Why It Matters That You Know We Exist

"But being about blackness shouldn’t automatically qualify it as the best now that there is a new movement in the world to be more black or female or gay. Because that kind of superficial shine does die down really quickly.."

"Don't see the big deal here. Looks like a mediocre movie with a subpar soundtrack. SJWs are the only ones making a fuss out of this. It'll just be another Marvel movie coming down the assembly line."

And so on and so forth. These were just some of the comments I've seen on articles about Black Panther's impending release and the initial good reviews it's getting. Across io9, AV Club, Entertainment Weekly, etc, you can see what's happening: the erasure of a piece of black excellence in a space that we rarely ever get to have to ourselves.

Because if Black Panther performs poorly, it'll set back movies featuring all-black casts (that's NOT about slavery) a few years, but it performs well, then it's because of the script, the pretty costumes, the action or just because "it's a Marvel movie, they always do well!" But not because of representation, not because people like to see themselves as larger-than-life heroes. 

There's a certain subset of white people who refuse to see the future ahead of them. They write off representation and diversity like it's a burden or a phase that'll go away with time. Imagine the bloated privilege you must have to believe the need for representation is just a trend people of color made up. 

White people, you exhaust me.

I know you've never had to advocate for more representation and diversity because everything is made for you, everything is catered to you. Here's what I have to say to anyone whining  about others' wanting diversity and representation in their media: shut up and listen.

Stop being lazy. Stop being ignorant.

There are an infinite amount of stories out there to tell and Hollywood keeps making the same fucking bland story over and over and over again. All we want is a little piece that represents the world more accurately, that represents us more accurately.

I want my future mixed kids to grow up and see superheroes and action heroes and regular people and villains and monsters that look like them, that talk like them, that they can say "I relate to that!" I want my future little mixed black girl to grow up loving herself, her hair, her skin, her nose; something I had to learn much later in life.

"They get to see themselves on-screen. I craved to see that as a child growing up. It was just never there. All of my heroes were white and blond. There’s nothing wrong with that, but what made it difficult for me as a black girl was that it felt outside of myself, like something over there … something that was so cool but could never happen to me."

-Candice Patton, The Flash

Representation matters. Not because of your imagined "PC culture", but because of how much it can change someone's life while also reaffirming it. We DO exist. We ARE here. We ARE alive. Our stories are real. We should be allowed to share our stories, without fear of being buried and erased.

Seeing ourselves in the media can have a profound effect on our lives. I see my husband and I in every interracial couple on TV or in the movies. I see myself in a mixed kid struggling with his or her ethnic identity. I see myself in the black woman who wraps her hair every night. I see myself in the black kid who gets bullied for being different.

We can create a future where little black girls and boys don't hate their hair or the color of their skin, where they don't internalize racism and lash out later on in life. When we have  representation, it creates a shift in what we see when we look in the mirror.

"There’s this body of research and a term known as ‘symbolic annihilation,’ which is the idea that if you don’t see people like you in the media you consume, you must somehow be unimportant."

-Nicole Martins of Indiana University

You'll see a lot of people downplaying the importance of Black Panther and Black Lightning and Luke Cage and Iris West-Allen and Valkyrie and MJ Watson, and so on and so forth. It can be as innocent as ignorance ("I just don't get why it's a big deal. Race shouldn't matter!") to something more insidious like overt erasure. 

Before typing up your scorching hot takes, stop and think for a second about why representation and diversity matter to us. It's not about replacing white people, it's about balancing the scales. Do some research. Google is your friend. Ignorance is not.

Day 8: Dreamcatcher

Write something inspired by a recent dream you had.

A couple nights ago, I had a dream I was on a double decker bus. One of those big red ones that always get smashed apart in a Jason Statham or The Rock movies. I was with a rowdy group of Philadelphia Eagles fans, who were celebrating their recent win over Trump's favorite team. 

Every so often, we'd make a quick stop to pick up more booze, supplies or just random people. One of those people was a strange man, kept to himself, super quiet. He sat next to me and just watched everyone partying the whole time.

I tried to talk to him a couple times but he was definitely a listener not a talker. He was weirdly comforting. Like talking to a stuffed animal when you're scared at night. So I just talked to him about everything that was going on in my life.

Meanwhile in the background, someone gave birth on the upper deck apparently and they decided to name the kid Eagle. 

I went upstairs to offer my congratulations, took a disgusting shot and went back down to sit with my strange new friend. But he was gone.

I asked some people around me where he went and they didn't know.

"People come and people go," some drunk dude told me. Thanks, drunk dude.

I was mildly, concerned and wanted to go looking for him but then I woke up. So now I'm thinking where did he go? Here's what I think happened:

The Stranger watched the short, loud woman go upstairs. He smiled. The bus came to a stop at a red light. He stood up, opened the doors, ignoring the "Hey!" from the bus driver, and walked out into the night.

He had something to find and he wasn't going to find it surrounded by Philadelphians. His instincts told him to walk forward through the crowd of people. He felt someone crying, someone that needed help. 

He came upon a woman sitting on the front steps of her townhouse, tears in her eyes, watching the cheering, destructive crowd on the street in front of her. He approached her, cocked his head and gestured towards the spot next to her.

She stared for a minute, then nodded. He sat there, she cried for awhile, then went quiet. After a few minutes, she began to pour her heart out. 

---

“Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.”

Day 7: The Rocket Ship

Write about a rocket ship on its way to the moon or a distant galaxy far, far, away.

Continuation of The Vessel

Man, space was boring. I mean, don't get me wrong. The first couple of weeks was so cool. The ship was equipped to survive hundreds of years in space and it's super super fast. So we got through our galaxy and into the next within days versus years.

But unless you're an astrononerd, the gases and celestial bodies and multitudes of suns get boring after awhile. We don't even get to visit any of these planets. Well, "The Scribe" doesn't get to anyway. I just get to hear the explorers tell their stories while I type it all down. And let me tell you, none of them are natural storytellers.

So I took to watching the other people on the ship. Let's just say, it doesn't matter where you go in the universe, people are infinitely more bizarre and interesting.

Take Kyla in room 12. She's apparently sleeping with Barb in room 4, who is married to JJ. I don't know how many people know they're involved in an affair but I stumbled upon it a couple days ago when I was hiding in an undisclosed location from ANNA! 

Anna's really taken to trying to "show me the ropes." And I'd rather hang her with them.

Anyway.

There's Mark and Marvin, a set of insanely creepy twin engineers who spend most of their time below decks "fixing stuff" but I suspect they're actually watching us women on the cameras. They know entirely too much about Maritza's dietary habits.

One of the explorers, Bobby, has intense paranoia. After we left our galaxy, we sent explorers down to SSX-223 (Essex in my head), a world filled with ice mountains and not much else. At  some point while they were down there, Bobby got it into his head that they were being stalked by an invisible presence.

Yep. You read that correctly.

His paranoia has gotten so intense that the commander made him sit out the last exploration. Now he just wanders the dimly-lit hallways trying to get the rest of us to talk to him about whatever's allegedly following us.

I'll admit...sometimes when I'm sleeping, I wake up abruptly and I get this odd feeling that someone just left the room. And it's a tiny room, so not much place for an invisible creep to hide.

Or maybe it's just one of the twins?

Who the hell knows? All I know is, I'm BORED. There's only so many ways to describe deep, black space. 

Maybe I should butter Anna or the commander up so they'll let me get down to one of the planets. Ya girl has high hopes.

---

“Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.”

Day 6: Eye Contact

Write about two people seeing each other for the first time.

The first thing he noticed was her hair. It was a bundle of dark curls outlining her face like the perfect picture frame. The second thing he noticed was her eyes, a golden brown with flecks of green. She had her headphones on, a large red pair of Beats by Dre and a massive book in her hand. He tried to figure out what she was reading but it was missing the jacket cover. She uncrossed and crossed her legs a couple times, seemingly to get more comfortable. There's nowhere to get comfortable on a subway. He felt bad all of a sudden. Stop staring, he thought to himself.

---

She peeked out of the corner of her eye. Yep, this dude was still staring at her. What an oddball. She hoped and prayed he wouldn't attempt to talk to her. She hated when guys tried talking to her when she was out in the wild, without a drink in her hand. Especially when she had her headphones on. Nothing else in the world says "DO NOT APPROACH" more than giant headphones attached to your head. She moved around a little. She hated taking the subway, she wasn't used to it quite yet. Her commutes back home were bike trips or walks everywhere. Oh, good. He's not staring anymore.

---

His stop was coming up soon. He really wanted to say something to her. He'd never seen anyone look quite that beautiful before. He didn't want to be a creep, however. God, this was so hard. How do people approach other people anymore? Have dating apps trained them all to only reach out when you're certain it's a match? Yikes. He was ranting in his own head again. Shaking his head to get rid of his thoughts, he looked at her again. This time she looked back.

---

Shit. Shit. SHIT. She made eye contact. Now he was going to try and talk to her, wasn't he? He smiled a little. His eyes were strange, one green and one gray. She realized she was staring back, glared at him and blocked her face with her book.

---

Mortified. He was mortified. She did not reciprocate his weak ass smile. Got to get the fuck off this thing now. He looked around and saw that a stop was coming up, just a couple blocks from his and decided to get off. He stood up and she did too.

---

You have go to be fucking kidding me, she thought to herself. Of course, this was his stop too. The doors opened up and a rush of people trying to get off or come in shoved her right into him. He caught her and grimaced. 

"Sorry," he said. "Here, let's push together." They eventually got off the train and stood there awkwardly, looking at each other.

---

"Thanks," she said to him with a smile. He nodded. 

Come on, say something else. She started backing away when he shouted, "Number?" 

Dude, that was smooth. She smiled, shook her head and walked away. Well, at least he tried.

---

Well at least he didn't try to murder me, she thought, scurrying away.

“Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.”

Day 5: Food

What’s for breakfast? Dinner? Lunch? Or maybe you could write a poem about that time you met a friend at a cafe.

There's 8 of us. It's already too fucking much. But whatever. I have my bottomless mimosas, I'm good.

Blonde #1 starts complaining about orange juice. She wants pineapple juice.

My best friend and I slowly look at each other and smirk. 

Blonde #2 takes a cute selfie next to the window. (Well as cute a selfie as you can take on a fucking iPhone 5s) Natural light and all. She knows her shit.

The waitress bounces up. "You guys ready to order?"

I lightly bang a fist on the table. "Yes, I want the chilaquiles with salsa verde and chicken. Eggs scrambled. Side of bacon. No toast." There better be enough cheese but I also didn't want to be one of those annoying customers that micromanages every part of their dining experience. 

Bestie giggles. "French toast sticks please but with the syrup on the side."

Blonde #3 pipes up. "Can I have the breakfast burger without the bun?"

Everyone at the table groans loudly and laughs. She's sticking to her guns though. She's not consuming carbs, y'all. Apparently, gluten is the devil.

Everyone else places their order, while another server brings us our third bottle of champagne AND a carafe of pineapple juice instead of OJ.

"Oh my God, thank you so much! Orange juice is just...too..thick? Am I wrong?" Blonde #1 chirps, looking around the table.

"What the fuck does that even mean?" My best friend's best friend, who is not me, asks, annoyed.

There's a reason we don't usually invite Bestie's bestie. She's perpetually irritated and aggressive and terrifies all of the Blondes. 

I shift in my seat and ignore the ensuing argument. God. The food smells amazing. I hope it comes out soon.

In the meantime, I needed to consume multiple mimosas because these drunk asses are only going to get louder and louder.

“Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.”