Tag: about me

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Sometimes I give in to the impulse to reach out to people I lost contact with. The results can be… jarring. Especially when the other party stayed the fucking same. Wait, no. That doesn’t seem fair. I suppose everyone is dynamic– it’s just a matter of how they changed.

If it feels like someone didn’t change at all, then what they always seemed to be is just more obvious. That was how I felt when one of the oldest friends briefly flared back into my life. With distance and growth, I saw them as they always were. The friend, on the other hand, was stunned at how different I’ve become (“Glowed up” was how an acquaintance put it). And I could see that, like, of course I did, and I was offended. I remember thinking What on earth did you do these X amount of years, stagnate?!

Well, no.

They just moved perpendicular to how I did. Our catching-up stories included eyerolls at the same pratfalls we keep making, but we laughed in delight as we traded news about a new hobby or love we found because of course we’d be into that, should’ve seen it coming.

Then again… the only person that underwent change could’ve been just me. I knew a friend group that’s frozen in time. A good damn almost-decade later it had shrunk down to the bare essentials and core folx. And oh, yo, have I outgrown a lot of shit. My prime objective no longer meshed with their mission, and our attempts to work around that fact caused significant friction.

And I think a lot about my post-college growing and learning when I was in my second Serious Relationship. Not only was I finding additional facets of my queerness, but I was putting words and concepts together about how I move around in this world and how it treats me. Frankly, my then-partner couldn’t keep up. We split due to the growing incompatibilities– and that included what I would no longer tolerate. We couldn’t make it work as amicable exes either, for the same reason.

Change happens, always, always in flux.

You either outgrow or grow into or reveal.

If you find us walking along the same beach, I suppose I’ll ask if you’ll change with me. I expect you to. I’d be worried if you didn’t.

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I had a rad 7th grade Social Studies teacher. I can’t remember her name, but she was a small lady who had a sense of humor and wore jeans. I daresay she was even kinda cool, and I’m not just saying that because Social Studies was one of my favorite classes (I love to read that much). Unfortunately, I don’t recall much except four things:


  • The time we watched The Little Mermaid and the class clown– responding to Ariel’s “Why, Eric? Run away with me?”– yelled incredulously at the screen: “You don’t have legs! You can’t run!”

  • I managed to have The Latest Crush sign my yearbook. We never spoke to each other before that. He was surprised that I wanted one; I surprised myself by feeling brave enough to even ask.

  • That pretty sweet drawing I did poking fun at The Boston Tea Party for extra credit. (Alas, lost to time. Maybe. I’ll check my closet).


It was this Fourth Thing that cemented her as A Cool Teacher (but as is tradition, The Cool Teacher was the Art teacher).


The school year starts out as usual. Each class rarely began with lessons and homework on the first day. Instead, the period was spent going over rules, lesson timeline, grading scale, the boring but important stuff. So when we wandered into this corner classroom we expected more of the same.


And it was– except for a twist. When we got to the Rules section of our material, she instructed us to open our brand new spiral notebooks. I’m sure a lot of us thought “Dang, we’re taking notes already?!” But no.


On the top of the very first page, she had us write this, instead:


DO NOTHING TO INTERRUPT INSTRUCTION.


and tasked us with how we could (and would) follow that rule.


Simple, right?


Deceptively so.


While some of our suggestions took the piss out of it, they still had a glimmer of truth in them. The majority of what we scribbled down were serious: no loud noises, no gum in seats, don’t be rude, don’t be late, respect the teacher– someone even mentioned no sleeping! Some were obvious, some were creative, but all of us were using our developing brains for ten minutes trying to come up with a least ten subrules.


This is something I carry with me to this day. Hell, a version of this typically encompasses the spaces I moderate. When you really boil it down, a list of rules can arguably be summed up with a “do nothing to disrupt this space.”


It’s like the Golden Rule, but in social groups.


And I think that is pretty cool.

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Bloganuary writing prompt: What is your favorite animal?

I’ll give you three guesses, and the first two don’t count. (Cats are a close second.)

Sonic popping out of a manhole, saying Hedgehog. Noun. A burrowing animal.
This panel gets a lot of mileage.

Let’s get the obvious reason out of the way: nostalgia! Not only is Sonic the Hedgehog my favorite color, but I grew up in the 90s as the Cooler Mario hit our TV screens. I loved the games, enjoyed both cartoons, and I read just about every damn issue of the Archie Comics series (and I am subscribed to IDW’s current run). Oh, and Sonic was totally my boyfriend as I pretended to be Princess Sally, crawling and climbing on the wooden playgrounds to thwart Dr. Robotnik’s plans.

…

…Anyway.

I relate to the hedgie. I relate to hedgehogs so much, my ALBI FACTS are cribbed from actual hedgehog trivia. I have terrible eyesight, solitary (introverted), and I seem most active at night. Being in the hedges is also a great time. Oh, and I make weird noises. And I bite. And, depending on who you ask, my Black queer ass could be illegal in 7 states if things keep going the way they are.

For fun, I like thinking about astrology things. Virgos are Earth signs, right? So it stands to reason that we can associate symbols or animals that are related to the earth, to Virgo. And if burrowing in gardens isn’t earthy, I don’t know what is.

I deal (as most of us do) with what the science types call The Hedgehog Dilemma. In my own words: It’s when you want to get close to another hedgehog, but if you do, you’ll very likely poke and be poked by quills. And if you have any empathy, you’ll think twice before snuggling up to a quill-less critter because you might end up hurting them, since they don’t have the same defenses. But to be human, sometimes you just gotta risk it.

…But I am willing to risk getting hurt sometimes. Perhaps it’s inevitable.

Sometimes, it’s worth it.

Amazing Facts About [Me]

And that, ultimately, is why I can relate to the spiny creature so much– because it embodies the struggle of a one-bitten-twice-shy-and-guarded-introvert, but also looks really cute while doing so. And while hogging the hedges.

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Bloganuary writing prompt: List five things you do for fun.

Sure, why not!? I did say I’ll look into more prompts.

Video Games

Video games span across so many genres, so it’s not hard to find something you like (unless you just hate fun). Despite capital-G Gamers trying to ruin it for everyone else, I still enjoy this medium! Stories unfold at your fingertips, and it’s a great feeling to clear a difficult puzzle.

My favorite types are Role-Playing Games, Platformers, Rhythm Games, and Cozy Live Simulators.

And Pokemon.

Runner Up: watching other people play them, especially if they’re more skilled than me. And especially if they’re speedrunning; I love watching them exploit glitches if they’re not just outright Really Damn Good At It! I like hearing their opinions, whether its about the game itself or what’s going on in their lives.

Fanfiction

Honestly, writing in general (especially journaling and poetry). But when I think of fun I think of fanfiction.

I love looking at something and going What If? And I love putting a different spin on things. Remember when the Internet was (and probably still is) obsessed with turning everything into some Grittier, Edgier, Darker (GRIMDARK) version of itself? I tend to steer the opposite of that (though I admit, I can get angsty). I also follow the ol’ adage: If you want something done, do it yourself.

Let Tietra live! Turn The Joker into a coffeehouse owner that makes lattes! Have the silent protagonist actually speak and be snarky about it! Do not close that love triangle and have a happy and healthy non-monogamous relationship!

Reading

Reading is a legitimate hobby. It takes hours of your time and it costs you money. The eReader I purchased last year was an excellent investment, and a lot easier on my wrists– I can pour through some serious door-stoppers.

Thanks to Octavia Butler in ASIMOV magazine in my formulative years, I go for the science fiction first. But one of my resolutions this year is to expand into other types of books: more poetry, nonfiction of topics I’m interested in, and autobiographies of my favorite people. Oh, and looking into those things called COMIC BOOKS. Regardless, getting comfortable with a world or person to explore is absolutely exciting.

Be Annoying

I pester.

I pester.

I pester.

I pester.

I pester.

Did I mention that I pester? I get it from my dad. He would do some stupid thing and then chuckle at my expense. And now, I’m going to do that to you! I come from a family of dry humor and bizarre in-jokes. Think Eric Andre without none of the wit, and all of the befuddlement.

A serious spin on this would be being silly and humor. I joke so I don’t cry. I use the absurd to point out the weirdness of life. And on a good day, I could even employ satire correctly!

Nothing

You read that right.

Probably the most favorite thing to do in the world is NOTHING. Nada. Zip. Zero. Blame laziness if you want (and I will certainly own that; Capitalism hates it when we share, and hates it more when we’re being lazy by its metric). But I see it as a moment of rest. I see it as a moment to just stop, take in the scenery. I feel like the older you get, the less schedule gaps you have (until you retire, at least), so I revel in the pure bliss of not being busy.

Sometimes, I simply do nothing. And it’s marvelous.

Especially if I can get a nap in.

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Crossposted from… somewhere. If you know where from, you betta ssssssh! 😉


REAL FACT: The first documentation of the life of a hedgehog was in 1991, as an educational and inspiring platform game. Its influence can still be felt today, though what’s notable about this endeavor is that it lacked information about biting.


But seriously:

REAL FACT: Hedgehogs bite, though they’re not known for such. As with anything with teeth, there’s a chance it’ll bite. Including humans. I bite. He bites. She bites. Cuz we all bite.

REAL FACT: Sometimes it’s out of curiosity, like if you smell tasty enough. You’re alluring and I’d like more. (Or you ask me really nicely because I’m a cute pet? *bats eyelashes*)

REAL FACT: Sometimes it’s to communicate and express themselves! Context matters! I bite when I’m happy. I bite when I’m mad. I bite as foreplay, and as play and being playful. I bite when I think you’re the bee’s knees and fantastic (SEE ALSO: cute aggression. And I like biting noses).

REAL FACT: And sometimes it’s a way to explore the environment. Or something. “I have no idea what this item is on the menu; I’m going to order it and bite it.”

REAL FACT: …It’s more of a nibble, really. I can’t bite really hard. Part psychological, part I’m-just-not-that-strong.

REAL FACT: There’s various aversion techniques to combat biting. They include pushing against the bite, blowing a puff of air on their nose, and even loudly reprimanding with “NO!” Consent and boundaries are a thing. If nibbles and bites aren’t your thing, tell me no! I also make it a habit to not just spring it on people.


More Real Facts


Guess which ones are pertinent!


  • They got their name from– guess what?– hanging around in hedges. Whodathunk!?

  • Hedgehogs are illegal in 7 states.

  • They make little weird noises.

  • No hedgehog species is native to America.

  • They curl up in a ball for warmth or protection.

  • Their eyesight sucks.

  • They’re solitary critters.

  • Some species hibernate.

  • They are nocturnal.

  • Called “The Gardener’s Friend” because their diet consists of all those cute (and sometimes icky) critters that wreak havoc on gardens.

  • They like food, by the way.

  • You can’t tell their gender just by looking at them.

  • People cannot resist a Sonic the Hedgehog reference whenever they are mentioned.

  • Hedgie quills are just pokey and strong. No barbs, no poison, no problem.


Have you heard of The Hedghog’s Dilemma?


Because let’s be real for a second.


The hedgehog’s dilemma, or sometimes the porcupine dilemma, is a metaphor about the challenges of human intimacy. It describes a situation in which a group of hedgehogs all seek to become close to one another in order to share heat during cold weather. They must remain apart, however, as they cannot avoid hurting one another with their sharp spines. Though they all share the intention of a close reciprocal relationship, this may not occur, for reasons they cannot avoid.

Wikipedia


But then Freud found it and ran with it, and I hate Freud. But anyway.


This came to mind because I’m introverted (and shy) as hell. This also came to mind because depression and anxiety (and trauma, and neurosis, and toxic defense mechanisms, and–) can be a sonofabitch.


But I am willing to risk getting hurt sometimes. Perhaps it’s inevitable.


Sometimes, it’s worth it.


🦔

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“Decolonized ancestor worship.”


That was my first and immediate response to a partner’s questions about my altar. A single candle was lit, fresh flowers and water, and the tablecloth recently replaced. It cast a soft light in my bedroom. 


If I felt something, I kept it to myself. 


He asked to approach it, so he could see it better. Maybe ask some questions. The guarded in me said, “from a distance.” At first. 


I’m not used to others wanting to know.


Nor am I used to someone not wanting my succinct answers. He wanted to know details. The “whys.” The “how I got here.”


I’ve a certain post that would be a good companion piece for this entry (and vise versa), so I guess this is as a good time as any…


Like most kids, I had my obligatory Wiccan phase in high school. And, like most adults, I look back upon it and cringe– not because of Wicca itself, but I fell into the tunnel of misinformation and fluffybunniness that was Silver RavenWolf. I’ve had a lot of serious unpacking to do when I revisited Wicca in my late 20s. I don’t consider myself Wiccan, mostly due to it being a slippery slope for cultural appropriation.


At best, my spiritual relationship is “complicated“/”vaguely pagan”/”probably a Satanist,” with ancestral religions of the Black diaspora.


In addition, what I believe:


  1. There is no God, just personifications of forces and energies we can (and cannot) name. And they don’t care if I cheat on my taxes. (I’ll note that this is metaphysics-friendly.)
  2. And in direct response to undoing the damage RavenWolf did: My practice is decolonized, anti-appropriative, and anti-oppressive. If it isn’t of my culture (Black American) or “open,” then I keep my hands off of it. I’ve also a particular dislike for Christianity as it was used as a tool to colonize most of the world.
  3. Due to the previous point, what I do would be considered eclectic. I do a lot of reading to be sure something is acceptable for me, as well as reclaiming my roots. I pick up what works and discard the rest, for preference and practicality/flexibility.
  4. My focus is on Black diasporic / Black American spirituality. Considering I’m descended from slaves, it is a lot to digest. Herbalism as well as the more scarier (according to Hollywood) things.
  5. I am picky about my “woo.” I’m still pretty allergic to cisheteronormativity, even in witchy circles– I run into the gender binary a lot via the whole “male/female energies” thing; and I’m certainly not substituting crystals to a trip to the doctor. Also refer back to Point 2.


I’m also influenced by my parents, who were ostracized from their church for daring to voice concern over their money consumption; they’ve shown me different ways to be religious and/or spiritual without the requirement of an overpriced building. They’ve always done their own thing and their offspring followed in that regard. I got my love for sleeping in on Sundays from them!


But what do I do? It is not much, but I’ve altars (one personal, one for my Ancestors), I may wiggle my fingers and meditate at the same time, do some decorating, and I make time for Juneteenth and other Black American holidays.


…So I was flippant just a tiny bit, but I’m a bit private about this, and, to quote another practitioner when we were still in contact: “stop telling white people our shit.”


And I get enough weird looks from Gold Star Atheists.


So that’s the setup as to why it would be so damn weird for me to step into a church of any sort. Except for weddings, knightings, and funerals.



So, yeah. On a rainy Saturday evening way back in February, I went to church.


It was the movie trope of the scene mirroring depression: rainy, and cold, and in a desolate parking lot browsing Facebook. I saw a post about a gospel event. I decided to go. Because isn’t that what people do when they’re sad? They go to church, right, on a Saturday night? And nothing had worked that day– might as well give it a shot– I’ll try (almost) anything once.


For in that quest to squash the sadness and find another part of Me that’s My Thing, something out of character may have been in order.



I was decidedly very uncomfortable in that crowded church.


I didn’t belong.


And when the singer announced they were there not to be entertained, but to worship, I was rightfully embarrassed for my spectatorship and left (and to add to that embarrassment– I was blocked in, so they had to make an announcement for someone to move their vehicle).


I’ll just skip to this part: I didn’t get the epiphany that there was a God that cared about me. Nor did I receive an embrace of a religious community of “you belong here.” And I certainly didn’t feel enough spirit to stand up and sing or hum the tune very badly. And ultimately, I left the event not feeling much different than from when I arrived.


Maybe I went, anyway, on a hunch that such a shock to my system would jog things for me. And that hunch turned out to be correct, for I did come away with an epiphany:


People can be like negative space: when you’re unable to be defined by what you are, you can be defined by what you are not.