You have to forgive me. THE SUN HAS HAD HER HAT ON (yes the sun is a SHE not a HE cos no there’s absolutely no way a man would be this emotional, mood swingy and temperamental).
DRAMATIC SIDENOTE ABOUT THE SUN AND ITS HAT: it has come to my attention that THE SUN HAS GOT HIS HAT ON a song which we all tra-la-laaaa’d as children is a racist song…I mean are we not safe from anything!? CLICK HERE for the lyrics!!!
As I was saying…
I’ve been outside. I’ve been soaking up the sun. I’ve been admiring the candy (of which at my age, it’s not so much candy, but, rather an assortment of traditional toffees) …and I’ve been swinging me twists tryna reclaim my sexy…
Yes Soul, I got tempted, I got mermaid-itis. I had to add some length so I could flick, flick, shake and whip! But after a day of whippin’ too hard I’m considering taking them out cos the back of my hair’s still a tad short and the other day in the office The Letchy Boss made a joke about ropes and snakes whilst twisting one of my fallen out twists through his hands. Let’s not dwell…
ANOTHER, SIDENOTE: I am wondering with the heat wave how those who’ve got 300 pounds of brazillian mermaid on their heads are coping. SOUL…weave need a revolution! I’ll say no more!
So okay, I’ve not been communicating. This diary keeping is hard! I HAVE A LIFE YOU KNOW. I’m sorry. I know I’m making excuses but This Is England and when the sun’s out I beg! Allow me blud! Also in amongst me soaking up the sun, I’ve been in concert therapy…YOU.KNOW.WHY!
So…where was I? What’s been happening…erm…well…okay! I said I was gonna get the siblings round to deal with their nonsense.
Yes…So I called…
…we’re the closest out of my siblings because she’s the only one who ‘gets’ it…when I say ‘it’ I mean she’s the one who gets what it is to be African, British, Caribbean, African American, Westernized…
See cos, there’s a way, a being, when you’re not English, (meaning white) yet (British meaning it’s on your passport). Especially when you have a strong culture behind your Britishness…be it African, Caribbean, Indian, Asian etc. etc.
Quick culture analysis: Mum and Dad, Ghanaian. Born there, raised there, speak the language, eat the food, dress the attire, exude every traditional Ghanaianism you could think of. Came to England in their early 20’s with hopes and dreams of gold pavements and trees laden with £1 leaves only to realise…
But regardless of the hatred, they battled down and became a community amongst the other unwanted ethnics and thus Brixton, Harlseden, Peckham etc. were born…ahem.
All well and good, but then instead of saving up to go back home as was professed, they stayed, and stayed and had children and stayed. The children at first were just carbon copies of their cultural parents carrying forth the traditions of home.
But then the children started mixing with other children who were the children of, white’s, Caribbean’s, Asians (the brown and the yellow). They watched TV and saw African Americans and decided…being African wasn’t cool… (you Afrobeats youts of today just don’t know). So they adapted. So they rebelled. So they answered back. So they slammed doors. So they they threatened to call Childline. So they became westernized. So African parents all over Great Britain, my parents (well mostly my mum) included, cried into their pastors collection plates and lamented the plight of the African child. No Band-Aid or Bob Geldof!
My other sis…
…lived in Ghana until she was 20 and when mum and dad brought her here, the only way she knew how to fit in was on her knees! I’m sorry Soul she’s such a… As soon as she was pregnant with 1 out of 4 (maybe 5 (I need to call my mum) of my nephews) she left home, got a hostel, then a flat, then a sugar daddy and hardly looked back.
…wasn’t around, as you know he was sent home to become a born again Ghanaian. So it was Me and Roberta who became the ‘English’ ones. Me and Roberta who had to defend each other when mum would rant about our hair, our clothes, our SLANG! (Oh gosh the day we dropped our ING’S was the day we couldn’t sit down for a week)… Anyway we were really close…until she decided to go to Uni and become a confused soul…
But when times get really desperate, Roberta is the one sibling I can kinda get through to…that is, if she’s not out at a gay club with her Muslim boyfriend.
I called her. She said she’d come round to mine with the other two at 7pm tonight. It’s 11:23pm …and all I’ve done is wait, over eat, shave my belly hairs, and fill in the gaps where twists have dropped out. Let’s not DWELL!
SOMETIMES I HATE MY SIBLINGS.
I ALSO HAVE TO TELL YOU ABOUT MARCUS! HE CAME ROUND! WE’VE BROKEN UP
I will do better. I promise
Ok so today I feel like not mentioning it. At all.
At work Cassie and I worked responsibly, and quietly and maturely. Then The Letch made me angry when he called me into his office to watch some footage we filmed for this new documentary based on the lives of four young aspiring rappers from North West London.
He started off well…saying that he knew I wanted to get into producing and get involved more. So he said getting this documentary finished would be my pet project. My test to see if I had the skills to move on up. So of course my mind jumped for joy, and I started thinking about what I would do, who I would speak to etc. Then The Letch went and put his lecherous foot in it.
Yep, he mentioned the word ‘Urban‘ about 50,20,thousand times. He also chose Cassie as my assistant, (when Bob the editor knows more about the world of British Urban (burn the word urban in reference to black stuff by the way), than I do.) He also brushed off the importance and originality of a documentary about four up and coming British rappers from Harlesden by saying there was no budget and no potential interest it’s ‘just’ a project, also adding…NO I couldn’t dip into the big budget of the main project he was leading, about ‘The Rise and Fall and Rise of The Boy Band’. Because we need all hands on deck for that one, cos the main stations will probably jump to pick it up, but it’s all really because The Letch wants to schmooze with stars and then name drop them at us during meetings!
But I kept schtum, I smiled, I held my notebook over my bum as I left his office. The bastard still managed to comment on the label of my jeans being the same as his anorexic, bimbo of a girlfriends.
So anyway after telling Cassie about the surprising turn of events, I got excited again, cos well so what if my boss doesn’t care. I care and the whole point to this is that I’ve been offered a glimmer oh hope, from the oh so tight and un-glimmery letch. Cassie said that even though she would love to help, I should still go and speak to Bob, cos Bob is not like The Letch. Bob is that cool white dude who can go to a club and be the only white guy in a sea of black, and still remain the same cockney hippie type…
And not feel the need to get all…
I like Bob we reminisce about getting night buses home from Jungle raves back in the day…And he always says things like you’re so sweet like a Moomin Ebs…and although I found the Moomin petrifying as a younster …I know Bob means it in the sweetest way…hmm.
Oh and during the last part of my lunch break David phoned me, and he did that damned annoying thing that he does, of knowing about things without me having to tell him…he should have been a girl…anyway he rang and asked me how I was doing in light of things…
and I was like ‘bloody fine matey’….
and he was like…’don’t lie’…
and I was like… ‘I’m not lying’…
and he was like…’yeah okay then!!!’
In that roll your eyes and purse your lips kind of way…which got me angry and made me go into the high octave voice even though I wasn’t faking it out and I shouted… ‘I AM FINEEEEEEEEEEEE gossssssssssh…’
and he laughed and was like… ‘it’s cool, I understand, I’m comin’ round this week…’
and I laughed and said…‘okay.’
So with the new project boost and David, and even though it is only Week Three in the Big Brother house of knowing that my EX is marrying a WHITE GIRL by the end of the day I felt like…SO EFFING WHAT!!!
I rang mum today as well. Well I can’t actually claim child superiority, it was her call I missed the other morning. I didn’t even need to pass on the message from dad, because she just went into one…
’YOUR DAD GETS ON MY LAST BLOODY NERVE. HE HAD THE CHEEK TO RING ME AND ASK ME TO SPEAK TO AGNES BECAUSE HE SAW HER OUT IN THE PUB WITH ONE OF DONALD WYNTER’S SONS…’
My sister, Agnes, Big Sister 1 is such a slut!…
Mum continued, ‘SO WHAT THE HELL IS HE TELLING ME FOR, AND WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR DAD STILL DOING IN THE PUB ALL THE DAMN TI…’
I agree. I mean really dad…
‘THAT’S WHY I HAD TO LEAVE HIM, EVERYBODY THINKS IT’S MY FAULT, EVERYONE ALWAYS THINKS IT’S ROSE’S FAULT. AND AS FOR THAT BLOODY GIRL I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE HELL SHE’S GOING TO DO BECAUSE IF SHE GETS PREGNANT AGAIN I AM NOT LOOKING AFTER IT….’
To which I roll my eyes cos she will and she does and is always looking after Agnes’ kids…
‘AND AS FOR THAT OTHER SISTER OF YOURS, I HEARD SHE MOVED IN WITH THAT MUSLIM. WHEN GOD COMES FOR HER SHE BETTER NOT STAND NEXT TO ME ON DAY OF JUDGEMENT BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO GET NONE OF HER FIRE…’
…and then I walked into the kitchen to dig around in the fridge for a smashing excellent M&S syrupy sponge microwave pudding because I needed sugar to protect my senses from mums bitter tirade…especially when it gets all religiony,
‘BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT I KEEP TELLING YOU, IF YOU LOT DON’T MAKE IT TO CHURCH EVERY SUNDAY. I CAN’T SAVE YOU ALL. AND CAN YOU BELIEVE MY SON, MY ONLY SON SAW ME LAST WEEK DRAGGING MY SHOPPING AND JUST DROVE PAST ME.’
…now that got me angry…I really need to have a word with my brother…he needs to understand it wasn’t just him!
‘ANYWAY I’M NOT GOING TO KEEP YOU. YOU OKAY? MARTHA TOLD ME THAT SHE HEARD THAT THAT BOY OF YOURS IS GETTING MARRIED TO A WHITE GIRL. SEE I KEEP TELLING YOU IF YOU DON’T RELAX THAT HAIR, OR GET A NICE WIG LIKE THAT GIRL ON THE TELEVISION…WHAT’S HER NAME?’
Beyonce I mime into my pudding.
‘BAYYONCEEE, THAT GIRL SHE’S SO PRETTY AND YOU SEE. I TOLD YOU TO STOP BEING SO RADICAL. NOW HE’S GONE FOR A WHITE GIRL. YOU KNOW WE’RE NOT AS LUCKY AS THEM SO WE HAVE TO TRY EXTRA HARD…’
‘OKAY, OKAY BYE BYE SWEETIE. NEXT TIME DON’T WAIT TILL THIS LATE TO CALL ME, I’VE NEARLY MISSED ALL OF CORONATION STREET.’
This is why I’m all over the place and living like Back To Front from the Raggy Dolls. I get a job high, then a mum low, and a David high, and then a sibling low…which is tripled cos each and every one of them are choosing not to use the sense God gave them…making me feel like I’m the oldest instead of the ‘sposed to be spoilt and pampered youngest all because they’ve chosen the ‘TROUBLED CHILD’ path…instead of dealing with reality…My life truly is a roller coaster of highs and bloody lows.
So I guess it’s back to this Plan of Action, destination Gratitude…to get married, impregnated, new housed and car’d and erm…I suppose I have to add: Sort My Family Out!
Tomorrow Bob and I are going to sit down and talk shop…AND tomorrow I’m going to call my brother and sisters and order them to get their arses round to mine on the weekend because we have matters to sort!
and that’s that!
So what? I’ve been gone? So what Soul? SO. EFFING. WHAT! You try continuing life when you’ve just experienced rejection and betrayal of such magnitude you feel baggy and melted like when you take an over-long hot bath that gets so cold that when you come out you look like you’ve just removed a month old body plaster.
I’ve been in the deep like Adele sangs…WE CUDDA HAD IT AAAAALLLLLL…but I couldn’t add her to my concert list cos there’s a conflict of interest…NO SOUL! I think I’m allowed to be a segregationist for a small spell, whilst I get myself back on track!
I’M STAYIN’! I’M STAYIN’ AND YOU, YOU’RE.GONNA.LOVE.ME! YES. YOU.WILL…so what I planned, was that I’d burst into THEIR wedding singing this…wearing the same wig and singing with the same passion, throw myself on the floor, grab a leg…and…
SEE FIRST OF ALL…this was OUR song, cos when WE talked about GETTING MARRIED…WE BOTH used to say WE’D play this choone instead of the wedding march and together down the aisle we’d shuffle, shuffle, side-step, side-step, wop left, wop right, body wave, body wave and laugh with our guests at our wonderfully love filled silliness and then say I DO!… I spose now he’s gonna do a bloody ACHY BREAKY LINE DANCE!
LOVING.YOU.IS.LIKE.A.BATTLE…except only I end up with scars, cos HIS scars will forever be TCP’d by Snow White!
WHY CAN’T WE WORK IT OUT WHY BABY CAN’T WE TRY…actually things have pretty much been a whole lot better for me without HIM in my head holding me back and putting me down It’s a very good thing HE didn’t listen to my begs and pleads when we broke up…but… let’s not dwell on the positive right now eh!
IT’S BEEN 3 WEEKS AND 12 HOURS SINCE YOU TOOK YOUR LOVE AWAY AND GAVE IT TO not me! (Come to think of it HE used to always say Sinead O’Connor was nice for a white gyal…with a sneer as well…THE EFFING q%$£q%£$%q£%$q%$%q£) (AND YES SINEAD IS THE TEMPORARY ENEMY LIKE ADELE…but PRINCE wrote this song…so blah!) …(See how complicated being racist is! SIGH…)
Cos this used to be my ‘In My Head Theme Song For HIM’ whenever I saw HIM and we’d share eyes, and flirty smiles and I used to play this on repeat on my way to work, on my way home from work, when I was tidying up…and then we stopped flirting, and it became real, and then it was love, and then it was confusion, and then it was doubt, and hurt and then it ended
LEMME BREAK IT DOWN…
I don’t need you to love me…
I’ve got my sister (HOMEGURLS), I can’t feel her now
She may not be here (YES THEY’RE SOMETIMES BUSY BUT…) but she’s still mine
‘n I know, she still loves me
I’ve got my children, (MY FAMILY) I can’t hold them now
They may not be here, (THEY GET ON MY NERVES BUT…) but they still mine
‘n I know
I know I still love them
Got my house (SHITTY FLAT BUT…)
It still keeps the cold out
Got my chair
When my body can’t hold out
Got my hands doin things like they s’posed to
Showing my heart to the folks that I’m close to
I got my eyes though they don’t see as far now
They see more ’bout how things really are now
AND NOW THE HEALING…
I’m gonna take a deep breath
I’m gonna hold my head up
Gonna put my shoulders back
And look you straight in the eye…
I’m gonna FLIRT with somebody (BUT PROBABLY NOT MARCUS COS I DON’T LOVE HIM OR NEED HIM EITHER…sometimes)
When they walk by
I’m gonna sing out
Sing out yeah
NOTE TO BROKENHEARTED (BLACK ) and GIRLS EVERYWHERE…
I believe I have inside of me
Everything that I need to live a bountiful life
With all the love inside of me
I’ll stand as tall as the tallest tree
And I’m thankful for each day that I’m given
Both the easy and the hard ones I’m livin’
But most of all
Yes I’m thankful for lovin’ who I really am
Yes I’m beautiful
And I’m here
Yes you are, you are here…
I allowed my EX to stomp me down, I allowed my EX to rob me of self, I allowed my EX to allow me to believe that I wasn’t worth a penny…and I’ve blamed myself for my EX finding beauty and love in another, allowing me to not see beauty and love in myself.
WHEN you’ve been rinsed, and rubbed, and dragged, and pulled, and pushed, and whipped, and punched and defeated…sing a song of redemption.
(But just gimme one more week Soul…one…more…week…)
Okay I’m ready…
So in walked my EX with some friends…I assumed they were friends Soul because there was a cloud of ‘ha ha ha, yeah yeah yeah, did you hear what he said ha ha ha.’ Surrounding his group which loudly disturbed the comfortable camaraderie the existing crowd had, causing everyone to turn and stare at this new hip expensive looking crowd of workmates.
They looked like lawyers after a big case, the way a film would show it. With the case-winning lawyer in the middle of the group being back slapped all the way to the bar with his best co-worker shouting, ‘Get this lucky sonofabitch a drink bar-tender’.
In this case the lucky son-of-a-bitch was my EX, and the backslapper didn’t so much backslap him, rather SHE arm in armed HIM closely and intimately, with the crowd surrounding them as if they had both won…I gasped loudly as my brain kicked into overdrive
I was shaking internally, and also to the music, trying to enjoy every last drop cos I mean when was I ever gonna get a chance to hear an ’80’s Madonna Medley again?
So I shimmied and stared.
My EX bought everyone a drink…and whilst all his hip and expensive friends sat down, at a table, exactly three tables away to the right of ours, my EX and his best co-worker, who was a WOMAN, got the drinks in together.
I stopped shimmying and told Cassie I was going to the toilet. Because Soul, I had to see. So I walked purposely past HIM. But HE didn’t see me. HE never saw me. But I was next to HIM and HE didn’t see me, HE just paid for the drinks and went to the table with HIS best FEMALE co-worker. Who sat next to HIM and into HIS side and held HIS hand.
She had long dyed straight black hair.
She had a long swan like neck.
She had big Bambi like blue eyes surrounded by thick fluttery lashes.
Her nose was straight and long, and pointed.
So I stood and stared and tears burnt by eyes but they didn’t fall yet. Because I needed to see one more thing. I mean power of my female intuition told me something. But I thought… No. Nah. Nah HE wouldn’t, HE couldn’t…
Then I felt my jeans pocket vibrating. Took out my phone quickly to see who it was.
It was Marcus.
For the first time I ignored him without lying.
I was busy.
I was trying to see…and hear…and so I heard…
‘Congratulations man… It was about time man… You lot have been together sooo long… what’s it been three, four…? Fuckin’ ‘ell now fuckin’ Shelle’s gonna be on my back… Couldn’t you lot have waited a couple years longer.’
And then I saw…them kiss…and giggle…and…
Then the tears began to spill, I ran to the toilet and cried a lot. In one second. I don’t do crying well Soul, know that about me. I find it tedious. I find it tedious when I need to cry but can’t. I find it tedious when I cry dramatically for the wrong reasons like someone being voted out on X-Factor or when a man’s coming over to pleasure me… So tears spilled from my eyes, then they didn’t and then I ducked and dived past THE ENGAGEDS, back to my co-workers. Who were having yet more drinks and wanted me to show them the move that Cassie and me naturally subconsciously came up with. Even in Pop we have God given rhythm.
I was quiet and said a small bye to Cassie who didn’t get it. But she was cool and she went and that’s why she’s becoming my new best friend because she doesn’t demand my attention like The Girls. She understands that it will come out when I’m ready.
Even though at that precise moment I desperately needed to speak to someone who knew the whole history of EX.
So, Soul I need to totally explain the situ…EX was with A White Girl, not a white girl with a tan, or a white girl with a bit of black.
(Soul I mean a bit of black where she acts black, or has black understanding from school friends, or estate friends or work friends or used to go to Jungle or Garage raves or you know… a bit of black.)
This white girl was white. With a never been to Brixton or Harlesden and have no intention, because that spells DANGER white girl. A white girl who went to school in Posh Land but never got the bus out of Posh Land to go home to the hood like I did, no… instead she walked a couple of roads into upper Posh Land and into the Posh Land village of No-Coloureds-Allowed-Unless-They’re-As-Rich-And-Posh-As-Us-Upon-The-Hill. A white girl who if ever wanted to trace her roots would be able to trace them all the way back to colonial Caribbean and the big white colonial house that housed Master and Mistress white people and their thirty slaves which would trace all the way to EX’s roots. And from what it seems they are engaged. And seeing as we broke up only two years ago, the white girl probably had my EX’s attention when I was screaming for it.
Soul it hurt. My skin was on fire when I got through my front door.
The more I thought about it the more my real soul felt like it was seeping through my pores into a puddle at my feet.
I stood in the hallway in the dark, staring into the dark, feeling extremely dark.
HE left me for her, her who is so the opposite of me, nothing like me, or anything me could ever be.
HE chose her and now they’re engaged and I’m single and now it has all been confirmed, all the hopes and dreams have been erased.
In the darkness of my hallway I realized that I could no longer pretend that I’m not waiting for HIM to come back a changed man.
I could no longer play the ‘I don’t love HIM anymore really I don’t’ game with the girls.
I couldn’t keep going to the places HE went, looking fantastic, hoping HE’D agree.
I could no longer kid myself.
Soul it hurt. Writing all of this hurts so I promise to tell you the rest when I can. Now I have to go and put on some Mary J and sing along with hurt Mary. Before she was married Mary, sing out loud…
‘…wonderiiingg whyyyyy you don’t loooovee meeee the way that I loooooooooooooooooove YOU! I CAN LOVE YOU BEDDDER THAN SHE CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!’