WOMEN OF COLOR APPRECIATION DAY THIS THURSDAY!
We’ll be hosting our second Women of Color Appreciation Day (WOCAD) on Thursday Dec. 12! Be sure to send in a photo and a description so we can get to know you a little bit and see your gorgeous faces (guideline reminders here)! You can start sending submissions in whenever, and we’ll post them starting Thursday morning and throughout the day!
- the mods
Depression is not selfish. Anxiety is not rude. Schizophrenia is not wrong. Mental illness isn’t self-centered, any more than a broken leg or the flu is self-centered. If your mental illness makes you feel guilty, review the definition of “illness” and try to treat yourself with the same respect and concern you would show to a cancer patient or a person with pneumonia.
Please support the Indiegogo Campaign to raise funds for the completion of our 9 track album “From Here On
To Support: indiegogo.com/projects/from-here-on-migration-identity-community/
From Here On is a collaborative project between spoken word artist, Lishai and musician, Waleed Abdulhamid. The album is an excavation of individual and collective stories, a statement for human dignity and political freedom and an exploration into diasporic tradition, culture and music.
Video by Ebti Nabag
theory’s cool, but theory with no practice ain’t shit.
Taken from a speech given on April 27, 1969.
Rest in Power, Nelson Mandela.
you do not have to accept creative oppression. if you are an artist, be an artist. art is as valuable, as necessary, as important as any other profession on this planet. do not accept or entertain shame because ‘you want to be an artist.’ be honored that you are going to change and create the world from your imagination.
I want deeper connections with the people around me. I need to reach out more because not everyone leaves.
My second grade teacher liked to ask us,
“How do you feel today, on a scale of one to ten?”
Ten always meant I’m super, thank you
and one was always not today, Mrs. MacAuley, not today.
But I never liked numbers, they would always
twist and rebel against my mind so I chose
to speak in colors instead.
January third - I am the color
of mint chocolate chip ice cream
but I’ve eaten all the chocolate chips.
I am calm.
February seventh - I am a bruise of
blues and violets today. I think it would
be best if I sat by the window.
These are unhappy colors.
April eleventh - I am turquoise, I am magenta,
I am every color in the rainbow.
April thirtieth - I am gray, I am silent.
May first - I am orange, the color of melting
creamsicles on a beach in July.
June twelfth - I am as yellow as the school bus
that will bring me home to summer. I am free.
Twelve years later, I still use colors.
The winter makes me feel cobalt blue, the ocean
turns me a seafoam green. Violets and purples
leave me uneasy and scarlet is a fever of fury.
Some nights I drown in shades of navy, denim,
and cornflower but other nights I meditate in forests of
harlequin and shamrock.
you leave me a blinding white followed by a soft yellow:
the color of sunlight after a period of darkness.
My mother calls
to tell me about her day
and I listen,
because I know
there’s no one else who will.
My mother asks me
to tell her about mine,
so I tell her only the good things
and keep the rest inside
because words travel distances
but her loving hands cannot.
My mother asks me
if I am happy,
and I tell her that I am;
I ask her the same question
and she says ‘yes,
if you are, I am’;
and I know that some lies
are worth telling.
My mother reminds me
to be strong through it all,
to remember to be modest
and to always keep
my head up high;
” I’ve given you everything,”
“make me proud.”
But my mother doesn’t know
that everything comes with
her shame attached;
that the child of an immigrant
cannot smile without guilt,
cannot feel without pain,
cannot be without fear.
My mother asks
if I understand,
and I say yes,
I can’t unlearn it.
And when my mother
asks when I’m coming home,
I know she’s asking for me
to never forget;
I promise her;
© 2013 Maza - Dohta
Her Birthday is this Sunday =)