We Meet Becky (Again)

Go call Becky with the Good Hair.

When I heard this infamous phrase uttered by Beyonce in Lemonade, I instantly thought:
"Homegirl, you musta read my mind." I've often said that to (**). "If you're looking for convention, for calm, no drama, for sterility, this is not the place to find it, why don't you go call Becky with the Good Hair."

We already know Becky is tied with Convention...so what else...

For me, Becky is synonymous with a lot of things...asides from Good Hair.

Becky is likened to convention

Becky who doesn't ask questions

Becky who agrees with everything

Becky who doesn't curse

Becky who never stands up for herself

Becky who coils at the slight raise of your voice and apologizes for causing it to raise

Becky who never wonders why you come home so late

Becky who can cook 5 different types of soups before 5 in the morning

Becky who runs the home with a smile on her face

Becky who lives her life to serve her man and with each demand she turns around and asks for more Becky who never complains when the calls or the sex becomes infrequent - you're just busy with work she safely assumes

Becky who stands for all those women you compete against and when you finally meet them you wonder if they were programmed to be...so lifeless...so absent...so vapid...so quintessentially Becky

Our Mothers never tire of raising Beckys because they know there's always an inexplicable increased demand for them. There's hardly a demand for the non-Beckys. No one ever returns a Becky they got at the store and asks for a refund opting instead to go with a non-Becky, in order to add some much-needed drama to their lives. Who invites that kind of wahala into their life? That's what (**) would say. To which I would respond, "Hmmm...Na so, then, go call Becky then." They do. Gladly.

Our Mothers should have warned us that being this formidable force that stands up for herself would inevitably make us end up alone in this world, that we should choose to loose ourselves, shed our individuality, our persona as we trudge down the Becky route. They probably did and stubborn ones like myself failed to pay attention. We thought individuality would become synonymous with femininity and take over the world by the time we got older. And that we would meet a like minded young man, a soulmate, who would relish that individuality with us and we could conquer the world.

Tepid day dreams of little girls...

But that's enough about Becky...for now.

Enough...

Nerves Unending

Anita... You Need to Step Out on Faith

I am nervous. Grappling with unending nerves about some steps that I need to take. 

Today I told someone to have a little more faith and the belief in Yes. The belief that someone will always say Yes, out of all the No's that you wrestle with in life, you need to have that little window of hope that there would one day be a resounding Yes. It's often or not worked for me and today I had to induct someone into that belief. I couldn't believe the sound of my voice as the words came out of it. Me - Positive. I'd like to believe in this life something extraordinary is always possible. I have believed it and if I can get someone else to believe it too...even better. As I let the realization of how far I've come in my belief system to sink in I heard myself whisper softly..."You Need To Step Out on Faith." You need to believe so much that you step out of your comfort zone into a reality that is consumed by Faith. Nothing else surrounds that universe except Faith. 

So let's step out on Faith. 

Dear Lord, For this next chapter that I am embarking I am trusting and believing that Your saving grace will be with me. I am trusting completely and wholeheartedly in You to open the door, open the windows and to let the sun in. I am stepping out, leaping out on faith. They say all things worketh for good for those who believe in the glory of God. I believe and I am trusting in You for this opportunity. In Jesus Name I pray. Amen. 

Becky has Good Hair

Men always settle for the conventional. 

There always seems to be a market for conventional, plain women. 

You know, the conventional woman. The women who are good homemakers, no hair out of place, agreeable, no talk back or questions asked to their actions, absolutely no cursing, good sex but nothing adventurous, pretty, fixed smile, straight teeth, streamlined hips, a good job but not a demanding career that takes them away from the home, nice family upbringing, loves kids, and is a masterful chef of all the cuisines - native and international. 

The conventional woman.

The quintessential Girl-Next-Door. There is never a dearth of them because men never tire of them. Pick any guy who's a player once he's tired of playing around, he looks around for the most conventional girlfriend on his list, marries her and settles down to a bunch of babies. 

I can categorically say that everyone of my exes ended up with one of such women. As I returned to Nigeria, they are 8 - 10 years into the marriage, a couple of kids in and they are all miserable. They're sitting in their conventional perfect little lives longing for the risk, the danger, the spontaneity, the fire in their belly, the magnetism. All of which cannot be found with the conventional women they ended up with. They growl and complain that life (and sex) is like experiencing the same soup day after day. No matter how they try to stir their wives from normalcy, the women still just want to be good wives and mothers, and feel content enough doing that every day. And in some way the men are happy that the women are as such and they don't try to force them to be anything else. So the hunt continues as they try to balance their home life with some excitement. 

If you look at all the women who, like me, are a little older and still single you'd find that they are not conventional, not in any way. We are adventurous, own our sexuality, comfortable in our bodies, pseudo feminists who believe in equality and a life away from the kitchen, occasional random cursing, and we want a career, a demanding profession that we can try to work into some work/life balance. We tip the scales. Sometimes when I look at all the notes of conventionalism it reassures me why I don't want a marriage per se. I don't want to fit into that mold where he looks at me as if I was picked for my ability to squeeze into a cardboard cutout, to fit the mold. I want to be alive, fresh, loud, hair out of place, no makeup, bold, adventurous, with my child-bearing hips and thick thighs. 

We sacrifice so many relationships due to our inability to conform and as each one finds their way to some conventional woman, I suppose we will have to keep sacrificing some more... 

As the famous line in Dirty Dancing says..."Nobody puts baby in a corner."

Or as Beyonce says..."Go call Becky with the good hair." 

As for me, my hair is frizzy and in twisted knots. And...I like it that way. 

Photo Credit: Unknown.

Existentialism - Part II

We have to be very careful,” Mr. Perrey continued. “If we standardize everything in France, and we study everything, and forbid everything, we destroy respect for our culture. We need to preserve the cafe bar. What is a village but a cafe, a school, a pharmacy, a bakery and a city hall?”

I don't know why I like this quote. But I just do. I think it has to do with the fact that nothing is sacred anymore. Before you could live in the hopes that you could escape this capitalist world and go off to a socialist European country  and open up a cafe and listen to the cafe patrons quib about the economy while they sip their espressos seemingly unbothered, just before they delve into a conversation about fine wine, recent arte-noir exhibit or art. But not so anymore. Alas, the economy has spread its fangs towards Europe and the sacred European cafes so much that they are now going out of business and because the simple pleasures have been so curtailed, life is  simply no longer fun. 

What is life, if the cafe bar is no longer fun, is no longer there?

Existentialism...

There's the needing and wanting part of life that belies even the best of us. 

The need to be a bigger part of something - at work or at home. 

That's what makes women, from a young age, aspire to be mothers, the "woman of the house", the madam that runs things at home. And if you're lucky you get to run it on both sides of the spectrum - at work too. You become manager or Vice President or Senior Vice President or some fancy schmancy title, and you run everything. You especially get to order some men around and be the Boss Lady that's in charge of holding it together (or at least you think so) and no one can accomplish any work in the company without you. What do we tell our daughters? That some day your life is going to mean something when you marry THE man and get THE job? It will all pull together. And for some it does. Most of the time. Rarely do you have the two together. You're probably so exhausted from running the home to want to run work, and vice versa. You must be some she-heroine to want to run the two.

But the fact of the matter is, in all of us, we all yearn to be a part of something. Very few of us just coast by. Very few are just content with coasting by. Content with being. Being part of life, our writing, our cafes, our society, our little jobs. Being the tenant, the worker who punches in every day and completes her task, being the good girlfriend (when and if the men let us) being the good daughter who calls over the weekend and remembers birthdays and Mothers' days. The good friend to the few that have remained true to us. Being. The Single Lady. That Exists. And is. I want to say this is especially common with the women.

For my Sistas: Is the world content with us just being? Not wanting to be part of any one thing in particular. Knowing that we can incorporate all of them in total. That's what keeps us ALIVE. And PRESENT. It exists nonetheless. The urge. To Mean more. Be more.

Aren't we already more?

Operator, Can I Check My Partner's Phone

Do you check your partner's phone? Your significant other - man or woman? Do you find yourself moved to spying on their phone?

I do. I've sadly been guilty of that "relationship crime." So charge me. Send me to the relationship police. I, Anita Writes, occasionally check my partner's phone.

But don't we all? At least at some point in our lives. Some will choose to call it a low point, but I beg to differ. Don't we all check our partner's phones?

My ideal relationship - and I say this as a single optimistic quite unrealistic woman - my ideal relationship is one in which your partner and you are open and honest and have no secrets between you - at least no lies between you. You don't need to lie, you can be open and vulnerable to your partner.

The older I have gotten as I search for this ideal I have realized, sadly, that it is just that, an ideal. No one wants to be open about ish with another person. They all want to have their little secrets that only they can decide if they can share with you. Whenever I notice my lover slipping away into this person that feels the need to hide their phone from me the moment I walk away from the room, I am instinctually put on notice about their loyalty, and from this distrust builds the need to check the phone. Admittedly, I may be overreacting but still. 

So forgive me. I am guilty as charged. I have checked the phone. On more than one occasion actually. And given the same scenario as I was faced with I may do so again. Maybe. 

I keep thinking about all these women in history who had no inkling that their husbands were serial killers, pedophiles, possibly even terrorists. By our nature, humans all have a dark existentialism, an alternate to the person that we share with the world. If only these women had snooped around a little deeper, hadn't placed so much trust in what their partners said, if they had exercised their right to be curious, they and we would have been all the better for it.

That's my excuse and I stand by it today.

Checking the phone isn't pretty. It stands to date as an interesting relationship experience one of the most devastating relationship events in my life (Oh wait, there have been others, so scratch that). It was not rewarding instead it was rather revelatory, forcefully unmasking the shield for both of us. There was some regret but if the openness and honesty that I had craved had stayed perhaps I would never have felt the urge to so react. I regret it somewhat. Some information you really don't need to know. 

Which side are you on? Would you rather be open, honest and vulnerable to your partner, or would you rather let them fish for clues to understanding who you really are?

I checked the phone. You probably should too.

But get your heart medication ready...just in case. Warning - Phone Content may be hazardous to your health. 

This Too Shall Pass...

In the end it all blows over.

When someone leaves you for someone else, makes that choice of another, over you, that pain, the hurt blows over eventually.

At first. you hate yourself, you doubt yourself, doubt your looks, question him/her, question the universe for even bringing you guys together, wish you’d never met, question everything you did together, question God. Then, you question why you never picked up on the clues that it was not so great, that they were not as good a person as you had thought. Because if they were that good, they would have found an easier way to say goodbye, they wouldn’t have fed you some lies. excuses. coldness. bullshit. in their quest to dissipate.

All these thoughts go through your head initially and as you sort them out you wonder when the questions will stop taunting you. With no possible forthcoming answers.

Then there comes a time. after much meditation. and loving yourself, appreciating your peace, your space, your calm. there will eventually come a time when all this nonsense, especially their indecisive nonsense, will all blow over. And you can be free to be yourself, to reclaim yourself. make them a memory.

Sometimes it’s the hope for that time, that respite, that keeps me going through the noise.

Let's Talk About Rejection

In the end it all blows over.

When someone leaves you for someone else, makes that choice of another, over you. That pain, the hurt blows over. eventually.

At first. you hate yourself, doubt yourself, doubt your looks, question him/her, question the universe for even bringing you guys together in the first place, wish you’d never met, question everything you did together, question God. Then, you question why you never picked up on the clues that it was not so great. that they were not as good a person as you had thought. Because if they were that good, they would have found an easier way to say goodbye, they wouldn’t have fed you some lies. excuses. coldness. bullshit. in their quest to dissipate.

All these thoughts go through your head initially and as you sort them out you wonder when the questions will stop taunting you. With no forthcoming answers.

Then there comes a time. after much meditation. and loving yourself, appreciating your peace, your truth, your space, your calm. there will eventually come a time when all this nonsense, especially their indecisive nonsense, will all blow over. And you can be free to be. yourself. to reclaim yourself. make them a memory.

Sometimes it’s the hope for that time, that respite, that keeps me going through the noise.