A Look Inside My Creative Mind: YouTube Is Up!

So I finally did what I've been talking about for years. I finally set up an YouTube account in connection with my blog. It's called Look Inside My Creative Mind. I just uploaded my first video last night. Go watch and tell me what you think. I really appreciate any and all feedback!


The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: Dark but Not Spooky

        I am an October baby. A Libra through and through. Halloween is my Christmas and I love everything spooky. This year was much much different and it unfortunately altered my whole season and spirit. 
        My birthday fell on a Wednesday. I had everything all planned out. I was going to go to the amusement park the Saturday before, dinner with my mom that Sunday, and the Thursday after I was going to get into my car to go travel my second home, Chicago, for a comic con that weekend. I was, of course, looking forward to all of this. The Friday before my birthday I woke up with the feeling that my throat was on fire. Great. A cold. So no roller coasters. Instead I went to see Joker where I could barely keep my eyes open. That Sunday, even after feeling like death, I still wanted to go to dinner with my mom, but she couldn't be bothered to drive (which honestly hurt) and I didn't feel up to getting behind a wheel, so I crawled back in bed. On my actual birthday my mother managed to get under my skin about me driving on my own to Chicago... which, mind you, I'd done a ton of times when I used to live there. That Thursday morning I woke up nauseous and nervous. She had gotten to me, but I put too much money into this trip to let nerves get the best of me. Once I got on the highway everything was fine. Music was high, I felt free, and the sniffles didn't matter.... Then I get into Chicago. Once I got into the loop it was just bumper to bumper no moving. Good ol rush hour.  Every time we would go an inch my car would jerk. We'd move a little more and then she'd start to jerk and chug some more. With only less than an hour until I reached my hotel I decided to hop off the highway and just take the city streets. I reached a tunnel and at a point and, just like the movies, I see steam rise thinking it was coming from the manholes. I go several blocks and it happened again. Oh, that wasn't the street that was my car smoking. Great. By the time I got to the hotel everything seemed to spiral from there, at least in my mind. I was scared to drive my car the entire time I was  there. I checked under the hood several times a day as if I knew what I was looking for. Even if I wasn't scared I was too sick to leave my hotel room anyways. I had developed a cold sore right before the trip so I became incredibly self conscious knowing that that weekend I was supposed to take photo ops with Tessa Thompson, Brie Larson, and Jake Gyllenhall. I was convinced that everyone could see it underneath the makeup and that I just looked gross. You take the flu, feeling inadequate, and my car damn near exploding then top that with a comic con that was poorly ran and overpriced you get a pretty crappy birthday. I mean I did get to hug Jake Gyllenhall, so there is that. 
        I can't pinpoint where my happiness, I usually have for October, faded. Not sure if it's because that cold kept me from fully enjoying myself or, I forgot to mention, that the one year anniversary of my miscarriage was also that weekend. I was already feeling the effects of that weeks in advance. Pictures of babies making me cry, seeing kids out and about making my heart break and overall emotional. It's as is that feeling never really subsided a year later. It took me out as if I was just told that my baby was gone. A year later and it still hits me more than I can evern imagine. So sickness or dead baby. Which is causing me to feel like I'm drowning this time? Could be a witch's brew of it all. 
        Halloween was a bust. I was too sick to even think about a costume let alone put one together. Also where to even go. My own personal Christmas was ruined. Therefore any following holiday is ruined. Not looking forward to Thanksgiving. My family is dwindling and for sure show no signs of growing (because who knows if that can even happen, my complicated relationship, my age, and my mental health). I don't even want to think about Christmas. No motivation to even hum a carol or decorate a tree. This isn't my "bah-humbug". This is my "I just want to not exist for a little while". It's my "this is getting to be a little too much". Tis the season. 
       I'm not sure what it is about this year. I've had a few hard hits but definitely not like the past few years. I feel like 2019 has been nothing but the past three years breathing down my neck like evil spirits that refuse to leave me. They live to remind me of all I've lost and failed. Just so much death and unhappiness. Even with my hopes wavering there are few rays of sunshine. I graduate next month and no matter how I'm feeling I've come to far to fail this. But still I feel my future looks pointless and unfulfilled. I look ahead and I can't tell which direction I'm going and no matter which road I take looks like a dead end. It's very confusing because I've spent a lot of time this year trying to be a better person and I feel worse off. I suppose I still move forward. Find little joys, if possible, but I'm just so very tired. I feel defeat over anything else. Maybe it's Mercury in retrograde again or just my life being stuck. All I know is that this is more than birthday blues.
-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2019 ©️

Never Made To Fly

I emerged with my wings clipped
Made to fear the sky
When all I wanted was to soar
Never leaving upon my branch
As the world flies by below me
Above me
The world spins as I sit still
A courage thrived inside
In spite of the panic bestowed upon me
I jump only to plummet
So far from the world I’ve known
Yet still far from a world I’ve never explored
Soft grass under feet
But no wind under wings
For my wings were clipped
So that I could never soar

-Asia Aneka Anderson, Never Made To Fly 2019(c)

The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: Happy Father's Day Sounds Bittersweet

        This is my third fatherless father’s day and tomorrow will mark three years since he’s been gone. The continuous rain outside represents my mood perfectly. You assume after three years that grief subsides, but on days like today it’s as almost it happened yesterday. The sound of my wailing when my mom said “He’s gone” echoes in my head. I want to go back and hold that girl, past me, tell her that’ll it’ll be ok, but three years later I’m not sure if I’m ok.

        To hear people say to one another “Happy Father’s Day” is depressing. It causes jealousy. How come I don’t have my dad? It’s not fair, but it never is. While everyone celebrates I curl up in the bed and weep. That’s been my father’s day for three years. To lose him on father’s day weekend adds an extra sting. Last year his death date fell on father’s day and I hurt to my bones. It’s not fair.

        My saving grace is my uncle who checks in from time to time, especially around this time. Although he missed me at work the other day my coworker, who actually grew up with my dad, relayed the message and he told her that my dad raised me. I was with him all the time. I told her it was true. He got hurt at work when I was very young and had to retire do he was stay at home dad. He was a damn good job and he made sure I grew up to be the caring, creative, outspoken, self respecting woman that I am today. Things I hope to pass down to my kids given the chance I have any. The baby I lost last year I know is getting the same guidance I did up there.

        So today as I hear the rain that has no ending my tears do the same. Eventually the clouds will separate for the sun, but for now it’s ok to live in the rain. I have to allow myself that. Although three years the hurt is still fresh. You wonder what life would be like today if he was still here. The selfishness of wanting them here while admitting that with them being gone they are no longer in pain. My dad had been ill for years. Not being able to drive, walk long distances without losing breath because of COPD, couldn’t do the things he loved to do. No one wants to live like that nor would I want them too, but I do wish he was still here. So, I say to the heavens “Happy Father’s Day” ❤

-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2019©️

What Happens When Love Doesn't?

Two hearts untangle
Finding a rhythm of their own
Lasting gazes erase
Avoiding the aching soul
Smiles fade
As does the happiness
Paths divide
Leading two from one
Something meant to be
Becomes to be no more
What hurts does heal
What dies is reborn
Hearts beat and tangle once again
Pulses race
Mind and body collide
You succumb to the fall
Dreaming wide awake
Finally felling
What happens when love does

- Asia Aneka Anderson, What Happens When Love Doesn't? 2019(c)

Could always use the hug 

The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: Hey Kids, Let’s Talk About Mental Illness

        Did everyone pull through the Mercury retrograde with everything intact? I hope so, because if it unraveled it’s a bitch trying to put it back together again. I’m speaking for me, of course. Depression is already my oldest friend, seasonal depression is my depression’s older meaner cousin that depression invites over for the holidays (WITHOUT MY PERMISSION) that doesn’t leave for several months on end, then when I get that bastard to finally leave here comes Mercury being all emotional and taking me down with her. In short the last few months have been nothing but a huge dumpster fire.
        Moods change without warning. Tears come without provoking. Exhaustion comes when sleep is abundant. Mercury has her shit in check finally but the aftershocks and events to come leave little sunlight. Seasonal depression always hits me hard because the feeling of being stuck gets overwhelming. I know I mention a lot that I miss Chicago and I want to move back, but Chicago just represents something bigger for me. It’s not just a place, but any place where I feel like I belong and unfortunately home has never been that. Ohio has never felt like a place where I could let my hair down, be me, feel accepted, feel free, and give me inspiration. That may not make sense, but my personality is attracted to big lights and busy streets full of life. Something I can draw inspiration from. My muse. It doesn’t have to be Chicago, but Chicago did provide that escape for me. So, here we are in another winter. Another season of self loathing and “Someone please get me the hell out of here!” Domino effect. My mind becomes idle and still therefore it grows angry and bitter. Depression’s mean older cousin’s way of letting you know they’ve arrived. 
        Life is redundant. Everything and everyone gets on your nerves. Then daylight savings time hits and that mean old cousin starts to pack his bags, but not before leaving a nasty note on your pillow to tell you he’ll be back for Thanksgiving. Asshole. Then, just then, when you felt like the worst was over it wasn’t. Retrograde threw my mind for a loop. Not knowing whether I was coming or going. A constant anger and sadness that replaced everything I was. Work killing me more than usual. A semester that seems to be going into it’s 17th month of never ending arithmetic and whatever the hell my professor is teaching solely through YouTube videos. A relationship that you swear is going nowhere. Are we going to make any big moves…. hell moderate moves or is this it? Just this standstill? It all became infuriating. Infuriating because I’m not moving. If there is any moving it’s in slow motion… backwards. On the inside there’s just this constant screaming that doesn’t let up. The depression says “Well, where are you gonna go anyways?” Good point. All the things that once motivated me are no longer my happy place. So where do I go?
          Last week I had an idea. I dreamt that I approached a railroad crossing. I parked my car across the tracks, hopped into the passenger side, fastened my belt and waited for the train to hit the opposite side. I woke up in a hospital bed with all my loved ones around me and wept when I realized I was still alive. I’ve taken enough psych courses to know that it means I don’t want to die. I switched seats so that my body would be recognizable for God’s sake. But I do know it represents that I want a change that makes a huge impact, but I could be wrong. I do know one thing, depression has been my friend longer than anyone and he had never brought me dreams this vivid. And never did he make it look so sweet. As we grow closer to the date I would’ve given birth, the date I would’ve graduated which has now been pushed back, and the third anniversary of my dad’s death it kinda makes you wonder what the meaning of it all is? Is there any? A life where you just eat, sleep, work, and pay bills can’t be something fulfilling… or I should say that it isn’t. Not for me. I don’t even know what to look forward to. The next less than desirable paycheck? 
        I try and I try but things seem to never go right and even when they start out that way they soon sour. I wonder if things had been different had I been the child to rebel instead of follow rules. What if my dreams were encouraged instead of laughed at? Modesty out the door, I obviously have a way with words, but there’s only so many stories you can make about a broken girl who has no hope. Even character me is always stuck. Where does she go? Where is her happy ending? While we’re at it, where’s mine?

Asia Aneka Anderson, 2019©

The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: You Might Be A Homophobe If...

        I’m not going to be nice in this post because I’m absolutely tired of the same repetitive bullshit when it comes to marginalized groups. In 2019 I refuse to keep going back and forth and back and forth with people when my underlying message to everyone is to let everyone live their best lives. Period. 
        So, whether you watched the Oscars or not. Whether you know who Billy Porter is or not (He’s on Pose, was on the last season of American Horror Story, and for me personally, I will always remember him from the movie The Broken Hearts Club) you know that Billy came to slay your whole life in an amazing tuxedo dress that was an homage to Hector Xtravaganza who is very well known in the ballroom community and recently passed in December. No matter your opinion on sexuality you have to admit that the dress was fierce. That’s what award shows are all about, the fashion.
           Something as simple as a dress on a man is causing so much controversy and as I see it, personally, especially in the black community. I don’t know why when a person of color decides to live loud and proud other black people scream out about a “gay agenda” or “wHat aM I SuPPoSeD tO TeLl mY kiDs?” or just throw out some random bible verse. Frankly, I sick of it. There’s no “agenda”. I’m 36 years old. Homosexuality wasn’t as talked about when I was a kid as it is now. We really only had a character on a few tv shows like “My So-Called Life” and a few others. Guess what? People still grew up to be gay. So how can someone being themselves make another person be something that they’re not? The only way another man is going to be gay is if he has a love of dick. He’s not going to do it as a fashion trend. I just don’t see how a community who wants so badly to unite and completely dismiss a whole group of people. You can’t say “We all need to come together…. Except for you gay folks. Keep that shit over there.” It’s beyond ridiculous. Some people could have children in their homes who may be LGBTQ+ and they’d never know because the child has heard them bash LGBTQ people so much that they live in fear of being unloved, kicked out, beaten, or worse. 
           People are really out here pressed about a few extra feet of cloth. You don’t want to wear a dress? Cool. Don’t wear one, but don’t state that if another man decides to that it’s the feminization of black men. A handful of people do not represent the masses. No one says that gangs like the Crips or Bloods make all black men look bad so how does a few famous gay black men make all black men look bad. We always talk about not letting someones bad behavior speak for us as a whole, but then we do shit like this. Why are we so uncomfortable with ANOTHER person’s sexuality that we actually kill them for it? Why are we so uncomfortable with ANOTHER person’s sexuality that we shun them for it? We take away homes, kids, and jobs for it. Someone help me understand. A black woman that is a lesbian doesn’t make me feel any less feminine. A black woman that is a lesbian doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable in a bathroom or locker room. I don’t feel the need to bash her when all she’s trying to do is work, go to school, get groceries, pay bills, provide for her family, and enjoy life the same way I am. 
         I wish that our community was a little more accepting of each other. Other communities have their issues. I know this, but it’s safe to say that our history is horrific, so why now in 2019 can’t we come together to tackle bigger issues like police brutality, the fucked up prison system, gentrification, etc. ALL of us need to come together. Not just straight black people. Not just black men. Not just black millenials. ALL OF US, gay, straight, light, dark, poor, rich, high school dropouts, college graduates, the elderly, the young, male, female, and in between? We need everyone. Why can’t everyone grasp that? If you set people in their little cliques nothing gets done. We do such a poor job or looking out for one another. If we’re not blaming gay poc for making us all look bad we’re blaming young black girls for getting raped because they’re “fast”, and if we’re not doing that, we’re blaming women for wearing makeup and being fake, if not that we call all black men deadbeat fathers, and so on and so on. When do we ACTUALLY start to stand up for each other? 
        In short, I don’t have time for the fuck shit. I support LGBTQ. I will not stand silent while people try to bash or harm anyone living their lives. I will also not deal with any other sexual and race based phobia. I don’t have time for the -ists either. racist, sexist, ableist, etc. The world would be a better place if y’all just knew how to leave people the fuck alone and mind your business. So worried about a man in a dress that you’re not even paying attention to the skeletons falling out of your own closet. 

-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2019©

True Love's Last Kiss

It was in a moment
A moment I can’t remember
I search for that feeling
One I can’t grasp

Forgotten the last
While the first stamped on my heart
Still I feel butterflies
That feeling when our lips first touched

If only I knew the last was it
I would’ve savored the taste
Your soul lingered with mine
As if it were to last forever

Our souls separate
Float along wandering a different universe
Trying to reconnect the disconnect
Where do I go?

I capture a moment
Memory still fresh of true love’s first kiss
A first touch
A last glance

I stand bare before you
These lips part
“Should I go?”

-Asia Aneka Anderson, True Love's Last Kiss 2019(c)

The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: Yeah, #MeToo

        A lot of people are talking about it but I had to add in my two cents about the Lifetime docuseries about R. Kelly. First of all let me say that watching this has been completely draining. I personally was never sexually molested as a child and it was still draining and triggering, so I can’t imagine someone who actually went through it and how their emotions were while watching this. 
        I guess one of the reasons this story rubs me the wrong way is because I was sexually assaulted my freshman year in high school and I always ALWAYS said the dude that did it looked like R. Kelly. I even wrote about the incident before on my Tragic Crush Tales. There was something about his eyes that was just creepy and evil the same as I see R. Kelly. 
         So my two cents has more to do with the response than the actual doc. The allegations and his weird ass creepy behavior are old news. Everyone knew he was a pedophile way back in the Aaliyah days. My problem is with the loads of people who still continue to support this monster and choose to turn a blind eye and even worse the ones who strictly put the blame on the teenagers themselves. Disgustingly claiming that some of them were asking for it. How does a 12 year old “ask for it”? How do you place blame on anyone other than the GROWN man who lured in these girls, groomed them, and took advantage? I don’t care if they lied to their parents on where they were going, or skipped school, or lied about their ages. A grown ass man in his right mind knows better than to pursue an underage girl. The amount of black women who refuse to believe black little girls that could be their daughters, sisters, students, etc is mind boggling to me. Your love of a few hits is more important than the safety of a young girl who could be damaged forever. Everyone from the parents to the justice system to R. Kelly’s entourage failed these girls, and yet people still feel they are responsible. I remember when my assault happened and my father, I, the dude who attacked me and his parents all had a meeting at the school. In so many words the mother stated that I deserved it because I had a crush on him and called their house a few times. Me thinking he was attractive didn’t give him permission to force me up against a wall at school, claw at me, and try to rip my clothes off all while I’m yelling “No.” Period. I understand that’s your son, but it was her responsibility to tell him that there is a line and that he jumped right over it. My father even mentioned to her that as a woman it was disgusting to hear her say that it was all excusable. Afterwards it was the dude’s father who approached mine and said that he believed everything I said. 
       My other pet peeve is the what-about-isms. The people who, when you bring up R. Kelly, respond with “Well what about Harvey Weinstein?”, “What about the catholic church?”, “What about Roman Polanski?” Ok. What about them? That’s not what the topic is about. These other predators have been addressed. There are all sorts of docs about these people. It’s unfortunate that none of these people have been brought to justice.... YET, but let’s not act like these monsters haven’t been in the limelight as well when it comes to their crimes. Also, you can be angry and want justice for multiple things. You can be pissed about R. Kelly, Trump, our healthcare system, and that bitch at work you don’t like all at the same time. The human brain is amazing like that. Just stop deflecting. Just because Kevin Spacey isn’t behind bars right now doesn’t mean you can’t be loud and angry about wanting just for his victims as well as everyone else. 
        We as a society need to stop with these false idols. People who know me probably think I’m one to talk, and to some extent I am. Everyone who knows me knows that I am a Beatles fan. There’s plenty of news out there that John Lennon abused his wives. Now even though I’m a huge fan that’s honestly (and embarrassingly) something I wasn’t aware of until a few years ago. I don’t condone what damage he did. You don’t put your hands on people. I don’t care if your parents abandoned you as a child and now you have mommy issues. Get help. But on the other hand will I continue to listen to his music? Sadly, yes. So, I’m not here to judge people who still want to listen to R. Kelly’s music because, as I just stated, I have absolutely no room to do that, but I will judge you if you think he’s some innocent when he’s the one who is actually in the wrong. Hold him accountable. Let’s hold all these false idols accountable who cause harm to people whether it be R. Kelly, Kevin Spacey, Prince, Elvis, Bill Cosby, etc. I know it hurts sometimes to call out your faves, but call those bastards out. They have no right forcing themselves on people, luring in children, and throwing their power around. This is damaging. If people don’t want to get the help they need and instead go out and hurt others because they are hurt then they deserve to be behind bars. They don’t get a gold pass because they have an Oscar or a Grammy. Fuck that. HOLD PEOPLE ACCOUNTABLE.