love

Tales of Hip-Hop and A Love Letter to Shawn

~ Shameka The Writer ~ 2 Comments

I was born into hip-hop.

In the impossibly hot summer of 1980, there I was, entering the world as a new era in music was creeping into its rightful place as a global juggernaut, though no one saw it that way then. And as it gained more and more views, and spins, and finally videos, my parents were right in the thick of it, 21 and 23 years old, parents of me and my older sister, rapping along to the best party music they’d ever heard and commiserating with these teenagers and young adults about what it meant to grow up as they had, doing what they did. 

All my peers have an older cousin, or sister that played them their first record with a DJ scratching and an MC hyping up his dexterity and rhythmic finger skill. Not me. It was my mom and dad. My dad was the first person to play me Shalamar, and the first person to play me Rakim. I knew who the Treacherous Three were because my mother’s love for Kool Moe Dee knew no bounds. I was born into hip-hop.

And having received a gift as amazing as that, I somehow knew I’d better hold on to it. So I did. I held on so tight that it was a part of me, ingrained in everything I did. My sister and I listened to hip-hop while we did everything, while we did anything. And we were always searching for something new to love–just the way our parents had taught us to. And so in 1995, with my Favorite Rappers list steadily growing, when I kind of had a crush on Tupac, cleaned my room to Tribe and De La, blasted The Roots with all the Philly pride I could muster, and thought Wu-Tang was the best thing since sliced bread, my sister brought me this tape of a guy named Jay-Z. Now, she’d gotten it from her boyfriend at the time, a low level dope boy who did nothing but blast music from his hoopty and move from corner to corner to avoid the police. But that’s neither here nor there. He was our hookup for music we didn’t hear on the radio or see on Yo MTV Raps. So we put the tape in… and my life changed.

Now I don’t say that lightly. I mean, I was living in a rap landscape that had Biggie prominently leading the Best Rapper category for a lot of people. I was obsessed with Rakim and Kool G Rap. We still played our Illmatic CD everyday and had heated debates about whether Snoop would beat the murder case that they gave him. Shit, there was a lot of music in my head. But something about Hov made me want to hear more of him. So, of course the first question I ask is “where’s his CD? Can we get it?” My sister’s answer, “he doesn’t have one yet. But we’ll get it when he does.” 

Fast forward to 1996. Reasonable Doubt came out just in time for my sister’s birthday, but she didn’t get it as she promised; her initial infatuation had cooled and her love and loyalty for Biggie had firmly reasserted itself. So I had to wait for my own birthday. And I did. And I spun Reasonable Doubt as soon as I could make it home from the store with it. And my record scratch/ light bulb/ a-ha/ moment blossomed into love. Hov was everything I already loved in a different way. He gave me Rakim, and KGR, and Kane vibes– but he was firmly himself. I mean, this man had wordplay for days, he could rhyme fast or slow, he was in perfect control of his pacing–and he told stories. Reasonable Doubt was a masterpiece. You could tell how honest it was. How determined it was. How sure it was. Hov knew he had a place–and you could hear it.

So, a stan was born. “Can’t Knock the Hustle” spun an insane number of times–because by then my mother was more receptive to rap if you threw in some R&B she could bop to–“Feelin It” was my favorite and I rapped Foxy’s verse on “Ain’t No Nigga” like I was standing in front of Hov myself. I couldn’t wait to see what Shawn Corey was going to do next. Volume One dropped and I begged my mom to get it for me. I jumped up and down for joy seeing that “Friend or Foe” had a sequel and I grinned at hearing Lenny S on the intro like he was an old friend. Hov was back, and my life was complete. Volume One had a couple of songs that made me scrunch my head in confusion, but I was already well aware of how album sales worked: you needed a catchy tune that the radio could play. So I let it slide. And it still hit me in the same place; the same honesty, determination, the same grit. Volume Two was propelled by an Annie sample and a movie soundtrack record and Hov was the big time. By then I was in college and the debates about his prowess as an MC flew across the spades table as we played game after game. This Hov was flashier to me, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. His content didn’t exactly change, but the way he presented it did–if that makes sense. And you couldn’t bring up his name without people mentioning Biggie, which also annoyed me to no end. I felt close to Hov. I felt like I knew him, like his music let me in. Biggie, as good and as raw as he was, never made me feel like that.

By the time Volume 3 and The Dynasty rolled into my life, Hov gave me another reason to love him: Beanie Sigel, who lived around the corner from where I grew up, and who I’d spent many a night hearing freestyles from in the schoolyard up the street, joined The Roc. And my heart melted. My ears tingled. Beans the Bully was a great compliment to Hov’s smoother, calmer style, and I wanted to hear everything I could. We got to the Blueprint, and I was firm in my love. 9/11 happened and the whole world changed, but Shawn Corey stayed the same. He was hitting every milestone and peak and I hadn’t seen anything quite like it. He was going to the mountaintop, and to my delight, with the addition of State Property, he was taking Philly with him. By then I didn’t love anyone in hip-hop, I didn’t love anyone in music, the way I loved Shawn Corey Carter. He reminded me of my dad in a lot of ways: reformed dope boy who just wants to make good and live good. I know that’s not a unique story in hip-hop, but the way Hov told it was, and that’s what connected with me. His cadence, his rhythm, his storytelling ability. He was confident in his ability to outshine anyone around him, to stand taller, to rap better. Shawn Corey knew what he could do, and he knew he could do better than anyone else. That was what I loved.

I stood firm by his side during the beef with Nas (even though I’d always loved Nas), and argued with my every breath that “Takeover” was better than “Ether” (it was).  The Blueprint 2 was supposed to be Hov’s Magnum Opus and I was worried from the first. That many tracks? But I couldn’t doubt my favorite artist so I got ready. And… it should have been one album. There were so many flashes of Hov being outstanding, but too many instances of sounding him nonchalant and unexcited. Nonetheless, my love was strong. And I forgave him. Because his brilliance was still there. His wordplay, his stories, his cadence, his confidence. Plus, he dropped the final bomb on the Nas beef on that album. We’re all still wondering if it’s Oochie Wally Wally or One Mic. 

Then, the world stops. Shawn Corey says he’s not going to rap anymore, and his next album will be his last.  And even though I’d known hip-hop before him, it didn’t feel like it, and I wondered what we would do, what I would do, without someone there who I thought was actively raising the bar. Now I don’t want you to think Hov was my only love. My love for the genre as a whole was all-encompassing and there were plenty of artists I spun besides him. But he was my North Star. He was who I focused myself with. Who brought me back to center. So I wondered where hip-hop would go without him, where my musical attraction would go next, and if there’d ever be anyone I loved as much as him (up until this point, the only one even coming close was Rakim). But Shawn seemed serious, and so I sucked it up and prepared to say goodbye. And The Black Album delivered. Every producer brought something unique. There were so many quotable bars, so much of Hov revealed. It was honest. It was determined. It was sure. Hov had a place–it was on top. And he knew it.

Hov’s “retirement” wasn’t easy for me by any means, but when he said he was coming back, I was nervous. Everything he’d done had been overwhelmingly good, and I was worried about his rush to come back, his need to be heard. And I was right to be. Kingdom Come wasn’t what anyone wanted or expected from my rap hero, and I found myself floundering, making excuses for Shawn, and trying to see the good. Years later, Kingdom Come doesn’t play nearly as terribly as it does upon first listen, and there are some things I LOVE about it, but as a comeback album, it was bad. Underwhelming, and unexciting, for the most part. And it probably has him and Bey’s worst collab. But, we move on. I tried to forgive Shawn, and eventually I did, but as much as I’d missed him while he was gone, I was still stung he’d come back like that. But just as easily, he found a way to make my heart sing again. And it was called American Gangster. This was Shawn Corey. A grown Shawn Corey. A versatile Shawn Corey. A linguistically savvy, arrogant as hell Shawn Corey who managed to step into himself and Frank Lucas simultaneously (Surviving droughts? I wish you well?) American Gangster was a masterpiece. And I was ready to follow wherever Hov led.  The Blueprint 3 wasn’t a masterpiece, but I enjoyed it, and I don’t give it the grief that most people do. But Hov was up and down at this point. Floundering a bit. I wasn’t used to it. 

Next thing I know, I’m watching the throne. And Kanye’s influence is heavy. Hov played the background and I guess I understood, but I hoped he’d never do it again. It just wasn’t… him. Not that the album didn’t have it’s moments. But I get it. Shawn was becoming a family man. And rap could wait. The fans could wait. And wait I did. When I heard about Magna Carta, Holy Grail I felt that familiar tingle, that nervous excitement. But would I get Kingdom Come Hov or American Gangster Hov? The answer was somewhere in the middle. MCHG plays much better now when you know what to avoid, but there are splashes of the reflective, open, honest Hov that I know and love. We’re all still waiting with bated breath to see if a full version of “Beach Is Better” appears and “Nickels and Dimes,” is a top ten Hov track and I don’t care what anyone says. I’m back in full swing though, and my love is still strong. It’s still you, Shawn Corey. It’s always been you.

4:44 was a tour de force for me, an exceptional album that was overshadowed by what Shawn and his wife revealed about their marriage, and life together. People really did my love a major disservice and made the entire narrative about infidelity when we got the most eloquent, expressive Hov we’d seen in years. The fucking disrespect. But not to worry. I heard it. I reveled in it. I play “Marcy Me” once a day STILL. I appreciated it. Shawn was so open on this album that people forgot how open he’d been on other ones. To them, his reveal was a level never before seen. But not to me. Because I remember “D’Evils,” “You Must Love Me,” “This Can’t Be Life,” “Soon You’ll Understand,” “Song Cry,” “Allure,” “Nickels and Dimes,” and all the rest. Shawn had been peeling back layers for YEARS–and he deserves credit for that. I am more than happy to give him that credit.

When all is said and done, that day in 1995 when my sister’s boyfriend walked into our house with that tape, changed my life. It changed my perspective. It changed my music. And I’m forever changed. Happily. I was born into hip-hop. It’s probably my greatest love. And Shawn Corey makes it better, brighter, sharper. So I’m still in love. I’m still in awe. Hov has a place–and it’s in my heart.

A Keeper of Men

~ Shameka The Writer ~ 2 Comments

So I just have a question…

Ladies, how do you keep a man? Do I wear my hair a certain way? Are there “Keep A Man” clothes? Do they need special food? Specific snacks? Should my home resemble a sports bar with a bed? Do I fill my brain with motivational messages that I blurt out when he slaps me on the ass like a vending machine, giving him exactly what he needs, exactly when he needs it? How do you do it? Can you ladies in relationships help me out? Because I’ve wandered into yet another place where I thought I had some footing and it turns out I might be totally clueless. Walk with me…

I’m on Facebook, minding my business (which is part of the problem because I should have just kept doing that), and one of my longtime friends posted a meme asking women to name a way to keep a man that doesn’t involve sex, food, or money. Now, it was at this point that I really fucked up because I decided to stop scrolling and read the responses. What in the hell was I thinking? That just gets you more involved; I should have known better. I read what the ladies were writing down, and a lot of it was, quite honestly, what I expected: support him, foster his dreams, pray for him, build him up, don’t knock his ideas, and my personal favorites (sarcasm)–shut up sometimes and don’t nag him so much. I laughed a little, nodded my head thoughtfully, took a deep breath, and wrote my sure-fire foolproof method for keeping a man: nothing. That’s what I believe, so that’s what I wrote. I wrote that nothing “keeps” a man other than him wanting to stay. Period.

Now the response from my longtime friend (a guy, if you haven’t figured it out), was not agreement. He told me he disagreed and that I had answered the wrong question. Now that stumped me. Because I thought I read the question correctly. The meme didn’t say “Name ways to make your man happier,” “Name ways to cater to your man,” or even, “Name ways to keep your relationships strong.” It said to name a way you keep a man, which I interpreted as “keep him from leaving me,” and from what I’ve learned, there’s no way to do that, other than him wanting to stay. So I don’t know how it wasn’t the question being asked. Now, this is when I got smart and figured out that I didn’t want this Facebook discussion in any way, shape, form, or fashion. So I didn’t respond after he said that. I moved along. But it stayed with me, and I couldn’t move on in my mind. I even asked my Twitter timeline, that’s how confused I was. How did I not get the question right? Because I didn’t mimic the answers of those other women? Because I actually believe healthy relationships are a result of free will on the part of both people and not magic beans wrapped in condescending rhetoric like, “shut up sometimes and don’t nag him?”

Look. I don’t have a thing to say about those other women’s answers. I don’t care. Besides that, most of them probably have a man and I certainly don’t. So maybe I’m totally wrong. But it bothered me a lot that those answers were given, that those were the answers expected, and anything not in that vein was rejected as not answering the right question. I mean, support, prayer, encouragement are all par for the course in relationships, right? Why would you be in one otherwise? Those are all things that keep relationships strong, things that both partners need, things that are somewhat necessary. They’re not tips to glue a man to your side. Shutting up sometimes and listening is just good communication skills–necessary for life–not some ancient Chinese secret to keep a man. You think men are the only people who like silence? You think men are the only people who want to be left alone sometimes? But it drove me to something deeper. The idea that “keeping” him was my responsibility as his woman.

See, once you start throwing around things like, “Ladies, how do you keep your man?” you’ve just given the woman an extra job. Suddenly, it’s my duty to make him stay. Now the onus is on me to “keep” him rather than on him–a fully functioning, grown ass man–to make himself happy in whatever way that means. You’ve unbalanced the scales. You’ve moved the goalposts. Both of us working to keep our relationship strong is somehow not enough now. And you’ve given him less work. Because now, if he does in fact leave me, he can blame me. He can point to something I didn’t do, rather than just saying the relationship wasn’t right. And now he can go blameless into his next one without ever learning how to self-reflect, or self-correct. Maybe the issue is laziness. Because “maintaining your relationship,” or “keeping it strong,” implies that both people are working at it. And “Ladies, how do you keep your man?” clearly implies that only one person is. It’s entitlement. It’s unfair. And really harmful to women, I think. The idea that I have to do anything other than reciprocate what’s given to me, in order to “keep” someone who has the free will to leave anytime they want, is utterly ridiculous. And since I haven’t had the greatest luck in relationships, I can also attest that I’ve begged enough people to stay to know that it doesn’t work. A man who wants to stay will build with you, and stay–and a man who wants to leave, will leave. Nothing can keep him but his desire to stay. Let me say that again. NOTHING CAN KEEP HIM BUT HIS DESIRE TO STAY.

A friend of mine (a man) told me that part of man’s journey to do/ be better for women in this life is disabusing themselves of the notion that a woman’s love for you is assumed, but your love for her has to be earned. And I find myself wanting to ask men–is it more important that I love you, or is it more important that I earn your love for me? I wonder how many of them would have a thoughtful answer. Because in my mind, the first one is heart and the second one is ego.

Now let me not suggest that you don’t do all that stuff for your man that those other women wrote in the comments (if you want to). Of course you should support, uplift, encourage, and pray for him. Of course you should shut up sometimes and listen. But do it out of love and reciprocity, in the interest of strengthening your bond and falling deeper in love, not because you think it’s some magic glue that’s gonna hold him to your side. Because it’s all about choice. And so-called “perfect” girls get cheated on and dumped everyday, B.

 

A Thirsty Heart

~ Shameka The Writer ~ Leave a comment

Sigh.

I’m starting with a sigh because here I go again. I have a lot to unpack and I’m here, again, with the intention of working through these emotions that just keep popping up. Now mind you, when I work through these things, the response I get is usually overwhelmingly supportive, and I have to thank all of the people who encourage me, and love me, and read my thoughts and see me for who I am: just a woman trying to figure this life thing out, which is what most of us are doing. But still, whenever I write about something that’s weighing on me, I’m hesitant. That being said, I was hesitant at first. Sometimes I really wonder if it’s a good idea for me to be so transparent. I wonder what people think of me that they’re not saying. I wonder if I write about my weight, and my love life, and my struggle with confidence and some people just read and go, “that Shameka sure is fucked up.” I wonder that. I do. But even with that, I have to persevere. I have to express myself. So here I am. Here we are. And here we go. Again.

I’ve been thinking quite a lot about love. I write about love… all the time. Most of my stories have some element of romantic love in them. I’m kind of obsessed with it. There are so many ways I can go, so many places the characters take me. But more often than not, I’m writing that all-consuming love, that TV melodrama love, the love that really conquers all. I’m writing the love I wish I had. Now, I know enough to know that love is far more nuanced in the real world. It can fade, even when we don’t want it to. Sometimes we grow out of it, or are forced out for reasons beyond our control. You don’t always get a hundred chances to make it right. Sometimes separation… is just that. But even with all of that real world knowledge, I’m still writing out my romantic dreams.

In one of my earliest blogs (see link here https://shamekaerby.wordpress.com/2012/07/23/not-the-same-girl/), I wrote about how my last break-up had chilled my romantic, optimistic nature. How I was more cautious, guarded. And how I was afraid I’d be that way forever. I’m kind of happy to say that the worse didn’t happen. I may seem a little more guarded in my real life, but my stories are proof positive that my romantic nature is fully intact. Plus, I’m not afraid to like people again. I’m still optimistic about it- mostly. But the sad truth is, as much as I believe in it, and write about it, and hope for it, my love life has been a pretty big disappointment as a whole. And I have no idea why.

I thought for a while that my lack of confidence was killing it for me. I even wrote a blog about it (https://shamekaerby.wordpress.com/2013/04/24/kill-them-with-confidence/) . I mean, all of the relationship “experts” go on and on about how you have to project a certain way, and attract people to you, how you can’t want it too bad because men will sense your desperation and they won’t want you. I took it all to heart, got to the bottom of why I wasn’t confident, vowed to work on it as much as I could. And I did work on it. I even think there’s been progress. But still… disappointments. People said I should broaden my horizons. So I tried online dating. More disappointments. I won’t link those blogs. Who needs to relive my slut shaming episode again anyway? Not me. Then, I thought maybe it was my weight. So I tried to lose some. But that wasn’t the problem. It wasn’t my weight as much as it was the way I felt about my weight. I didn’t feel attractive, which circled right back to that confidence thing.

Sigh.

Anyway, next I tried to unpack all of my issues inside as a way of cleaning out the cobwebs and getting to the bottom of things. I realized that my biological dad had left me with some feelings I needed to acknowledge. I realized that this led me to seek people who were emotionally unavailable because I wanted to “fix” them. I mean, I got to the crust of some pretty heavy shit. And I needed to. I did it for the right reasons, and I’m better for it. But a small part of me wonders about whether I’ll ever get to share my emerging, emotionally healthy self WITH someone. And it’s hard not to believe that it’s just you. But I know some pretty wonderful people, who are also single, who are also hoping that love will happen for them. So I know I’m not the only one slugging through this shit, and that makes me feel marginally better. Still. Some things are hard to process.

I have loved. But I have never been loved in return. I’ve been lusted after, wanted, desired. And that feels pretty good. But none of the men I’ve loved have ever loved me back. Not one. I’ve heard the words, but they weren’t true. That made me sad, when I first said that out loud to myself. You know what made it worse? I had to talk myself through the reality that maybe it won’t happen. I mean everything isn’t meant for everyone, right? Maybe things like lasting romantic involvements and children aren’t meant for me. Maybe. Now before you accuse me of having a defeatist attitude, I haven’t given up all hope. I’m just saying that at some point, I may have to accept that those are things I’m not meant to have, that my purpose is different, that my fate won’t bend in that direction. Maybe. I had a conversation with one of my aunts about hormones and she told me to get ready for more changes because I was nearly menopausal, like that was supposed to give me some sort of comfort. All I could think is that my biological clock was running out of batteries. And I… am running out of optimism. Not purposely, of course. Maybe I should stop having conversations with people.

Anyway, as with many of my blogs, I don’t have the answers. I guess I’m not supposed to have them. Yet. If you’ve ever heard a genuine, “I love you too” you’re pretty lucky for that–don’t forget it. And all is not lost. I still believe in love, and in its absolute power. I’m still telling stories, and still making people fall in love on paper. For now, it’ll have to be enough.

Mind Over Marriage

~ Shameka The Writer ~ Leave a comment

This past weekend, I was in Rhode Island for my best friend’s sister’s wedding. My best friend is second-generation Nigerian so there were a lot of traditional aspects mixed in with the wedding. Overall, it was beautiful and special and I was proud of my adopted little sister. But as weddings do, it started me thinking about my journey to matrimony.

Don’t get all hype- it’s not happening soon. I’m not even in a relationship. But weddings make you think of all kinds of things along those lines- what you would wear, what food you would serve, what song you would dance to- everything. Most of the time when you attend a wedding, you don’t think of the actual married life the couple is going to have; you’re too busy figuring out how to make your party better than the one you’re attending. And I have to say I am no exception to this rule. I had my own dress, food, reception, music visions all the way home (and it was a seven-hour drive, by the way). But that’s not really the important part is it? Clearly, I should be more concerned with whether I could even handle marriage on a mental and emotional level. Or whether I even want to.

I don’t need to get married. I believe in marriage, and I wouldn’t mind it- but I don’t need it. I hate this premise, this subconscious societal implication, that if you love someone, and they love you- that marriage is the stamp that makes your relationship “real”. That your love isn’t genuine (or your man’s love for you isn’t genuine) if you’re not married and you’re not pressed about being married. I know a lot of women who believe that being a wife brings them to a level of respect that being a girlfriend just can’t touch. So many women think being a wife means something special, something untouchable, something realer than everything else. But since I am someone who knows married men who aren’t faithful, or even in love with their wives, I ain’t falling for that argument. I’m a romantic. So the way I figure it, if you don’t have the man’s heart, it doesn’t matter what he calls you. It doesn’t matter that he pays your bills, or that you’ll be the one who gets his pension when he dies. If I’m going to commit myself to a man- with the idea that it will be forever- I want his heart, and nothing less. And if I’m confident that I have that, and he has mine, then I don’t really care about the marriage part. See this is what I mean when I say I don’t need it.

Now, let me stop here and say that some of the most beautiful, talented, fabulous, fearless women I know are married women. And I think they are awesome wives. I think that their husbands simply could not have done better; these girls are amazing- and I never want them or anyone to think that I am somehow insulting the fact that they chose to marry. I’m not; I never would. And quite honestly, if I was in love and committed and with a man whose heart was mine (in a perfect world, this man would be a big, burly, rough-around-the-edges intelligent man who slapped me on the ass and recited rap lyrics to me)- and this man asked me to marry him, I would TOTALLY say yes. I would be an asshole to say no. I’m just saying that if he didn’t ask me, but I knew he loved me and wanted me forever, then that would be enough. Now, at this point, you’re probably thinking, “But Shameka- if he really loves you and wants you forever, why wouldn’t he ask you?” And that’s a good question. I’m not saying that he wouldn’t. But I don’t want him to think that that’s expected of him, that I need that. And the reason I don’t need it, is because I feel like a lot people think the marriage guarantees them something, when it doesn’t guarantee you anything. It doesn’t mean he’ll stay, or be faithful, or even be kind. It doesn’t mean he’ll respect you, or love you, or cherish you. You need to have all of those things in advance, and I think sometimes people forget that. It’s almost as though they get married and then try to build a marriage. When in actuality, you’re supposed to build your marriage FIRST and then get married as a celebration of the continuation of your journey.

If we want to get all biblical about it, I’d have to say that the story of Adam and Eve is where it all started, lol. God made them, and put them together FIRST- and then told them to build a life- AFTER. And I think we carry that model in our lives now- that a marriage will just magically appear because you’re married. Conceptually, it’s completely wrong. I’m not saying God was wrong, but it’s a little archaic to think that things that worked when we didn’t have a population on Earth are still supposed to work now.

I also think that we’ve perpetuated some idea in our modern society that marriage is the way, and the truth, and the light- whether you mean it or not. For example, a few years ago, I watched an episode of Dateline (or some similar show, I don’t remember) and one of the segments was about this woman who ran a program called, “Marry Your Baby’s Daddy.” She was encouraging couples who had been together for a while, and who had kids to get married. Now, I believe her heart was in the right place, but her segment made me angry. There was nothing in the program about how to have a healthy, stable relationship. They never showed her offering these people counseling, or classes. There was just a church where you could marry the father of your kid. Also, some years ago, there was a church that was running some kind of marriage campaign- where they bought out billboards over the highway to tell us how much better married people do in life (Married people make more money, Married peoples’ kids do better in school, etc.) And again, no message about love, or trust, or respect and honesty. You’re going to encourage marriage without first trying to teach people that they’re relationships should be healthy? We really are assholes- and we’re ruining the world. Don’t try to push people into marriage with that, “You have kids and you live together- so you might as well” bullshit. We should be encouraging people to be mentally and emotionally healthy individuals, and then couples. And if we do that, most people will probably get married on their own. Because I believe most people feel like that’s what they want.

Also… if I’m being honest (and I always try to be with you guys), I’d have to say that there’s anxiety there on some level. I’ve noticed in a lot of cases, that men feel like being a husband is completely different from being a man in love, when being a husband is simply an extension of that. I don’t want the man I love to feel like marriage is something he has to change for. And I don’t want to feel like I do either. I don’t want him to feel like marriage is moving us to some level where he has to somehow figure out how to love me better. If I marry him to begin with, it’ll be because the way he loves me now is perfect. Husband and Wife titles seem like they put so much extra pressure on people. I don’t want that pressure on me.  I know that when love is real, and true- a lot of this won’t matter. And like I said, if that man asked me, I’d be an asshole to say no. But I don’t need it- I don’t know if I ever will.

You Say Goodbye- And I… Don’t

~ Shameka The Writer ~ 1 Comment

Channel surfing is so dangerous. One minute you’re flying high, pressing buttons, ruling the TV, dodging commercials like that ball in your elementary school gym class- and the next minute, you’re getting sucked into the last twenty minutes of Love and Hip Hop and all is lost. Now there’s no need for me to repeat my paragraph on my hatred of reality TV- you guys should remember my loathing of it. But tonight, I saw two segments that did the absolute impossible- they connected with my life. I mean, my real life. I watched the conversation between Tahiry and her father and I also watched Mendecees try to explain the possibility of jail to his seven year old son. Those two parts pulled me in, reminded me of myself. Since the memories start with childhood, of course, I’m going to address the two scenes in reverse. But first, a little background…

A few months ago, I wrote a blog about whether you should share your whole past in a relationship (Let the Past Be Present). And in that post, I explained that the emotional trauma in your past should be shared. And then I admitted that my biological father wasn’t in my life the way I needed him to be. In actuality, he’s been an addict most of my life. Now, I had another father- a wonderful, honorable man- and a mother too, so I don’t want anyone to think that my life was this struggle- and I don’t want to take away from the fact that this struggle has been 1000 times harder for my dad- but it is what it is.

When I watched Mendecees try to explain to his son that he may not see him for a while, that moment got to me. I remember being 11 years old, and sitting with my dad, listening to him tell me that he was going away to get better and that I wouldn’t see him for a while. I didn’t understand addiction- so of course, I didn’t understand him leaving to deal with it. He said he was coming back, but deep down I was always afraid that he wouldn’t. I cried, because that’s what you do when someone you love says goodbye- but I had no idea what it really meant.  He did come back, and things were good for a while, but a year later, we had the same conversation- this time, over the telephone. I guess he thought it would be less painful if we weren’t face to face; it wasn’t. And I had no idea that years later I would be hanging on to bad relationships, to outgrown friendships, to things I shouldn’t- because he made me afraid to say goodbye. And even though he did come back, he’s still not fully in my life. Sometimes I feel like we said our final goodbye that night on the phone, when I was twelve years old, because nothing was ever the same between us after that. My dad is a decent guy- and he loves me. But I don’t know that he’ll ever be able to appreciate how long it took me to reconcile that feeling of abandonment. I don’t know that he’ll ever see that my need to hold on to things was a direct manifestation of my inability to hold on to him.

The other scene that connected with me was the one of Tahiry’s conversation with her father. She talked to him about how his failings as a father and husband shaped her as a woman. And I thought about that too. In dealing with my biological dad, I felt like the parent most of the time. I looked for my dad, made sure he was eating, sleeping, and generally getting along. It made me think about the partners I chose- and why I chose them. It made me think about the men I’ve loved, about what I was looking for when I fell for them. I know this is classic Psych 101 shit- but it’s pretty real. I wanted to save my dad. I wanted to make him better, fix him up. And I wanted to keep him- so much that I chased him. And that’s how I was as a woman in love. I loved people who I thought needed me- needed me to fix them, look after them, save them. I chased them when they left- and forgave them when they returned. I thought that love meant never walking away. I didn’t believe in saying goodbye- not even if it was going to save me.

Five years ago, I wrote my biological dad a letter, telling him some of these feelings. I never mailed the letter; I just needed to get my broken heart on paper. I needed to see and hear and read- out loud- how I was killing my own spirit by following this man’s example. I don’t want you guys to think that I don’t love my biological dad. I do. Very much. But I can’t forget who was there for me, and for a long time, it wasn’t him. I can’t forget that he made me afraid to cut my losses, afraid to save myself… afraid to say goodbye.

It hit me a few years ago, after I broke up with my ex, that I had a great example that I was ignoring all this time. My father. Not my biological, but still my real father. He was the man I should have been emulating. The person I should have let guide my decisions. I took for granted what a great job he did, and what a great man he is. So now, I’m trying to be the woman he raised- finally. Love myself- as he loves me. And define myself- the way he always wanted me too.

Like I said, channel surfing is dangerous. I don’t have the energy for another blog… no more TV. I’m going to bed.

Fishing Nightmares

~ Shameka The Writer ~ Leave a comment

Anyone who knows me, knows that there is no television I loathe more than reality television. I don’t care if you sing, dance, cook or do hair. I don’t care if you are or used to be in love with someone famous; if you’re trying to show off how rich and pointless you are, or how poor and pointless you are; I don’t care if you’re trying to find love, or win money- or both. It all sucks to me. So no one was more surprised than I was that I was sitting in front of a television being poisoned with someone’s so-called “reality.”

My friend went through a hard time recently and I went to hang out with her at her house for a while. She decided that she needed a little television distraction- reality television. I resisted at first, but in deference to her emotional hardship, I relented and agreed to watch something with her. And she introduced me to the heartbreaking, tragic, train wreck that is MTV’s Catfish.

Now, even though I’m sure the entire world knows the premise of this show, I will break it down real quick: Nev is a guy who fell in love with a girl online. But when he met the girl in person, she turned out to be someone else. He was heartbroken, his brother filmed that heartbreak- and that short film has started the clock on his 15 minutes of fame. Now, he is going around the country, helping other people meet their online loves and verify the truth about them, and their lives. I watched three episodes of this show with my friend and my super-emotional self couldn’t bear how completely heartbreaking it seemed. In two of the episodes, the online love was a completely different person that didn’t even seem all that repentant that they had led someone on and played with their life. In the other episode, the person was actually real- but they had been lying and using a glamorous alter ego with a fictional life. I know I’m soft- I know this- but it made my chest hurt a little to watch it.

I don’t want you guys to think I’m naive. I know people lie, all the time, about a lot of things. But the concept of watching a person say that they have real feelings for someone and then find out that it was a joke to the person on the other end was tragedy at its best. Now I’m on Twitter (@ShamekaErby if you want to follow me), and I have read my timeline when Catfish is on. There’s nothing but jokes- people seem to find it amusing. And I didn’t laugh one time when I watched it. If anything, it made me sad and cemented my resolve to stay far away from reality TV. But, as usual, I’m getting off track…

Watching Catfish led me to some serious thoughts about online dating. These days, if you’re over the age of 21, saying that you haven’t connected/ dated another person using some form of online engine is like saying you’ve never been to Starbucks. And I am no different. I’ve met people using social network tools, I’ve joined a couple of dating websites. It’s been… surprising to say the least. At first, I flatly refused to even consider it. I wanted to meet someone the “normal way.” I thought it made me some kind of social freak that I couldn’t meet people just going out, and having fun, and living my life. What I figured out later (with my friends’ help, of course) is that I could do those things in addition to dating online- and it didn’t make me a weirdo. This calmed me- because my inner South Philly knows that one of the worse things in the world to be is a weirdo. So I gave it a shot… and regretted it instantly. Because what I met online was a long, unattractive line of- you guessed it- weirdos. Some were brash, some were disrespectful, some were just stupid. It was twice the work of meeting someone in real life because you couldn’t even trust your own eyes. The people could be lying about everything you were reading on their profile pages. Now, I know people can lie to you in person too- but the lies are completely different. If I met you in a bar there’d be no way you could tell me you were 6’3″ when you were really 5’4″. Now when you meet someone in an actual setting, you can’t trust them completely, but there’s at least some things you can be pretty certain about. Dating online has NONE of that certainty. And it’s scary, to be honest. 

I won’t front like I haven’t had some mild success. I met a couple of nice guys- guys that turned into good friends. Guys that I eventually did verify- by meeting them in person. Guys that I can honestly say are good guys. I haven’t fallen in love, and I’m not completely convinced that I could without ever meeting them (like the people on Catfish) but I’ve had some really good conversations and spent some nice quality time. None of it has turned into a relationship- but I don’t think it’s because of the way I met them.

I guess the key to it is the eventual meetup. There’s no way I could call myself being in a “relationship” with someone I’ve never met face-to-face. It’s just too far-fetched for me. There’s this book out about love languages and how everyone has a different way that they love and like to be shown love. Now, I’m a writer so when I heard about this, naturally I thought words of affirmation would be most important to me (especially since I had an ex that never told me how he felt and that was a huge disconnect between us)- but I figured out that physical touch may be the most important to me. I’m tactile; I love to feel things. When I’m sleeping with someone, I need to be touched (even if it’s just a little) or I can’t settle down. I still read traditional books because I like turning the pages. I’m just that girl. So love strictly over the internet will never work for me. Because eventually I’m going to need to hug you, or hold your hand, or feel your touch in some way. That’s just me. But I guess those Catfish people don’t need that- I guess the email, text, phone call connection is enough.

I feel sad for them. Although there’s no shame in online dating (even with all of the weirdos), there has to be some real loneliness at the heart of these things; loneliness that makes you hinge your heart, and your life decisions on someone you’ve never met. I don’t know if it’s “deep down, black, bottom-of-the-well, no hope, end-of-the-world loneliness” as Charlie Brown once said, but it could be pretty serious. All I know is, if anything will make you scared of online dating, it’s that show.

Suffice it to say, online dating has all the same risks as face-to-face dating- with a few extra thrown in, and it can also be fun… but it’s not the joke that reality TV is turning it into. Not when it’s obvious that so many people take it seriously. I’ll just keep my current method of using it occasionally as ONE of my dating tools- but definitely not the only one. And I’m never watching Catfish again… the things we do for friends…