#Blessed

Even tho I may project
My own fears and biases
I am #blessed and fulfilled
Regardless of how I feel

Into my sometimes
blurry lenses I
Get pushed and pulled back
Before my own eyes

All I need is a shift
A bit of perspective
For my hopes and my dreams
To ever become clear

Then promplty energized
Open heart, Spirit High
I give Joy another Chance
And Love in again

©️ Daphne Mia Essiet, 2018

#OnSharing

I’m thinking too much – always

So I look for answers in books, podcasts, TED talks and the like

I introspect and adjust
Write and try
to become the best version I can be

I’m growing
Tho I’m not sure how this matter
If there’s no recipients but myself

#OnSharing

©️ Daphne Mia Essiet, 2018

The Sky

Versatile is the Sky
Reflecting my inner desires
Varies in shade and intensity
According if it is noon or midnight

The Night’s passionate indigo
Expects the bright embrace of the pink morning light
Unless the stormy clouds
Start their impetuous fight

Temporarily, that is
Cause we all know that in the end
It will always be
Here, there, everywhere
From any angle of the sphere

©️ Daphne Mia Essiet, 2018

#ButAsOfToday

Take me as I am
Bold and Bright
Or
Let me fly away

I may not be
What you had thought or prayed
I understand,
Just let me know,
& I’ll be on my way.

Life is short
Plans change
Love evolves
What can I say?

Maybe, tomorrow – it will make sense
#ButAsOfToday
Take me as I am
Or just let me know,
& I’ll be on my way.

©️ Daphne Mia Essiet, 2018

#JustPlantingSeeds

“We accept the Love we think we deserve”

If you are wondering
If it’s not the moon and the stars
If this made you think
If you feel some type of way
You probably deserve more

#JustPlantingSeeds

©️ Daphne Mia Essiet, 2018

#Momentum

Shit’s complicated- but here we are: making the best of it.

Beating the odds
Breaking records we never knew existed
Yet, too often living with restraint
Tipi toeing around fragile egos.

Their subconsciously know that the Power sipping through our pores must
meticulously get washed away by judgement
& ever so slightly policed, err’day
With diligence – to prevent Impetus to propels us so Fast & Furiously

As our brightness will challenge Black Holes –
And more.

#Momentum

©️ Daphne Mia Essiet, 2018

#TenGuiltyPleasures

1. Watching cat videos on Instagram
2. Roaming in Marshall’s for hours
3. Eating Nutella
4. listening to 90’s misogynist hip hop songs
5. Girls dancing on a pole
6. Internet shopping
7. Smoking Shisha
8. Sipping on Hendricks + Tonic + 3 lemons
9. Pretty boys
10. Your lips on mine

#TenGuiltyPleasures

©️ Daphne Mia Essiet, 2018

#OnFriendzoning

The story of one way extrapolation
The ultimate Trap.

My Ego’s boosted whilst yours bruised

I’ve been down this road before
I know how it feels
It feels just like tachycardia on blush cheeks

Mixed emotions ’bout my Crush & my Feelings,
& Crushed Feelings

Deflected [Lust] interest
My Ego’s bruised whilst his boosted

I refuse to contribute to relationship turning vinegar
Nor entertain a flame lacking flamboyance
I’m not the One

I’ve been down this road before
I know how it feels
It feels just like yet another unanswered text

A “full-on” Soul Ache

Deflected [Love] interest
Your Ego’s bruised whilst mine boosted

I refuse to be in the receive hand of resentment
Nor wondering what “I do wrong”
You’re not the One

Thankfully there – is an easy way out: walking away
Before Lust take over your pride
and your Ego suffers pain hard to recover from.

#OnFriendzoning

©️ Daphne Mia Essiet, 2018

#OnGrowing

Did we grew apart
Or never were aligned?
Were we ever asking the right questions?

Attempting to ascertain causes
For future references.

I can’t afford emotionally taxing relationships no more and won’t subject myself to unnecessary burden

I now value my time, health and soul too much to stretch anymore of it

I regret I dragged us that long
Pretended I was ok
Pretending we were ok
But in some twisted ways
I thought we’d come around.

Wait.
Who am I fooling?
I stuck around cause it was easier than to face the collateral damages

Wasted our time out of fear
But can no longer hold onto
this noxious bond.
With myself or with you.

#OnGrowing

©️ Daphne Mia Essiet, 2018

#Picky

Picking Clothes:

1. Do I really like it?
2. Does it look good on me?
3. Am I comfortable wearing it? (will I take the subway with it?)
4. Is this my style?
5. Do I have something similar in my closet?

Picking Men:

1. Do I really like him?
2. Do I like who I am when I’m around him?
3. Am I comfortable enough being myself when he’s here?
4. Are we aligned?
5. Does this sound familiar?

#Picky

©️ Daphne Mia Essiet, 2018

About Kanye

Delivering ideas in an eloquent and clear way is important so to avoid misinterpretation. I think this is something to thrive for and definitely a cultivated skill that in order to be maintained and perfected needs to constantly be tested.

I have always been interested in the way Kanye West thought. His self-confidence and (I believe) genuine desire to elevate the people drawn me to him, and as out of the box as they were, his « processes » made sense to me to a certain extend. That said, I often had to break it down, analyze and decipher his abstract ideas on my own – I felt as if my interpretations were aligned to their true meaning; but here’s the thing: were they? or was i comforting myself in my singular beliefs?

I now think that in the past – his lack of clarity had limited the power of his true messages: too much room for doubt…

Today, who knows how and why he came to those highly unpopular remarks? I don’t have the answers… but I do have questions:

I believe that critical thinking requires the participants to hear, listen and understand honest feedbacks and challenging views; it also requires empathizing with what other may have to say. Over the years, who has Kanye surrounded himself with? who has given him honest feedback and challenged him? Can he still hear us?

All I can say is that I’m looking forward to contextualize and get a clearer explanation of what the defendant has to say.

Hopefully with a better delivery and maybe the help of an eloquent friend we will get some answers.

©️ Daphne Mia Essiet, 2018

The Form or How Moving to America Reshaped my Identity as a Black Woman

I was 23 the first time I was asked to officially identify my race. I had to fill an employment form and could only pick one option. The situation was anxiety-inducing because despite the fact of not being white, could I call myself black

As long as I can remember, people always asked: “Tu es de quelle origine?*” (what’s your background) or just assumed I was [insert whatever brown ethnicity they are acquainted with here]. Such remarks always came across as micro-agression, even more so because I had no answers.

My mother is French and white, and I found out in my twenties that my father is Nigerian. Until then, it was never openly acknowledged that I was black, especially by my mother’s family: a bit like in the Lacey Schwartz documentary “A White Lie”, I had to discover this part of myself on my own.

I grew up in the ’80s in southern France. At the time race was not something discussed in my family. It is still in 2020 a very touchy subject: France would not acknowledge that although from a biological standpoint we are all “humans” – socially racialized individuals and communities face challenges.  This denial makes it impossible to quantify and even more so hard to address racial inequalities. Although France prides itself on being “colorblind” it is in fact not – but that’s for another post.

So, I looked “different” from other members of my family but essentially, I was just one of them.

At first, it was subtle. It was in elementary school that I was made aware there was something different about me. Subtle at first, it became clear I was not one of the “popular kids”. Furthermore, and since there were no black nor mixed-race kids around, I was oftentimes mistaken for a North African, which in itself wouldn’t have meant anything if the narratives about immigrants had been positive. I recall one incident when the lunch school attendant had refused to serve me pork chops. I could not understand why. Upset and confused (I LOVED pork chops), I reported the offense to my grandmother. No later than the next morning, she stormed to the school, outraged by what had happened. At the time, it was not explained to me why I was refused the meal, but I realized that the way I was perceived had prevented me from enjoying the same privilege as everybody else: I became ashamed of what I seemed to represent at a deeper level.

From that moment on, life unraveled awkwardly: although it was not an everyday issue, the unspoken facts surrounding my appearance overshadowed my existence. I grew up in a middle-class white community with little to no diversity. I would have been the only brown kid had it not been for this other little girl named Sana: she was a first-generation French-Tunisian and was pretty wokecompared to me.

She lived in the near-by projects, but her parents were able to get her and her brother into my school district. Sanas father, smart and kind-hearted, although very abrasive, had never been afraid to speak his mind (loudly). He came to France from Tunisia when he was a child and had been a brilliant student but unfortunately faced racism – when he was told that “people like him” had been brought to France to work manual jobs. He was the one who gave us Malcolm Xs autobiography to read in 7th grade and challenged us with geography questions at dinner. Sanas mother was kind and motherly. She helped me acquire my first admin internship in 9th grade and later got me a job cleaning offices during the school breaks; with that money, I was able to go on vacation to Tunisia with them. Both hard-working and focused individuals, they were determined to give their children anything they couldn’t afford while growing up, including access to higher education, as well as a taste for culture and travel.

From the time I met them, they claimed me as their own and even jokingly pretended I was their daughter. I lived a dual life, where I would alternate vacations between my uncles and aunts in the Alps or  Switzerland, and on the other hand, bus trips with kids from the projects. It was interesting for me to see that despite their seemingly different livelihoods, how similar they were in many aspects; however, despite flawlessly passingin both worlds, I never felt as if I completely fitted in.

When I was 10 years old, I moved to Corsica to join my mother and her new boyfriend: things got tricky and I felt extremely isolated. The population of the island is known for being very conservative and as an outsider – let alone a brown one – it was even harder to make new friends. At the house, it wasn’t any better: when I expressed the difficulties I had encountered in
school I was told by my mother that “it was in my head”. I took it as my cue to keep things to myself, and as an early teen developed a strong inclination for independence and solitude. Thankfully, we moved back to the continent when I was 14, and things got a lot better. For starters, I got back in touch with Sana and old classmates, and although I did not feel like I truly belonged, the landscape was not as hostile.

In the early to mid-’90s new genres were slipping through the radio waves: Hip-Hop and New Jack Swing started their ascension in France’s music charts and we even had their own French rappers such as MC Solaar and IAM. I loved the groove and the energy, however, the cultural impact was limited. My English was good, but I was not fluent enough to understand what was said and why it was said. Moreover, there was no access to any type of ‘visuals’ at the time that could have assisted me in grasping the lyrical meaning.

My pivotal moment happened in 1995 when right before entering high school my mother took me on my first trip back to the US. I don’t expect anyone to understand how it feels to see for the first time people who look like they could actually be related to you – your long-lost tribe – so prolifically engaging on major media platforms such as TV and magazines. Until then I had never realized how invisible people of color were in the French landscape. I returned to France a changed teenager.

The Lycée Montgrand (high school) was located in downtown Marseille. The foreign languages taught in the school attracted a variety of students from all over and it was the ultimate cultural melting pot. I picked Portuguese and Sana Arabic. For the first time in my life, I was physically surrounded by a rainbow of complexions. Youngsters from everywhere: first-generation Cape Verdeans, Comorians, Ex-Yugoslavians, Tunisians, Greeks, Vietnamese, Malagasy, even Brazilians, just to name a few. The ones we considered ‘white’ were usually second or third-generation Italian or Spanish. In my opinion, it was very integrated – for the most part. Never before had I felt a stronger desire to identify as “something”. My English professor explained to the class I had been born in the United States (I think my mother had explained in a note why I had missed the first week of high school) and soon the newsworthy information spread and I became ‘Daphne l’Américaine’, a nickname that stuck for years to come.

But this was not enough – I often had to elaborate on my background. My very limited cognizance of Black-American culture was based on series like The Cosby Show, the Prince of Bel Air, Sister Sister etc… and it seemed that in the United States, being black refers to one’s culture, for instance,  individuals who are of African-American descent are considered black
regardless of their complexion or features, even if one of their parents is not – Barack Obama, Lenny Kravitz, Halle Berry, Tracee Ellis Ross or Alicia Keys to name a few are considered black even though they have a white parent. This was a concept that was unheard of in France where ‘Black’ is only a generic term associated with one’s complexion; people of African descent always identify themselves by their country of origin and the nuances of their specific tribe (Senegalese: Peul or Mandiac etc…); and mixed-race people like myself are called as ‘métisse’. At the time, in order to “legitimize” my blackness (or at least my mixed-race status) my very good friend Sofaya and I decided we would pretend to be each other’s sisters: this is how after 15 years of blurred lines and uncertainty I finally had concrete answers to the ever-annoying “what are you” questions: I was a ‘métisse French American’. Along with this newly discovered identity I was eager to learn everything I had never been exposed to. I felt I had so much to catch up on what I thought it meant to be black. I immersed myself in everything I could put my hands on: music and TV were the easiest and most accessible means to do so – we would stay awake late to watch the latest American RnB and rap videos on cable, exchange cassette tapes and imitate our favorite artists. Later on, in college, I was able to access more Afrocentric literature and cinematography and some translated African American books. Mind you, this was in the 90’s, way before open access internet and on a teenager’s budget.

There was only so much I could understand from a distance and no guidance, and although I was somehow familiar with the black African experience in France, what I knew about the African-American experience was very superficial. At the time I moved to the United States in 2004 and was asked to officially ‘claim’ a race, my understanding was still very limited, and I did not know that although perceived as black, this same blackness would often get challenged due to my – until then unidentified – “light-skin privilege” and “racial ambiguity”.

This experience encouraged me to familiarize myself with and better recognize the racial dynamics that ruled the social American landscape. It took me a while and a lot of interactions with different people, but after living in the US for nearly 15 years I came to conclusions of my own. Mainly that it is complicated and that my specific set of lenses allows me a unique perspective. I identify as a black woman – a woman of color with mixed heritage, a Franco-Nigerian, an Afropean – and consider myself “a Woman of Rich Cultural and Ethnical Background”. I belong with the Black diaspora.

I acknowledge that although race and gender are social constructs, stereotypes associated with these factors have real socio-economic consequences in the real world. Ultimately, my racial identity is just another layer making up the complex and ever-evolving person I believe I am.

#Microagressions

Bodega guy said: “Hola Mami! Que tal hoy Dia”
I said: “Est-ce que je peux vous aider?”
You see my Black ain’t Boriqua nor Dominicana
My black is French and Nigeria

That Lady said: “Oh my god, I love your hair”
I grabbed her hand midway
I said: “Don’t touch my hair”

Or I’ll see you in the elevator
My Cab driver said: “You don’t look black
You look pretty like those Dominican girls”

I said: “Dominicans are black –
Nigerians raped by Spaniards, they look like me & Black is beautiful
My aunty said said: “tu as perdu du poids depuis la dernière fois”
I said : “no need to assess my weight if you can’t acknowledge my accomplishments”

My Classmate said: “You are so nice for a pretty girl”
I pivoted and walked away.

Made me wonder
What kind of words
Over the years
I had been using
To say all kind of offensive shit…

©️ Daphne Mia Essiet, 2018