sarah HANNAH gómez

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Some words are just loaded.

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For once, being happy isn’t killing my writing. My knuckles ache tonight, and I’m nowhere near done with my story. I need to finish the whole thing, or at least a good chunk, to send to my discussion group for tomorrow. Procrastinating is obviously still a demon in my life, but at least I’m writing now. It’s been so long since I’ve felt like this, having so many ideas in my head I have to keep switching from this story to that journal to that list and so on… It feels so good to be overwhelmed with ideas. Ever since my computer crashed this summer, even starting to write felt depressing. I found no joy with it. Now it’s coming back.

It helps that I had a really good advising session today. My music advisor is an asshole, so I prefer to email him rather than meet with him. But I’m required to go the English office for advising for my creative writing minor, otherwise I can’t register for classes, so today I went. I had the session with the guy who was just made head of the department, and he’s also my fiction professor, and we ended up having a good conversation. As a result, I’m taking far more English classes than I originally planned for next semester. I have priority registration on Sunday, and at the moment there are about 7 classes in the Excel schedule I’ve been making. I’ll have to drop some, but I just can’t decide which ones, because they’re all great. I will also have a Tuesday/Thursday-heavy schedule for once, instead of the other way around, and I should be done really early on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. All of a sudden, life is good. Even my concussion and my neck are healing.

The story I’m writing now I’ve had in my head forever. It usually takes me a good year or two to write a story I’ve memorized in my head. So I knew exactly what the interesting points were, some of the lines of dialogue, the visuals, the motifs, the theme, etc. But as I’m writing now, I’m seeing all of my anxieties transfer on. I think they still work with the story, but I’m not sure, because I feel so overcome by them right now. This is the first week I’ve been able to say this phrase, and I’m having a lot of trouble with it: “My boyfriend.” It’s on Facebook, so it’s real, and apparently when someone requests to change your relationship status, you get a message that says “[Name] requests that you add him as your boyfriend.” I beamed, as if it were a personal message from him to me. I’m a little bit of a freak.

I really want to say that phrase, because it’s like a really tempting slice of cake. A cake that you’ve seen in the window for days and you really want to eat, and then finally you get to buy it (and it’s just magically not stale, days later) and eat it. But you’re scared to eat it, because it’s probably about ten million calories. And I’m scared to say it, because I don’t want to go and rush things like I always do. I shouldn’t be, because it’s true. It has to be. He decided it to be so, and I wanted it, and when both parties want and one decides, it becomes fact. But if you eat the cake, it will never, ever taste as good as you imagined, and you’ll probably feel gross after you finish, because you just ate diabetes. I don’t want to seem overly happy or rub him in anyone’s face, even accidentally, because I hate it when people do that around me. But I’m just so giddy about the fact. On my superficial level, I just want to shout it from the rooftops because I’m just so damn happy about it. And on a serious level, I just feel good about myself and him.

I finished my Creed for this year today. It took me weeks to write, which has never happened. I don’t know what that means.

bee-tea-dubs, the title of this entry comes from a santana song featuring mary j. blige, sleepy brown, and big boi, called “my man.” and it’s actually good, so you should listen to it.

Race : a socially constructed category composed of people who share biologically transmitted traits that members of a society consider important. Ethnicity : shared cultural heritage Minority group : any category of people distinguished by physical or cultural differences that a society sets apart and subordinates. Not a number issue, but a power issue

I often forget that I am black.

Then, when I remember, the next thing I forget is that I am not black. I am half black and half white. I am mixed. Biracial, multiethnic.

This is, sadly, not that uncommon in my daily life. Or maybe that’s not sad. While culture and ethnicity are important to identity, I don’t think race is nearly as important. Skin color should just be an aesthetic thing, like when you’re picking out an outfit or makeup and something looks particularly gorgeous because it brings out your cocoa skin or your blue eyes or whatever. But maybe it’s strange, because remembering your skin color is one (though obviously not the only, nor the most important) way to remind yourself of your culture and ethnicity, and to find others to identify with.

I usually remember after I’ve hooked up with someone. Part of this is my very complicated ethnic and cultural background, I think. It’s also the media, because you know on TV and in movies, white people only date and marry white people, black people only date and marry black people, Latinos with Latinos, Asians with Asians, etc. I don’t feel all that “black.” I don’t know if anyone does. I don’t know how it would feel. But not growing up with a black family, I guess it’s not the immediate association I jump to when I’m thinking of my ethnic identity. It is the culture to which I belong that I have been least exposed to in my life.

When I process the hookup, or the date, if I’m actually being that respectable, I marvel at how wondrous and interesting it is that the person wanted to date/hook up with me. Since college started, the majority of the people I have hooked up with or dated have been white. I don’t really care, since I like who I like, not who I choose to like, and that stuff doesn’t really matter. But while it doesn’t matter, it also does, and when I think about it, I become paranoid wondering why they picked me. Is it that I seem exotic for not being white? Am I just the type of girl (ethnically speaking–you know how we all have the types of people we’re attracted to, and racial and ethnic identity is sometimes one of those things) they like? Or do they just not see the color? It’s not that I think people are shallow. It’s that we’re a color-based society, and sometimes it just baffles me. Are we all actually colorblind? Are we just colorblind in terms of who we like? Do we pick based on color?

It’s one of those things like wondering whether someone likes you for your looks or your personality. Like if I date a white person, I wonder if they just see me as “white.” Maybe they don’t but they think I’m interesting or I “act white.” Maybe they don’t see a thing and it’s just personality. Maybe I’m just really exotic looking. It’s so stupid, but I don’t understand how it works.

the belzhar

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