all sorts of magic to my feet lately.

There is something about the catchy Afro beats and defiant poker faces,
which speak deeply to my internal struggles of blackness.
Excuse my African.

Without sugar coating, I do believe that being a black person is tough.
Irrespective of descent, there is a depth of struggles that we don't talk about and can't even begin to understand.

Sometimes i wonder that if i were given the choice and insight,
Would i voluntarily ever return as a black man?
I posed the question to my Irish friend recently.

A simple question that is devoid of political correctness,
But the answer often lays bare the truth about blackness.
He thought long and hard and admitted that it is complicated.

Living and working outside of Homeland has taught me to deeply understand the histories and depths of being a so-called "black man".
I used to disregard these feelings and try to fit-in,
Afterall, "(mental) slavery is a choice".

I wonder if someday we can talk honestly about necessary blackness.
About unsolicited weights of responsibility,
Unending battles to stay alive,
And this constant need to validate our existence.

I'm not supposed to speak about these things
I am afterall privileged,
Far from the maddening crowd,
And somewhere in that hazy dual nationality state with no real entitlement to call anywhere home.

But Blackness is rising
And it is beautiful to see.
This new audacity and unapologetic pride of kids owning their origin to show off street dance moves in Times Square.

I may not be able to pull any shaku moves to save my own life,
But today i stepped into my predominantly white board meeting with a new sense of unrepentant blackness,
humming BasketMouth's beats
And mouthing 'Dia Fada' as i owned my own space.

T.Notes#38: Puddles

Then there were those days,
When we stood at the very edge of a tsuanami of our desires,
Daring it to overwhelm us.

Yet all it turned out to be was a mere puddle.
God bless our foolish souls.

Do you remember when i liked you,
And i gave you the license to abuse it,
To be used by you.
God bless your foolish soul.

This is a T.Note

T.Notes#37: Ode to Travelers

Last year was about watershed moments,
emerging from the ashes of our crisis
like a bad mutha (shut your mouth) phoenix.

This year is about journeying forward
With a clear understanding of decided paths,
and all that is required to stay the track.

This post is a reminder about decisions and destinations.
What decisions have you made?
And what do you need to be doing right now to stay on track?

Here is to finding our ways home and enjoying the journey.
Remember to travel light.

This is a T.Note
xoxo

Photo by me