A piece of my heart broke this week with the announcement of the loss of bell hooks. It is comforting to know that I belong to a sacred collective of mourners who felt a shift within themselves- Black women, femmes, and writers whose lives forever changed when they held bell hooks’ work in their hands.
Here we are, December 2020, a full year since news broke of the Novel Coronavirus a.ka. COVID-19. It has been a year of uncertainty. A year of transformation. A year of adapting. A year of learning and reflection. A year of illness and death. A year of loss and grief. And a year of lies and misinformation. No, a lot of this was not new or unique to this year. Some may even describe every year of their lives this way. However, we cannot deny the unprecedented surface area this year has touched.
Black womxn are at the crossroads of all social issues; poverty, racism, sexism, homelessness, homophobia, reproductive rights, and classism are only a few examples. The experiences and stories of Black womxn are unacknowledged and erased, yet, they are expected to bear the emotional and physical labor of pushing these movements forward.
Our skin, as beautiful and as shimmering as it is, is ribboned with cautionary tales from our ancestors; intricately weaved to remind us that our history is not distant at all, we confront it each day.
Since media outlets have been reporting on COVID-19, there has been an uptick in discriminatory behaviors, specifically against those of Asian ethnicity. In the United States and around the globe, rampant xenophobia is causing harm to communities, including death.
Every day, I fear that I am going to receive a call that someone I love has passed due to the actions of someone else. Be it a stranger, a neighbor, colleague, or police offer; I can see myself going mute and collapsing as the phone hits the […]
2006- One day, during my freshmen year of high school, after the bell rang alerting us to move to our next class, a group of kids in my biology class laughed behind me as I gathered my binder and backpack. I began to walk out of the classroom […]