end

I was four. I was in Sunday School. I remember the day vividly.

The teacher told me that Jesus died. I was hysterical, inconsolable, bawling... Who killed Jesus? Why did they do that? Don't they know he was just born? (I realize how concrete children are especially now that I have 25 of my own)

My mother asked me why I was crying. I couldn't make the words.

The teacher made a well-intended mistake. She forgot to tell me the end of the story. She left out  one third of Jesus' life-death-life story. And as much as this could become a post on theology, I don't really want to head that way...

Instead, I think about the ways that we get upset before we hear the end of the story. So often, we see our young boys with pants sagging, we see our children that love Nicki Minaj/2 Chainz, we see our children referring to themselves as dudes with "swag"... And we judge. We say they should "pick up a book", that they should spend less time with video games/Instagram, that they should conform to what we think they should be.

I won't even go into the ways that White children are not viewed with such gaze. Just know that white supremacy is real. Kids in the suburbs do the same thing, but are never called "lazy" or "lacking ambition"... Of course, they rest in the luxurious arms of white privilege... I digress...

When I was a child, I wanted to be a superstar. The kid wanted to be something like a mix of Beyonce/Alicia Keys/Brandy.. Acting, singing, dancing, taking pictures, being loved by the world. My parents, to whom I owe my ALL, never said "That's dumb. Go read a book". I recognize and claim privilege here (as those with privilege should) because both of my parents worked relatively flexible jobs. Both graduates of liberal arts colleges and a remarkably progressive seminary, my parents knew by experience that all things are connected. Theater helps with writing; music helps with math... There's no such thing as a waste of time. But even for those community members (not just parents) who do not have the means to break from work and support a game or play in person, it is still important for us to support in spirit. All things matter.

Instead, they showed up at every play, every musical, every musical theater performance. No matter how big or little my part was. For them, a passion was something to be tended to, not stifled. Once you have supported a person who is capable of having passion, you have lit an eternal flame.

But every year, without fail, around Christmastime/Jordan sneaker Day, I see the Twitter Posts. The Facebook statuses. The Instagram shots.. I hear the news, in the streets and on television. Someone starts this uppity diatribe about "These fools paying rent money on sneakers and blah blah"... That may be true. But what we should be challenging is the fact that in this capitalist culture, our youth have been told that they do not matter unless they have things. They do not matter until they buy a piece of the American pie... Who's fault is that?

In any case, I suppose what concerns me is our tendency to write the ending before we have seen it happen. Count it. How many times have you judged the young boys who breakdance on the train for change? Or the young girl in your circle who says she wants to be a model? Or the brother who says he wants to be a ball player? How often have we dismissed who they are? When have we ever given them a space to be exactly who they are?

I really hope that some day, we stop blaming the symptom and instead treat the disease. Our children are hurting. They want to be loved, acknowledged, supported, affirmed, inspired... The silliness that we see, the sagging pants, the world star videos, the undying desire to dance for them bandz.... That's the symptom. The disease? They grow up in a world that does not love them. And that's our fault.

Starting Over...

Remember when you were in junior high school and it seemed like high school kids had all the autonomy? You couldn't wait to have the freedom to take the bus alone....

And then you started high school. And folks kept making a big fuss about college. You were attracted to this idea of furthering your personal and intellectual boundaries. Watching "A Different World", hearing your parents talk about the stupid things they did back in the day, and wishing there would come a time when you could also head to a Halloween party dressed as a banana....

And then you started college. You were challenged. Grew your brain. Grew your heart. Grew your soul. Read about ideas that totally turned your mind upside down. Toyed with theory.. And you couldn't wait to get to the "Real World", whatever that meant. It was time to take what you learned (in and out of the classroom) and make this world a better place. After all, you know more. Now you have to do more.

But then you started your first job. The job that launches your career. And you're all the way back at zero.

And let's be honest... No one ever doubts the power of youth. Young people have historically been at the forefront of political and social movements. They're hungry. They're excited.... But more dangerously so, they have a chip on their shoulder. They think they can be the difference. And they are. But what sort of difference? I'm digressing now..

But really... You build up and break down. Over and over. Make it all the way to senior year of high school, listen to people tell you how proud they are that you're coming into your own... Then you hear 3 months later of all the stupid things college freshmen do.

Then you make it to senior year of college, and everyone says you're finally a woman headed on her own journey... And then 3 months later you feel like the baby of your first job. You're young. You ARE a baby... But you're not.

I suppose, the best way to put it is that your mind is mature. But your brain is not. You're ready to change the world and show these fools what real social action looks like. You're ready to be an advocate. You're tired of seeing politicians (and the general public) turn into beasts and devour the oppressed. You have no shame being THAT person who questions the viability of the Barclay's Center while everyone else buys Brooklyn Gear (made in China)..

But you're young. Indecisive. Sensitive. Selfish. You want your own apartment so you can eat pancakes for dinner without judgement. You want to go to Miami for Spring break and use a fake name when you talk to people (Samantha Jefferson). You're plotting on ways to get the bartender to be generous with your "i've-had-a-long-teacher-week" routine. You have no shame spending your last twenty dollars on a manicure.

And after all of that, after starting over and building up, you've gained something invaluable.

Perspective. No place OR space for an ego.

You're Me.

Pregnant with 24 Kids....

I was talking to a friend about school starting next week.

"How do you feel about your kids coming back next Monday?", he asked.
"I feel pregnant", I replied.

I realized when I said it, that I sounded ridiculous.  How could I possibly know what pregnancy felt like? The closest I'd ever been was pretending to put pillows up my shirt at slumber parties. (Don't act like you've never done it!)

But I DO feel pregnant. Metaphorically. Like I'm waiting on my joy to come. Like nothing makes sense until my children come. Like I'm afraid to break them. Like I'm going to fix the world by bringing them into Existence. Like they are my saviors. Like I love them unconditionally before I've even met them. Like I need them.  Desperately. Now. Today.

We've been doing professional development/setting up classrooms/preparing lessons.  I've been taking my grad classes/getting my entire life together. But nothing makes sense because I need to be reminded of the WHY. Like, Why am I here? The chairs mean nothing to me without bouncing bodies sitting in them... The classroom feels so empty.

But more than anything, as a 21 year old "pregnant" woman expecting 24 kids, I also experience judgment. Questioning. Concern. Ask any teacher. I BET you, he or she will say the most loathed saying is "Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach".

Trust me. I've never seen anyone as versatile as the folks who work at my school. They are teachers, they are social workers, they are nurses, they are secretaries, they are advocates, they are lawyers, they are therapists, they are mom, they are dad... All at once. More than anything, they are professional and thoughtful about everything they do. Each question has a purpose. And each purpose is questioned.

"But eventually you're gonna move up, right?" "And then you're going to do doctoral work, right?" "so you're just going to teach?" "oh that's noble" "so what happens afterwards?"

If you've EVER asked ANY of the above questions to a teacher, I'd like you to congratulate yourself. YOU are the reason why schools are in such a state of crisis today. You see, everyone hears those questions, feels that pressure, and leaves the classroom. They've paid their dues, now it's time to get a "real job". Everyone wants to be Michelle Rhee, Steve Perry, and Wendy Kopp... No one wants to be a Teacher.

It took me a while to come to teaching. As an Educational Studies major, my background was more in the Anthropology and Sociology of schools, rather than actual teaching skills. I was more about thinking about how schools serve a distinct sociopolitical purpose. (Tracking, anyone?) I kept telling myself "Yea, Administration, Research, or Policy is where I want to be". I was RUNNING from teaching. I needed to make bank. Teach? After Trinity? Wouldn't that be a waste of a degree? I wanted to be important. I was attracted to prestige and being-knowndom (I make up words, I'm the child of Pastors so... it's in my DNA).

But the more and more I dove into my studies, the more I realized that teachers have this incredible power to challenge (or reproduce) social norms. That means, the more people with "policy" and "research" leaning minds we can get into the classroom, the more we can create meaningful social change. I mean, what better place for me, a critical race theorist and feminist, than the classroom?

Now, we all know the world is not static. People change their minds. People feel a calling to different places. I never said I'd be a teacher forever... But I completely surrender myself to the numerous possibilities. And in the event that I did decide to move to the field of research or policy, wouldn't it be great for me to have experience in the classroom anyway?

But back to my pregnancy.... My scholars, my brothers and sisters, my world, my friends arrive to school Monday. I'm prepared for a labor of love. Pray for us and send us positive vibes! <3

You're A Lovely Woman: I Win

I wrote this a few weeks ago, and added some new pieces since then:

So, July 20 was a long day for me. I was at work, then we had a lil Happy Hour at Peaches, and then I ran to my sister's bday celebration in Union Square. Obviously, I had to figure out a way to make a seamless wardrobe transition from day to night. Sidebar: If I could rewrite Superman, I would make him a Working Woman. The whole changing-in-a-telephone-booth thing is soo pre-Generation iPhone.

Anyhoo, in the hustle and bustle of going from place to place, I had my mean mug on. You know which one I mean. The one that says "Don't talk to me, don't holla at me, don't ask me what my name is because I am on a mission". Ironically, that face usually prompts cat-callers to say things like "Hey put a smile on that beautiful face, fine lady". I never win.

I was waiting at the bus stop to make it to Working Woman's Changing Space (read: My friend's house in Bed Stuy) and a 40 year old  hipster invaded my mean mug to say something simple:

"You're a lovely Woman"

I looked at him, confused. What? ME? But sir, I don't have on any makeup, and my hair is in a messy bun, and I don't have on any earrings, and I smell like 8 hours of professional development/happy hour, and my mean mug.... You must be a creep to even get in my bubble like this. 

Then I stopped. And wondered why I would even challenge him. Why didn't I just accept the compliment and keep it moving? 

In this world, or at least in my world, we can never win. If you have even the slightest air of confidence, you are received as a cocky jerk. And if you ever have an insecurity, people believe that you are fishing for compliments. And as much as my parents raised me with ONLY Teresas (no Barbies) and made sure we had books like "Bright Eyes, Brown Skin", I still live in this space of self-doubt. Because, for what other reason might I think homie was a creep for saying those feared four words? 

I doubt that that man will ever read this blog. And I doubt that I'll ever see him again. But I thank you for reminding me that. So, I leave you all with this little nugget of inspiration.

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."- Marianne Williamson 

Doing Good and Being Good: An Epidemic

I live in New York and I attended one of the preppiest colleges in the US. I've seen enough Tom's to dream about them. Frequently.

But something about their business model always bothered me. Read up on the critics Here, here here and here

This is a hilarious meme, because it's TRUE.

Here's the issue. As the blogs have mentioned, Tom's model is not sustainable. 

1. The buy-one-give-one model competes with local business owners. 

2. It reeks of Eau De White Savior and employs poverty-tourism.

3. And most importantly, shoelessness is a SYMPTOM of poverty. It is not the disease itself.

Now, we can debate about this until we're blue in the face (or I suppose, since this a blog, the better term would be "until we're suffering from carpal tunnel syndrome).

But here's my challenge to us all:

Why, do we think we deserve a cookie because we did something respectable with our money?  It is admirable, and preferred actually, that companies do good things with their dollars. But when the shoe is unwrapped, and the transaction is over, where is the relationship? 

At school, there were ads for Two Degrees, an energy bar. You buy an energy bar, and then a nutrition pack was sent to a needy family. But.. That awkward moment when the advertisement looked like this.... That even MORE awkward moment when you are one of the few Black students at Trinity, and this ad is sitting at the dining table....

I don't know about you, but I've always felt uncomfortable whenever I see pictures like this. I know you're trying to help, but I really don't think this is the way to fix the world's ailments. I don't think I am able to express it better than bell hooks. I strongly recommend her work, "Race and Representation"! A blogger concisely summed up her piece here"Eating the Other" like this:

"hooks claims that modern depictions of the Other have been transformed through a consumer culture that seeks to profit off of perceived difference."

For us, there is something satisfying, and damn near erotic, about "doing something good". Especially for people we perceive to be "less fortunate". And I'll admit it, we ALL fall into that trap. When I was a child, my dad brought me back a pen from South Africa. I was so confused because I didn't think "they had metal in Africa". TV and movies are incredibly powerful, especially for a 5 year old.  But I am so grateful for the chance to get to know international students in high school and College, especially those from different parts of Africa/having friends who went abroad because even I, little miss know it all, needed to be reminded that Africa is a diverse place of varying needs. As is America. One time, a student in my class, who happened to be white, declared that people "need to be drug tested before they get approved for welfare". I'm going to let you think about that. I know for sure, she wasn't thinking about people who looked like her. There is a misconception that Blacks and Latinos are the only folks on welfare. Reality: Most people on welfare are White. Reality 2.0: If welfare did not benefit White families, we wouldn't have it. And you know I'm right. 

And what's funnier is this:

1. Even though we KNOW they use our dollars to fund anti-gay rights campaigns, we still eat at Chik-Fil-A because the sandwiches are so damn good.

2. Even though we know they employ prison labor overseas (and in the US), we still buy Victoria's Secret because the semi-annual sale is so damn good.

3. Even though we know they use sweatshop labor, we still buy Nike (which owns Jordans) because those sneakers are so damn good.

4. Even though we know they hid the deadly side effects of their Ortho Evra patch from the general public, we still buy Johnson and Johnson baby oil because it makes our skin feel so damn good.

In this whirl of "so good", are we really satisfied buying a pair of overpriced shoes? Are we redeemed because we fixed one problem today, that may or may not have been a problem in the first place(that we may or may not have caused ourselves)? Because let's be real... Our complicated relationship with the "developing world" is deeper than slavery and immigration. It's real. We would so much rather buy a pair of shoes, or a computer, or a granola bar that promises to carry out justice and mercy for us. We would never demand social and political change ourselves. We would never volunteer our time at a local after school care program, or adopt a little brother or sister who needs guidance. But we will text that Red Cross line for 10 dollars. And what really holds us together, as a country, is our notion of convenient consumerism. We're American. We can hire someone for that. 

Now, I'm not judging anyone who wears Toms. Do as you will. A shoe is a shoe. But, I encourage you to find ways, and to share those ways, to make this world a better place for us all. While you are finding  ways to do good with your wallet, I would encourage you to also find ways to be good with your heart. And I believe the best way to do that is to do whatever it is that God/The Universe/your gut has called you to do, and to do it GOOD (not a typo, I mean do it with a moral and good heart). 

You're going to teach? Teach good. You're going to become a banker? Bank good. You're going to be an athlete? Play good. Now I know that's grammatically incorrect, but it's existentially accurate. [things my dad says]

Carry out goodness in every arena of your life. Find ways to make sure each thing you EVER do brings you closer to people. Be thoughtful and intentional with your vote, your voice, and your money. 

As for me? I'm keeping my $54 dollars. 

Frank Ocean Taught Me "Despite" and "Because": Love Lessons

Shout outs to Frank Ocean for being the first mainstream male artist in the hip-hop/r&b world to identify himself as anything other than heterosexual. Lord knows we need to make more space at the table. 


At first, I took his beautiful letter here to mean that he was bisexual. Then, I saw a friend comment on another friend's facebook status to say that this is not necessarily a declaration of bisexuality so much as it was a declaration that he was claiming a "queer identity and non-heterosexuality" (thank you, J.G.)


My first observation about this entire story is that we have rushed to smack a label on him. Is he bi? Is he gay? Is he on the DL? All of us are guilty. The beauty in Frank's story was that he, being the artist that he is, found poetic and subtle ways to describe this incredible feeling. 


But I suppose I've always been more interested in the ways we interpret the story, than the story itself. I saw people showing support for Frank in ways I NEVER thought we would see, especially among the Black community/hip hop fan circle. This one statement has been haunting me... "I don't care what he is, straight, gay, bi, whatever, it's all about the music". People are showing out all this support. And I love it. It's landmark, historic.. yadda yadda yadda.


But can I call y'all out on that? "I love you in spite of..." are the worst 6 words to ever begin a sentence.  Have you ever had a boyfriend tell you "I love you even though..." or heard your friends start a sentence with"You know, despite all your shortcomings..."I really don't think that's love. Because somewhere, hidden, under that statement is this idea that you're not good enough. That you are settling. That you would have chosen the circumstance to be a different way, but it isn't. So you deal with your cards. 


It's kind of like, when people say "I'm tolerant" or "I accept" gay people (or Blacks, or Latinos, or immigrants, or insert other marginalized group here). Am I supposed to give you dap because you allow me to breathe the same air as you? Am I supposed to feel liberated because you accept me? Tolerance/Acceptance, yet again, connote that you are settling for a lesser condition. "I really wanted a chocolate milkshake, but I'll tolerate a vanilla one" "I really wanted a gold necklace for my birthday, but since you bought it with your hard earned money, I guess I'll accept this silver one". At what point will we begin to not just tolerate/accept.. but genuinely EMBRACE all expressions of sexuality and gender?


I suppose, I like to think that God doesn't just accept me as I am. And I'd like to think he doesn't just  love me "despite" my flaws. Instead, I think God loves me because I am flawed. I think there's a reason why Jesus spent time with the poor/the sick/the generally downtrodden. He was setting an example for what real love is. 


 Imagine, if in his Sermon on the Mount, he said "Blessed are those, who despite their persecution are tolerated. Imma still let them come to heaven though. Giving back, you know." No. 
Without qualifiers.
Without preface.
Jesus says "Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." and "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."


I think it's important that we remember that it is so much more meaningful to say "I love you because". Here are some "I love you despite" statements:


I love you despite your insecurities. I hate telling you you're not really fat. So annoying. 
I love you despite the fact that you never say sorry. I always say it first. That's not fair.
I love you despite the fact that you're a sarcastic jerk. That's such a frustrating thing I have to deal with.
I love you despite the fact that you're always dreaming and never in the real world. I always have to bring you back to reality.


Love is about finding complements. What brings out the best in you? Who does that for you? When we say "I love you despite your flaws", what we're really saying is "you remind me that I'M flawed". This is how we reverse those toxic statements.

I love you because you're insecure. You give me a chance to find a new thing to love about you every day.

I love you because you're too proud to say sorry. You've made it possible for me to say it first, that's a life skill.

I love you because you're a jerk. It makes a friendly gesture that much sweeter. 

I love you because you always have your head in the clouds. It keeps my feet on the ground.

Now, I'm not saying that Frank Ocean's non-hetero identity is a flaw. PLEASE don't take this blog to mean that. Nope. What I'm saying is, I love him, not despite his sexuality, but because he is who he is. I suppose that's why the closet is so toxic. We force people into this space in fear of being ridiculed, and when they present non-normative expression, we want to erase it. We want to pretend like it doesn't matter, as if it doesn't influence who he is. Here we go, yet again, on some colorblind "I see everyone the same" tip. If you don't see my color, you don't see me. And If you ONLY see my color, you still don't see me. 

I say all this to say, that while I'm very impressed by all the support that pours out from the hip-hop community, I want to remind us to stay away from both marginalizing AND invisible-izing Frank. Let's love him because.

Ways to Make an Awkward Moment More Awkward: Add the Phrase "Plus-Size"

I was getting off of the train today, and a man stopped me. Usually I keep it moving, but homeboy was PERSISTENT.
"Hi. I'm a modeling agent. I like your look. Is this something you'd be interested in?" he says.

"Probably not. I can take a card, I'm in a rush, though", I said. I have a really hard time saying no to people. Something I'm working on.

As I made my way up the stairs, I looked at his card. "Plus Size in the City".
Plus Size. plus size? p-l-u-s    s-i-z-e? me?

If this had happened to me, perhaps 3 or 4 years ago, I would have cried all the way home. Someone thinks I'm fat! WAHHH!!!

But at 6'0, 200+ pounds, and size 14, I've embraced my Amazon Frame. It's a secret weapon. I never really have to wear heels, and I can always reach the bargain packs of paper towels at the grocery store.

But today, a man called me "plus-sized". And rather than be upset that he called me Plus-Sized (because I accept that that's how I am perceived), I am upset that this is an actual discussion. Because in my world, people look like me. And they're real! Also, in my world, people are 5'5, they're skinny, they're short, they're muscular, they're athletic, they look like Mercedes AND they look like Quinn (Glee reference). Chicks by the layers, all different flavors. *ten points if you know where that's from*

I suppose what bothers me is that who I am must be separated from the rest.

Because let's be honest. We live in a sedentary, beer-chugging, McDonalds addicted culture. Every day, ABC 7 Evening news reminds me of the same thing they told me two weeks ago.. That we're getting fatter. If I'm Plus-size, so is a large portion of this society. And at that point, wouldn't "plus-size" become the norm? And wouldn't "minus-size" become the new "plus-size"? (I'm rambling, It's my first real post, and I'm trying to distract myself from the toaster strudels in my freezer. Ignore me please) ((okay come back))

HOWEVER... The way to make the fatties of the world (I include myself in that, nothing funnier than a little self-flagellation) feel included is to make the size 14 jeans as accessible as the 2's. How awkward is it to be that girl reaching, hopelessly, for those jeans ALLLLL the way in the back of the rack (of course on that awkwardly high rack)? I swear, any time I'm trying to reach my size in the Gap, I can FEEL the eyes of sales employees on my back. "Look at this chick... Ha. she can't even reach the jeans. Good idea to put it all the way back there. this is a good show". Ah, I digress.

The way to be "politically correct" isn't by giving me some fluffy euphemism for "fat". Recognize that we all have wonderfully beautiful bodies. And I refuse to be one of those big girls who reps the "Skinny Women are Evil" camp. That's just basic and it doesn't get us anywhere.

I never noticed how beautifully soft my skin was until I had more of it. I never noticed how much I loved my lips until I celebrated the ways they led me to food-heaven. I never noticed how strong my strides were until I had more weight to throw into each step. I'm not advocating an unhealthy approach to food. We can all do better to be more thoughtful about how we treat our bodies. But as a nation, we could do MUCH better to show more types of bodies. Without demonizing the so-called "outliers".

I say all this to say... That these images are powerful. I never really got into Sex and the City or Gossip Girl because none of them really looked or felt like me.. to me. I suppose that's why I'm so incredibly attracted to Queen Latifah and anything she does. She's a true Amazon. Even as a girl who has a good father, a good brother, and a pretty good relationship with men in general, I am self-conscious. I can only imagine what it must be like for women who have dealt with more toxic experiences. No one is immune. Body-critics are everywhere. And they are unforgiving. The worst critic is internal. You can't escape.

And now, for your homework.

As soon as you can, look at yourself in the mirror. That birthmark? Divine. That cellulite? Isn't it soft? Stretchmarks? Well.. I like to think of them as God's finger grips when He comforts me. Even the man upstairs could use a little ergonomic assistance.

You are what you call you. If you find Plus-size to be a powerful term, go ahead and use it... on you.

I dare you to call me Plus-Size in the street. I prefer Queen.

Till next time,

Candace

Miss Cellaneous Queen

Greetings and Salutations! 




I just graduated from Trinity this May. And I don't have much of an outlet to air out my thoughts, criticisms, or wonderings. (Work hasn't started yet either!) 

The thing I miss SECOND most about Trinity (after the wonderful friends I've made, of course) is the opportunity to have meaningful discussions with others. About race. About gender. About politics. About sexuality. About religion. And about education. And after the urgings of a few friends who have grown tired of my paragraph-long facebook statuses/series of tweets, I think it is about time to find a more productive way to channel my thoughts.

So here goes nothing. I'm hoping to use this space as a way to make sense of my life. Feel free to comment, suggest articles, and reach out.

A few things about me:

1) You are equally as likely to find a Nicki Minaj song on my iPod as an old Negro Spiritual.
2) I love chocolate milkshakes. Of course, made the good American way with Vanilla ice cream and Chocolate syrup.
3) I've read Pedagogy of the Oppressed 3 separate times, and each time, it feels like a new text.
4) I just graduated from Trinity College with a BA in Educational Studies and a concentration in Youth Empowerment and Achievement in Urban Settings. Can you tell I designed that myself?
5) My blogspot name is Miss Cellaneous Queen. Please notice the cleverness in that. It is NOT a typo. I know how to spell. (Say it out loud if you haven't gotten the joke yet) :-)
6) I teach.
7) Spongebob taught me all I need to know. How to be a good friend, how to believe in things you can't explain like Santa, and how to remain positive.
8) Faith is more important to me than religion. I consider each different belief system a different train, and we all end up at Times Square at some point, right? That's harmony.
9) I'm an activist. I believe in the power of organizing. Most importantly, I believe in the power of a collective. I don't appreciate talking heads or titles. I believe in the power of communities coming together.
10) In my next life, I will star as Mimi in an off-Broadway revival of RENT. Watch me.

Watch out for this blog. I promise you won't be disappointed.

Love and Life,

Candace