My words as my sword..what I learned from Ida B.

“[O]nly the southern white man’s misrepresentations are in the public libraries and college textbooks of the land. The black men who made the history of that day were too modest to write of it, or did not realize the importance of the written word to their posterity.” ~ Ida B. Wells Barnett

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Okay, so I've been contemplating for some time now on whether or not I should start a blog.

Close friends--and sometimes not so close friends--know that I'm open about sharing personal aspects of myself and the various hilarious/random/ thought provoking/ sometimes sad/motivating/interesting things I've been through.

Extremely close friends also know that regardless of how open I am there is still a part of me that is deeply shy and guarded. I decided to quit my hemming and hawing and start this blog, knowing that it's ultimately up to me to decide how much I want to share........

I chose to call my blog -Living/Something Like It -because often when folks ask, 'How are you doing?' instead of saying 'I'm fine' or 'Not so good' my usual response is, 'Living'. A lot of times people tell me that my answer sounds depressing and I'm always surprised because for me living life is a positive experience.

Almost every part of my life is in transition right now. I'm entering my final year of college and I haven't figured out what I want do post undergrad let alone what I want to do with the rest of my life. What I do know is that writing and people are my passions and I want to incorporate the both of them into a soul fulfilling career.

Since I was able to read I understood the power of words. Till this day I can almost always be found reading a magazine, newspaper, novel, or simple flier.

In first grade I started to write stories. At that time I wanted to be like Mallory Pike, a character in the popular The Baby-Sitter Club Series by Ann M. Martin. Mallory was a young aspiring writer who was white with curly red hair and freckles. At the impressionable age of 7 I thought that in order for me to become a writer I too would have to have freckles and red hair. My mother, a very proud Haitian woman, quickly let me know that there were writers who share my deep brown skin and thick raven colored hair.

Another memory that sticks out me is the summer between the 4th and 5th grade. The kids in my camp group liked to read my stories during our bus rides. One day on the bus my friend Melissa, who was wise beyond her years, handed me back one of my stories and asked, 'Are all your the people always white?'. I was taken aback by her question because the race of the characters in my story never crossed my mind. After thinking about it I told her that most of the people in my stories were white. 'Why?' she asked. I realized her question wasn't meant to hurt my feelings or make me feel uncomfortable. Melissa wanted me to think. Out of all the questions I've been posed in my life that one holds a significant place in my conscience. I truly believe that her question has played a role in shaping me. Though it wasn't said Melissa was asking me at the age of 9 to assert the purpose of my words and determine whose story I was trying to tell. It was that summer, on that bus that I became aware of myself and my voice within the African Diaspora.

After that summer panic washed over me because I was late. At 9 I thought that it had taken me too long to become interested in the stories within my history. Eagerly I wanted to find and devour the words of my ancestors. During my journey back I encountered Ida B. Wells and I would never be the same. It wasn't only her story that struck me but also her unwavering crusade to tell the stories of others.

Ida B. taught me the power of the written word.