I’ve done myself a disservice by not writing this sooner but in our hyper-modern, post-racial, ‘we don’t see colour just people‘ society I’ve become weary about sharing my experiences. But now the frustration from not telling this story supersedes my weariness, so please fix the base, adjust that treble and give me more volume on the mike. The melody of this blog will be all too familiar to some; sing along if you know it. For those who don’t like my sound, then please feel free to switch the frequency.
Womanhood isn’t about fighting fair, or so it seems. If there’s one thing that really grates on me, it’s when women dislike other women for no apparent reason. And what frustrates me more, is
Angry black woman, oh please! This depiction of black women is redundant. Yes I can get angry; yes I’m black and yes it so happens that I’m a woman. And yes there is a hint of ‘attitude’ in my tone, but please don’t conclude that I’m angry. It’s not anger, its passion mingled with a hint of frustration. Shockingly black women (just like other human beings) can experience a spectrum of emotions; anger is ONE of them but so are joy, fear and admiration.