Half-a-Century Aquarian Girl

50 is a Harshad number in Math. In biblical terms, 50 is an economic, cultural, environmental and communal reset, when the land and people rest, and all those who are in slavery are set free to return to their communities—the Jubilee Year. In numerology, the number 50 is associated with the vibration of completion. The 50th card of the tarot is Ace of Cups Tarot Card indicating to let go of the past and look forward to the present and future.

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I hear you loud and clear universe. Today I have existed for a half a century. I have just awoken to a new day and it is raining and 63º out. Unusual for February, as there is usually snow on the ground and frigid temperatures present. Perhaps the earth is cleansing itself for my second coming? To be perfectly honest, I was unsure I would see 50 years pass. You discover a lot about yourself in those years. You gain a lot of wisdom and you fall a lot.

I thought of a million ways to write this, but nothing felt right. I started looking back at my life to see where I’ve come. So much has happened in the last fifty years. I’ve happened in the last fifty years. From a immigrant toddler immersed in 70’s rural Louisiana to the skinny, Wrangler wearing, thick spectacled, avid reading tomboy to the awkward Virginia transplant who was saved by punk rock and skateboarding to the co-dependent, apathetic, abused doormat of a college dropout to the enraptured, confident, and spontaneous bride to the successful and accomplished New York denizen who surprised herself at what she could do to the broken, childless, trauma filled, empty hot mess of a woman left with nothing but loss and melancholy to the woman who rose from the ashes to find herself, and love, again to someone who has seen some of the world and is still trying to understand it along with the world around her.

The path to get here was not easy, full of lessons, yes, but never easy. I had one brief period of time where everything was magical, and I do not think that time will ever be replaced. It had nothing to do with a person, but the energy that surrounded me. There are a lot of things that haven’t changed. I still embrace my scene, but now I’m more a Scene Crone rather than a Scene Princess. I find going to shows a bit different these days, and prefer a chair to an elbow throwing pit. I still love sitting in old haunts like Joe’s, Bamboo, and Patrick Henry where I can run into a number of flies still warming those stools. I still have friends who influenced and impacted my life in a way they could never know. I still love the drums and I still get excited when I hear the baseline to Fugazi’s “Waiting Room” or the guitar of Drive Like Jehu’s “Caress”. I still tolerate more than I should. I’m angsty and opinionated. I still cuss like a sailor. I still fight for what’s right and I still believe in the spirit of individuality. I may have traded my Doc’s for heels in the process, but all the same. Drama still follows me. People still find the need to punch me in the stomach and run. I still get mad about it. I still love hard and lose harder.

Change is inevitable and necessary. I’m no longer shy and withdrawn, I’m now disconnected and social all at once. I used to not care what I looked like, but I’m secretly mad that I don’t get hit on at the bar anymore. This body I inhabit now is disorienting and disappointing. I am working on that change. I used to sleep like I did in college, uninterrupted and deep. That has been replaced with existential nightmares, anxiety, and hot flashes. I’m literally in the most unsexiesst phase of my life. My immune system is not as strong as it used to be, so that’s a superpower that is slowly dwindling. I will say that I’m glad I attained my family’s dermatological genes, I do not find that my skin is very wrinkly. Can you tell I’m worried about my presentation, thank you Leo moon? The changes have not been all doom and gloom.

I never thought I’d care or love anyone ever again and I have. I never thought I’d ever be a mom and I’ve become one by proxy. I never thought I’d have a relationship with my mom and I do. I’m closer to my family than I’ve ever been and that was needed after losing a very integrated group of people who inhabited my life for 14 years.

I went from Server to Bartender to Director to Developer to Paralegal to Designer to Marketer to owning not one, but two businesses. I ran a successful magazine. I was host to a radio show. I emceed happy hours, art shows, burlesque and fashion salons. I learned that laboratories were a place of learning and mentorship while advertising brought me back to the high school cool kids table—they didn’t want me. I learned that women I worked with would throw me under a bus to get what they want while men took the time to teach me a skill. Sorry ladies, just my experience. I became a published writer and photographer. I wanted to have a job that I loved with people I love in a place I love and all that has happened for me. I’m still broke and stressed about paying the bills while working many a side hustle. I don’t think it was meant for me to have money because I hate money. How is that for a law of attraction?

I adapted to the technology that my generation put in place. Granted, I ain’t got time to create TikTox, but man I love to scroll. From Friendster to MySpace to Facebook to TikTok, social networks have become a place of curated lifestyles and envious ploy that plays into my ego and gives me feelings of discomfort a lot of times. Sharing is caring, right? Still, it allows me to engage when I cannot be in 20 different places at once to have the same conversation. I do miss talking and conversing. I miss talking about art and meeting up at shows. I miss having long nights of coffee talks at the Village and showing up to people’s houses unannounced with a case of beer. I miss unselectively going to see a band. I miss the fight. I miss the debate. I miss what it felt like to have an opinion and not be ostracized for it. I miss writing with a pen. I miss Richmond dirt weed and Dirt Woman. I miss the danger that has been replaced by Walmart and food chains. I miss our music venues. Change, amiright?

I’ve learned a lot too on this half-century journey. From clarinet to karaoke, to motorcycles and computers, to design and photography, I have a most varied skill set that I’m very proud of and learned that intellect comes from more places than a classroom. I have met some of the most talented, most intelligent and most famous people during this half. I’ve seen Broadway plays, been to backstages, visited foreign lands, and ate amazing foods. I’ve learned more about my culture and heritage and am proud of my multi-ethnic background giving me the ability to be a voice for others. I have learned to listen better, be a better friend, and be the braver person. I have helped others and others have helped me. Those are the keepers.

I am nobody special. I’m just a woman who wants to make others happy. I still want to help others in my next half. I do not know what the universe has in store for me, but I know what it has shown me. In my mind, I’m still the feisty, passionate 20something willing to put up a fight. I still think people are boring and lackluster in their world view. I still think that life should be experienced through a self-lens rather than someone else’s viewpoint because it’s your story. I still think it’s punk rock to not think like everyone else and live in a box. I still have compassion for humanity and hope for the future. I still want to feel that day when I realized I could be loved. I never want to replace the good times I’ve had, but wish I knew they wouldn’t last forever. I have learned that happiness are moments in time and are not meant to last forever. It is what has taught me to maneuver through this life—Vicissitudes (god bless you Mr. Biddle).

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Summarizing five decades is difficult, especially when you have lived a few lifetimes. This past Friday, at that very epic birthday bash, I could feel nothing but gratitude. I’m so thankful that people see who I am, and love me for who I am, despite the complicated mess I can be. People who have fought for me. Friends who have held me close in the darkest period of my life. Friends who influenced and impacted how I see the world and who I wanted to be. Men I’ve been in relationships with who I adore and have endured friendships with over the years. Women who have lifted me up and listened to me intently while I ranted, raved, cried, gushed, and confessed. People I trust with my life, and a single man who decided to put me back together again. I’m sure it was not easy to fall in love with someone so damaged, nor someone so independent and defiant who lived a completely different life before. That comparison alone can be heart wrenching, but he stays right beside me every step of the way, encouraging, understanding, and loving.

Life is nothing without love. I am who I have become and will continue to become. I’ve been through some shit and I’ve been through some triumphs, but I’ve never had any regrets in this life. All things come full circle, there is no end nor a beginning, we just keep going. The adventure unfolds, the growing never stops, the spirit always remains. I leave you with this musing…

As the rain came down, replacing the common frigid and snow filled years of before. I thought it is my world that is due for a cleanse. Later, I would see one of the most beautiful sunsets along with one of the clearest nights present in some time, here, to seal my past. I would look up at Orion and think, “Good lookin’ out bud,” and take in the sky. I think of the people I wished were in that room that night, the ones gone from this plane, and I feel them. I could hear Otto’s laughter, feel Balon’s hug, see Patrick’s smile and thensome. I know, I will be met with tragedy again, with sadness, with disappointment, with loss, but I will also be met with more laughter, more exploration, learning, and love, and you can take that to your curated walls. Here’s to another 50, may it rise to meet me with good intentions.

Honky Tonk Woman

“Can we please, please, please stay at Aunt Sheryl’s house!?” “Yes,” was the usual response to this very consistent question when visiting my Aunt and Uncle’s country home. She wasn’t my Aunt, and for many years I didn’t realize that she was, in actuality, my first cousine. You see, my first cousins were much older than my brother and I, and it was my second cousins we grew up with agewise. The eldest of eight children, Sheryl often provided care and hosted many a sleepover in our youth.

My cousin was a skinny woman, one with a distinctly pitched voice that rang loudly through the house when she needed something or scolded us for being too loud or misbehaving. She never went anywhere without her cigarette purse and most likely she had a cup in hand. I always respected her because she didn’t put up with any bullshit and if you needed anything, she’d try and help.

Sheryl was a single mom for most of when I knew her, raising our 2nd cousins and childhood besties, Stephanie, Chad, and Bobby. When we were together, we were inseparable. Spending the night at Sheryl’s was a night of games, TV, Hamburger Helper and some of the finest Kool-Aid you ever drank. We longed for those sleepovers and looked forward to church on Sunday morning before being returned to our parents. She always wanted us to have a good time and I looked forward to any visits with her. She loved her family very much and I felt she loved us just the same.

I remember the first time I took my then husband to meet my Cajun bred family. I had told him that they liked to joke a lot and lived very simple lives, and that he might need a translator for some. When Sheryl met him, she gave him the warmest and biggest hug and asked him if he wanted a beer and if was ready to eat some real food. She made him feel welcomed without so much as a blink. She would later try to get him on the dance floor. She liked his demeanor, he liked her non-bs attitude.

This tough cookie of a woman loved to dance. There was never a time I don’t remember her swaying around a room. I loved how much fun she was having singing her country tunes and cutting a rug with my cousins, my uncles, her sisters and brothers, didn’t matter, she was having a great time! It was so hard seeing her recently, she moved so awkwardly with empty eyes and splintered memories. I was glad for the time I got with her, especially when I would come down to visit as an adult.

My first introduction to a Tom Collins was provided by Sheryl at age 7 or 8—”lemonade”, she called it. It was just a dab, but when I was of age, the very first mixed drink that touched my lips was a Tom Collins because of that memory. One of the last family reunions required me to sit on the tail end of a truck, under a tree, sippin’ Amaretto Sours before noon with her while we watched my Uncles prepare BBQ in the churchyard under the hot Louisiana sun. When I told her I haven’t had one those since I was in my early 20’s, she responded with, “Pshhh, cuz, we don’t have any of that fancy shit y’all got up there.” We laughed and I was reminded of the warmth and directness of my family.

She was always a good hang. She was funny. She was fun. She was tough and tom boyish. She was a character. She loved her children. The memories I have from my childhood with her and her children are forever cherished. You always knew when she was in a room. She swore like her daddy and hugged like her mama and I loved her very much. I will miss greeting her at an opened screened door. I will miss the truck drives down gravel roads and flat land. I will miss riding horses in the hot sun with her and I’ll miss the way she dragged on her cigarettes. She’s with her daddy now, two-stepping through the heavens and singing that honky tonk music.

For the Love of Lives

In 3rd grade, as I stood in the lunch line getting ready to get my chocolate milk and what was hopefully pizza, a boy my height stood behind. At some point I turned around, we looked at each other and he said, “Are you a chink?” I looked at him confused and clearly had no idea what he was talking about. I think I said, “I dunno, are you?” and turned away.

My mom recalls being called a “nigger” in the 70’s in rural Louisiana. I remember her being called “dark” a lot. My mom was an exotic creature to them and I do believe her beauty surpassed the ignorance. Often times people would look at us, perplexed, confused by beauty and the inability to characterize us. Do you know how many times someone, I mean all races have asked me, “What are you, I know you’re something, but I can’t figure it out.”

I’m writing this now because I’ve had a lot of feelings pent up inside me. I’ve been afraid for the first time in my life to open my big mouth. Afraid of saying the wrong thing, afraid of being misunderstood, and afraid this will be misconstrued as some hierarchy of what is prevailing on the streets. I hear a lot of preaching. I hear a lot of, to be frank, white noise.

I am an immigrant. I am a woman. I am a human. The schools I went to from grades K-8th were predominately black. We lived in a white middle class neighborhood, until they built project apartments next to us. We did not move. To be honest, the neighbors were not happy about it, but nobody moved. Crime did increase in the area. I remember my dad opening the door one night to a black man bleeding asking for help. His girlfriend stabbed him during an altercation. I also remember the asshole child molester who lived three doors down my parents were friends with, but you know it’s the black people you need to be afraid of. I also remember a lot more foot traffic, and they were intensely afraid of dogs. I couldn’t understand why, I told my passerby that it was ok, he wouldn’t bite, but they would retract and run past. My neighborhood was your typical community in the 80s — kids on bikes, trampolines in backyards, children in the streets until sunset — all kids.

I do not ever recall a day in school that I heard the “N” word. It wouldn’t be until 5th grade that we had an influx of Cambodian and Vietnamese residents, and that was the first time I heard constant racial slurs. The word “colored” was used in every day speech on both sides and the “N” word was used to denote “bad black folk”. We had our fair share of the whitest trash you’ve ever seen, probably more so, but I grew up in a very tiny town full of hard working poor people. So the racism was there, but it wasn’t, if that makes any sense at all. We definitely had segregation, white folks lived here, black folks there and I think that spilled over from times past. Then I moved to Virginia.

I’m a proud Cajun-Latino-Chinese American. My dad recalls when his family moved from Texas to Louisiana, they were not allowed to speak French, it was literally in the Louisiana Constitution of 1921…

Children were chastised and humiliated when they spoke French in those schools. In order to spare their children this humiliation, they let them assimilate and never learn French, and those children, since they lost the language, would often lose their identity shortly after, or that identity would become completely alienated and removed from its proper context.

The only language my dad knew was French so he had to learn English if he wanted to go to school. They were made fun of for their accents and my dad said it took them some time to get assimilated. Thankfully, the culture was not lost completely and I had the privilege to integrate my family’s traditions into my upbringing.

I don’t know if I’m just an anomaly, but my upbringing, despite how many “N” words I heard, no matter how many times people asked me what creature was I, or how many times “ching chong chings” I heard, I honestly never saw color. Maybe it was growing up watching Sesame Street, Electric Company, and Mr. Rogers. Those shows taught me it was ok to be different and had a diverse group of people on them. It could have been my Catholic upbringing as well. I recall sitting in catechism singing:

Jesus loves the little children
All the children of the world
Red, brown, yellow, black and white
They are precious in His sight
Jesus loves the little children of the world

Although I’m not a practicing Catholic, I was taught pretty early on to love thy neighbor. My dad brought black music into my life. He is a huge Motown, blues, Jazz and R&B guy and that was implemented heavily in my every day life. I think my dad being in the military so long, marrying a foreign woman, and also being college educated made him less susceptible to falling into the ingrained racism of his state.

I’ve always just seen human, I never cared about sexuality, color, race, whatever — who cares. I know some people want to call that out, but I think when you are one of those people, you do your best to blend in where you can. All I need to know is, are you a good person? Do you treat others nicely? Will you respect them? That’s all I cared and all I ever care about.

Do you know how many of my dear friends have jokingly called me racial slurs or judged my culture? I once had a boyfriend who said, “How can you call yourself Latin when you can’t speak Spanish fluently?” I had another boyfriend who told me, “Your black friends don’t act real in front of you, you know that right?” WTF does that mean?? The encounters are numerous, the experiences real, yet time and time again I’m being told how to feel from people. That isn’t very open minded is it?

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Oh RVA, how I love thee. I have suffered not knowing where my cultural identity fits in this world. I think the subject of race and cultural identity is incredibly convoluted. You can’t fix the problem with a few protests or some very strong Facebook post. It doesn’t happen like that. Change, especially in America is gradual. You also need to understand the foundation of all of it. This problem has been since the beginning of time with lots of different types of people in all different countries. Yes, I understand now it’s about black and white, but once again, you want to know where “systemic” comes from, you’ve got to start at the beginning. You also need to know this is completely learned behavior.

When the initial uproar about the monuments started, I expressed how I felt about the removal of them by sharing a story that was suppose to be one of strength. I was received with a backlash of “white dominance”. Yes, my white friends decided to school me on what I should be saying about the monuments rather than sharing this story. People deleted me and well, whatever. Even my black friends thought it was humorous because they frankly agreed, “Who gives a shit about a statue that’s been there, let white people fight over that shit.” The best was someone, another Asian American calling me “privileged”. Oh, I’m sorry am I not dark or yellow enough for you? Yes, I was angry and still am angry about it, especially because this person wasn’t even from here. I’ve been harassed by people my whole life. I’ve been sought to date because I was part Asian. I’ve been made fun of because I spoke with an accent when I came here. My mother has been told to go back where she came from. My actual friends have made fun of my culture, my mother, as well as my dad’s family for being “redneck hillbillies” — just because they live in the deep south. Yeah, they are white but I have cousins who have married into black families and Cajun culture is a whole different animal, so shut the fuck up. My point being you don’t know anyone’s story until you’ve sat down and had a conversation.

So, I’m a little upset at what’s happening right now. I have that right. I’ve never followed the grain and I never always agree with the masses. I’m also a cynic. So why am I upset? I’m upset that white people think we need them to fight our fight at their convenience, selective activism if you will. Liberals talk to other liberals. Nobody is listening to you preach to the choir. Yes, things need to change. Yes, it is completely horrid and wrong what happened to these people. I’m not denying that whatsoever. I’m an ally for sure, duh, it’s like being a feminist, it shouldn’t have to be shouted from the rooftops, it should just be understood. I empathize with the anger as well, but this is not just a one incident issue. This has been going on since the beginning of time against a lot of people.

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I’ve been seeing an influx of white people spreading their “good” across the land. Just last night I spoke with an ESL teacher who has friends asking for book recommendations on racism. Really? Oh, now you wanna be woke. Now it’s convenient for you to raise the flags and get mad about racism. Where the fuck were you when it began? I don’t recall you throwing bricks at skinheads in the 80s/90s. I don’t recall you speaking up when my people were referred to as rapists and drug dealers. I don’t recall you getting that upset when children were pent up in cages — CHILDREN. I also don’t recall you having one single black friend. So, I guess you guys better go out and get some. And now, now you wanna get on the soapbox and speak for us. Gee, thanks. In three months time, something else will happen and it will divert your ADD ass somewhere else. You wanna know what else, stop telling me how to feel or what to do in these situations. My silence does not mean I don’t care or I’m not doing anything. I’ve been doing things.

I help communities by showing my support and giving them my patronage. I have a plethora of friends who fit in all categories including genders, ethnicity, religions and economic status. I talk about race with people ALL the time. I’ve sat with people who’ve asked me “What are you” plenty of times and had an open and honest conversation about culture and race. You’d be surprised to find out a lot of people that grow up this way aren’t these terrible people, they just need EDUCATION. How many of you angry white people gone into a black community? How many of you have volunteered to educate or help these communities rise up? How many of you have sat in a room of non-whites? While your children are toting “BLM” signs, ask yourself how many black kids do they have playdates with? And honestly, what the fuck is your child doing at a protest when they can’t even understand the concept yet? You’re using them to tote your agenda, which in my humble opinion is kinda fucked up. Instead of exposing them to normal human interactions, you’ve now isolated race for them. My 7 year old step daughter loves her black friends, but she didn’t even know they were black until someone pointed out how white she was. We talk about acceptance in our household. We teach her about culture and language because it’s our fucking job as parents to instill this in the most developmental state in their life.

Are you giving your thrift goods to black churches, have you even been to a black church before? I have. It’s glorious. While you’re buying $300+ homes in once owned black communities, how you are preserving that community and living with people of color instead of driving them out? Do you celebrate Cinco de Mayo? I have tons of friends who do, margaritas in hand. Do you take Columbus Day off? Do you have friends who live on reservations? You just raised millions of dollars for bailing out protesters, yet do you know how much poverty exists in the United States? Do you know how many black children you can educate with that? Do you know how many single black mothers you can help with those funds? Poor people don’t have the luxury of being inspired, they have accepted their cyclical plot in life. What’s going to happen when it’s over? Are you going to give all your money and resources to help others out of poverty? Is all the vandalism and rioting and looting going to change these people’s lives?

Look, I know this about police brutality and the mistreatment of black people, but the problem is way deeper than George Floyd. It’s a horrific thing to watch someone die on live stream. It’s tragic no one stepped in. It’s appalling that police officers like this are on the streets. It’s absolutely disgusting what has been proven time and time again, think about what’s not on social media. The KKK still exists. Nazis still exist. White supremacy still exists. Think about that. Think about how organized they can be. I had no idea a man who lived two neighborhoods from me was the leader of the Richmond KKK. The fact that I just typed that out, is insane. Don’t take them for granted. They will infiltrate high level positions. You all realize this right? You realize that people like Donald Trump and Jeffrey Epstein, with money and influence, can do anything they want, obviously. We are witnessing a real life dictatorship. We are witnessing the President of a country based on freedom, opportunity and built from immigrants destroy that very foundation with his non-sense rhetoric. Isn’t that what they needed? Pay attention. Focus. Stop voting for “meh” candidates. Stop getting angry at bullshit media fed problems. Remember, THEY work for US, they are in SERVICE to us, not the other way around. If you give that up, then we no longer have a democracy and you can just live in a fascist state.

It’s time to be the change. If this many people can get riled up, raise millions, and so forth, then overthrow what doesn’t work anymore. That’s the real revolution. Get pissed, but not just for your Instagram account. Get loud, but where you can be heard. You’re not going to change a racist mind because you tagged a statue or lifted your fist in the air, it takes real dedication and commitment to change something like this. And it’s a worldly problem that isn’t just going to go away. So before you give yourself a pat on the back, ask yourself, are you willing to progress a movement or will you just put a nice bandaid on a centuries old wound?

Also, not all law enforcement is bad. Some of these men and women have the same tenets as you do. It’s not fair to lump them all in one category when some have done some really great things for their communities. You want it to stay that way? Vote in your city and state elections. Let’s stop seeing the world as one color or another and how about we all just treat others as we want to be treated. Help those who need it most. Stop feeling guilty and bad about the past and start getting active about the future. Build your communities up, don’t destroy them. And for the love of all lives, EDUCATE yourself! It’s just a conversation away. No person is better than anyone else and NOBODY deserves to pass judgement on a person’s life. Justice will be served and today starts the catalyst on the road to change but we need to start building the highway to a new normalcy.

I hope nobody takes offense to what my feelings are. It is not intended to offend anyone. It is however, my want to call out the bullshit and as a person of color (as they are calling me these days), I’m absolutely drained by all social media and news feeds. Racism is bad. Sexism is bad. Fascism is bad. Gay bashing is bad. Duh.