Allow Me To Reintroduce Myself

It's official. As of April 28th, I've obtained my Master of Urban Planning!!!!! It was a short journey, bumpy at times, but worth all of the trouble. Even though I'm still figuring out future plans and living locations, I have no regrets on completing my degree when I did. God told me to move, and while the job market looks bleak, I have kept my spirits high. That and I still have an unfaltering support system.

I successfully completed my Masters by 25 and while I don't feel a day past 22 (eh, maybe 23), it really is true what people say about time going by quicker than normal after a certain point in life. Without going into something that sounds like a quarter-life crisis rant, looking at the past, most of the memorable events happened as a college student. I cherish those memories and love reconnecting with old friends to reflect on our adventures and mishaps. Even graduate school carried great memories. While I was a little stubborn when it came to making friends as a grad student (I was quite content with the wonderful friends I already had), grad school was a time where I did most of my traveling- Philadelphia, Miami, Atlanta, Boston, DC, New York, and Pittsburgh. Thankfully, I had a friend that helped me get through grad school without me losing my mind from being surrounded by people that I felt I didn't connect with. Being a HBCU graduate, the experience was new to my friend, but she fit in very well with our colleagues and was a well-liked, actively involved student. Nonetheless, even with her adapting to a different environment, it was a place that she said she couldn't see completing her undergraduate.

After listening to her recount her experience at a HBCU, and actually visiting the campus myself, I could see why she would feel that way. At her alma mater, she felt a connectedness to both the students and the staff. She described how there was a huge emphasis placed on black achievement and culture. On her campus, while sororities were active, there was no need to join one because "sisterhood" was intertwined in everything from campus activities to dorm life. In visiting the HBCU campuses in Atlanta during homecoming weekend, I was able to see some of the things she talked about in person. I remember reading an article in high school labeling Atlanta the "Black Mecca" and though some question that title today, it was still amazing to see these black college students that had successfully graduated and started careers. In my friend's circle alone, there was a principal, a business executive, and a doctor. Quite impressive for women that had not yet made it into their 30s. More than anything, it was a breath of fresh air to be around people with the same culture, the same drive and ambition, and the same determination to make a name for themselves in the world.

So do I regret going to a PWI (predominantly white institution)? Absolutely not. At times, I wish I could have felt what it was like to attend a HBCU, even if only for a week. I'd be lying if I said that curiosity still isn't there. You're talking to someone whose first exposure to both college life and Greek life was "A Different World." I thought my life as a college student would play out exactly like that in the show. It wasn't until high school that dreams of maize and blue pushed me to turn in an application to attend one of the top 12 universities in the world. But this has nothing to do with rankings. To say that I'm glad that I attended a PWI because it'll "help better prepare me for non-diverse work environments" is also a stretch seeing that the HBCU graduates I know adjusted quite well in non-diverse environments and have no stories to report on working with "The Man."

I respect HBCUs and their histories, and they do have AMAZING histories. However, the reason I have no regrets in attending a PWI is because it was a challenge that actually drew me closer to my culture and history. I went to a diverse middle school, but was one of only ten black students in my high school. I didn't learn black history in middle school and had to host my own Black History Bowl in high school for students who couldn't even tell me who Harriet Taubman was. Arriving at Michigan, I had more people that I could identify with unlike high school, and this was good for me given what I went through. If you read my past blogs, you'd find that it's been somewhat of an identity crisis over the years. The struggle to fit in with wealthier girls in middle school when I knew it was not financially feasible for my parents morphed into something different by 2005. High school meant dealing with an entirely new complex. It was listening to stereotypical jokes and watching people emulate black people they watched on television or "in the 'hood" where their families owned stores. This did NOT go for every student at my school, but I'd be lying if I said many classmates had their own interpretation of black people are and what we do. One classmate considered me her "best friend" but told others that I would not be allowed in her house.

College presented a new playing field and brought the relief that I didn't have to change Christina and ignore my history in order to fit in. I can admit that I was disappointed in some of the stereotypical jokes made towards black people at my high school. Some I let slide in the name of popularity. It's not to say that I arrived on campus and turned into a modern day Angela Davis, but I embraced my race more and learned to not be ashamed of my culture, nor where my family came from and our socioeconomic status. I can't speak much to what the climate of the campus is now, but I do know that as an undergraduate, I admired the people and events that celebrated our history and emphasized connectedness and support on a campus where African Americans are few. Furthermore, attending a PWI was a challenge, and in my opinion, a bigger challenge than that of attending a HBCU. The Campus Explorer website provides a number of reasons why a person should attend a HBCU. For example:

Going to an HBCU makes a statement. Some students feel empowered by attending a university that has a history of fighting for African-American students' rights to higher education.

While it is a true, I feel more empowered to attend a university where blacks were not allowed and the first African American woman was not admitted until 60 years after U-M's founding. It is a challenge to sit in a classroom of 200, be the only black person, and feel behind in what you're learning because you may not have received the same education as others around you. It is a challenge to have to prove your worth to others because they feel you were admitted on Proposal 2, and Proposal 2 alone.

Again, therein lies the question: if you had to do it all over again, would you have went to a HBCU? No. While I admire all HBCUs, I'm perfectly content with picking the school that I did. I grew to appreciate my history and developed a love for my people in a way I hadn't before. I created friendships with not just black students, but Caucasian, Latino, Indian, Asian, and was able to learn about their culture and teach them mine, this time dispelling any negative stereotypes or preconceived notions they may have had about African Americans. Most importantly, not only did I graduate, but I graduated twice, and proved to the naysayers and bigots on campus, both past and present, that no law, racial slurs, or threats could keep me from getting my degrees and becoming a fierce, educated, and PROUD black woman.

"Gangsta Whitewalls, TV Antenna In the Back...."

Every now and then amongst the magazine articles or clusterfudge of items that crowd my Facebook newsfeed and Twitter timeline, I encounter videos and/or articles that are quite entertaining. Beyond the “S*** ________ Say” YouTube craze, my favorites have been related to “You Know You’re An 80s Baby When…” or “Do You Remember the 90s?” postings. Referring to a previous post, I happen to enjoy these things because they stir nostalgia and remind me of times when life was grand. More recently however, in watching or reading on things related to my childhood/teenage years, the feeling has been bittersweet. I can no longer consciously look at them and genuinely feel happy because I find myself turning around to look back at today’s generation.

To put it simply: I am deeply afraid for the future of our generation of children. Yes, I'm only 25. I have not been on the earth long enough to see and experience all of the things I need to, and there are plenty adults out there that still look at me as a kid. Nonetheless, it is still troublesome to follow the direction of our youth. The conversation has arisen twice in less than a month. I’ve had more than one friend make the statement "I don't understand these kids today." Upon hearing such comments, I always chuckle because our conversations turn into something of that of our parents and grandparents who don't and won't understand the pogs, Tamagotchis, and Gameboys of my era. However, take a step back and look at the age differences: our parents and grandparents are at least 20+ years removed from our generation.

We, on the other hand, are 10 years OR LESS removed from a generation that believes in performing fellatio acts on school grounds and recording it on phones, fighting on camera, harassing people in both classroom and on social network websites- one of the leading causes of bullycide, and glorifying artists that rap about…er…absolutely nothing at all. Going to the toy section of a store was the closest thing we got to getting to the North Pole, whereas today the toy industry is gradual declining as more children are turning to video or computer games for recreation. We ARE “the last generation who played outdoors.” I’m sure those who were raised prior to the 1970s and 1980s would have their own sentiments on what we consider the greatest time period of all, but the point is not to argue who had the best childhood. The true question at hand remains: Has today’s generation been robbed of a childhood?

Children are now being raised to have a “dog-eat-dog” mentality. You can’t blame them in world where people are suffering. Desperation has never been more real when you go home to see people stole the covers from sewers, and fences from city parks and playgrounds to sell for scrap. It becomes even MORE real when you have 5-year olds shooting 4-year olds. There are people out there who recognize the issue and try to address it. I applaud the social organizations that have mottos and missions that speak to the need to invest in our children, as we should. Yet we need to look at our youth from an all-inclusive perspective. "Children are the future" need not be a statement, but an action plan. The more I learn, the more I feel the need to incorporate youth into my life plan, and I say life plan because I know they will be an integral part of my life, and not another notch on the resume.

With that said, does this mean a possible change in my career goals, or is this just another blog expressing frustration?

Stay tuned.

Get Off The Corner

"Get Off The Corner" is one of my favorite Lil' Wayne song. As matter of fact, I was listening to it the other day an-

Annnnnnnd scene.

By the title of this blog, I meant that lately, people have been on their little, decrepit soapbox on the corner, yelling nonsense through bullhorn when no one wants or cares to listen. Why? Most of the time, it is in an attempt to prove something. Who makes the most money, who's the bigger fan, who cares the least. You can't even cheer a team on without someone questioning how long you've been a fan or how many stats you can quote, but because they can, they feel superior to you?? (You wasn't with 'em when they was shooting in the gym!)

It'll even boil down to material things. "You fools still on dat ------, while I'm on dat -----. Get on my levle boi!"

OR you could get on my level, and learn to use your spell check. Please and thanks.

And celebrity deaths are the absolute worst. It's when every Plato and Socrates comes out of the woodwork with their own bits of "knowledge." On the heels of the deaths of some of the most legendary and iconic figures in black entertainment history, it's unfathomable to pass away and rest in peace. Instead, their memory is ripped to shreds by people who insist they saw their death coming from a mile away, and laugh in the face of those who mourn. Go and look at your newsfeed on the days that a prominent figure/celebrity passed away. You'll find photos with the celebrity on one side, starving African children on the other, and a message that reads "One dies, millions cry. Millions die, no one cries."

Hol' up, hol' up, whoa dere.

You're telling me that because I wrote a "R.I.P. Whitney" tweet that I don't care about children in Africa? That's the correlation we're making here?

I get it. The purpose of such a photo is to bring to light that the deaths of famous people get more attention than larger, critical issues happening in the world. But to openly accuse people of being heartless and ignorant because they express grief for the death of another human being is ridiculous. How is it that you are any more compassionate than them? What are you doing to help those millions of starving African children that you so willingly exploited on your timeline?


Point is, if you are anomaly, if you are open-minded, if you see the world in a way that's different from others - you don't need to prove it. People will acknowledge it, accept it, maybe even challenge it at times, but in the end, you are still are you. That is not to say you should be silent and not speak up about things you don't agree with, but you should be able to discuss certain topics/matters without going to the extreme of trying to making yourself look good and someone else bad.

And I’m done.

*steps down from soapbox* Dang it, I did it again…

U Don't Know

Looking at past conversations I've had with male friends, it's interesting to see the different perspectives on what they believe the black woman wants. What's funnier is they're able to determine those needs when they are, in fact, not black women. 0__o

The opposite sex will always have an opinion of the other sex's wants and how they act, and usually these opinions are grounded in personal experience. I pulled the top three myths that I felt were the most controversial and antithetical to all- well let's say many- black women wants when it comes to relationships. So sit back...


Myth #1: Black women cannot date because they always want to get into relationships, and the primary reason they get into relationships is to rush to the altar.


It's quite hilarious to say the word "relationship" to a man and he looks as if he caught a stomach virus mid-conversation. Don't think too highly of yourself. Women will bring up the subject of relationships NOT because they want to be in one with you, but because they want an understanding of your stance on relationships and where you're at now. That way, we won’t put ourselves in the position of dating a guy and developing feelings, just for them to turn around and say "I'm not ready yet." And yes, marriage is a beautiful institution that is highly celebrated in our community. But you won't find "get married and ish" on our daily to-do list. Bringing in other factors into the equation (women who conscientiously choose to be single, women who are career-driven and not family-focused, etc.), you'll find that while we may desire marriage in the future, it's not a "prize" to be won, but a blessing bestowed upon us when it is the RIGHT TIME. If you are dating a woman and the topic of relationships is brought up, do not shy away from it. Be open and honest. It will save the two of you a lot of confusion and/or heartbreak.

Myth #2: Black women demand an unreasonable amount of attention.


Women are emotional creatures. That is no surprise to anyone, and as much as we'd like to deny it, we are. As with anything with emotions, there requires a certain amount of attention. Correct? Okay. Attention does not require a) spending every waking moment with you, b) texting 12 hours out of the day, and c) talking on the phone for the other 12 hours. I can't define what an "appropriate amount" of attention is when the needs of each woman varies, but some is better than none. If you're dating someone, you shouldn't have to check in on her EVERY day, but does it hurt to call sometime throughout the week? Or at least send a DM that says "hi?" We don’t need care and attention 24/7. We just want to feel as if you still have a genuine interest in our well being and getting to know us, without having to make the first contact all of the time. A little attention goes a long way.

Myth #3: Black women only seek men who have ample amounts of money and can take care of them.


Contrary to popular belief, Kim Kardashian is not the role model of the black women population. Do not take the fact that because a woman wants a man who’s financially sound, she is a gold digger. And the operating phrase is financially sound. That does not mean it's necessary for him to have a six or seven figure salary, but he should be able to support himself first and foremost, and a family in the future. Furthermore, the amount of educated, black women is growing every day, and we are continuing to blaze trails in different fields and territory. Those upper-level positions that were once out of reach are now obtainable goals, and the support of a man is not always wanted nor needed. It would, however, be nice to find a man that's on the same level whether it's financially, mentally, or spiritually. What good is your money to me if I can't connect with you on any other level?

Here's what may be a revelation to men: it is the little things that makes a woman happy. The little things include opening the car door, dropping off soup when she's sick, surprising her with favorite candy when you hang out, sending a 'good morning' text to start her day (let me stop- I'm naming all of my favorite things.)

I understand people who structure viewpoints around experience. That's what experience does. It shapes our beliefs and even our outlook on life. But it does not make anyone the Dalai Lama of understanding things such as relationships just because they've encountered ‘type A man one too many times,’ or because they have a plethora of female friends who are the epitome of a needy, money-hungry, marriage-thirsty women. Furthermore, it's impossible to categorize all black women because we were each taught different life lessons. Some are born as princesses and raised as queens, told to never let a man treat her as anything less. Many are groomed to follow the older adage of the "submissive housewife" who caters to her husband's every needs, does the cooking, cleaning, caring of the children, and puts work (if she has a job) second to her family. Then there are the very blunt lessons that rests at opposite ends of the spectrum: the "go for the gold" or the "you can do bad all by yourself" theories.

Regardless, you can never really guess the mentality of a black woman and her expectations when they all differ. We cannot allow past experiences and faulty stereotypes to hinder us from dating or getting into relationships- that goes for both men and women. And with that being said, I would like to invite one of my guy friends to write a similar blog debunking myths about black men because there are a TON of them out there too. My top three are:

1. All black men cheat.
2. All black men aspire to be athletes, rappers, or have any other career where they can get money off of talent and not education and/or hard work.
3. All black men come from broken homes and suffer from "I ain't have no daddy" syndrome.

The list goes on but you get the point. Can't write on it because, alas, I am 100% woman.

I especially invite you to write a response if you see one of your statements the black women myths listed above....still love ya tho!

...Gone For a Minute, Now I'm Back With the Jump-Off

Last post --> September 28th. Smh...

I'm back! Well, not really. Given that I'll be plunging headfirst into pre-finals and finals work within these next four weeks, I'll just say that I'll be dropping in periodically.

What to say about the past few months? I've added people to my life, I've subtracted, and others are still part of an equation that I can't seem to solve. To say that I have senioritis is putting it mildly. I AM ready to graduate. On the other hand, I still enjoy the comfort of being in school and if I were to walk across the stage tomorrow, I'd probably be dragged kicking and screaming into the workforce. My mantra: I'll get over it.

The biggest change regarded a person who I've discussed before in previous blogs. It was a relationship that had transpired over the past year or so and was abruptly altered due to a simple question that I asked and he could not answer. I was (indirectly) told that I wasn't good enough, and had to sit and watch the fragile structure of our "friendship" crumple before my eyes. Thank goodness for prayer and faith because for a brief moment, I believed I'd be searching for my heart and self-esteem amongst the rubble.

Moving forward, it seems like we're trying to salvage the few remaining remnants, however my attention is elsewhere- on new things and new people. Business offers have been pouring in ranging from being hired by planning and development firm in Detroit, offered membership into a "young and talented professionals" group, to discussing a possible editor position for a new and upcoming blog. In addition, I finally received my match in the Big Brothers Big Sisters program, and after an awkward first meeting, my Little and I are getting along great. To see her light up when she comes out of the classroom makes the time commitment and the trek to school every week worth it. And if and when I survive this semester, yours truly will be headed to M-I-A, AGAIN, for my 25th birthday. Two words: "it's on." That's all I have to say about that.

Where do I go from here? I'm not sure. It's like having three mystery doors in front of me and I need to decide which one to open. On the bright side, I at least know what my priorities are. Oh, and in regards to dating and relationships, well....

That's something you'll have to ask me about in person.

Hey Mr. Carter....

I've been neglecting my blog (obviously) due to school, work, extracurriculars, and maintaining a blog writer position with ULoop. I shall be back!

Until then....

Enjoy pictures from my sketchbook. I decided to start drawing again since my other pastime (reading) is being dominated by 100-page readings for class. When life calms down- which is looking like that will be May 2012- I'll be back on the ol' dusty blogging trail again.

Hear My Call

In my very first blog entry, I recalled my initial adventures in writing- one being a diary and the other a journal. Given today marks a decade since America witnessed one of its greatest tragedies and senseless acts of violence, I decided to rummage through old bins to find my black and white composition notebook. And voila:

This journal documents my evolution of thought and emotion in my teenage years, and is at times embarrassing to read. With that aside, the reason I returned to this notebook is to see what I felt 10 years ago on this day. Slightly chilling to read. Not so much for the content, but because I was transported back to the young state of mind who yet to experience unadulterated fear. Here, is my 9/11 journal entry- unfiltered, unedited, and 100% the thoughts of a 14-year old Christina:

9/11/01

I have a lot to tell you. First Joyce had a Sweet 16 party in Minnesota. It went great! She got money, games, jewelry, etc.. Did you know I got into AGBU? Thank God! It's soooo fun! (But more on that later) Oh my gosh, Aaliyah was killed in a plane crash August 25th!!! She was in a private plane that was overloaded.I was so sad, I broke out crying. That shows that you can die at any age. She died at 22 after she recorded an album, and after she filmed two movies...Also, New York's World Trade Center and Twin Towers and D.C.'s Pentagon was hit by terrorist planes! We might have to go to war!!!!!!!! I pray to *God* we don't! I was scared , but praying comforted. Thank God for prayers. Tonight I will pray that people will be comforted and for the families of the 1000's lives lost in those buildings. Thank you God for the gift of life!!! *Dear God, please don't let us go to war! Please! Protect me and my family and whole U.S. dear Lord and please be with President Bush. Guide him and help him to do the right thing. I love you and I praise your holy name. Amen.*