Odds and Ends and...Vlogging?

I have been wanting to write a blog post about my thoughts on American politics and the new direction it's heading in for a while now, but I think I need a little more time to let that stew properly before dishing out a bowl of that horrifying goop.

But more importantly, I really need to get better at updating this thing. Calling myself the "forgetful blogger" is probably the biggest understatement of the year. But speaking of time, I want to change that.

There's a cathartic release that happens when I upload my thoughts, ideas, confessions, etc. And I need to be utilizing this avenue more. Also, because I want to start interacting and gathering more responses from my readers (if you're out there?!).

BUT ALSO, I've been toying with this idea for a while now. And I'm curious as to what people may think of this...

But...

I think...

I wanna try...

...

Vlogging.

I know.

Hilarious.

(Will she even post?!)

But hear me out.

I want to push myself out of my comfort zone a bit in 2017. I feel like I've been in a creative rut and I'm really wanting to dig myself out of that trench.

I consider myself to be a fairly quiet person, unless the subject at hand whisks me away with its intrigue and frustrations to Social People Land (*shudders*). Not that I'm wanting to forcefully transform myself into an extrovert either (GOODNESS NO THANK YOU), but I do want to explore other avenues of creativity. And get better acquainted with this ever-growing technological world.

So, what I need from YOU are ideas. What do people want to hear me talk about, what do YOU want to see me do?

I have some ideas, but I really want this to be more collaborative so I'm giving the audience (audience?!) what it wants (most of the time...some of the time...).

If I receive no responses, I'll assume everyone wants me to keep what I do in my introvert hermit cave a secret and continue about my mysterious life, with an occasional blog post.


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Black Lives Matter: A Validating Perspective

Whenever a deplorable act occurs to someone in, or even a group of people from, the Black community*, like being accidentally killed in the line of fire murdered by someone we are taught to trust (like the police, for "example"), we, of course, grieve.

*(like Michael Brown, Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner, Freddie Gray, Tamir Rice, Sandra Bland, Alton Sterling, Philando Castile, and countless others)

Or, one of us manages to find our way to success and then we are torn back down because of it, like actress/comedian/Olympics enthusiast Leslie Jones, we grieve.

We raise our voices in anger, deliver prayerful accolades, demand justice, etc. Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat.

And for what seems like the millionth time, rinse and repeat.

And goodness knows I've read one too many articles with this same unfortunate formula, a formula
that should never have to be repeated in the first place. Yet, here we are.

But I want to take a little bit of time to focus on a certain aspect of this narrative that constantly pervades our lives.

Black tragedies, though obviously tragic, validate the Black/African-American experience in the United States. Despite what others will have you believe, these horrific happenings validate our feelings, feelings of not being truly valued as human beings in this country we (were forced to) call home. The repetitiveness of these happenings alone confirms that we have been and still are targets to those who do not recognize our humanity. Every time another blatantly racist situation arises, it only adds to our arsenal of truth.

(It should be noted that I am not in any way saying that I wish for more tragedies to occur to feed into these feelings of validation. In saying this, my point should be made clear that we are still in the midst of a systemic problem, but I'll continue...)

Sometimes it's difficult to understand this sentiment fully, especially with so many outside of the experience trying to tell us otherwise. And after awhile, some of us may fall into a purgatory-like complacency, a brief separation from reality, perhaps a coping mechanism for some. Some of us may begin to doubt ourselves, with the media feeding that doubt to us like a drug. Attempting and sometimes succeeding in making us addicted to that "safe" and "trouble-free" drug. "Sure, that was just an isolated incident." "That's probably not going to happen again." "He was just a nutcase with a gun." "We're in a better place now." Etc., etc., etc.

But, as stated before, we then find ourselves in the same predicament once again: yet another devastating act is exacted upon someone within our community, and the cycle only continues making its rounds.

It is in the midst of this cycle that I begin to realize that each disgusting occurrence represents a validation that we are not crazy. We don't need those calming, silencing drugs that are constantly shoved down our throats. We don't need a temporary and very false fix. What is happening to us is real. Racism. Is. Real. Alive. And. Well. And it needs to be fully addressed before true healing can begin.

Black. Lives. Matter.

This country, after hundreds and hundreds of years, is STILL full of hatred and ignorance. We have a long ways to go before that kind of thinking is even remotely diminished. But until then, we will be forced to continue through the cycle of tragedy, anger, doubt, and despair. But, at the very least, with each passing cycle, more and more people are beginning to open their eyes, and wake up.

Please, for the lives of black people/poc's everywhere: wake up. Wake up so that we might live to see another day. All I ask is for the right to breathe.

Compromises & Sacrifices: Remember Who You Are

So, here's the deal. Yes, I can be a little cynical, or satirical if you will. Yes, I'm not a happy-go-lucky or bouncing off the walls happy kind of gal. Yes, I'm more of a realist with an occasional pessimist twist. Yes too, I can be a bit of a robot when interacting with humans. I try to stay as far away from them as I can. I prefer the beautiful echo-y sounds of silence. I can be a bit of a loner. (And for good reason.)

But you know what? I don't think that many are aware of how much I sacrifice to make them feel comfortable while interacting (or lack thereof) with me. I don't think even I realized how much of myself I was hiding away to make other people comfortable or continue their lives in blissful ignorance.

Being a quiet and intelligent person, though beautiful (in my personal and unbiased opinion) is also a curse. It is a curse because for most of your life people (try to) force you out of that silence and refuse or are incapable of understanding and fully appreciating said intelligence. Instead of filling the air with wonder, they fill it with mindless never-ending chatter. Therefore, because of this, you compromise. By adulthood, it's something you don't fully realize you're doing anymore. It becomes second nature.

However, as of late. I am growing tired of this perpetual dance, this constant compromising of myself. Sacrificing what makes me who I am. It's not necessarily that I want to hide myself, but how do you interact with someone who cannot converse on your level of constant wonder of the world around them? Who wants to philosophize about human nature, discuss our innermost motivations, politics, physics, etc. If your conversation partner is unwilling or unable to partake in those types of discussions, what do you do? You (learn to) stay silent, as I have for many many years. Yes, people always say that I can be terribly quiet. Well, this is the reason why. Can't talk to you if I can't actually talk to you.

But on the flip side, instead of filling my ears with incessant noise, I wish they would just take the time to be considerate, as I am on such a constant basis. However, I am constantly forced to not only engage but to listen, and be fully active in that tiresome endeavor.

But in doing that, I constantly sacrifice a part of myself for someone else's comfort. I do it as effortlessly as a blink of an eye. And maybe it's because of my health issues, but I'm getting tired of it.

I say all of this because I wish that once in a while this act were acknowledged. And I wish that maybe, just maybe, for once people would compromise for me. Be mindful, thoughtful, and respectful of who I am. Acknowledge the girl standing before you. Let me be me. If nothing else, a gift of silence will do just fine.

After All This Time: An Answer (A Fibro Girl's Journey)

For starters, applauding my self for that lil' bit of alliteration! Ten points to Ravenclaw!!

And on a different note: I need to talk about something that has been a part of my life for years now, but I never knew what it was, what it was called. For so so many years I experienced a myriad of symptoms that doctors wrote off as stress-related, or simply non-existent. I remember that fateful day the ball dropped. It was the end of January 2009 and I was rushed to the hospital thinking I had the flu (or something mildly worse). But at the end of that hospital visit, I was told that I was working too hard and to rest.

And so my journey began. From nausea to dizziness, from headaches to full body aches, sensitivity to my environment: smells, temperatures, pressure, etc. Fatigue and insomnia. Memory issues. The list goes on and on and on. And over the years, they got worse, and even more symptoms continued to show up. I continued following up with so many different doctors, specialists, tests, but they ALL came back as clean as a hospital wall (ha). So of course I was written off.  I was even told to see a therapist because clearly everything was fine and I was in perfect health. But I didn't FEEL fine. Everything felt wonky, and constantly. Just this past fall, I got to a point where I was fully bedridden, couldn't work, or move for that matter, barely hanging on from the sheer pain and agony of it all (and trust me, I am not exaggerating (and if you know me well, you know that I am not even capable of fully exaggerating anything)).

But this past November (2015), I finally *FINALLY* received an answer. After all these years, since January 2009, I learned that I have something called fibromyalgia.

Yep, that's right. I'm not some crazy lady who suffers from hypochondria (because LOL SO MUCH NOPE). I have fibromyalgia. And for those of you who don't know what that is, essentially it is a chronic pain and fatigue syndrome/disease (nobody really knows). And this diagnosis, I learned, explains so thoroughly what I have been experiencing for so long, it's unbelievable. In fact, some of things I thought were "normal" or that other people probably experienced at some point were in fact symptoms as well.

A perfect example of this was when I went to Paris last year, and every day, though amazing, was filled with so much pain and exhaustion. I had a terrible time navigating the metro stations that were filled to the brim with staircases. Walking around, though ideal and my most preferred way to get around, was extremely difficult as well. But I figured, it's a lot of exercise, I'm sure I'm not alone. To make my point, the city is beautiful at night, or so I'm told. I was so tired and in so much pain that for the entire month I was in Paris, I NEVER EVER saw it at night. I never saw the Eiffel Tower light up. I never sat by the Seine and enjoyed its peace under the night time sky. I never saw the moon! I was too busy curled up in bed recuperating from the day(s), trying feebly to regain some energy for the next day of class, concerts, and adventures.

This diagnosis explains also why over the years I became more and more of a hermit. It doesn't help that I'm an extreme introvert (and yes I mean extreme) either. But during my time at university, it was quite a rarity to see me out socializing during any given weekend. A part of it was because well, people (ugh humans) but another aspect of it was that I was so exhausted from taking all the classes and working all the jobs that I needed to take the time to recharge for the next week.

But I have to say, I am so so glad to finally know what has been plaguing my life all these years. To finally have an answer is like a huge weight finally being lifted from my shoulders (metaphorically anyway, physically not so much unfortunately). And I write about it because I think fibromyalgia is something that so many people (including the medical community) are unaware of. And how much this diagnosis truly affects someone's life. It may not be a terminal disease, but my goodness, every day is such a struggle.

It's crazy that on that fateful day in January 2009 that I woke up and felt
sick, and never ever got better. But I'm still here, and that's what's most important of all.
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A Most Musical Epiphany

I have recently become aware of something. Of how I perceive, pursue, and live my life. Even though I am not actively performing anymore, most of my life consisted of me playing my flute (and other instruments). For almost twenty years I had a creative outlet. I was able to use and engage so many different parts of my brain, aspects of my mind. Upsetting and wonderful both at the same time. Frustrating yet satisfying.

Despite being a musician for almost twenty years and having spent eight years of my life in collegiate music study, I consider myself to be a terribly logical person. In terms of relating to others, an emotional robot. I find myself more focused on the academic side of music, history and education. I am currently in the process of sending out applications for doctoral study. But the performance and study of music does something important for me in that respect: it acts as a balance. It gives me that extra push to not only walk but run. (Or trot, at least. Maybe even a nice gallop.)

But if there is no passion, no desire, nothing to be learned, nothing of value, then I cannot pursue it. I am learning that I cannot settle for the ordinary, the conventional, the "cubicle" life. There has to be more. More meaning, more depth. I cannot participate in something for an indeterminate period of time with no creative outlet. I need to be fully engaged, both logically and creatively. I need truth. I need magic. I need passion. I need music.

And I cannot settle for anything less.

Dear United States of America

Dear United States of America,

Where oh where oh where to begin?

*sigh*

It's just...

*sigh*

I just...

I don't understand.

Or rather, I think I understand. It's just extremely disappointing.

So many phrases that get shouted and sang at the top of our lungs, several times during the year: Land of the free! Livin' the American dream! America's the place to be! We're number one!!" etc.

But I don't feel those things. Not anymore. With each passing year, each passing holiday (or any other day for that matter), I think to myself: "Just read another headline that involved yet another African-American being unnecessarily attacked and/or killed by a police officer" or "Got a Muslim name? Must be a terrorist" or "Women can vote but can't do anything else including have control over their bodies." I mean, it's 2015...TWENTY-FIFTEEN?!!? And we are still having all of these problems?!?!

And on top of it all, there is a presidential election coming up, and every time I think about the Republican roster and what they each stand for, I find myself wanting to cry myself to sleep, or punching a wall. I never thought I'd find myself saying this, but I would take McCain over any and all of those guys any day. ANY DAY AND I'M NOT KIDDING!

*PSA: Please get more informed about presidential candidate Bernie Sanders. He seems to be our only hope. ONLY HOPE.*

The current system of elected officials is already scary enough, just having recently defunded Planned Parenthood (I can't even with that right now). And the Republican candidates are more than ok with this, amongst other scary things (like building a wall between the US and Mexico). These guys are running for the GOP ticket. THESE GUYS?!?!

It's not even that I don't consider myself Republican (And I most certainly do not, especially presently). It's that not one of them seems to care about the actual people currently living in this country and wanting to better the life of its people (particularly the middle and lower classes).

Anyway, I worry about the future of this country, to say the least. So many people who are filled with ignorance and hate have so much power here, and that's terrifying. I'm not saying that everyone has to agree about everything. That would be unrealistic. However, I would hope that most of the people in this country would believe that everyone deserves an equal amount of respect and rights to life, etc. To each their own. Do unto others as you want done onto yourself. But this is not the case. Far from it.

I feel so unsafe, so unhappy here. And the people who are in power don't even want to fully acknowledge my rights both as an African-American and as a woman (in addition to my short, natural hair) living here in this country. We call this the "land of the free" but if you're gay, then they don't want for you to get married. If you're Muslim and/or possess a "Muslim-sounding" name, then you are the enemy and not to be trusted. If you are a woman, you have no control over your body; you are a man's prized trophy. If you are African-American, you are lazy and always up to no good, so to jail you go!

I tried to keep this post relatively organized but at the same time, there are so many thoughts that I have that keep tumbling onto the page through my fingers. Fighting to escape and be seen on my blog.

The lack of support and care just astounds me. Government is just a big business. It's not about taking care of its people, making sure that they are rightfully represented. It's about numbers, the overall revenue coming in. We aren't people. We are walking talking dollar signs.

And I really want to stay here, I really do! But at the same time, the overall quality of life here is so depressing compared to numerous other developed countries that lately I've been thinking more and more of just leaving so I can experience life as it should be. Or at least, maybe better than what I am here. Where you have to (most likely) get a loan in order to get the degree required to get the job that you need that doesn't exist to earn money to take care of yourself but you can't take care of yourself because you need money and in order to get money you need a job and in order to get a job you need a degree and in order to get that degree the chances are you have to apply and rely on loans.

*breathes*

Where is the American dream amongst all of that?? Please someone tell me, because I would most certainly like to be enlightened.

Sincerely,

A most concerned US citizen

2015: An Unexpected Journey

Dear internet world (or me when I go to read this later), I really do hope to get better at updating this thing of a blog, to contribute more thoughts and confessions, delve into the world that is my mind, and describe that which is my life at present. And get better at writing sentences that do not morph into ones that run on and on.

Again I must write: so much has changed. So so much. I did not think it would be possible to pry them any wider, but my eyes have opened up to so much more.

I did not end up going to Disney World and The Wizarding World of Harry Potter after I graduated in May. In fact, everything that I had planned out for this year blew up in complete shambles. Full of unexpected turns and obstacles.

I did have a plan. Such a solid plan. So I thought.

Original plan: finish my Master's thesis in March/April, defend said thesis in April, graduate in May, visit Harry Potter Land a week or two later, and begin my search for university adjunct faculty positions. And then also start my PhD applications. As of today, I did accomplish one of those things in order (started one of 8 or 9 applications).

What actually happened: "finished" writing my thesis in March/April, "graduated" in May, "defended" my thesis, had graduation pushed another semester to make severe edits to my thesis, spent a month in Paris (YES, PARIS), submitted my thesis, quit my job, officially finished my degree, have started PhD applications.

This year did not go as planned WHATSOEVER. But despite all of the downfalls, the many many many downfalls, I SPENT A WHOLE MONTH OF MY LIFE IN PARIS AND IT WAS THE BEST MONTH OF MY LIFE (even though I had a sinus infection the whole time). I did a study abroad course (Theory and Analysis of Contemporary Music) through the Eastman School of Music in collaboration with IRCAM's Manifeste Music Festival for the month of June. Never in a million years did I ever think that I would be able to and find myself participating in a study abroad program. There was one most unfortunate consequence to that decision (moving out of the beautiful solitude that was my one bedroom apartment) to have the experience of a lifetime.

I will try to keep my gushing to a bare minimum, but suffice to say, living in Paris for a month has helped me further realize my desire to live in a place where public transportation and the overall quality of life is much improved. I will always have a soft spot for the D, and maybe someday I will return and live here once again. But I need to further experience life outside the 3-1-3. I have decided that if I do not get accepted into any doctoral musicology programs that I will move to Boston, or perhaps Canada (especially with the political atmosphere as of late, *cough* presidential elections *cough*). Ever since I was little, I have always wanted to live in Canada. And maybe I will realize that dream. Maybe I will even end up somehow somewhere in the UK (another place I would like to live). Either way, in my cold, dark, and icy heart, I feel the urge to explore new waters. And living in Paris for that one month has not only given me the courage but also strengthened my desire and excitement to explore the world.

Maybe hidden inside of this is a message. The message to live life, do as you will. I get so buried in my work and planning that I forget to actually stop and enjoy life, to want more than just my degree. Which I am so so so happy and relieved to have finally achieved.

Balance, I need to find balance. And pursue my desires.