A Queen’s Ramblings
Greetings Readers, Writers, and Precious Patrons and welcome to another installment of A Queen’s Ramblings. This issue deals with Awareness. Awareness, in the majority of circumstances, is indicative of positivity.
In my existence, positivity is a double edged sword.
From my youth, I always knew I was different. This was confirmed once I started attending public school. I was labeled as a foreigner in my own skin, never accepted by either side. My level of intelligence placed me in classes where the majority of my classmates were white. Yet, because I was not middle class or rich, I was deemed too poor to be a preppy. I was not prone to a lot of slang, so I was marked too white for my black brethren. The only group who took me as is was the outcasts.
No, I wasn’t an ideal fit. The outcasts were in activities that would have landed me in trouble. Nevertheless, they were the only ones who practiced tolerance and acceptance.
As I got older, my awareness remained lush—how one’s characteristics could be misinterpreted. On the whole I am soft spoken. In certain situations, to other individuals, this mannerism does not constitute strength or conviction of thoughts—that a delivery of precision devoid of emotion sets up for a rebuttal which they believe can easily spew forth a retraction. Moments I battle whether to morph this trait to reach an ideal but they evaporate within seconds.
In addition, I am also very quiet—I’m more of an observer than a talker. I learn more when I listen rather than chat. This can, and does, get twisted into lack of intelligence. I find it laughable and pin it as a best kept secret. The shock on people’s face when “I’ve known all along” is priceless.
At my core, my heart is giving yet taken to be foolish. I have learned the lessons on the scales—not of justice, but of losses and gains. My free spiritedness has lessened. My contact lenses of optimism are in such tatters that I’ve ripped them from my eyes. I’ve lost the assurance that a person’s word is his bond. I’ve gained oceans of heartache and penchants for hyper criticality. The flags of suspicion now shoot up with little hesitation, outweighing my typical spiel of sitting back and allowing for benefit of the doubt.
It is something that lends to the cuts of awareness, knowing of the darkness of human nature.
One of the main statements I remember about former First Lady Michelle Obama is “When they go low, we go high.” That is one of the mantras I strive to live by. Certain days it is extremely tough, especially when people who swore loyalty and love have not only become the opposite, but are going through extreme means to slander one’s name. The proclivity to abandon that mainstay and rage against it when one’s nature and integrity are attacked is very present and very real.
Then, I pause. I take a few breaths. My awareness spews forth, reminding me of all the evidence. The proof of my evolution in their absence and the grit it took to get here. I ask myself if it is worth regressing—undoing all the effort, removing me from not only my contentment but my hops towards happiness.
I decide I am good. I opt, once again, to go high.
There are pros and cons to all things. My hyperawareness is a coating I cannot remove. What is within my function is how I react to all of the different stimuli.
Through it all, I choose Faith.