The past 24 months has been a year of exploration into the black community, and communities of color in general. Shockingly, I know little of the experiences of people who I relate to most. I have blamed my history teachers and the education of a dominant culture, but truly, I haven't been forced to dive into who I am until I moved to the South. Every time I think about how removed I have been from my culture and from the experiences of people of color, I think of my Latin American studies class and a fire-y Latino that would constantly sound off in class. He constantly challenged the teacher with facts he had tucked away in his back pocket. He spoke with a confidence that only someone certain of himself, his education, and his identity could do. I was envious of this confidence. With the emergence of the Black Lives Matter movement, I sat myself down with the modern writings of Ta-Nehisi Coats, Ijeoma Oluo, Carol Anderson, Roxane Gay, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, and...
In 2010 I started this blog in efforts to write. To create a space for my guns blazing Christianity with a twist of social justice. In fact, in my arsenal lies dozens entries that you will probably never see. I paused this blog in 2013 when my first born came into this world in a miraculous and tremendous way. That's when it all changed. The child that codified my convictions, but laid to rest the ones that didn't hold up to snuff. I owe all my success and character to this child. I am no longer a person of faith, although I'd like to be. I am no longer dating, and I'd like not to be. I have children, I'm not working, and I'm at a point where I need to create my own space. Again. No one is going to hand me a gig, so I will do it myself. I pause for a second to think of where I'd be if I had kept up with this blog without a five year hiatus. I have always needed writing, and the abandonment of it has left me floundering. In efforts to pin down my identi...