...the struggle was for writing something that was indisputably black. I don’t know quite yet what that is, but neither that nor the attempts to disqualify an effort to find out keeps me from trying to pursue it.
Toni Morrison, The Bluest Eye
I say a lot of reckless shit in these posts.
I have a bad habit of admitting things I probably shouldn’t. To the point where when people ask me what I blog about, I say, “Nonsense.” But I promise it makes sense. On here, I confess things most women –most people for that matter –would probably counsel me to keep quiet. Every time I finish a piece and guide my cursor to Blogger’s “publish post” button, I hesitate. I question what you all with think. I try to conceive your judgments of me before even you do. Just know that if you’ve judged me based on anything I’ve posted, it’s not because you “feel some type of way about” whatever I said, it’s because I allowed you to. I put myself out there for two reasons. First, I have to purge myself of my feelings, thoughts and actions so that I can question and understand myself. Second, I hope that as you read my work, I hope that you will do the same.
Toni Morrision, (my absolute favorite) author of The Bluest Eye (my absolute favorite book), writes in the afterward that, for her, “the act of writing a book was: the public exposure of a private confidence (212).” This is what I’m offering to you, my readers. I want to let you into the secrets of my thoughts because if I have benefitted from my experiences, perhaps you can as well. Now, this is just a blog and most of the writing will be nonsense, so I don’t expect much. Even Toni Morrison felt that after reading The Bluest Eye “many readers remained touched but not moved.” I dare not attempt to move you via a blog if a Nobel and Pulitzer Prize winner couldn’t do it. I’m vain, not stupid.
But just like the little girls in Morrison’s novel, I am searching for a sort of catharsis; a place to put my thoughts when I’m done thinking them. Hopefully, with EllaThought, I will have “distributed the weight of these problematical questions to a great constituency and justified the exposed of a privacy (Morrison, p214).” Sometimes, you need to know that you’re not the only one. The only thinking these thoughts. The only one wondering whether it be the most minute things like what trends are in & what songs are hot to tougher more onerous issues like, What is love? Who am I? Where am I going? I am no Descartes. Partially because I am not a license philosopher but mostly because I have a different theory: I am. Therefore, I think. Therefore, I write.
And I write for you, all the Ellas of world. Ella who? you ask? Well, Ella (me) and Ella (you). I write for myself: A Black Female. So I write for Black females. But I am not only a Black female. I am other things: a daughter, a sister, a lover of fashion, a lover in a fashion, a friend, an ex-girlfriend (ha!), an ex-freind (unfortunately), and when I’m writing I’m a writer. I was a child, then a teen, then a college kid, now an adult. I am not yet a mother or a wife or a business partner. You see, I have much to live, so I have much to write and, in my opinion, from various avenues of thought. Black women, primarily, write for you. Human beings, no matter your shade, space or race –I also write for you.
So, No. I’m not embarrassed about what I put on here… Well not completely at least. I know I’m not the only one thinking out there. And I know that my emotions in the moment will probably change in the next. I can talk about how I felt for certain guys because… it’s truth. I’ll admit my flaws, my mistakes because if I don’t admit them, I merely keep them in and live in denial. At dinner yesterday (can I call 123 Burger Shot Beer at 2am dinner?) there was an amazing conversation about faith going on (I repeat, 2am. I love Loyola Alum) where a friend said “you’re supposed to share your sin amongst believers and repent.” I didn’t believe her until just now as I wrote this.
Writing is how I do it. I’ll confess it all to you as long as you believe in me.
Later on that night, 4:30am at the Space Billiard Cafe on NYC’s Korea Way, I a conversation about Alexander McQueen (again, I LOVE Loyola Alum) and his unfortunate demise. My friend Jazz talked about how one needs to find themselves –spiritually, emotionally, whatever– and find out who you are somehow even if you’re “sitting on the toilet.” (She honestly said that with the most eloquent sincerity.) She helped me see that you’ve got to take time for yourself. Because, now, every time I sit on the porcelain throne, I’ll be sure to find myself a bit more.
And I really, truly mean it ever time I say it: Thank you for reading.