Heroine

My Huge Eyes Spy

I remember when I was in 6th grade, about 12-years-old, in Germany, I noticed skinheads hanging out by my school. I was so afraid they would do something to me (I have a Turkish dad) if they noticed me. My stomach would hurt and I kept my distance, trying to rush to the bus to get home. As a child I was really afraid of skinheads (I still kind of am, but now more so because I know how ignorant they are).

Mo Asumang grew up in Germany as well. Her dad is from Ghana and as an Afro-German I am sure her experiences must have been similar, if not worst than mine. However, she decided to confront racism head on by talking to people who hate. When a clip of her talking to a Ku Klux Klan member surfaces online, my stomach turned again, as I watch her speak to him. She documented her experience in a film: Die Arier. This woman truly is a heroine! She is so brave and I can't wait to watch her full documentary.

Throughout the course of my life, I went from being a kid who wanted to be blond and blue-eyed to someone who mostly accepted her looks. Mostly only because somehow I still struggle with my exterior, but not to the extent I once did. I think generally it is hard to accept yourself as a woman today. Especially considering the depictions of women in the media and the images of how we should look like and the pressure it creates on us (but that is another future post).

My 'huge' eyes (as I was made aware many times as a child), my olive skin complexion and darker hair are now the assets I am most proud of.

I love being me.

My 20 Pound Heart

Natural Thoughts of a Young Woman in her late 20's


My heart is weighing twenty pounds. Although it is beating in my chest, it seems to do it a little slower today. Time is creeping by like it is walking on tiptoes, but that does not make it feel any lighter, more like a villain who is trying to hide in the night’s shadow, hoping you won’t notice it. But you notice it even more, insulting it with your thoughts.

It’s the time where one feels like one is not being productive in any kind of way. Not just for a day, but for a period of time. A phase that needs to pass by, which has not revealed yet if it is life or just temporary (which I guess is a natural thought for almost thirty year olds).

Friday night. When you usually get off around 2 AM, an earlier workday throws you off. You are asking yourself where your social life has been? As usual men are not reliable. There you are, sitting at home with your make up on, in your dress and heels, only to find out the night is a failure like so many others. Same old.

There you are, decided to call it a night. Thinking about all the people you wish around but are far more than just a continent away. Your heart knows you are in their thoughts; regardless, it is beating heavy tonight.

Bored glances into the night sky. No stars tonight, it is New York City after all. I am asking myself if I can ever just be here tomorrow – tonight it is not possible. I decided to open the pack of cigarettes I never meant to buy in the first place.

Where is she, the heroine that you wanted to be, the Lisbeth Salander, the Jeanne D’arc, the Flannery O’Connor minus the suicidal thoughts?

More glances into the sky, hastily blowing out the cigarette smoke then the final thought of the day: Should I lower my expectations in others, the world, and most importantly in myself? Tell me life. And your mind goes on dreaming of becoming a writer. That just discourages more, since everybody who is literate is a writer nowadays. Everyone has a Blog and taxi drivers are becoming special career advisers – especially for writing. What am I supposed to dream of then?

Prince, you are not helping with your “Purple Rain.” Good night, this time for real…