~

And here she is giving up herself for commitment. 

The scares of hypocrisy.

english literature: foreshadowing

She’s giving him her without commitment.

This one time, I think it was five years ago—maybe six, I used to talk to this friend on the phone a lot, Nicholas. We would talk about so many things for long and late hours. This time particularly, I remember he was talking about some nonsensical stuff (which at the time I didn’t know was nonsensical, but grew to understand that many of the things he’d talk about were nonsensical); something about not being able to be in a committed relationship because of his “need for sex [with multiple partners].” So hearing this, I became intrigued about open relationships. Would that be something he’d be interested in? (Not with me, but in general.) I asked him, and we moved towards talking about open relationships. He told me that he’d be interested in something like that, but couldn’t imagine having his girl engage with other partners. Just him, I concluded. Of course, this was a problem. But the conversation continued nonetheless. He said that the girl would really have to love him to do that—be in an open relationship with him and not have partners outside of him. Perhaps, I said. I remember then, I thought that might be true. I wondered to myself, if I loved him, would I be okay with this exchange: being in an open relationship with him and not having partners outside of him? Could I withstand that? I don’t remember what my response to that was. Knowing adolescent me, it might have conceded to that. Content with having that person even if that meant them having it all and me just having them: a concession indeed, I imagine. 

That conversation seems to have found a place in my life again, after six or so years. It’s, as the english literarians (yes, I made that up) call, foreshadowing. 

I say this because, I think she’s at a place right now where this thing is happening again. Concession in a similar type of exchange, that is. I think she wants things so bad that she would be willing to compromise herself just to have it. (Them, I mean.)

Rather than the question, would she be okay with being in an open relationship with him and not having partners outside of him, she has entered that relationship. Not literally, of course. But figuratively. She is (okay with) it. She’s scared, I think. Scared about this reality: being in this tumultuous place. A place that seemingly goes against the self she has constructed, but a place she nonetheless inhabits. I think she’s scared because she didn’t think she could ever get here. Out of everyone, she thought herself the least to get here. Her, compromise herself, not likely. But here she is: compromised. 

This conversation she had with Nicholas so many years ago, I remember for a reason. It was this conversation that opened her to the reality of her compromised self. That even if she, the I-would-never-for-anyone type, could concede to the possibility—the possibility, alone—of uni-reciprocal open relationships that meant she would be content with having them alone, then that meant that the reality of her self as one compromised has always existed, would always exist. 

But I don’t think she’s ready to leave the relationship. Thinking about it now, she tells me, makes her nervous, scared, anxious. She’s not ready. But she’s pained by it. So perhaps it’s not a question of readiness, but protection—self-protection, that is. She needs to do it, I keep telling her. Leave the relationship. That’s the only way, I said. But it’s hard for her. It’s weird how she’s been knowing this, since the beginning. It’s okay. I trust she will, one day, when she’s ready. 

I just wish they let her go, let her be free, you know? Maybe one day they’ll see or understand the compromised self they’ve helped create; that they help maintain—the continuation of her compromised self. They probably won’t. I think we both know that, me and her. So she’ll just have to do it on her own. 

Hopefully she will. 

J SMOOV ERA!

“I can’t love you this much.”

— Kanye West, “Blame Game,” My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

A sexy, dark-skinned black woman?

Bitch must be lying (to herself).

things this (fucked) romantic industrial complex taught me:

1. Never trust a dude, even if they tell you that you can and should.
2. Don’t ever get caught up because love (read: the romantic industrial complex) gives zero fucks about you and yours.
3. Love is fucking racist as fuck.
4. Remember: If he says, “It’s not because you’re black,” it’s probably because you are black.
5. Love is for the weak and waste; it always has been and always will be.
6. You are neither weak nor waste so don’t put yourself through this useless as shit ever again, seriously.
7. Never, ever put him before you because that’ll fuck with your flawlessness and we can’t have that, now can we?
8. Let a useless ass dude know that they are a useless ass fucking dude, immediately; it’ll save you so much time in the end.
9. Trust your gut: If you felt that dude was waste when you met him, he’ll probably be waste when you un-meet him.
10. “Black girls don’t (deserve) love” apparently is a thing for this industrial complex. 
11. Never loose your greeziness, for anyone, even him. 
12. Did I mention: The romantic industrial complex is racist as fuck? Because it is.*
13. Tears, just like love, are for the weak and waste; so don’t cry, ever.

*Redundancy is (quasi-)intellectual suicide.  

Shouts out to Jad who does not want me to go to graduate school right away and instead work for three years, just until he graduates, so we can go to medical school together.

My boys love me.