...Life...

First and foremost I’m grateful for the gift of life from my mother. Without her I would not be here and for that alone I will always have an enduring respect for her as one of Thee influential persons in my life. I thank her for the gift of her mother, whom of which raised me. Without that relationship I would be nothing remnant of the person I am today. And for that I am eternally grateful. I am not angry or ungrateful for what life has brought me. I know that through all the hardship I’ve survived there are millions of people who are worse off than me. There will be monumental events that happen in the history of my lifetime, some more catastrophic than the next. The things that I have achieved are more far reaching than some may allow themselves to conjure up. Still I know that I could have been so much more. And as yet I have not served the potential I encompass justice. In the same breath, I’m young and if time permits the best is yet to come. Yet so far the most important lesson that I’ve learned is so cliché but seriously… When Life Gives You Lemons… Who do you know that doesn’t like lemonade?! That sour twinge that locks your jaw and the sweetness on the tip of your tongue is so synonymous to life: bittersweet.

 I’ve always had this contrived idea of the person I was meant to be, comprised of all this determination and wherewithal that would enable me to lead an infallible predestined voyage through life and straight to success. I’d reach the end of the road and reminisce over all of the happiness I’ve compiled and archived into my memory. Nowadays I see a vague yet staunch representation of the person I used to be, and I couldn’t tell you whether the actions I make serve me as I strive to declare or destroy the beauty within me.

I used to try so hard to maintain a spot in the front of the line. I went through a phase where I wanted to be left behind. And now I break my back just to get by. I used to be a girl, with discipline that carried me to right from wrong.  I had an edge, a leg up on people. And now I am a good girl hiding behind these bad habits that I picked up along the way. I often ask myself at what point or where I went wrong. I find myself leaning towards the attributes that don’t suit me best if I were to be dressed in proper attire. And it seems as if I desire to portray an identity incongruous of what most would expect from looking at me. I like that. And if truth be told I am tired of hearing what I do and don’t look like, or who I remind you of.  I let curiosity and rebellion hinder my growth, in so many ways. Yet I do so because I think I prefer folks to have a dodgy first impression of me so that I may appropriate my own conceptions from others’ perception of me. Now I’d be a fool if I thought or lead anyone to believe that it is possible in any society to allow said others to maintain or even acquire a negative perception of me without the expectation of discrimination. After all that is said, I refuse to be a woman defined by circumstance. I have respect for myself as a person. In the least I see myself an entity on this earth with an intrinsic value, a commodity if you will. Yet at the same time I was not raised to believe myself to be intrinsically better than the next person or better than anyone else.

With that being said, spending twenty-three years living a life where you cater to everyone’s expectation is exhausting to say the least. Success on such a blazing trail would render a futile feat. And after trying so desperately hard to make every influential entity love me unconditionally I admit defeat. I forgot that my opinion of myself is what matters most. I neglect to encompass any self esteem, because I simply do not know how to think with regard for myself. I have said before that I am always trying to do something new. I am dreadfully impatient, to a point where my curiosity becomes a flaw. I thank the gift of whom and where I came for providing for me an education to know better, trust that. But thoughts of other people running through my mind have got me going crazy. On all types of levels, I have begun to stretch the emotional spectrum of my personality. The stress of it all is ruining the integrity of my moral fabric. Who I am changes depending on where the next yard of me would tear next.

 From death, to disappointment and deceit, you learn from trying moments.  In adolescence I built up this strong exterior, and did a very good job of excluding extrinsic factors in my life. I was focused. I wore my heart on my sleeve yet maintained a stoic demeanor. My drive was then set on independency. Socially I began to catalog events, compartmentalize interactions and with increasing age applied more tact. I suppose like chess from checkers. Ironic how I sit and analogize yet forget all the rules to the former subject. Perfect still as a great opportunity to bring humility in to this account arises. I don’t know all the moves yet, I am reaching adulthood. As a young adult all I can do is try not to make the same moves. Try to learn when and where one before the other is more appropriate. So that maturity will allow me to make all the right moves.

                                     

...Check All that Apply...

I want for all multiple choice questionnaires to have instructions to check all that apply. It might also be helpful if one were always allowed to have graded answers according to which are most true. It seems fairly rare that absolutes occur so often in real life. So why have it in practice for standards of intellectual rank? While on the subject, I would especially like to necessitate the need for the ability to check all that apply on the demographic portion of standardized tests. I often find that the items I open even before the cover of those booklets are the most perplexing. I can remember not being prepared to answer such questions because it appeared to me that the obvious answers for me to fill out were not available. It is trivial yet mildly frustrating, but mostly relevant in the world today.

November 4^th, 2008 America finally voted a black man in to the presidency. Where most view the accolade as a modern achievement, everyday it reminds me of how much we’re the same deeply-rooted prejudiced society. The president is just as much a black man as he is a white man, yet this is still a concept that most choose to not acknowledge- saying to me that the bigoted one drop rule hypothetically still applies. Of course, by hypothetical I mean actual as the presidents’ opposition continuously to tries to illegitimatize his citizenship. I am proud of the fact that my president represents a minority not often recognized in traditional demographics. So in 2008 by electing the president simple changes were made, that were ineffectual for most. But resolved immerse quells of frustration for me. We graduated to include the option to be “Two or more races (not Latino or Hispanic).”  Yet what if you are Latino or Hispanic, in addition to being two or more races? When will that bubble arrive?

The racial forecast of our nation predicts that soon enough the coming generations will have no finite racial identity. So much of the United States social system is based on stratification circumferences around race and creed. I could not imagine who I would’ve come to be if my heritage didn’t shape my identity. I have struggled daily with the conceptuality that pervades me. The most defeating lesson learned is that it doesn’t matter so much what or who you are in actuality. What impacts our lives most is how we are perceived. It is easier to see the past in the present, in that, viewing how the times have changed truth and reality are relevant only in that moment.

In the past, I could only be of one racial origin.  I was either Black (non-Hispanic or Latino), or Asian/Pacific Islander. This concept perplexed me in my adolescence. In reality I was never just one, if any of these ill-fitting descriptions. The more immature your age the less your understanding resembles a gradient spectrum but more of a contrast between opposites. Good and evil, right and wrong, yes and no, and black and white are idiomatically demonstrative of the archetypal antagonists in language. Back then I could not understand why I was supposed to fill in these unmarked bubbles. Furthermore, why was I only able to choose one if none of them were truly descriptive of me?  For me the answer is very open-ended and the option to fill in other wasn’t there in the early 90’s. So yes while you may say that I am black, my Grandmother was born in Cuba so wouldn’t that make me Hispanic?  Anyways for the sake of time… to be concise I have descended from Africa, Arawak Indians (Jamaica’s Native inhabitants before Columbus), Hakka-Chinese, a familiar British privateer for which Captain Morgan’s Spiced Rum^® is named after, and somewhere else I’m told there is a redheaded German- Irish –Jewish Lady in the mix.

Last year when the 2010 Census workers knocked on the door for our household contribution the old white guy was quite perplexed. He had a few questions but I had more answers that he’d counted on. When he inquired what demographic I most appropriately belong to- I had to ask what my options were and how many he could fill in for me.  I could tell by the end of our interaction he was more frustrated by me than I was of him waking me from my mid-shift nap. I’m almost positive he grumbled something about me while walking down the stairs because I made him bubble in every little circle I could say yes to. I should’ve given him a pen he may’ve ran out of ink. After years of trying to fill in the one most advantageous demographical attribute for whatever perception I am trying to conceive, I no longer have to be one or the other. Victory!

...Proper Introductions...

 One day in middle school I was handing out my preschool picture extras my secret crush snatched one up and said awe… “BabyChing”. That was the first time I can remember someone calling me that name, but for as long as I’ve been alive that’s who I am, irony. I am the baby of three daughters, born to a Jamaican mother and father, the latter of who also happens to be Chinese. Hence the last name Ching. Here starts my confusion.  First being American born, I am automatically a fish out of water. Jamaican people will tell me that my nationality is American and it is true. In America if a person happens to wonder where I am from they are referring to the nation from which my parents immigrated. The answer to this phenomenon becomes difficult because my parents also have their own parents whom of which may have emigrated from countries different from where their children were born. Yet I have learned to divulge what most Americans are most interested to hear and just so happen to be the most relative and simplistically true because my family tree is nobody’s business really lest I should decide to share it. But let’s face it I really fret how boring my life would come to be if no one were to ask me “what are you?”, and assuming on this particular day I’m feeling lazy, so I simply respond “Chinese-Jamaican.” What would my life be like without the million faces… of shock and amazement? The occasional perverted devious smirk coupled with a hand-warming gesture. Whatever I retort it is shortly followed by a look of confusion by most, with their neck exemplifying the degree of which they are taken a back, a small ratio of folks are equipped with politically correct harnesses’ on what their mouths may wish to say next, yet all unanimously resolve it to be a "good mix."

I’m from southwest Florida. The county of Lee, with the area code 239! [Insert demographical appropriate applause here] The same place your president decided to make a stop on the top list of his sites for the economic stimulus plan campaign.  A place nicknamed “Lil Pakistan,” with beautiful beaches and tons of potential.  Now, I don’t justifiably believe a person can tell me that haven’t recently heard some reference to my city. We are getting on the map, but not for all the right reasons. I was raised in the same town that the New Yorker and the New York Times dub as a location to be the newest of slums. Before, I could mention Lehigh Acres and everyone would scrunch their face and cock their head to the side until I’d say I’m from Fort Myers or Naples area. Chances are if you hear something perplexing, tragic or unthought-of on the news, the person is from there, bet.

I have learned to write as a way of expressing myself without punishment or critique. For the most part I try to leave some anonymity in every piece. I try not to fuel anyone’s narcissistic fire but my own. Emotionality is universal to me.  A spherical dynamic if you will.  My hope is that by evading subjectivity everyone can find my words to be relative no matter the topic.  I want so much to stay relevant in this ever changing world. Because if what I’m writing has no significance than there is no point in taking the time to organize words or furthermore sharing my work.  Language and written word have given man and civilization history. Where time is fleeting this is my offering to the cause of preservation, and permanence. It is also my own selfish effort to establish my own place in the time of history which I will live. Those who know me will find testament in that I will from time to time quote myself. I will do so here in this script, and rejoice in the fact that now possessing a degree I will not have to cite myself! My diction is purposeful. I enjoy playing with and on words. It is impossible to look too deeply in to any semantic. Thinking semantically about things sometimes brings feelings that we’d much rather be numb to. Instead I urge you to find meaning in the words you come across and check all that apply in your daily life.