'Til Death...

A part of me died with you, my dear friend.
A part of my life has abruptly come to an end.
Before I met you, I was a cynic;
Suspicious of this dog-eat-dog world and everyone in it.
Armed with a quick tongue and even faster hands,
I fought more unnecessary battles than anyone can understand.

You greeted me that first day with a big smile and outstretched arms.
At first, I hated your accent and was annoyed by your southern charm.

Back then I had no idea what you would come to mean to me during our brief time together.
I never would have thought that you would help me make changes that would last forever.
It didn't take long for us to rub off on each other.
You became street wiser and I got nicer.

He loved you to death.
He stopped your heart and took away your breath.
...wanted you so bad, he couldn't stand the thought of you being with someone else.
The threat of you sharing your talents with the world made him want to keep you all to himself.

We laughed at his jealous ways.
How he would call you for hours on end and you would ignore him for days.

Girl, he loved you to death.
He stopped your heart and took away your breath.

"Freedom isn't free at all." (Spartan Queen, "300")

For almost a year, I've been trying out this whole dating thing. Actually giving out my phone number to interested applicants, returning those calls, and even holding some auditions. Though the thought of arranging to meet someone, putting effort into getting ready, and leaving the comfort of apartment to embark on an unpredictable journey with someone I don't really know all seemed to be just a waste of good nerves, I took a deep breath went anyway.

What I've learned is this: Trust your intuition. Deep down, I know what I like and what I don't like, but because I was trying to have an open mind, I sampled options that I knew I would not enjoy.

It is easy to list the reasons why it's great to be single: plenty of parties, fun flirting, and spontaneous surprises. I love these elements of the experience. However, what I don't love is the necessary evil that is dating. While I enjoy meeting new people and partaking in the traditional dinner and a movie, I do not enjoy thinking about the slim odds that my date will not make the proverbial cut.

This weekend, along with everyone else in the free world, I went to see 300. Oddly enough, the movie inspired me to take a new approach to the battle. King Leonidas's strategy of leading the Persians through a narrow pass, thus minimizing their effect made me realize that all I have to do is narrow my standards. That way, I will attract a few select applicants. There is no reason why being nice should translate into giving everyone a chance.


Only the few that make it through the narrow pass will earn the privilege to face me.

For now, I will use the remains of those who have perished in the process as mortar in my wall of standards.

I once dreamt I was a princess

Like most little girls, my birth name was pleasantly discarded by my parents, aunts, and uncles in exchange for the ever-popular moniker, "Princess." I took the name and the position seriously. On any given day after school, you could catch me trying on the previous year's Easter dress, putting on my plastic crown, and humbly ruling over my cotton-stuffed, fur-covered subjects.

As I grew older, I internalized my royalty and accepted by responsibilities. I learned how to be polite and voice my opinions; maintain my poise and be genuine; be nice and tell the truth. Believe it or not, my examples of great princesses came from Disney movies.

I watched Cinderella repeatedly, sang along with Aladdin's Princess Jasmine, and hoped that I, like Belle, could one day tame a beast. Although I knew the movie lines practically verbatim, I knew that I was far from being anything like those princesses. Their jeweled crowns rested on top of long, straight, flowing hair. While my plastic one sat on top of jet-black cotton. Their skin ranged in shades from peach to light tan, while mine was a deep shade of chocolate.

This summer, after reporting on yet another story, I vented to my classmates on a metro ride. I told them how angry I was that in all of Disney history, while there were principal female characters of European, Japanese, and Hawaiian descent, that there were no black princesses. Neither I nor my little sister could fully pretend to be any of those characters. I became upset at the thought that my future daughter might not be able to either.

This week, one of my classmates who suffered this session of my periodic venting sessions, sent me an e-mail. She said that she thought of me as she read an article about Disney's announcement that they will have a black princess.

While this may mean nothing to some people, it means that after the movie premieres, a little black girl will be able to put on her plastic crown and sing along to someone that looks like her. She can know that she too is an image of royalty.

Making Love

We make love
Creating it out of the desperate nothingness that's left
Creating it out of the desperate nothingness, a barren battlefield that's scarred by years of war

We make love
Molding it out of the blood-stained earth that lays barren
Molding it out of the blood-stained earth, dirt that's been over-plowed by years of greed

We make love

We make love,
But what does love make of us?
After the love is made,
the fields are still barren, the dirt still bears no fruit