Girls in the Ghetto: Part Two

Girls in the Ghetto: Part Two
Prostitutes & Brains All Over the Concrete
Cut by: Davita Cuttita

Okay. Davita apologizes for going MIA for so long but she has a lot of finalizing and money-mashing to do with school and getting her apartment. Davita has also dumped the former Russian lover-la-dah because she is allergic to bullshit and ignorance. My migraines have also returned with the vengeance of many moons right when it’s crunch time at the office to meet our deadline. Not to mention all of my exams this month are in French and what—what are we talking about? Ah yes. Children working in sweatshops and prostituting themselves in third world countries? I am very knowledgeable on these things! Of course I can answer these questions! What? You…you want me to say it all in Paris French? Um…fuck! >_<

Anyhoo, back to the ghetto.

I kinda ended the last time all dramatically talking about the violence so if you’re a squeamish kinda person, you may want to look away because Davita is going to tell you about the violence she saw as a kid. I’ve experienced quite a bit of ultra-violence, theft, beatings, shootings, stabbings, smash & stabbings and of course suicides; but here are a couple of tales that really stand out in my memory right now.

This took place in the ghetto…(where?)…in the ghetto! (Do ya’ll know that song?)

DRESS MAN

The first time I saw someone die I was six years old.

My Mom had just picked me up from daycare at night and we were going back to the apartment. We noticed a huge crowd around the building, some police cars, a giant searchlight and yellow-tape a la Hollywood.

There was a man, on about the sixth or seventh floor, standing with his arms outstretched in a flower-print dress and (what might’ve been) a wig, crying a little in between yelling “I’m proud of who I am!”

“Mummy, what’s going on?” I asked her.

“Nothing!” she said nervously. “There’s McDonalds upstairs!”

The man kept pacing, pacing, sobbing, sobbing, yelling, yelling.

The cops ACTUALLY yelled the typical “Don’t do it! You have so much to live for line!” but I suppose they didn’t do it with enough FEELING because he jumped.

He landed in the grass below, sprawled out, spread eagle. Not moving. Or anything at all, for that matter. The cops turned the lights off and there was a moment of dead silence.

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew through the area, lifting the man’s dress and exposing his naked bum-bum to the whole neighbourhood.

Poor guy.

There really was McDonald’s upstairs though; chicken nuggets.

We never talked about it. EVER.

SPAWN

Okay, so me and my sister were kinda hooligan-y girls when we were growing up. Not that we got in trouble, at school or whatever; we never did. We got good grades, did chores, wore little dresses and skirts on occasion, went to church on Sundays on our own, had fist fights. Cute as buttons.

HOWEVER, if you turned on wrestling all hell broke loose. Hulk Hogan would come on we’d be screaming like him and trying to tear our shirts.

Just picture it. Two little Jamaican girls, both under the age of seven; in the middle of the little room screaming “Hulk Hogan! Hulk Hogan! EEEEEEEE!!!! EEEEEEEEEE!!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!” and trying to tare their shirts off like him.

So, when the Spawn movie came out of course we were jumping all around wanting to watch stuff blow up and watch Spawn kill demons. My Mom sighed, and took us. I was about 10 or 11, my sister was about 9 or 8.

After the movie was over and my Mom walked two yelling, screaming, punching-the-air little girls back home, she went upstairs for a nap and left us in the park right beside the apartment building. Our Dad was coming by eventually (he was across the road at the other park with my little brothers) and it was barely 4PM on a nice summer day.

My sister and I had some movie nachos and popcorn left over and scoured the park for our friends. Strangely, the park was empty. We looked over at the other building adjacent to it and noticed our friends standing in a circle around something. Were they trying to see who was it for a game? We went over to investigate.

Unfortunately, nobody’s foot was in the middle of a circle as someone sang a rhyme, tapping toes to see who would be it and who’d be out.

Can’t blame them, I wouldn’t want that mess on my shoes.

What they—or we—were standing around was a dead body. This guy really did a number on himself though because he’d jumped from the highest floor on the building; the 25th.

I don’t think I have to give a very graphic description really of what we were all looking at so I’ll be as direct as possible. “Blood, brains and whatthehellisthatapartof” was everywhere.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Well,” one of the girls replied “We saw him getting ready to jump and I called everybody and we were all here yelling ‘Don’t jump!’ but then he just did it.”

“…Oh.”

The cops came eventually, and were all like “Kids, go home” and all that kinda stuff but we just stood there and watched them clean him up, put him in the black bag and take him away. An officer had a pressure hose and began clearing the concrete of his… “skull mess” but there was one little girl though. Maybe about five or six years old.

I don’t think I even noticed her until that moment. She’d been so quiet.

She began breathing hard and her eyes widened.

Suddenly, she began screaming. I’m talking blood-curdling screams, here.

And she just wouldn’t stop. An officer saw her and tried to hug her, pick her up, try and take her away and find her parents maybe put he could barely even hold her as she thrashed violently; still screaming.

Never saw her again.

It’s funny how these things never really have an ending except for the people who kill themselves.

Life’s a bitch, huh?

So there ya go. I could probably go on, but I’m sure we’re all fairly familiar with stabbings, theft and prostitution. SPEAKING OF WHICH! HERE’S A FUNNY STORY. A little consolation prize if you will, for you; the brave and lovely reader. This is one event close to Davita’s heart…

***SUNNY***

So, in seventh grade when we were all crazy coloured twelve year olds, my friends and I would take the train and streetcar to school everyday by ourselves.

When we got off the street car, we’d just cross the road and BAM, there’s the school. There would also be a six foot two tall, waif-thin, torn fishnet stocking wearing black male prostitute dressed as a woman wearing multiple fur coats; really short ones just on his shoulders. Did I mention he was addicted to crack and was covered in druggie sores and scratched constantly? He also wore platform heels or stilettos.

So every other morning, we’d get off the streetcar and it was like he could SMELL CHILDREN because he was either there waiting for us or would just come out of nowhere all like

“DIDN’T I TELL YOU KIDS TO GET THE FUCK OFF MY STREET!?!? GET THE FUCK BACK ON THAT STREETCAR!!”

I’m not making this up. REALLY!!

He even chased us at lunch time if we went on that side of the road for hamburgers (lotsa shops on that end).

Anyway, we’d be on the sidewalk arguing with this deranged stick-figure homage to fuckery until the light changed and we could run safely across the street.

We all called he/she Sunny.

THE FUNNIEST THING is that whenever one of us insulted Sunny enough for…he/she/it to get offended, he’d make this high-pitched “Ooh-whoa-ho-hoh!” sound and just stomp off.

One day, one of my friends offended Sunny SO BADLY that Sunny screamed “OOH-WHOA-HO-HOH!” and ran off dead smack into a garbage can and landed on his face, covered in falling garbage bags. Then, Sunny just LAY THERE screaming “OOH-WHOA-HO-HOH! OOH-WHOA-HO-HOH!!” over and over and over again, like a broken record, scratching wildly and tossing about in the garbage.

Funniest thing I’d ever seen in my life.

If that story doesn’t make you say no to drugs, you’re a lost cause.

Well, I’ve gotta get back to hustlin’. Just let that all sink in and simmer…

I’M A NORMAL PERSON, OK!? Not crazy. Not right now, anyhow.

Thank you Nice White People

Written by Grandpa Dinosaur

THIS IS NOT ME BEING SARCASTIC! This is me saying yay! “I have White friends that love and care about coloured people.” I decided to make a list to thank the White people who try and understand our feelings towards racism and know how we feel. These are the many reasons why I decided to make this list; there are NICE, HARDWORKING, HONEST WHITE PEOPLE. We often talk about racist white people, today those cruel people will be cast into the darkness and those White people that we love and want to acknowledge will step into the spotlight.

This is for all you White people we love!!!

Dear White People that WE LOVE:

Thank you for treating coloured people as if they are also fellow human beings.
Thank you for not talking down to us, listening and contributing to conversation.
Thank you for not seizing up and being scared when we talk about race.
Thank you for participating with us without a racist outlook and not looking down at us in a condescending manner.
Thank you for not being afraid of us.
Thank you for taking our side when we need you.
Thank you for not ignoring our problems.
Thank you for caring about poor people and black children.
Thank you for recognizing us as people of different cultures and for not being colour blind.
Thank you for not perpetuating racism and advocating equal rights.
Thank you for not judging us based on race and becoming our true friends.
Thank you for not judging and seeing our cultures in a negative lights.
Thank you for not trying to change who we are and our culture.
Thank you for standing up for us when you are with your peers, even when we’re not there.
Thank you for not and never tolerating racism.
Thank you for not being ignorant and unwilling to change.
Thank you for making the sacrifices that you do for the anti-racist cause, and in making them, understanding our hardships a little more.
Thank you for not giving up and continuing to fight.

Thank you White people!
WE LOVE YOU!!

Among a lot of Racist White people, you are often forgotten.

BUT don’t forget that we love DO INDEED love you! MUWAH!

Why I write: Thoughts on Working Towards a Better Future

[Disclaimer] Do not misunderstand, I often write about White people in a negative light but I continue to do so in hopes of change and reform. If you do not act as inappropriately and show empathy, and try to be considerate for coloured people; you don’t have to feel insecure about this entry. It doesn’t apply to you and you are trying.

If you realize that you ARE acting out as I am complaining here, please try not to feel defensive and understand that all of the anger, sadness and hopelessness is created from apathy and ignorance. By listening, reading or being considerate, you can re-gain the trust of coloured people and be well loved. [Disclaimer End]

Why I write

Thoughts on the unlevelled playing field while working the fields
Written by Grandpa Dinosaur

It’s really hard for me to have optimism as a Cambodian Woman, today I couldn’t even get out of bed due to overworking myself. I never imagined such hopelessness and such depression would be so crippling. I remember my doctor’s telling me that it’s possible for stress alone to kill me and I keep myself constantly weighted to combat through rapid weight loss. There are so many things going wrong in my life, but for some reason I was just able to smile and get out of bed. Despite my constant my mantra, “I can’t find a job, I need to help support my family but I keep falling on my face,” I am able to keep going.

It’s hard no to isolate myself, but I find I have no one to really talk to who will listen and understand what I’m going through.

Most of my friends are white and all my friends that I hang out on a consistent basis, other than my co-writer, are White. I’ve slowly decided to stop talking to my White friends for a period of time because I found it to be depressing. I learned over time that when I was quiet about my sorrow, that my white “friends” had a tendency to forget that I had problems too.

When I brought a problem up that was creating thick air within our circle of friends, I was given sharp looks as if accused of making a scene. But to worsen that idea, I couldn’t even talk to white people about any my own problems and just have them listen. I was constantly levied with their everyday examples of how their lives were worse than mine, suddenly barraged by advice that was sometimes okay but usually didn’t apply to me and even given unsolicited medical advice.

I often try to pin-point where I have the most problems with White People and it usually circles around several sentences:

1. White people not caring (not listening, ignoring and being apathetic)
2. White people being self-absorbed (not able to come down and relate)
3. White people choosing to warp or turn what the facts are into misinformation (denial, using the term colour blind)

But the one thing that really grates on my nerves and is my number one problem is when I try to talk to White people is when they become defensive to accusations of their privilege and subtle racism. The conversation always breaks down, even when I’m just talking in general. Probably because I’ve hit a soft spot where they haven’t realized they had yet and it hurts. Over and over, White people don’t usually have to hear complaints about their behaviour as much as coloured people do. Whenever I pass by two White adults complaining, they seem to pawn the blame off on Black children being “wild,” “trouble-making” and “disruptive”.

Every time I try to talk and clarify what is going on, I get shut down. It’s until my bitterness has become so apparent, my rage so blatant that I am taken seriously. Even then, I’m such a vision of bitterness and rage that I feel ashamed to look at myself. I want things to get better for coloured people, I try so hard and things break down that I want to cry. When I’m told I’m not trying hard, it’s so disheartening. I feel so marginalized and forgotten. I can’t explain myself (my feelings on race) properly to white people and they end up curling up in self-defense, even when I’m talking casually.

How can I even try to change things for the better when I can’t even reach out to people.

Over time I slowly I found myself changing. Becoming more withdrawn and quiet around White people, or acting out to cover the fact I was terribly uncomfortable. It was either be uncomfortable or numb from letting so many things “slide.” I had always tried to de-program the part of myself that didn’t smile for photos or smile at all, and I felt very angry at myself at becoming so dishonest and lying all the time about being happy—but really I was more mad that like White people I couldn’t say what I wanted without reproach.

I found myself becoming bitter and angry and more isolated. I found myself very upset that I constantly had to play “second banana,” as the expression would go, to other’s who got better treatment and more respect than I had in my silence. Second best. I had felt so angry to be forced to be silent. Even when I work so hard to make a life for myself, I feel like I’m being mocked.

As if I were tilling fields and fields of crops alone as my White Friends and their significant others sat on the fence, eating the produce and mocking me with the juicy fruits and vegetables I cared for long and long into the days.

I cannot feel anything but frustrated when I see the faces of those like me, in shitty “servant-like” jobs. Even though I know a lot of educated, smart, well-spoken who have a great education, but their education don’t mean shit in Canada—they have to work shitty jobs and toil all day long in order to give their children a better chance because their time is over. I remember on one occasion one of my White friends (in high school) was complaining about the fact that the government has to hire more coloured people for their police force, which displaces “more qualified white people.”

And it’s hard not to let it take it over, my own very strong will prevents me from being completely ruined as I could. I can see how easy it is to be destroyed by this mentality, I have seen many single mothers and apathetic teens in my community who have just given up. Like a silent outcry, “There is no future for us? Why do we try?”

I don’t ask for sympathy, but for empathy. One cannot hold everything inside their heart, all their love, sadness and happiness cannot be contained and was meant to be shared.

I’m trying to re-teach myself to speak up and be concise about what I want. Many who read my “articles” might find this surprising, I’m very honest trying my best to become my true and authentic self. Overtime I could feel it really depreciated my soul and I hadn’t noticed because I had remained to restrained and so silent about my own hurt by their words. And by my own hurt by my own lack of words. The silence within myself had ended up hurting me, building up anxiety within my chest.

It horrified me when I realized how often Coloured People restrained, reigned in their own feelings of hurt and disciplined themselves when speaking to White people or let things go when White people wronged them. It depreciates your soul, it dehumanizes you by not standing up for yourself, speaking your feelings and speaking what you truly think. I realized all this time from my own actions, you cannot say you are free if you are afraid of speaking your heart.

And as Elenor Roosevelt said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”

Never again.

Recently I’ve been doing a lot of things to help myself out of this depression, stopped talking to my White friends for a while (most of them haven’t noticed yet, although I have been quite vocal to some), started working on my own projects as my job search continues to fail. When I write this blog I feel a lot better because I feel that I have been given back a the voice sadness that has been stolen from me, I’m allowed to feel the aches and tiredness and rage inside my body and nod and think: “I am still human.”

I will continue to write and create a space where coloured people can talk and speak freely about being suppressed and feeling helpless and I will continue to work hard to speak for the voiceless.

I hope one day the soil I toil so long into the night will bear fruit that I can eat and share.

Thinking of the Children: The Effects of Internalized Racism

Thinking of the Children:
The Effects of Internalized Racism
Cut by: Davita Cuttita

“…I, for one, as a Muslim believe that the White man is intelligent enough. If he were made to realize how Black people really feel and how fed up we are without that old compromising sweet talk (of) ‘Why, you’re the one that makes it hard for yourself!’

The White Man believes you when you go to him with that old sweet talk because you’ve been sweet talking him eversince he brought you here. STOP sweet talking him, tell him how you feel! Tell him what kind of hell you’ve been catching and let him know that if he’s not ready to clean his house up, he shouldn’t have a house.

It should catch on fire—and burn down.”

–Malcolm X

In light of my and especially, Grandpa Dinosaur’s articles here on racism, we’ve been receiving some positive commentary and discussion as well as an onslaught of ignorance.

Of course, we were well aware of the consequences of talking about racism—at all. If they don’t even let us do that in real life, chances are, some Internet Police were gonna come, thrashing around their apathy and big heads, saying that racism is no longer a problem, no longer exists and even implying that Coloured People should be “forcing” White racist people not be racist anymore.

If the above sounded like total garbage to you, congratulations: You’re not racist.

You may even have a soul.

What was the most alarming was that almost no one thought that Euro-centric curriculums (and media) hurt Coloured children. They were even quick to bash Afrocentric schooling and regurgitate nothing but misinformation and yes; even racist comments.

Almost no one seemed to show a single drop of sympathy for the children at all.

Education follows a person for the rest of their lives: whether it be public, private or religious school, a “special” program aimed at minorities or even a child or teen innocently reading a book; the refrain is the same: White is Right and You, Coloured boy or girl, are…the opposite of Right. Everything about you is, from head to toe.

Dear reader, I encourage you to take three minutes and twenty-eight seconds of your time to watch this clip entitled “A Boy Like Me” hosted by Bill Cosby and tell me, honestly and truly, that Black children are not affected by internalized and systematic racism:

Did your heart bleed? Congratulations: You have a soul.

Some people may be thinking, “Hey, that clip was a little out-dated. I’m sure we’ve made some advancement encouraging Black children. Haven’t we?”

In 2007, high-school student Kiri Davis, wondered the same thing and conducted the Doll Experiment of over sixty years ago (created during the Brown vs. Board of Education trial of the 1940s and used to gauge the effects of segregation on Black children) on some five-year-old Black children.

If you lasted three minutes looking at the shocking drawings of 4th grade Black and White children, I’m sure you can spend another minute watching these kindergarteners unknowingly display their own self-loathing:

Who taught (or teaches) the Black children to hate themselves?

Why does the young Black boy in the Cosby clip see White people as people and himself…as a monster?

Where do these five-year-old Black children learn that their skin colour is bad?

This is not a problem exclusive to Black children, either. You can find it in the Latino community and in the Asian community as well.

These Black children deserve better. All children do.

From history books to fairytales, Coloured children have no place; no sense of self. They are invisible, hardly mentioned and their achievements are never seen as significant as those of Whites. The achievements of those before them are taught minimally, if at all.

It boggles my mind as of to how anyone could look at these children and still think nothing is wrong with what is being taught to them.

Ignorance simply never ceases to amaze.

Naturally, I am around many children as I come from a large family. I have seen that Black children can draw arms, legs, smiles and big, full trees; flowers too. I have seen them drawing themselves as giants–bigger than all the houses and trees, birds circling their heads. I have seen them happy with their hair and at ease amongst their Black and yes, even White friends, family members, or parents.

But I have also seen my little cousins collecting dolls with blonde hair and blue eyes, Barbie and Ken no doubt; while the only doll she has not fitting that equation is a rag doll: barely human with its sewn on features and shabbily dressed with mop-string hair that quite simply; isn’t as fun to play with or pretty as Barbie’s.

She is left on the floor. Barbie is kept in the stroller or on the bed.

I have a younger brother in 7th grade. I asked him about history today and he could tell me a bit about Thomas Edison, Benjamin Franklin, Sir Francis Bonhead (a White general during the formation of Upper and Lower Canada). He brought down his history book, telling me about the pioneers, settlers, explorers and generals (All White with the exception of four Natives).

We looked through all 258 pages and only 10 pages talked about Native peoples. It was good—it showed the differences between the various tribes’ ways of life, how they lived, what their cultures were like. However, in relation to the Europeans, they kept talking about Natives as though they were benign baby sitters. How they taught the settlers how to hunt, trap and farm—nope, no mention of murder, theft or battles here.

Okay, maybe they would’ve taught them better about slavery. Twelve is old enough for them to learn about sex and thirteen is old enough for them to go watch people get killed in a movie theatre and by fourteen, they can watch just about any kind of ultra-violence they want on their own (we have a “Rated A” here in Canada, many movies get this rating) so they could at least mention slavery in a history textbook, right?

WRONG!

Not ONE page mentioned slavery. AT ALL.

There were two pages on the Underground Railroad, a quarter of which paid lip-service to Harriet Tubman but nothing about slavery…not a word. It was just like: “Black people used to be slaves, then magical Ms. Tubman suddenly helped them all along with some WHITE PEOPLE and hooray, now they are free!”

It’s amazing how White people are always the hero and never the villain in this book.

I already told ya’ll before, my boy Anderson Cooper needs to be all over this shit.

BUT it’s history, right? No one argues with history books—especially children and their sponge-like, impressionable brains.

Did I mention that these two pages were the last two pages in the entire book?

I suppose someone screamed “STOP THE PRESSES! WE FORGOT THE NEGROES!!!” right before this thing went into print and they just scraped something together during lunch.

My little brother looked down with a blank expression on his face, “Two pages. I thought that was kind of weird when I opened it up the first time, too” he said.

“So when will you learn about slavery? About the lives of slaves before the Underground Railroad?” I asked him.

“Maybe next year in grade eight for Black history month, I’m not sure,” he responded “I looked at the grade eight textbook before and it seemed to have a few more pages with Black people in it”.

In the entire illustrated history book, there are a total of fifteen pictures featuring Coloured People.

Please note…

There are no Asians, Indians, Latinos, or Mixed people in the textbook.

I guess they all just showed up here in the past twenty years or so and that Chinese head tax was just hogwash. Ho-hum.

Why, if I didn’t know any better, judging from this textbook I suppose history or, the making of it; is a pretty much a “White Only” activity. I’m sure the kids’ll figure all this out on their own–right after they’re done watching Spongebob Squarepants.

What is interesting though, is all the talk about how the Europeans had to struggle and suffer to live on the land, fighting for it for hundreds of years, the people who were killed, killing and wounded, wars and battles, pioneers braving winters, farming, hunting and “making something” out of the land. Which is true; in a way, with the exception that slaves usually did the rest/most of the work.

However, when the book referred to Natives, it made it seem as though they all had this kinda laissez-faire attitude and laid-back nature, because, you know; Natives didn’t struggle; EVER, things just came to them so naturally because they are SO IN TUNE WITH THE EARTH. (A little sarcasm for those of you paying attention)

Yup, Canadian history was just such a great walk in the park for these people! If only they weren’t so busy dying of small pox from tainted blankets the pioneers gave them or running for their lives; they could’ve stopped to smell the roses! Oh I’m sorry—his history book referred to those events as “shaking hands with the settlers” and “spending time together”.

“Tell me something about Black History, anything, anything at all,” I asked my little brother as he sat in the other couch.

“A black man invented the traffic light!” he answered, shuffling about in the couch.

“Cool! What else?” I queried.

“I don’t know,” he responded and sank onto the floor.

He will learn his history, even if I have to teach him. He will know that there are civilizations in Africa spanning back for thousands of years. He will learn what dreadlocks mean, who Haile Selassie is, of the Maroons in Jamaica and their fight for freedom against the Spanish and British. He already knows we have Scottish, Syrian, Maroon, Indian and Chinese origins. He will also maintain his assessments of people based solely on the content of their character. He will know who he is and who he can be and continue to appreciate the cultures of others. (And their food, haha!)

I will keep all the children I can from suffering, but my heart will always bleed for those who remain; drawing themselves small, armless, legless and faceless, flying towards the word “Person” in the sky.

You don’t need to fly, pretty baby. You’ve been a person all along.

EURO-CENTRIC, UNCE UNCE: Afro-Centric and Euro-centric Schools

[DISCLAIMER] If you are not acting out in the manner described and if you are not a “racist white person” then you should not take offence to what I have to say about this. Continue and beware! If you read this article and find yourself getting mad and saying “I’m not racist!” You are probably racist and yes, your friend who acts like how the following reading suggests might be racist.

If you are truly not racist, you can take a sigh of relief because Grandpa Dinosaur is not talking about you. I write in a stream of consciousness, so sorry for the jumps and leaps. (FACT: I’m actually really good at running on roof tops.) [DO THE DISCLAIMER DANCE]

~(o3o)~

Euro-centric, unce unce

I need some Two-Mixx on mah radio, we be driftin’

Written by Grandpa Dinosaur

I went to school in the Greater Toronto Area and I will tell you this: there were a noticeable amount of teachers who were very unhappy to teach coloured students and were outright racist. Even when there were White teenagers acting out, the only people who would be singled out were coloured students. You see, “Up North,” schools do not teach race tolerance. In places where I have seen the most White people in my life, King City, Schomberg, Nobleton, Kettleby, the lists goes on—racial slurrs are commonplace and stereotypical thoughts towards coloured people, foreigners and even non-blonde white people. Even seeking non-Eurocentric Classes to find that even World studies was just another study about American History.

Reflecting on all my experience in education, I remember growing up in Toronto, amongst other Coloured poor children. Being anti-racist and proud of your heritage were encouraged despite the school curriculum being taught by a majority of White teachers—these teachers taught positive change and positive thought to a group of children living in a crime and drug-filled world. I can get behind my Elementary School teachings, but I want all Coloured kids to get through Elementary. I want them to know the basics of life, I don’t want even some of them to drop out of school… and during basic Elementary School at that.

I was reading up on Racialicious, (because the name makes me think delicious! XD) and saw that Afro-centric Schools were being brought up, so I decided to write my thoughts on not Afro-centric Schools, but Euro-centric schools and give the old school system a little “jab-jab” with my knife. If you haven’t figured it out, I am very PRO-Afrocentric schools for the reason of do anything to keep these kids in school because they need a future and to be taught to do the right thing.

Usually, I keep my mouth shut until I have a suggestion and this time I have one:

HEY CANADIAN SCHOOLS!! STOP HIDING YOUR RACISM!

If you’re thinking “Huh?”, then you’re dumb. I’m sorry.

Davita Cuttita and I often talk a lot, (being BOSOM PALS!!) and one of the things we usually discuss is the fact that in history lessons and studies, the textbooks tend to gloss over “touchy” subjects and portray only the parts that paint White people in a positive light when it comes to racism.

Davita Cuttita, in fact investigated her thirteen year-old brother’s textbooks to see if the history of hate crimes against Native people were included in it after he asked her if “the settlers and the Native People were friends.” Upon reviewing the chapter in which he claimed to have found this “fact”, Davita found that INDEED, the History textbook talked about how they shook hands and spent time together. Davita supposes that the supposed “shaking of hands” was a synoymn for “gave them and their famillies blankets infested with lethal diseases” and the time they spent together was brief as typically, the Natives only spent enough time with the White man to die.

If you don’t know what the White Settlers and Forefathers did to Canada’s original inhabitants, then you either have failed Canadian History or Canadian History has failed you. I won’t blame you either, it’s glossed over so fast or skipped over in the textbook it might have well never even happened. Like, whole races of Natives people weren’t “relocated” or wiped out. This is why Euro-centric Schools fail, people!

And if you don’t know basic history, you’re doomed to repeat it.

As I said before, (some) White people are afraid to reflect upon their own actions and history. They’re happy to ignore the problems of someone else if they don’t want to or don’t have to deal with them. They make up excuses, like “she’s just jealous!” in order to avoid thinking about the problem.

Some White people (but not all) are douche bags that try to make the problems that THEY have caused other people into someone else’s. Coloured people have been sighing for ages about this. I think if as a individual, you can’t reflect and say, “you know my sister, Kelli is a bit racist” then you aren’t worth my time.

And if you can’t even think of other people, besides yourself, your family and your friends for even five minutes—then reading this isn’t going to change your mind because you have already decided you don’t care.

Here, I’ll write your thoughts for you (if you’ve got “the apathy”): “Poor Poor/Native/Black/Coloured people. Oh well, it’s UNFORTUNATE you know. What can you do?”

Here’s what you do, you get out of my way because you’ve already shown that you don’t care and THIS ISSUE of Afro-centric Schools doesn’t effect you—oh wait! It does! Wouldn’t want them teaching Black children rap in school! (Just a little sarcasm. Okay non-racists, I’m not talking to you, but you can read along. I love you! *hugs*) “Wouldn’t want a Black Person to usurp me down the road in University, I’m lazy after all! Wouldn’t want there to be reverse-racism, it’s not like they’d teach RACE TOLERANCE—SHUCKS! We don’t even teach race tolerance!”

Sometimes I talk to people and they way they describe these schools make them sound not like schools, but places that are training soldiers for a war.

You guys… probably… Wonder about the type of people I talk to, don’t you?

Your apathy is the knife in my back, it’s the reasons why so many of my friends are gone and fallen and sorry if I’m not permitted to HATE the FUCK out of you. (Again, non-racist White people, I’m not talking to you. Don’t get all jittery! Racist White people, I mean RACIST! If you don’t pull or think this shit, it’s NOT ABOUT YOU!)

People are all up in arms, yelling “It’s segregation!”You wanna talk about segregation? Canada has just recognized the wrongs of their ancestors segregating the Native children from their families and putting them into Euro-centric Assimilation schools where they were often abused. It’s an extreme example, but guess what!? There are already Catholic schools and don’t tell me that those schools aren’t full of Italians man—Joking, my brother went to a Catholic school…. And he didn’t finish. (Urk…) There are a lot of religious schools and private schools filled with what? White learning designed only for White People. Black history month is once a year, White history month is every day of the year, six hundred years and counting.

For me, I want to see a struggling Black student GET from Kindergarten to University. If being exposed to a environment that enriches their life, teaches them who they are and can be and they are around students and faculty with a learning curriculum supports them; inspiring him or her, then please, by all means! I don’t want to hear that another Black child has dropped out of Elementary school! No more!

**Edit: I would like to add, because I might have neglected to, but this but after reading Restructure’s take on Africentric Schools, I would like to mention that this school allows people of all nationalities and backgrounds to attend. People think this is a segregation school, it is not. I don’t know what is so demeaning towards Black Children to force them to learn [Heads up to Loopzilla for making me think to add this point] their own history and feel proud of themselves as human beings. There is also an article in the Toronto Star on Afro-Centric Schools.**

I’m not saying that schools should be less White, not teach English and remove European History and Canadian History and the History of the first two Worlds out of the books—but I can’t agree to standards that gloss over the history of crimes done to Coloured people and fails to recognize it’s own internalized racism.

Most average, everyday white people fail to recognize coloured people as Canadian Citizens, owners of property and as people. AND by recognize as people, I mean as fellow human beings.

Let me explain:

Most Average White people fail to recognize their views are racist because their thoughts are an accepted perception of their world and their peers. Their friends, family and neighbours reinforce these ideals and teach them certain “values”. Look at the ads of top class magazines and you’ll see many stereotypical images of White people–rich, beautiful, smart, educated, normal, attractive. What are Coloured people? Exotic, non-normal, dehumanized, fetishized and of course, Whitewashed.

The favourite language of assimilation and choice is English. (Second being French and I fail at French. No really!) But where is this leading? I talk to a lot of White teachers and adults and they often speak of cities, towns and streets with ownership. Even if they no longer live there. “This is my town, this is my backyard, this is my street—but now it’s different.”

And if you don’t know what they mean by different, they mean that said place is developed and/or coloured people have moved in.

It doesn’t matter if I move in and have been living there before them. I talk to a lot of white people and they treat us like we’re the foreigners paying rent on their land. They speak as though they are demanding tithings. They don’t care about their ancestors killing off the Native’s peoples and they act as if they were the first Settlers washing up upon Virgin Soil.

They truly believe they own the land because the language is English and the schools are Euro-centric and the world they perceive is White. And they may not even realize that they are being racist, but I believe that these groups of white people can be blind in their self-centered nature.

In my neighbourhood, I always hear “this is/was my street, and now it’s different” (and I always hear it from a White person), I usually reply with: “Well, people need somewhere to live.”

A King City girl once tried to teach me once in these very words, “White is Right.” I’ll be fair, she was teaching me of how to remember my left from my right (I’ll admit I still have trouble), but even my Muslim friend’s jaw dropped. He started shaking his head, mouthing the words “Don’t listen”.

I still have trouble with left and right to this day but you can’t teach someone if you can’t even acknowledge that you can’t even recognize your own racism. You fail! REPEAT!

Actually—No, don’t repeat! I’ll teach, you stop teaching. I need to teach the right thing and it’s not going to be Euro-centric, but best believe I only teach in English. I believe there should be a teaching standard, but a fair one and not some game where I may win or lose.

I promise you I’ll do a better job then you EVER will. Your time is over, it’s my time to talk.

Is a Euro-centric teaching system positive for Students of Colour? I think it really fails not only us, but White Students as well as they are unaware of EVEN the current situation that Native people and children are dealing with right now as a result of what happened in the past. If there is to be no Afro-Centric Schools, I think the Canadian School Curriculum needs to change the curriculum to reflect the needs of it’s most struggling and needy students and it’s growing multicultural population.

Don’t give me this shit about Toronto being a World Class City!
Don’t give me that shit at all!

Not when children are failing Elementary School!

CANADA, YOU don’t know BASIC ELEMENTARY!

Girls in the Hood: Part One

Girls in the Hood
Untold Stories of Life in the Ghetto: Part One
Cut by: Davita Cuttita

Some (White?) people seem to have a hard time empathizing with Black/Coloured people and their experiences. I guess they don’t watch enough BET or are just actually looking for the truth so here, on Pregnant Drug-Dealing Prostitutes, I, Mistress Davita Cuttita will present to you the Untold Stories of my life in the ghetto. I don’t want your pity or apologies, just read.

‘Cuz you’ll never find this real shit in a text book, trust.

IN THE BEGINNING….

My mother was twenty-seven years old when she came to Canada. I was nearing my second birthday and she was pregnant with my sister. She couldn’t afford a suitcase and we were forced to carry our few clothes in plastic bags. I don’t remember it, but it was the first time we saw snow as we arrived from our tropical home in Jamaica to a strange land on the coldest month of the entire year: February.

Her mother, a widower, had sent for her from Toronto, Ontario after working odd jobs and nursing for twenty years. Her husband died when my mother was still a baby, and she left Jamaica for work in the “Great” North to support her family of five children as well as two orphans she’d taken in off the streets. My fifteen year old aunt was left to spend the money she sent back and raise them all by herself.

My mother had a highschool education upon arrival; going to post-secondary was something not many Jamaicans could not and still cannot afford. She shared a two bedroom apartment with her mother (before she left two years or so later, back to Jamaica to retire).

I remember it. All we had was one queen sized bed, which we shared (with my grandma and aunt till she found somewhere), as well as an old stove and fridge we rented from the apartment Supervisor.

She tried working all sorts of jobs as my sister grew larger in her uterus. She worked low-paying factory jobs or maid jobs, where she took much verbal abuse and scorn. However, there wasn’t much else she could do—my sister would be arriving soon and rent needed to be paid.

Luckily, she was able to land a job as a PSW (Personal Support Worker) in a nursing home after my sister was born. She couldn’t drive so she’d take the train, then the bus and walk twenty minutes up the twirling hills to the home. It was all right in the summers but during the winter nights when she had to walk up and back down in the darkness of night, my mother would cry—her thin jacket was all she could afford after rent, food, clothing and babysitting expenses. She would come home cold…wiping away at the defrosting tears on her cheeks and trembling for warmth.

Since we didn’t have a table, my mother, toddler sister and I would all sit on the floor in a circle and eat. My mother was a very quiet woman then and extremely shy. She hadn’t made any friends in Canada yet (she did occassionally spend time with my other 3 uncles and an aunt ) so we were all she had. I recall enjoying those times dining on the floor and it was only a matter of time before she was able to afford a table, a stand and a small television right before Christmas.

“No more eating on the floor, Mommy?” I asked.

“No, baby,” she said “No more eating on the floor.”

My babysitter was Pakistani, she cared for my sister and I amongst her own two daughters while my mother worked evening or even night shifts at the home, cleaning shit and vomit, getting kicked, changing adult diapers and being called a nigger every step of the way by some of her nastier White patients still clinging to “the good ol’ days”.

My sister couldn’t speak yet but at two going on three, naturally, I was extremely well versed in my mother tongue of Jamaican patois and picking up the Urdu my sitter spoke to her own children.

One day, as I was talking to my mother she looked at me and said “From now on, you will learn English and only speak to me in English. If you don’t learn English, I won’t talk to you.”

I took up watching Sesame Street religiously and any other show on television. “Cheers”, “The Price is Right”, “Baywatch”—it didn’t matter. It was only a matter of time before I could speak “proper” English, although it too was still laced with my mother tongue. For 19 years, I held onto this memory. What could compel her to say something so cruel to such a young child? I asked her when I got older and she told me of a job interview in which the employer heavily and negatively criticized the Bob Marley-esque accent peppering her English (which she desperately tried to cover at all times away from home, still does). They wouldn’t give her the job. She didn’t want people to think I was stupid or ignorant, she responded; or make fun of me like some of the other nurses at her workplace.

When I was about four or five, my father was able to make his way over to Canada. By then, we also had three couches to go along with the table, stand and television. My sister and I were also fortunate enough to have separate beds.

By first grade, at the age of six, I was a part of the ESL (English as a Second Language) program becoming, ironically; assimilated into the Canadian Mosaic. To this day, I still have little bits and pieces of my Jamaican accent in my speech; sometimes people notice, sometimes they don’t. My mother couldn’t understand my high grades in English, bibliophilia and subsequent replacement into “regular” classes while I still retained my accent; we would argue about it frequently. She wanted it gone.

“Assimilation!” my seven year old self would yell at her, “I’m not going to assimilate!”

STORIES…

Nigger.

When was the first time someone called me a nigger?

I believe I was seven or eight years old. I was at the local pool in the basement of my apartment building wading in the shallow end by myself when I saw a tom boyish, red-head chubby little girl go onto the deck to cannonball in. We were the same age. I wasn’t in her way or anything and I’d seen her a few times before in the elevator.

We didn’t argue, nor did we know eachother past perhaps names. We hardly even talked. All I remember her saying before the jump was “What do you know? You’re just a nigger!”

That same year, I took my baby brother to the park to swing. The older kids liked to mess them up by tying them to the top bar so they were completely unusable. Only one swing was left and a brunnette White lady was pushing her daughter in it (who seemed to be about five or six). I stood away patiently waiting and waiting then checked my Mickey Mouse watch—twenty minutes had elapsed since I’d arrived with my little brother. Did she see us standing at the other end of the swing set? I wasn’t sure so politely, I approached the woman and said “Excuse me, Miss. Will you be done with the swing soon?”

The woman looked at me scornfully and replied “The swings weren’t made to be used by people like you!” and continued pushing her daughter harder and higher into the sky.

Remembering my father’s explanation (and griping) about taxes, I said “Well, everybody pays taxes so that means I can use the swing too!”

The woman gave me a venomous look, I suppose she wanted me to drop dead but I just stood there, waiting for the swing anyway. She yanked the chains and her daughter halted immediately. She grabbed her daughter and left in a huff.

Again, I was only eight years old so all I thought was “Yay” and put my little bro-bro into the swing. He was so happy but my little arms got tired quickly and away we went, walking through the park, enjoying the sunlight. Perhaps “Sailor Moon” would be on by the time I got home…

In our area of gun-shots, broken bottles, used condoms and drug-addiction, White people were few and far between (the population was mainly newly immigrated Blacks, South Indians and Asians). Chances were that if you had a racist experience with a White person, you’d never see them again. We were very close to downtown Toronto so they were probably just passing through.

Although there were some extremely nice White people such as one everyone nick-named “Dog Man” because he was always walking his dog and stopping to chat. He offered directions to anyone lost and offered toys to the poor Coloured children (pretty much any kid he knew, haha) at Christmas time, including yours truly, and taught us things about dogs. He never objected to that nickname; sounds like it could be the title of a DMX track to me but anyway…

I was becoming aware that I was somehow, different.

All of us Coloured children were; together.

It was only a matter of time before the violence would come for us.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Disconnect: Communicating with White People

In response to the people who have misread this article,
Loopzilla has summarized my feelings exactly in the following comment:

White people don’t think racism is a problem anymore, since people of color can vote, own property, marry white people, and not be slaves! Gosh, white people, you have come so far!

Another problem is white people taking PERSONAL OFFENSE if you say “a lot of white people are racist”. They automatically hear wild and crazy alarms ringing in their ears, and feel obligated to defend themselves. “But I’M not racist, people!” Chances are, they are racist and don’t realize it. People are so afraid of being racist that they never get a chance to look at themselves, figure out their weak points, and educate themselves. That is how to not be racist anymore. A way to continue being racist is to swiftly deny it and try to defend yourself. Shut up and look within! If you are really not racist, even a tiny bit, then you can be content with that knowledge and not have to explode every time someone says “white people need to stop being so self-centered.” That is my advice.

-Loopzilla in comments

Please do not misunderstand, please listen and try to understand the feelings of a person of colour.

pictures of poutine for no other reason but the fact that they are delicious

Disconnect

My Observations and Experiences when Talking with White People (now with more tangents!)

Based on my own experiences AND NOT RESEARCH

I’d like to blame my failure to communicate with white people and put it solely on my shoulders if it weren’t for three things:

1. At least I try to communicate honestly and speak truthfully about my feelings
2. At least I call and try to talk it out
3. And once conversation starts to break down, I know when to stop by ending the conversation

But why does it so often communication break down once said white person begins to feel uncomfortable? I feel it completely unfair as they seem to have no consideration on how coloured people feel being in situations and environments that make them feel uncomfortable. Even I, when noticing my apathy towards other people being uncomfortable in new environments, now make a effort to try to make my friends and even strangers feel more comfortable. People can be really intimidating, especially strangers.

So I had a problem last night talking to a friend online.

She asked me if I was going to a birthday party of a friend, who over time I never really liked before but grew to like. I wasn’t going because I would feel really uncomfortable with those on the guest list. They were a odd mix of drama queens and boisterous sportswoman, I could feel the claustrophobia mounting. I also have a secret fear of crowds of strangers that I hide in my pocket. Not only that, my friend and her boyfriend was attending and I already was feeling the pains having to grow horns in order to lock them in battle. Her boyfriend has already hurt my feelings recklessly and without consideration and I actually am starting to get anxiety being around him.

I decided after a long time to talk about what happened on this blog, because I had come to feel really ashamed and isolated as if I was hiding a great secret. I feel more embarrassed than talking about female masturbation for crying out loud! This is a mounting problem for me, in which I’m not allowed to move on and pass by. I find it unfair, because every time I meet him (my friend’s boyfriend), he acts rude to me or totally freaks me out with his lack of consideration and moodiness. We’re both in a delicate tactile dance where we cannot co-exist because we have different ideals. He claims that I don’t hold parties that are relationship friendly and I have no idea what to do anymore so I just have parties anymore! (LOL)

I have spent the longest time supporting their relationship, while many of our friends turned their back on them and continued to accommodate him—even while he hurtfully complained and even insulted by saying he couldn’t sleep in my room on my own bed and marching up and down the stairs when my family was sleeping and had work the next day. I tried to beat the shit out of him that night, half out of anger, half out of fear. No other guest had become such a stranger like that.

I lost a lot of privileges that night because of him and I wasn’t allowed to go out for months—to the point where I couldn’t even go to my friend’s wedding reception. And did either of them care? No, in fact she when out with him three days later after the incident. Neither really care about my feelings and they’ve repeatedly don’t shown they don’t. Neither of them have learned that their actions towards me are hurtful and even acknowledging that their actions are hurtful, persist to hurt my feelings.

When I said repeatedly I wasn’t attending and I noted have valid reasons to feel this way and that “I also feel uncomfortable and unhappy around your significant other” that that I was just ignored and asked if I would go to the birthday party again. If someone said that to me, because I have enough experience with friends hating each other, I would just be like, “okay, we’ll have a party this day and them me and Davita Cuttita will just hang on my actual birthday.”

I will just get in fights with people if I go, the guest list combination is already TROUBLE!!! For me, this shows that she:

1. Doesn’t care about my feelings, or that I will feel comfortable even while I have clearly stated and understand to not go to parties where people I don’t like are in attendance
2. Cares enough about her boyfriend to bring him and continues to bring him
3. Thinks I should just get over myself without consideration of my feelings and the past
4. Doesn’t learn from past mistakes as she persists to continue with a strategy that doesn’t work with people who don’t get along and continue to not get along

She knows why I don’t like her boyfriend, she knows that I am upset that despite me trying to like him, he doesn’t like me. She knows I don’t get along with people invited to that party… WHY?!!!!

Unfortunately, this isn’t an isolated case for me.

When a coloured person feels uncomfortable, white people seem to either take great offence (”how could you just not suck it up?!”) or don’t care and say nothing and keep doing what they do: offend people and not examine their own actions.

But white people don’t seem to notice unless they, themselves, feel uncomfortable. Their own feelings seem to take more priority over anyone else’s as if they were the only person in the world. I find that so many of my white friend’s talk brazenly about things I take offence to and I card them, they seem more concerned with their own hurt by my retaliation that they do not care that they hurt my feelings and I’m just angry—And sometimes, think that I’m being angry at them for no reason and they have actually done nothing wrong to me?! I think that when White people “step on the toes” of other white people, it’s not a problem and they let many wrongs, racial slurrs and sexist comments slide and really don’t see that this behaviour (apathy) is destructive.

Just because my friend’s apathy and racism is normal to them, do not think I will think I will hesitate once the axe is swung. I have gutted all of my friends (white or not) once or twice and they need to be gutted for being so apathetic and disconnected with race issues. It just doesn’t effect them, they don’t care. In fact, it seems like nothing effects them, unless it happens to one of them.

I’ve never felt such resistance to the act of listening in any other race. I wish I didn’t have to talk about white people as third persons, but it seems like I’m driving against traffic.

Also, I’ve noticed that White people don’t understand when someone doesn’t like them, they either want to become their friend even more or in a surly manner, just mope.

And I’d prefer if they just mope, not just mope and then get in my face about it afterwards. Especially when it’s not me who doesn’t like them, it’s another person and they’re getting mad at me or another innocent. These types of people are just messed up, talk about displacement.

When I’m angry, I just get mad at the parties involved. And I’ll say that twice, if I’m mad at two people, two separate people, I will get mad at both of them for the wrongs they have done to me. I’m not going to yell at Sally because her sister puked on shoes, I’m going to get mad at Sally for using my shirt without my permission to clean the puke up and then telling her sister that she can now wear my clean clothes. Again without my permission. I don’t treat a White Person differently than a Coloured Person in this situation, why should I? I’m just so mad!

I’ve also noticed White people don’t seem to really communicate. It seems like a show man’s display of quirky facts and knowledge they’ve consumed. When I see my friends, I try to catch up, not show off. It seems strange. It really is keeping up with the Jones, and more one upping with the Jones. Deep down, I think it’s just a veil of insecurities to cover up a boil ready to burst. But these are my observations. I know Davita Cuttita just hates the fuck of one of my white friends because she just spews facts that are what she reads in books, I get mad at her for different reasons.

This person, my friend that Davita Cuttita hates, says I lack tact, but rewords it all fancy so it’s less offensive. I think she also lacks tact when dealing with race. But unfortunately, these are one of those “I’m not even noticing that I’m being racist moments” and when I talk to her, she I can see her feel like she under attack and recedes back into her hole.

What’s wrong with saying things are they are? Why must I re-articulate things until they lose meaning. I mean for my words to cute and bite. Why must I learn and act accordingly to to their rules and not vice versa. Why when I’m in Rome, I must act like the Roman’s. But when they’re in China, they are continuing to act like Romans? Excuse me? I understand that Western and Asian ideals don’t mesh well, but White people seem to go around and try to give helpful “tips” to non-white people. Like non-white people don’t know what they’re doing, and they’re supervising and helping with their superior management skills.

Sorry, I don’t take well to other people’s condescending nature. Don’t talk down to me. TANGENT TIME!! Lately I’ve been thinking that my depression, which I believe is costing me in job interviews. I figured out that my depression and the depression of the Cambodian girl down the street is stemming from our lack of place and having no place in the community. Cambodian women raised in Canada have no place in Canadian-Cambodian society, they’re viewed as spoiled, loose women who are ruined by Canadian society. Even if a Canadian-Cambodian male dates and father’s a child with a Canadian-Cambodian woman, he’ll still leave her to become a single mother and marry an “unspoiled” Cambodian girl, from Cambodia. So what does that mean? Canadian-Cambodian girls are spoiled and ruined? I know a lot of Cambodian teenagers that are now adults who are high school drop-outs without knowing what the reports say. How long will Canadian-Cambodian-Cotton be ruined by the backwards nature of Traditional Cambodian Society? DO THE TANGENT DANCE!!!

But it’s not like my White friends can understand, they’re to busy looking at me with apathetic eyes and using the same phrases when talk about poor people. “Oh, but what can you do?” Even when I talk to them, I don’t think they’re actually listening or that they understand me. Can we call each other “friends” at all?

I feel really disconnected from white people and I can feel their own disconnection from each other. Many of them don’t call their families, many don’t even call each other. Davita Cuttita and I were talking about how white people put their elderly in old folks homes, while many coloured people wouldn’t stand for it.

I’m tired of White people talk down to me and think I wasn’t born here and don’t understand Canadian Culture, rather than realize I’m just rebelling against their racism. I’m tired of White people going over to foreign countries and talking about how the people in Pakistan, or China or Jamaica do it wrong. I’m tired of White people examining what’s wrong with me, and how I can accommodate, learn to talk properly and with tact and consideration while they talk rudely and without consideration. I’m tired of White people with low self-esteem, talking about subjects they skimmed over in a book briefly.

I’m tired of communicating with White people who are too afraid to examine their own failures and self-esteem problems. They ask for other people to act in self-reflection, but don’t themselves.

Do your part, examine how White people treat you… And think about it?
Do they treat you with the respect you deserve?

That’s what this article is about.

I end this article by saying:

I WISH I WAS EATING POUTINE RIGHT NOW AND NOT DEALING WITH THIS BULLSHIT!

I’M NOT GOING TO THAT BIRTHDAY PARTY! FUCK YOU!!!!

Anime North 2008

wooiooooooooooooooasdsoaodfaoofooooooooo
PART ONE!!!

Sorry, I have been absent for like… More than a month. I’ve been cosplaying (costume play) and cosplaying makes me lose weight. I was pretty much 2 pounds from being underweight and I really want to be 2 pounds from being overweight so I’ve been on a strict diet of hamburgers. And wouldn’t mind being overweight but my dad would cut off my food supply after that—AGAIN. And hey, if I can eat hamburgers everyday than I will walk that slippery slope. And before you say it—the doctor says I also loose weight from stress so the fat is actually acting as a cushion to save my ass.

So the cats out of the bag, I’m a anime nerd. And if you haven’t noticed my user pic is actually Void (of the God Hand) from Berserk, so I’m pretty hardcore because NOBODY cosplays Berserk.

This was last year, 2007! XD I’m in the middle!

(People died in that eclipse. THEY DIED!!!) And add to that I’m a 5′ 1 1/2″ Cambodian girl, hilarity ensues.

But in the end, I am glad I’m an anime nerd.

And that in itself is GREAT. I hope I continue on so that I may eventually die single and alone without pets, never truly finding love, body found amongst the sea of my anime RATHER THAN get married and become an extension of my spouse and dutifully raising children that I secretly abhor. And you’re all going “that not right, I’m sure you’ll find some who love—” Shut the fuck up! I WANT to live this way, I don’t want to aspire to your ideals of what a perfect life is like. And you may resent me, or even hate me, but I don’t want your lame everyday happiness.

Still with me, all right: Let’s-A-GO!

I’ve been going to Anime North for many, many years since it transferred from the Regal Constellation in 2003 to two hotels (the Doubletree, the Renaissance) and the Toronto Congress Centre as it currently remains. I think I started going to conventions since 2003 and I’ve only been to two (Anime North and ) but I’d like to increase it this year and am aiming for more Conventions.

I’m mostly here to give a con report and basically tell you I ditched you all to hang out with Naruto and Ichigo from Bleach (and I’ll do it again)!

Names are changed to protect the innocent.

Friday:

Friday Morning, woke up at 8:30… Threw myself together. Had a bowl of yogurt and a glass of orange juice and ask Davita Cuttita rare is the day that I go without eating yogurt and drinking both orange juice and tea. She can vouch for that. Packed stuff for Nominoichi. Printed out the Hotel slips, Convention Group Reg. Slips, my cosplay, Nominoichi paper work, my books and crap to sell. And my laundry was still wet, but my parents work was slow so they helped me dry my laundry and pack.

Got my cosplay together (I need to finish my sword. I’ll do it…… in two week from now, after I go get my G1), I did Gut’s Berserker armor. So I’ll start with I’ve been working of constructing armour for a month and a half and yes… I only used cardboard, newspaper and carpenter’s glue. So you can imagine I was running late… I got pretty damn far, my one fatal mistake was I didn’t buy black clothes—that and I ran out of hot glue to attach the armour. I’m wearing it on Halloween. It’s FRIGGAN HUGE! (My pride and joy only based on the fact I was Guts from Berserk). I’m going to repaint the whole thing in Mars Black too.

Lion_Rose, the alias of the driver and my partner for the duration of the con for some reason, showed up late—I’m just joking, she was just doing stuff that I don’t remember. It’s usually me that’s late. My mom was home to help me ready the stuff and reminded me to throw out my cosplay before coming home. LOL It’s fair, I SERIOUSLY only do Mascots because believe it not I love cosplay, but I am incredibly shy.

So we arrive at the con, and you know you’re driving up to a Convention when Gin from Bleach is walking along side Urahara and just chillingly chatting with a Kingdom Hearts Cosplayer. Smells like Ani-con. Oh, Anime Conventions are NOTORIOUS for being filled with sweaty non-bathers but as I later learned that day, sometimes it’s the collective smell of girls wearing up to 150 different colognes that gives certain passage ways in the hotel that special urine smell.

Lion_Rose and I, finished getting our con badges (curse the fact I had no photo camera, BUT A VIDEO CAMERA!!! YES! I HAVE VIDEO! ) that would let us attend the convention happily. Later we would meet up with Lion_Rose’s boyfriend, who we will call Tricky and a SHIRTLESS MAN WHO WILL REMAIN NAMELESS (shameless) (O_O) to check into our hotel. I had gotten two rooms with a room occupancy of 4 people. Tricky was the person in the other hotel room and was greatly annoyed and disappointed that we couldn’t put down-payments… I assumed we could but the bitch that was serving us wanted things to be more convenient (thus actually making things less convenient) and being a hard ass about giving us the two other room cards causing Sarah-san to wait until she was finally be allowed up without a card to wait for Dani (one of the other roomers) us to line up twice once  arrived. It let us catch up, I was an asshole.

I hadn’t eaten solids (besides Sarah-san’s horribly fruit to go which I spat out) and it soon became 4:00pm.

For all the complaining that Tricky did about the Doubletree being a pain in the ass I’m glad that we weren’t in Park Plaza (AKA Puke Hall, where the parties go to puke). I heard a con story… LOL Actually Tricky’s friend’s hotel room being covered in puke from room party. DEAR LORD! Ironically, in Puke Hall.

So yeah, we took a break, then both Sarah-san and Dani had to had to line up again for their Con Badges so both Lion_Rose and I went to get hamburgers at Harvey’s, went to the Toronto Congress Centre, ate in the cafeteria, met up with Sarah and Dani. We also had to rush over to Nominoichi to do some vending where we met both Lion_Rose’s and Davita Cuttita’s friend from University while selling. She like dating sims of the Moe variety, which means she likes computer games in which you date girls up to the age of 13, maybe older but overall the characters look like children—in short, that means she’s a bad person.

I sold everything at Nominoichi, which is a market in which you sell pre-used goods. T’was fun. I made 160 dollars. Taking forty and putting it towards the room.

Besides that, it was a laid back Con. Accept for me running around and painting in the dark with Lion_Rose… Thank you Lion_Rose.

We all chatted at night and passed out. I’m not used to not doing nothing. At that moment I missed my Vegeta loving ally. We watched the late night TV broadcast, of which I could name bomb all night.

Saturday:

Woke up the earliest. Showered. Lion_Rose left as it took forever to assemble both my and Sarah’s Cosplays. (Note: Cosplayers are notoriously messy and late.) Our day started at 12:00 (Why I filmed and and cosplayed? I dunno.)

Saturday is a big blur of mostly missed events. Went to the convention hall, and Gatsu was frightening and much hated. Hahaha. Except by true Berserk fans. I did it for you Berserk-ians. I met with Candidk***, Lion_Rose’s younger sister and glommed onto her. She was cosplaying a baterica from Moyashimon. We were a strange pair of horribly gruesome and cute.

I think I hung out with her a lot, but then I re-united with Lion_Rose (but not before hastily assembling my ugly cosplay! YES! BERSERK FAN’S FOR THE WIN!) to got to the Japanese Cooking class—that was full… And late… And not on time. OH CONVENTION’S! We skipped out and went to hang out under some fluttering, magenta trees. I likes it there. We should hold a mini-event there next year. After that I decided I would stay in the Renaissance next year. It always quiet and laid back there, 24/7.

I started falling ill and getting sick at 5:00pm (or something), when we united at ate at Swiss Chalet. No wonder I lost 10 pounds! One meal a day… Dude… And it wasn’t like… All fattening. I need fat in my food, I lose weight fast.

Eventually we all headed back to the room and then I met up with Rahiru and Candidk*** and Christine and DYlaan. I chilled in their car, until it was time to go to Anime Hell (but not before getting my second ice cream of the day. Anime Hell was all right, I liked it. Masquerade getting in was fail once again. LOL

Uhh… After I Re-united with Sarah-san, Rahiru and Lion_Rose. Dani had already left for home. We walked Christine and Rahiru back to their car with plans to go to the dance after… But the dance would not allow bags due to drug/alcohol abuse. Oh Sephiroth! So I handed away MY BLADE in order to go to the dance (Rahiru has it now), yeah I carry heat I have enough enemies as it is.

So yeah, went to the room. Sarah-san fell asleep, determined to go watch or do something Lion_Rose and I ventured off (for naught) and watched the last half of “Macross do you Remember Love. (A good movie.) Lion_Rose saw her cool friend, and I ended up ditching her due to fear of passing out. In front of my enemies? No thank you?

I went to bed.

Sunday:

Woke up… Showered, DID NOT KNOW HOW TO DRAIN THE BATH, thus Lion_Rose did not bathe after me. We managed to get our luggage down being the highest room, up! (SHWING!!) After that I decided I was going to attend ONE panel, going to none all three days before. We paid the hotel, we got a nice black lady this time and she was happy to get exact change. I took the twenty we had left over and allotted it to feed whoever wanted to be fed so I bought hot dogs. The hot dog stand hilariously only had ketchup, mustard, pickles and relish. (Don’t kid yourself, that’s all we want.)

Went to the Congress Centre, spent… Um…. 120 dollars (actually not that much at a con) on yaoi (gay porn) and met with Candidk*** and her BF and left the hotel with them. LOL I tried to protect Candidk***, but she was still hugged by a random guy. Um… Sorry? At least she wasn’t attacked.

So we chilled and read “Little Darling”, LOL I ditched Sarah-san in the Dealer’s Room. She was mad… Especially because it was for one hour, Hurr hurr hurr I ditched her again.

Went to the Phoenix Wright panel… LOL YOU ALL KNOW WHY I WAS THERE!!!

But we skipped out early to go shopping again (I think) and then to the Haruhi Dance Competiton… DELAYED! CRAPPY! NO ONE COULD DANCE! AND THEN…. LUCKY STAR DANCE!!

(I screamed a blood curdling scream.)

I fucking HATE LUCKY STAR!!!!

;-;

Then we went to Tricky’s Pizza Party… Eh… I really… Meh…My thoughts in part two!

Oh, And do you go to (anime) cons? If so, please share a Con Story. I love Con stories. Please share!!!

“Uhhuuuuu!!! See you next time!”

DIE-ETTES!!

DIE-ETTES!!
What Are YOU Hungry For?
Cut by: Davita Cuttita

So.

It is June and I just realized that it has been a year since stopped dieting.

I felt like Bob Barker just told me to “Come on down!”, I could hear “The Price is Right” theme music looping in my brains.

So let’s talk about dieting and who diets and why I talk about it here.

For my adorable stalkers who know me ever-so-well, it is a known fact that despite the fact I’m 5”7 and 130lbs I am a big fan of the Fatosphere. For those of you unfamiliar with what that is; it’s simply a compilation of blogs on the internet all toting the same message: Fat acceptance which, in a nutshell basically says “We’re here, We’re Fat, We’re People” (although some blogs on the Fatosphere are run by thin and average sized people).

I’ve already touched on how fat people are dehumanized and humiliated just because of their size quite a few times on PDDP already; if you’re so inclined; ya’ll can check one of those posts for more info if you haven’t done so already.

For those of you familiar with the Fatosphere, you know that there is this “law” that floats around all like “NO DIET TALK HERE” and “do not talk about diets!” and rar-rar-rar which is completely understandable because when people talk about diets; it usually goes something like this:

Dieter: I am on the {insert gimmick} diet! I lost twenty pounds in three weeks!

Non-Dieter: OK, good for you.

Dieter: THANKS! I was such a FAT COW before and it was so much HARD WORK but I do it to look good and take care of myself! I didn’t think I could ever lose the weight! You know, I did the {insert gimmick} diet before but it didn’t really work out; I gained it all back but this time I know it’s going to stay off for sure.

Non-Dieter: Oh, that’s good.

Dieter: Look! I lost {insert number} sizes! Don’t you think I look much better?

Non-Dieter: You look great.

Dieter: THANKS!

And it just goes on for FUCKING EVER like that! Did you see what just happened there?

Dieters just start fishing for compliments and reinforcement for what they’re doing. The only people who deserve that type of ass-kissing unprompted are people who save lives, punched a Nazi, fight poverty and social injustice or are/have been Nelson Mandela.

In retrospect, it’s easy to see why fat people don’t want this type of shit on their blogs; especially when they’re just trying to live their lives feeling like human beings in a world that lumps their appearances with the bovine gene pool and their emotional capacities with rocks.

Well, why are we talking about it here?

Because we need to, duh.

I believe there can be constructive diet discussions without it spiralling into a vanity-fest. We can talk about how we feel on diets, our experiences with diets, diets that made us feel good, diets that made us feel like crap, and so on.

She’s Black, he has a penis and that’s a gay couple, but you know what?

I bet you they’ve all been on a diet before!

Plus, diet doesn’t necessarily mean what kind of weight-loss gobbledigook you’re doing; no—a diet is what you eat and don’t eat on a regular basis.

So I’ve lay down a carpet, a little common ground if you will. Wanna talk about diets? OK. Not all diets are ridiculous like Beyoncé’s whole Maple syrup nonsense. Sometimes people have a detox diet for a little while trying to clear up free radicals or whatever. So, yay for cleansing! I dunno.

DON’T GET IT TWISTED THOUGH BECAUSE THE FOLLOWING WILL NOT BE TOLERATED:

• People talking about who “needs to” be on a diet and who doesn’t
• People telling other people they should go on a diet

Am I encouraging people to start dieting? NO. 

Am I encouraging people to positively educate eachother on something that, is more often that not, explotative and shaming in nature? YES.

Other times though, people have scary diets. I did a year ago. They eat next to nothing, exercise excessively and in the worse case scenario, end up with horrible eating disorders like bulimia or anorexia. We need to talk about diets; all diets; the good the bad and the ugly. This way, we can exchange ideas, experiences and theories—hopefully people will read about a dangerous diet experience someone had and decide not to do it, maybe someone else will read about a safe and reasonable way to lose weight; if that’s their prerogative. And we’re all free to say whatever we want about each diet or even diets in general; when it comes to the human body and discussion, there should never be a “do not enter” sign.

Moving on.

So who diets?

When I typed “diet” into Google Images all I found was a lot of pictures of skinny White girls and White men covered in muscles. Beyonce was on page 5 but that girl has been on thin ice with me since ’04 so I’m not even gonna go there right now, that’s why I read Crunk & Disorderly.

Why so many White people?

A lot of Asian cultures also value thinness as the ideal; so why aren’t I seeing all these diet tips from them?

My Black Japanese friend I previously gushed about gets magazines (I think they’re the Japanese version of “Seventeen”) from Japan sent to her each month by her friends. I flip through the book, read the little I can and gaze upon the pretty pictures. There’s a lot on how to apply make-up, what jeans make your ass look nice and all the crazy positions you can have sex in but nothing on diets. I always ask her what’s going on in the mag of course but there’s nothing on diets. Not a word.

I read Ebony, a Black focused magazine, when I’m at the hair dresser seeking inspiration for a new style. Lots of relationship advice, great hair tips, fashion details, interviews with celebrities and a little bit of gossip. No diet advice though.

Hmn. Interesting.

Open up Elle or Vogue; fuck it, you don’t even have to open it! The advice is right on the cover of the magazine! I must be blind.

But wait—Oprah’s magazine tells you to lose weight, too and well, last time I checked Oprah was Black and has been on tons of diets.

This may have to do with the fact that in our society, White is pretty much seen as the pinnacle of perfection (tall & blonde ring a bell, anyone?) so they’re expected to uphold and portray impossible standards more than anyone else. REMEMBER! Society’s definition of beauty doesn’t really include people of colour much. Or at all. Sounds like another article I should write…

So fat people, regular people, skinny people, whatever people, aliens—please feel free to talk here about diets or even, not dieting. But if you come here looking for someone to praise your achievements and encourage you please go away and consult your Kindergarten teacher before I have to come to your house and throw hamburgers through your window and a brick of lard through your car’s windshield.

I’ll even put whole milk in your morning coffee.

This is about helping people stay informed, connected and educated; not ego-stroking.

Davita Likes Stuff White People Do

Davita Likes Stuff White People Do…
Especially When She’s Guest Posting!
Cut by: Davita Cuttita

Hello, Ladies and Gentlemen!

If you don’t know already, the wondrous Macon D over at the ever wicked-cool and engaging blog Stuff White People Do has asked yours truly to guest post! For, what started as a friendly e-mail has ended up as such…I guess I never stop blogging, hahah.

Mr. D wrote a great article detailing the difficulties behind talking about race; especially with White people and my “post” is in response to it. It outlines why it is difficult for People of Colour to talk about race with White people and vice-versa so, CHECK IT and go educate your racist selves!

I’ve been watching the numbers rolly-pollie-ollying in the lovely way they always do with the exception of our new guests coming from SWPD as well as The F Word (UK). Welcome to all n’ thanks for droppin’ by!

Feel free to look around and please, use protection.

HI EVERYONE I LIKE YOU COME OVER TO MY HOUSE FOR CAKE AND PARTIES AND STUFF.

Lay in wait for blog co-conspirator Grandpa Dinosaur who will be back this week with tales of yonder n’ shit. In the meantime, in order to satisfy our new guests and bring some things to light for our seasoned veterans, I have organized a list of a few articles by category for your reading pleasure below.

So stay tuned, lovers we’ve got a spectacular month comin’ up for ya’ll. PROMISE.

Now if you’ll excuse me, my Black self is off to do some White People stuff like buy stock, wear a top hat, smile tightly and be on time for things. Peace!

RACE

• How Black is Black?: An Introduction
• Angry at White, Female, Fake-Feminists
• Racist Bingo!
• He’s Not Mean to Me ver. 1.0

BODY

• All Nine Billion, Bajillion Calories
• Thin Privilege, Please Don’t Eat Me!
• Big Girl, Skinny Girl

GIRLY STUFF/SEX/LADYBONER DISCUSSIONS

• My Female Erection in Virgin Space: Intro
• My Female Erection in Virgin Space: Chapter 1
• Why Romance Must Die!
• Backyard Betty