Without further a do, 4 month loced update:

1) This is my hair! I like it. I think it’s pretty and I’ve thought so three days in a row. When you think your hair is pretty after years of not thinking it was in your teenage years, or after more recent episodes of thinking it’s nice enough but coveting lengthier versions of what you have, you can get on with your life and do more important things like write articles and get to know new cities and e-mail your friends who don’t have facebook.

2) Remember that column I told you I was going to start writing? I just submitted my 5th installment this week! Going strong and learning along the way about how to write faster- acutally, how to get to my point a lot faster in my mind- and that my analytical nature and philosophy classes are paying off.

3) Tempo Africa Magazine is growing up! Our baby is one and a half years old now! We’ve narrowed down the categories to focus on our main areas and have some exciting new articles on the way. We’ve also been blogging a lot. Check out some of our recent posts: http://tempoafrica.com/. Also take our poll to the right of the page. Thanks!

So there you have it: This is what’s been going on as my hair grows. God Bless.

Recently, I saw a note that said:
“When people walk away from you, let them go… Your destiny is never tied to anyone who leaves you, and it doesn’t mean they are bad people.  It just means that their part in your story is over.”

I’ve been in the situation. A woman I had considered a friend decided we weren’t so anymore.  She never told me why she stopped speaking to me. She just did.  A junior high girl might have sent a representative to inform me of our change in status.  But I didn’t get that.  And I might have preferred it  to an “unfriending” on Facebook.  That’s right, with the click of a button, my friend officially abandoned our friendship like an unwanted infant on a doorstep.  It almost hurt like a break-up.

The words of the note were like the tender yet firm words that a trusted aunt would say while explaining to you the blows of life. I imagined this aunt saying, “It’s over Boo. Don’t e-mail, don’t call, and don’t message. Let her go.”  I also heard this: Stop thinking about the good times and wondering where it all went wrong. You may never know.

As much as the message was like a sad but strengthening fact of life, I wondered if simply letting a person walk away was the right way to deal with a broken relationship.  A popular quote says that if something or someone leaves you, let it go. If it comes back to you, then it was really yours to begin with.  But what does this say about everything  shared  between you and this friend? That it was shallow at best?  That it wasn’t really “yours”? What does that mean?

Another popular quote says that people come into your life for a reason or a season. But it’s difficult to find solace in the ending of a seasonal friendship when you can’t figure out its purpose.  I tried applying one of these life lesson quotes to my situation but none of them worked.  I couldn’t conclude that my friend had changed my life in a profound enough way to explain the reason for our “season”.   If she had saved me from a desperate situation or answered a burning question I’d carried for years, I would understand better why our friendship had blossomed then wilted.   What is the point of a season that ends sharply and leaves no lesson?

I also began to wonder, what happened to fighting for those you love? Is there no such thing as reasonable pursuit? At least the person might know they meant something to you.  Is it a sappy waste of energy to reach out to a lost friend? Should pride come into play at all?

Sometimes hearing or reading these words of wisdom affirms what we’ve already come to know as true.  Other times, questioning is needed.  So finally, after all my questioning, I’ve come to a few conclusions.

Letting someone walk away is not an issue of holding onto your pride. Rather, as another more contemporary saying goes, “it is, what it is.” You can’t change someone’s feelings towards you.  And often, reaching out will only push them further into their funk.   It’s important to realize that even though the other person walked away first, you can’t stand in the same spot forever calling out to them as they go.

I haven’t made any breakthroughs with my former friend.  I still care about her but my attempts to communicate have to end for now.  The ball is in her court. In the meantime, life is still happening and there are other special people to show love to- one for each finger and toe-maybe even more.

We have to nurture the relationships we have now and enjoy seasons while we’re in them. Sometimes, the transition from summer to winter can take you by surprise. It’s not wrong, it’s not profound. It’s just life.

“This is not what we discussed!” I told her.  We had discussed going the safe route. The route that while it ensured no clear answers from the questionable party, it did ensure being able to walk away pride and emotions intact.  So when she told me she had gone against our wise agreement and had written a poem for this guy and sent it, well, she threw me off.  I wanted to throw my arms over her the way you’d shield your head from falling debris, and project her from the repercussions of her actions.

“Don’t you know the rules?!” I asked her. The rules are that you’re supposed to sleep on any expression of the heart that you’ve revealed in writing and read it over the next morning. By this time you would have arranged your senses that went crooked during the evening and find it wise to either adjust, discard, or put away for safe-keeping.

“I broke all the rules she said. Written and unwritten.”

“Yes you did,” I said. “You stomped all over them.”

But here’s the thing, though part of me was shocked and a bit nervous for my friend, part of me was amused.  My friend had put herself out on a limb. She wanted to know the truth and felt that if not romance, that at least she deserved that. And yes, though she had been the one always contacting him for the last number of months, she would contact him again but this time from apposition of power because she didn’t want anything from him as she wrote in the poem, expect that he listen. She wasn’t chasing him, she assured him. She just wanted the peace of knowing that she had said what she needed to said and in doing so, had relieved herself of a burden.

Though I had told her about the rules I didn’t tell her that I had made such a declaration of love myself not too long ago. I wrote poems but didn’t send them. Instead I went straight for it and confessed my love on the phone. Things didn’t work out with that one the way I’d wanted. In fact, they didn’t even get off the ground. But me and brother remained the good friends that we were. Things didn’t get weird. And oddly enough, I even felt empowered. I showed myself that I could reach for what I wanted and if I didn’t get it, I could still look him in the eye, be whole and happy.

Of course my friend wants Mixed Signals to write back. It would be extra nice if he wrote back and confessed his love for her and  apologized for not stepping up and being a man. But what’s true for her now is the fact that she did what she could do. She played her part and now she can get on with her studies and commitment to helping other people.  “ I was ready and I needed to.”  She said about sending the poem.  “I feel better now freer.” The fact that she feels free now is independent of whether or not Mr. Wish Wash responds and that’s what matters, despite what the rules say.

Yesterday, I decided to go out with my locs as they are. Not covered by a headwrap or my new lace-front wig.  I’d been thinking that with the wig, I could cover up my locs for a few days or weeks, and have a cute new look in the meantime.  But I’ve also been a bit wary of the wig. It’s big. It looked hot in the store in downtown Toronto where I bought it from, but where I live, where unless you’re a squeegee kid with purple white locs and a lot of piercings, people don’t really stand out too much. So the wig would call attention to me especially since I don’t tend to wear them.  I may want to stand out every now and then but not because of my big curly wig.  I chose it over a straight one because I like curly hair on me better than straight even though I guess straight is more inconspicuous. Anyway,  I just wanted something to wear over my locs as they continue to mature.

I’ve been touching my hair a lot. Generally pleased with my newly forming treasures, my fingers are constantly in my hair feeling where the loc puffs out along the length as if pregnant. This is called ‘budding’.  I feel waves of new growth,  eager for my next retwist. I feel  the hair tighten at the base of the loc just after the new growth, an indication that the hair is actually locking around itself!  Perhaps this is on a much smaller scale, similar to the excitement  an expectant mother feels about the person  forming in her womb.  But as I familiarize myself with the transformation of each strand,  I’m feeling that some of my two-strand twists with which I started my lcos, are starting to separate.  I can’t stand split locs so I’m gonna have to back off and keep my fingers out of my hair. All the more more reason to cover them up for some time.  Kinda like the way you need to protect a baby still forming.

But yesterday, oh yesterday! I said babies, you’re coming out! I just saw them and they looked cute to me. I saw through the fuzz, and the shortness and said ‘Hey! even though you’re not typically pretty yet,  even for a lot of locers who prefer the neat, manicured look (myself included), I like you today and I accept you.’

‘You look nice today.’ I said to myslf, ‘Yeah, actually nice’.   So I wore it out and it felt good. And though the lace-front is still an arm’s length away as is my headwrap collection, I’m hoping I’ll have more days like yesterday.

Its such a relief to have all the material you need to begin writing.  There have been a few people I’ve been assigned to write about who I”ve had to chase down for an interview.  In both cases I ended up having to interview new people with only a couple of days to turn over the story.  But now, with the final questions so kindly sent tome this morning,  I know how many days I have at least 4 days to write the best article I’ve written yet. God-willing:)

I think now that this opportunity has opened up, I’m once again doing what I do best- thinking too much. Too much thinking is not good for your sanity. I know Nike’s solgan has gotten  flack for encouraging people to be mindless consumers of whatever is thrown at them but there are occasions in which it’s completely appropriate. Just do it.  Just write Roots! Just write something! This isn’t a type writer. You can delete and start again and not feel back about waiting paper or ink.

When I started this blog, I had those same uncertainties about whether what I wrote would be interesting, thematic or profound enough. But now, I’m beginning to care less, which relieves the pressure and makes me enjoy writing here. I’ve realized I can change my blog, my ideas or I can write about the same things over and over if I feel compelled to do so.  So I came here to warm up. I also came to make that confession that I’m over-thinking and stuck. Confessing it helps me to address the issue so that I can just write.

Guess what? I’m going to be writing a column for a new magazine! I’ve been eyeing this mag since it came out. It’s fresh, centrally located, has a lot of reach and has some well-written pieces on timely issues and topics relevant to its readership.  I wrote down in my goal book that within a month, I’d be writing for another magazine on an ongoing basis. I write to the editors and a couple days later I had a response. They were interested! I pitched a few ideas and am working on my first piece now.

I’m so excited about these doors opening.  I asked God to open doors that He wanted me to walk through.  A few weeks ago I had an interview for a position with a popular NGO .  They didn’t choose me.    A couple of weeks ago, I got an e-mail from the editor of the magazine I currently contribute to regularly. She told me she was giving me the feature story for the next issue.  It will be longer then the business profiles I usually write and, being the feature, will be the main attraction in this issue.  Excited? Yes I am. Not just to write this story, for which I began my interviews yesterday, but to see what else comes my way in my pursuit to write.  When I first asked to write for this magazine,  I was told there was nothing for me at the time. I had to check in a few times to see if anything had come up. I think the editor had been hesitant because I don’t have a journalism or communications background. But now, she’s giving me the feature! Each of these little advancements are being noted as answers to prayers ( and eager query e-mails).  And now, if all goes well, I’ll have my own little column in an up and coming magazine! God is good to me. writing time

How are you today? Well? heathy? Happy? At peace? I hope you’re at least one of the above.

I’ll be making slight changes to Emerald. Nothing crazy, but I’ve been thinking of a vehicle in which to carry her if you will. A way to frame my random thoughts. I’ve already renamed some of my categories. I wanted them all to be either verbs or nouns but as you see that hasn’t worked out.  You’ll also see that I think a lot about peculiar things. This a blessing and a curse. In this case, it’s simple inspiration that was on the verge of becoming a nuisance because I hadn’t done it yet.

So my big and brilliant idea is to write my posts in the vehicle of waiting for my hair to grow.  I’ve written about starting another loc journey.  Like most journeys, this one has got its bumps and the beginning is always the toughest. It also takes a lot of time.  A black woman’s hair is a complicated thing. It doesn’t have to be. It probably shouldn’t’ be, but it is.

So I want to write about my hair journey from the perspective of being eager for my hair to grow into “beautiful” locs, and also of realizing that I can’t keep checking the mirror waiting for this to happen while time passes me by.  Life must be lived in between the growth of my hair ( Imagine that!). So this is a way to chronicle the journey, express the many thoughts and feelings I have around these woolly tresses that God has given to us Africans, to discuss life’s happenings and and to discuss the things I hope to achieve month by month, as my hair grows.