Writing

Rising From the Ashes…Or Something

Posted on by asantehaughton

So, it’s been a long ass time since I did this whole blogging thing. You know, for most of my life I used to walk around telling everyone who was interested (probably not that many people to be honest) that I was a writer. Hell, I still walk around with a pen in my pocket ’cause every writer ALWAYS HAS TO BE READY!

…and this is my first blog post in over two years. Yup, I’m a writer. So prolific.

Anyway, I’m here to say that I’m back! Back from where? I dunno. A lot has happened in the last two and a half years. Like A LOT. So here are the major highlights that I can think of off the top of my head:

  • Got married.
  • Holy snap I got married!!
  • New job. Cool job.
  • Did two TEDx talks (seriously, put my full name in YouTube or just google me, son!).
  • Won a big national mental health award in Canada (CAMH 150 Difference Maker–for being one of the top 150 difference makers in Canadian mental health).
  • Gained a bit of weight. Some good. Some bad.
  • Lost my athleticism and can’t dunk (see above point).
  • My kid’s mom passed so he lives with me and my wife now.
  • Been on TV a lot.
  • Got a little famous in Canadian mental health.
  • Wrote the foreword for a book, Brainstorm Revolution, which you can find here
  • Learned a little Spanish. Tal vez más que un poco español pero no sé. Puedes preguntarla a mi esposa. Ella es mexicana.
  • …and I haven’t updated my LinkedIn to reflect ANY of this. :p

So like, a lot has happened. Life is much different. I’m much different. But in many ways I’m still the same. Like, I’m still woefully insecure and struggle to see the ‘amazing’ things that others say they see in me. However, I’m trying my best to start believing in these things because like L’Oréal, I’m worth it.

On a more serious note, with the turn of the new year, I’ve naturally been reflecting on a lot. More specifically, I’m spending a lot of time reflecting on what I normally reflect on, something extremely important–myself. That and humility.

(That’s a joke y’all. I’m not a narcissist…I don’t think so anyway).

Upon all this reflection, what I’ve been finding is this–I walk around with lots and lots of internalized shame. This shame has been derived from my family history and generational trauma, internalized racism, societal disenfranchisement, marginalization, stigma from having a kid too young, growing up poor in the projects, being told I had to be perfect in order to be good enough (seriously, don’t do this to your kids), being ridiculed for the hobbies I chose and how I expressed my identity (wasn’t Black enough for some people…***checks skin colour***…whatever that means). Etc. Etc.

Anyway, point is, there’s a lot of shame. What has shame done to me? It’s made me hide things. It’s made me hide myself. I’ve been hiding myself from so many people, and the world really, for virtually my entire life. It suuuucks to want to get close to people, to crave closeness, but also to do everything necessary to avoid it because on some deep level you’re ashamed of who you are and what people might see if you invite them past the smoke and mirrors facade of a smile and virtuosity that you’ve created for yourselves. Sure, I think I’m mostly virtuous nowadays, but you wouldn’t know the ways in which I wasn’t virtuous since I hide a lot of my past (good thing I wasn’t tweeting back then, eh?). There’s lots you might not know, really significant stuff, because the shame I have associated with virtually every aspect of the life has motivated me to carefully curate an ideal image of myself for public consumption. And that’s not saying the stuff I hide is reprehensible–far from it actually. And that’s the point I think I’m trying to make, that I live with so much shame that I’m hiding parts of myself that are completely unnecessary to hide.

So, in 2019, I’m done with all that shit.

I’m going to work through this shame. I’m going to show you more of me. I’m going to be more vulnerable. And that’s because I want to be more close. To you. And you. And you too. Because I deserve it.

And so, 2019 isn’t going to be the year where I create a new me, but it will be the year that I show you a new me. The me that was always there. The me that I’m deciding to love better. Because dammit, I think I’m a pretty dope me, a me that is worth showing off and sharing with the world. So that’s what I’ma do this year. And it’s going to be hard. And it’s going to be scary. But, fudge it, I’m gonna do it.

And now, Shame, I’m talking directly to you…sayonara. In 2019, you’re done.

Welcome to me.

A Poem: Summer In the (Inner) City

Posted on by asantehaughton

So a poem about the bad parts about summer in the community in which I grew up. Hope you enjoy it and that it provokes thought.

—————————————————

At night I whispered ghetto dreams

Out of broken windows

On to a backdrop of

Dumpsters and a forgotten sofa that sit decrepit

Shadowed absently by

A streetlight that flickered mockingly.

With no stars to wish upon

I slept unsoundly

To the sound of sirens,

Gunshots,

Melancholy, and murder

As I was told that if I read hard enough

Perspired, welled up and bled hard enough

That test answers could correct

This oblivion

Not understanding that the memories

Roam through the attic of my mind

Like ghosts.

What can put the heart together again

After a life like this

Where happiness was a reticent wish

Whisked away in the wisps

Of gun smoke

And fallen tears that

Evaporated on scorched pavement

As soon as the wish was spoken

Roxanne and Marlon, A Story — Chapter 1

Posted on by asantehaughton

Because before I ever wrote raps or poetry I wrote stories. So, in my recent efforts to rediscover myself I decided one night, a few weeks ago, to scribe some prose (i.e. type some words into my MacBook) just for practice. Here’s what I came out with, unedited.

‘She still does that,’ Marlon thought to himself as he remembered the way Roxanne flipped her hair with her fingers, flicking her wrist gracefully, whenever she felt anxious. Roxanne had flipped her hair at least three times since the moribund couple sat down. Marlon estimated that not more than seven or eight minutes had passed, yet here Roxanne was, flipping her hair as if her wrist had been lacking in exercise. Marlon adjusted his fedora—chestnut and suede, a thrift store found treasure.

“So Rox, why are we here today?”

“To talk Marlon, I guess,” Roxanne paused. “…yes, to talk.”

“Well, since I’m here,” Marlon took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled with an easiness that brought Roxanne back to more carefree times when Netflix, Riesling, a medium pepperoni pizza with extra cheese, and being wrapped in Marlon’s arms was everything she dreamed of. “What would you like to talk about?”

“Us…you…me…” Roxanne flipped her hair, “well, not us as in us, but us as in where we are these days, in life I mean. To catch up with each other’s lives, the memoirs we’re living that haven’t been written yet.”

Marlon ashed his cigarette. “Well, you always were poetic.”

“I try,” Roxanne replied quickly, unsure whether there was more behind Marlon’s quip—was that a kind of dismissive sarcasm or was he being genuine? The fleeting thought was quickly ushered out of her mind. Marlon smirked.

“You succeed, miss.” Marlon crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. His face was half hidden in a shadow cast by the last of the day’s sunlight falling over the chestnut fedora. Roxanne studied his features whenever he looked away, assessing what had changed, wrinkled, or aged. “So then, catching up…”