Ara Ara’s Mind

{AN: I wrote this in 2023 after I graduated college and started devoting my time to a group of women who changed my life. I was feeling trapped and confined and forced to be something I never wanted to be. So these words came from my heart and the people around me who told me it was OK to be different. Like a tarot reading take what resonates and leave what doesn’t!}

Black people are so infuriating. They’re either not there at all OR they are so close it hurts. They think it’s a white thing to critique and criticize, to have a different opinion and voice it, to grow up and be a person that doesn’t follow everything they were told and taught,

We have never been allowed to think freely, to live without control, that we have made it a part of our culture and how we raise our kids.

We will never be our ancestor’s wildest dream. Not through money, not through hatred, not through security. We don’t owe our ancestors anything. We don’t owe our families anything.

I’m saying this as an extremely privileged black person. While my family’s money struggles, it was never made known to me. I always had food to eat, clothes to wear, toys to play with, and a roof over my head. That is more than many black people receive in their childhood.

I understand the strange connection with money. I know where it comes from and why it persists. But, our power or resilience goes beyond that. Beyond money, beyond smarts, beyond “our ancestor’s wildest dreams.”

As we expand what society says can be done by black people, we still limit ourselves. As we defy the statistics and the numbers, we still withhold our full potential. We keep or minds from expanding as far as it can go, though we know can go farther. We weren’t meant to lead a life of money and security through individuality. That is not what would have been instilled in us if we hadn’t been taken. We would have learned community and support and finding joy in simple things. Not how to get it on our own or how to flaunt our wealth.

Black Americans have been robbed of many things. Our history, our families, our lives, our validity. But to me, most importantly, we have been robbed of the joy of learning. The joy of community. The joy of changing; of adapting. Life is hard, it always has been, but there is still joy there. There is still comfort there. There is still room there.

I think many people don’t want to connect or let a black person know that they’re wrong because we are the minority, we are the fruits of slaves and slave owners labor. But, black people are wrong ALL THE TIME. Most of the time black people are severely wrong because we can do is uphold white ideals {as everyone is forced to}. We can’t do anything but love God and straight hair. We can’t do anything but drink the kool-aid that’s been given to us because there’s nothing else to drink.

People should afraid to correct anybody, minority or not. And black people should not refuse to listen; to think. What we have is our mind. Is our ability to adopt and change, and learn as everyone does.

Don’t stop listening because you’re wrong. Don’t stop listening because a white person corrected you. Don’t stop growing and learning because someone noticed you didn’t have all the information. The thought process shouldn’t be “where does this person get off correcting me?” It should be “why do I not have all the information? Why does another person have the information and I don’t?”

{All thanks to the Charlotte Revolutionary scene for being terrible and enlightening. Tremendous appreciation to River and Aine who pushed me to listen intently to the roaring inside my heart.}