Was Eric Dane Speaking to You, too?

         You probably are already aware that actor Eric Dane has passed away from ALS a few days ago. The day after he passed there was an interview that was filmed by Netflix that was Eric's last words. The last words that he had for his daughters hit home for many reasons. The biggest takeaway for me was to live in the moment. He hit the nail on the head that a lot of us keep living in the past and are anxious about the "what ifs" of the future. I'm always envious of those who can be present in the present and nothing else. I've tried my best to do that for my son. To be present for him and with him and to hold on to these moments because he is growing every day. It's still hard to not linger in the past on what mistakes that I may have made in the past that may affect his future, or wonder where the path ahead may lead us. That future is both scary and exciting, but in the end, it is still in the future and should not worry me today. 

          The next biggest takeaway was his advice to fall in love with something, something that will bring you happiness and fulfillment.  Once upon a time, my love was reading and writing. I'd love to go to the library with my parents and check out so many books. Even at a young age my go-to was history and biographies. I loved learning about my history and every iconic and important black person. I thirsted for knowledge. I loved to sit down and write until my hand got tired. I've been writing for as far back as I can remember. My imagination had no limits. I was in love with these two things until about my early 30s, and then there was an abrupt halt. Now my love for reading had dwindled far before that because my passion for writing had become bigger. We'd gone from short stories, poems, and haikus to wanting to write novels and even scripts. I had no time to sit down and indulge in someone else's story. One could say that depression is what killed my urge to write. How can I find love in writing when I don't want to be here in the first place? But because I had that love for so long, I still couldn't live without it, but I couldn't find the headspace, motivation, or creativity to actually do it. I still can't deny that, even though my love for it isn't as strong as it once was, it's still the one thing I feel that I do the best. I can and love to tell a story. I have so many stories that I think so many people would resonate with, and it would be a shame to not get over whatever my past carried and bring those stories to the forefront while I'm still here. Now my love for reading has returned and I've made a goal to read more and more books each year and that is a goal I've been able to accomplish and it has given me small bursts of motivation to continue to create my own. 

        Watching that interview was heartbreaking because, as a daddy's girl, I wonder what my father would have said if he'd been given the opportunity. There are so many conversations we never got to have as two adults, and I hate that. I wonder all the time what he'd have to say about my life right now. It will be 10 years, this year, since he's been gone. The self-loathing part of myself feels like I've done nothing with my life in the past decade. I know that is far from the truth. Since 2016 I have found meaningful love, I've brought life into this world, I have published a book, I have traveled, I've gotten my degree, and a host of other things. I can't say that these are nothing because these are all things that I wish he could have been here to enjoy with me. I have to live in the present and find the things I love because my dad is an example of living in the past and letting it crush you. We never got to have those talks to see if that was the case, but deep down in my gut I feel that it was. I don't think my dad felt like he was good enough. I think he defined himself by his mistakes, rather than seeing himself as a person who made mistakes. I don't want to run in that same path. 

        Overall, the message is that life is short. Use the time you have here to do the things that you love with the people that you love. Take risks and don't drag yourself to the depths of hell for every single mistake that you make. You'll make more as you go. That's what it means to be human. That is how we learn. We should see all the things that life has to offer. We shouldn't burden ourselves with things and people that bring us pain and no growth. Just live your life how you see fit. Be kind to yourself and to others.

        By: Asia Aneka Anderson

The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: Call Me If You Need Me

         That's a phrase we've all muttered before and heard from someone close to us. "Call me if you need me." I've come to realize, as I get older, that this phrase is just said to keep up appearances or something to embellish sympathy. If a loved one of someone close to you dies it's almost second nature to say "Call me if you need me" without holding onto the promise that you'll be available and also with full knowledge that the person you've said this to will feel like too much of a burden to even bother with your request. 

        My son just turned a month old a few days ago. Most days are great and exciting, but when the days are bad they are really bad. What amplifies those bad days are looking at an empty phone and noticing that after about two weeks those "How are you and baby doing?" texts have almost completely stopped, with the exception of my mom. I have to hand it to her that she reaches out every day. It makes me wonder where is everyone else, but then I know that this is also something that is not new. I look back on when I lost my home in Chicago and had to come back to Dayton. Where was everyone? When my dad died my friends were scarce. When I miscarried twice there was nobody there. When I was laid up in a hospital bed for 46 days, waiting for my son to be born, majority of people were nowhere to be found. Now with my son here we are again. People think that a few likes on his pics will suffice or sending a onesie in the mail is enough. No. Where. Are. You? They say it takes a village to raise a child, but what do you do when your village is already small and with that small village I have to be the one who has to keep connections going because if I don't the texts dry up and even then they still do anyways. It's easy for people to say to reach out if I need anything, but unless it's nothing major I'm not going to be that person constantly reaching out because I need 10 minutes to myself or a nap. In the end, just someone's name popping up on my phone with the message "Are you ok?" would be enough, but I can't even get that. 

        I do realize that a lot of this feeling lands on my shoulders. I expect others to see me drowning because, to me, I am visably crashing and burning, while others might think it looks like I have it together. The other is, the main reason adult friendships diminish, which is that life gets in the way. People have to work, have kids or other family they look after, school, errands, etc and sometimes things get thrown to wind especially if they don't see them as important. I do understand these things, but even then all of this, for me, gets thrown out the window when I see that I'm ALWAYS overlooked. It adds extra stress to me because as my maternity leave winds down I know I should get busy on looking for another job or make arrangements with my current one so that I can still be around to watch my son, if my village seems to be a little unreliable. 

        I try by taking parenting classes and reaching out to other moms. Even the other moms that are in my life have almost completely ignored me (one I even told I desperately needed mom friends and I haven't heard back since) which makes me close in on myself when it comes to building friendships with other moms I don't know through these classes. 

       Moral of the story is it doesn't pay to be loyal in friendships that seem to have run their course, and it's ok to admit when some relationships have run their course. It also doesn't benefit growing up as the black sheep and letting that persona bleed over into every other relationship. Just because I'm the black sheep in my family doesn't mean that I have to be that in my friendship circles, but that way of carrying myself followed me everywhere. It became a part of me.

        So I  march on with mommyhood. Still the mpost challenging and rewarding job I've had so far. As soul crushing as it has been, sometimes, I would not change a single thing. 

The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: Not For the Weak

        Here I am a little more than two weeks into motherhood. I had no idea what I was expecting when it came to day to day with a newborn. The only intention I had was to be an understanding mom who practiced gentle parenting in order to raise a compassionate human being, but that's in the future. It's the newborn phase I wasn't prepared for and I am fighting for my life. 

        I didn't expect to feel extreme happiness one minute and extreme sadness the next. There is no in between. I find myself weeping because I can't believe this beautiful sweet little boy came from me and I find myself weeping because I'm so exhausted and frustrated and because of those emotions I dive into the deep end of mom guilt and my mind tries to convince me that I'm a shit mom. From day one when I had a hard time getting him to breastfeed, I felt I obviously had to be the issue because what mom can't breastfeed her baby like nature intended? I must be awful, right? It can't be that hormones threw my body out of whack and both me and baby are new at this. I beat myself up about that a lot in the very beginning. Not only because I felt like it should be natural, or that maybe he didn't want to bond with me, but also because there's so much shaming that goes against moms who formula feed and I desperately did not want to add to that, as if it was something I could control and as if my baby being fed should have been the priority.

        I've cried more in these past two weeks than I ever have in my entire life. I want to sit back and enjoy these moments, but instead I'm becoming detached and annoyed. Baby doesn't deserve that. He doesn't deserve a mom that's frustrated and sad. Most days are good, but it's those few that make me feel horrible. I deal with these days of mostly him and I alone and wonder why I can't be better. Then you add in words from others in my ear who said having kids isn't something I should do. Then I feel lonely and wonder if they were right. I said previously that my pregnancy was a lonely, by being in the hospital for nearly two months, but I had no idea parenthood would be the same if not moreso lonely. 

       You take all of these feelings of feeling like a crap mom and double them by feeling like a horrible partner. I have been in trauma mode since 20 weeks pregnant when I was diagnosed with vasa previa. That was 17 weeks (my c section was at 37 weeks) of knowing that at any point I could lose baby. Intercourse off the table, feeling sexy, or even tending to my partner's needs out the window. Now that the big bump is behind us it's almost like learning each other all over again, but you have this other person that puts a little bit of a stall on that. So what does my mind do? Try to convince me that my partner should go elsewhere. No one wants someone who looks like a slob all day, always sad, and chronically exhausted. Who would roll over in bed and think the former shell of a person they loved is attractive and the one they want. I then let myself get more lonely, more overwhelmed, and angry. 

        I know all this is momentary. This hardship will pass. Some things may be broken. Other bonds may become stronger. All I know is that every time I look in my little boys eyes or hear the little noises he makes my heart swells. All the shit we went through to get him here was a million and one percent worth it. I couldn't ask for anything more and he is the greatest gift I've ever gotten. I can't wait to see his little personality shine through even more because he's got such a big one already. I never thought I'd be a mom, and I'm still determined to be the best one for him. My little man deserves that and nothing, but the best. 

- Asia Aneka Anderson (c) 2022

The Ramblings Inside my Creative Mind: Once You've Seen One Black Sheep ...

          Are you there, blog? It's me, Asia. It's been more than a little while and I have no excuses for you. There is no excuse for not keeping up here or with my creativity in general. I do come to you today with another post pulling back the layers of myself. 

        It gets tiresome to be the forgotten. As you can see that even I, myself, can forget me just as so many others do. That's been my life for as long as I can remember. "Oh, sorry we forgot" could very well be my middle name with as many times as I've heard it. That has had a profound effect on my realtionships, especially when it comes to family. Friends come and go and it's a little easier to go your separate ways than it would be with family. It gets tricky to part ways when you feel like you don't belong, are frequently forgotten about, or abandonded. 

        Summer has come to an end and fall has been pretty warm so far, but that's not saying much when you're still in the middle of a pandemic. Things have been a little more lax this year and some have gone back to normal and most of us are still a little more cautious. With that been said, on my father's side my family had a family reunion for the 4th of July. I was fortuante enough to find out once the pics were posted to social media after the fact. Whether or not I would have gone is unknown and will never be known since I wasn't even given a chance to accept or decline and invite. I've tried to go ever since my father passed. He died two weeks before the reunion in the year he passed and I really wanted ro go since he had his heart set on that one after missing many the years prior due to his health. I did it that year for him and every year since. This year would've been the first reunion without my uncle who passed last year. He was the one who, in my opinion, kept the family together. Now it could be that I was overlooked. My uncle was usually the main one to organize the reunions so it was new to the family members that set this one up. Or it could be that someone thought "She hasn't come out to anything else this year so she won't show up." Either excuse that it may be hurts either way. It's either that I was completely not thought of at all or someone thought that it wasn't worth the effort. It makes me reflect on why I'm always the forgotten one and how can I change that, whether it be to change a few things within myself or cut loose people who don't want me around anyways.

        When it comes to family that answer is easy. Growing up I was always taken to be around my mother's family so I really I didn't really have the opportunity to develop a bond from childhood with my dad's family. I'm the oddball out anytime I'm around that side of my family, but still feel all the love from my aunts and uncles no matter what. When it comes to my mom's side it all boiled down to vanity, in my opinion. I was the nerdy one who kept to herself and liked creative things. I think around a family of mostly women who cared more about beauty over brains nobody knew what to do with me. I'd be left out of things, poked fun at, and ultimately became the strong black sheep that I am today. 

        I was often jealous, growing up, of my my cousins who had my grandmother's sister as their grandmother because I saw how she interacted with them. She encouraged them and joked with them not AT them. Overall, she seemed easier to love and open up to. That's not to say they weren't riddled with their own issues like everyone else, but I never got the feeling like my cousins felt left out, judged, abandonded, or ridiculed. They had the relationship with her that was what you would see on a family sitcom where at the end of the 30 minutes the grandmother would hug her grandchild, tell them how much she loved them and that she'll always be there when needed. I wanted that, but I wasn't fortunate to feel that loved.

        When it comes to being forgotten by friends it boils down to family. My mom's family had a habit of promising activies with my cousins and I and I wait and wait only to later find out that my cousins were taken out and I was left behind waiting. Now this did not happen all of the time, but enough to leave a permanent sting that, to this day, still impacts my current relationships with friends. I have two extremes. If I make plans with a friend I'll either badger them on if they're sure they want to go to whatever we have planned. Just needing that constant reassurance that they won't flake out. The other extreme is I'll cancel because I assume that the other person will. Might as well beat them to the punch. 

        The methods I have been trying to take in not being forgotten that involve my own changed behavior is I've been attempting to be more engaging, as much as I can since I am still very shy. Meeting new people (as comfortably as I can with Covid and all) and overall be present. The changes I can make outside of myself is to cut out those who add nothing to my life. For example, I had a friend who would have me as, what I like to call, the "trauma friend". I'd only be reached out to, for the most part, if she had something traumatic going on. Parents made her feel shitty, husband wasn't engaging with their son, problems with the in-laws, etc? I was on speed dial/text. Something fun happens like a girls night or a lunch date with friends I'd only see the pics posted on social media. I'd hardly get invited to things like this unless the friends or coworkers of her's we were around were dressed down, but to the outings where everyone was dressed to the nines with their hair and makeup done, I was never included. Then when it cames down to issues I would endure I'd get cut short. That friendship got left in 2020. Other's like it got left behind as well. I'm not someone's part time friend or that's only your friend when it's convenient, especially if we consider each other best friends. Same goes for family. I am not a blood is thicker than water type of person. I cannot let bad behavior slide just because we are related and I damn sure can't stick around if I voice that a certain behavior is toxic and you still continue to do it. 

        I embrace being the black sheep because in some ways it has made me who I am today. I have the ability to be self aware because of it. I have been able to take that which has hurt me an turn it into tools to learn from so that I do not act with the same behavior. The last thing I would want to do is make someone feel forgotten or unloved. I am human and I know there are times where I screw up as well. The point is to learn from that and to correct it and not make it an ongoing acceptable behavior. 

Until next time my fellow black sheep

-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2021 (c)

The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: Born or Made Leader

        Here we are in another year and in another job that I'm rapidly starting to despise. I hate it here. I started this job in January of 2020 after leaving a retail pharmacy job. Shortly after finishing training the world exploded. The beginning wasn't so bad. I enjoyed the fact that I genuinely enjoyed the company of everyone in my training class. I haven't felt closeness like that in a job setting for more than 10 years. Getting paid more than my previous job and better insurance didn't hurt either, but after close to a year things started to shift. The workload started to get much more than the compensation was worth. We're talking about doing tasks, that any normal job, you'd most likely need a degree or, at least, a certificate for. Then there came the feeling that is my crux at any job I've ever had, which is running into issues that I can fully see, but not be able to do anything about. I can't stand it, even though that is life. I listen to people all the time who talk about how they hate working with our company and all I can do is shrug and apologize because there's not much else I can do. I watch our company cut corners and jobs to save a buck and that's the issue that's getting worse as time goes on. Leaving my coworkers and I wondering if our jobs will be outsourced since new micromanaging policies seem to leave us stuck in a corner staring at possibly firing or pushed to just quit. I will say that I that this job for being just what I needed as Covid took over the world, because at my previous job this pandemic would have put me in a very vulnerable spot. 

        But this post isn't about my shitty jobs, which I seem to be good at picking. No, this post is about something I just realized about myself recently. That discovery is that I flourish in leadership roles. I was never meant to be in a position where I'm at the bottom of the food chain. The reason I've never realized that and, a lot of times, backed away from the kind of role is because I've been told all of my life that I am a follower. I remember being told that from a very young age by my parents and I believed it. So I stayed in the shadows and followed rules and was comfortable there. It wasn't until I was promoted with the job that I had last year that I thought it was even something that I could do. I enjoyed being a supervisor and advocating for my coworkers the best I could. I pay close attention to detail and have a strong mind for equality and justice. I know those last two have no room in a capitalistic world, but that doesn't stop me from trying. To add to that, as I was finishing up my final semesters at school I had several of my professors tell me that I'd be a great teacher. Being a teacher isn't something I've thought about since I was a kid and people would ask what I wanted to be when I grew up. That isn't necessarily a leadership role, but it does give me a platform and a role to make a difference and that is also something I seek out of life. 

        I am a creator. Creators are leaders. I hate that I allowed myself to be watered down instead of nurtured into being a person who could create paths versus walk down someone else's. I'm already powerful in my words and strong in my influence. The only next step is to have that all backed by confidence. In recent weeks I've been thinking strongly about going back to school and continuing with my creative writing degree and adding education or lit into the mix. It would be an honor to help people pave their own path. I don't care if that's in a management role, a teacher role, or a businesswoman role, but that's where my heart is and has been all this time.

        So excuse me while I try to figure out this next chapter in my journey. The next level of bettering myself and my future. It's never too late to discover new things about yourself. Most importantly it's never too late to tell yourself that you don't have to be in a spot forever. I know we all have bills and other responsibilities, but that doesn't mean that you have to sacrifice happiness and growth. Never do that. I never will. 

-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2021(c)

The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: Even the Quiet Girl Did It

         I write this as I scroll through my secret second Twitter account deleting all of my tweets and RTs advertising promos and enticing men and women alike to check out the content that I had to offer. I present my 40I tits and ass shots from flattering angles. Seems like forever ago when I was in the thick of it, but then again 2020 had a way of making four months feel like four score and seven years ago.

        First things first. I honestly joined OnlyFans because someone close to me had joined and it triggered my competitive side. I thought to myself "I can do that and get more subscribers than you", and you know what? I totally did. Once that feeling was fulfilled I stayed because there was an overwhelming feeling of empowerment. I felt that to be a bit strange because I'm so uncomfortable in my body and have horrible body image issues, but somehow taking these pictures and posting them for others to see made me feel beautiful and in total control of my body. To also get that validation from others felt great as well. It did boost the ego. I also felt like OnlyFans opened up a new level of intimacy between me and my man, allowing me to feel a little more comfortable with my sexual side which was something that was (and still slightly is) troublesome before.

        Once I got started I had my separate social media accounts set up that would be dedicated to advertising what subscribers would get for subscribing to my account. One of the first things I remember after getting everything set up is seeing a woman I followed on Twitter tweet out tips to newcomers and the one tip that stood out to me was that, to be successful on Onlyfans and to make an incredible amount of money you would have to dedicate up to 12 hours a day to posting, advertising, sexting, live chats, etc. I looked at my boyfriend and we laughed, "Yeah right". People have jobs, families, and, even though we were in the thick of a pandemic, still had other responsibilities to tend to. No one has that kind of time, nor does it take 12 hours to dedicate to this a day. I was wrong. So wrong. One of the very reasons that caused me to throw my hands up with OnlyFans is that it's actually exhausting. You wouldn't think that it would be, but it very well can be. You take a few days in the week to take a ton of pics and/or videos so that you have enough material to post through the next week or two. You have to edit said pics so that you only post the teasers to social media and critically edit for sites like IG who goes into a panic if a woman shows a shoulder let alone cleavage. You spend your days RTing follow for follow threads on Twitter, and helping out together creators whilst trying to grab the attention of their fans as well. You spend an enormous amount of time on Reddit posting in different subreddits while also upvoting other creators who are promoting too that you've formed an alliance with. Then you have to sweet-talk your way around men whose main goal is to try and dehumanize you, and even worse, try to get things for free. The reason you let them down gently is that some you can smooth talk into subscribing once they realize their ploy to get free content has failed. To do all of this and more plus working a full-time job was a lot. So I believe it to be true that to be ultimately successful on OnlyFans to where you're making hundreds or more dollars a week you do have to dedicate at least eight hours a day to it if not more. The promoting alone takes up most of that time. 

        One of the pieces that I really enjoyed about OnlyFans was to help empower other people. I saw that we were all trying to make it and everyone had their own spin on what they wanted to do, whether it was couples, erotic cosplay, BDSM, etc. It was a judgment-free zone and there was no competition between anyone. I spent my time trying to mostly help the people who I knew were not the main demographic of the consumers of OnlyFans, and that was people of color, men, and trans individuals. That's not to say that us people that fit this description didn't make any money or didn't grab people's attention, it's just that it was in fact a little bit harder.

        The big downside to OnlyFans, and I'm sure some will disagree, is that it's not really built for women of color. While advertising on Reddit I did join a private group that consisted of only black women and what we would do is help promo each other. We all had the same difficulties of not getting as many subscribers despite the amount we were posting, some of the disgusting comments we would get regarding "race play" (race play is sort of like role play, but obviously based on race. I never participated in it so I'm not sure what scenarios white men had in mind when they suggested it, but I know that it couldn't have been good), and also being banned from certain subreddits for posting certain content although there were white women in these same threads who posted content that was the exact same. So again it wasn't as though we weren't gaining subscribers, but we did have to work extra hard to get a little bit.

        I'll let you in on a dirty secret. When it came to setting up this content I purposefully went after men in my past that had crushes on me, men on my social media accounts that had crushes on me, and exes. This actually worked most of the time. I knew it wouldn't be hard to grab the attention of guys I knew in high school because back in those days I was very quiet and shy while my body suggested otherwise. In high school I had already surpassed DDs and the boys definitely noticed. So I knew many were waiting for fo the chance to get a glimpse and I totally took advantage of that opportunity. The quiet girl from your past showing off her goods. There was no way they could pass that up.

        My main reason for making this post is to let everyone know that sex work is work. People like to clown others that do OnlyFans while at the same time jerk off to some of these same people on PornHub. Sex sells. Let's stop pretending that it doesn't. You don't want to pay for it? That's fine. I don't blame you since there is so much out there that is free but at the end of the day the people in the OnlyFans community put in a lot of work. The girl you throw singles at in the strip club puts in a lot of work. So on and so forth. If there wasn't a demand for sex or the illusion of sex it wouldn't exist. 

        So as I delete my tweets and my posts on Reddit, a part of me is still hanging on. I had so many ideas. I really wanted to go down the route of cosplaying before I got totally burnt out. So instead of closing these accounts entirely, I will leave them there with the hope of maybe one day I can use them to combine my sexy with my creativity. That day may come or these accounts might stay empty. I hope I'll come back to it, because, guys, I really spent a lot on lingerie and costumes. I thought I was about to do my thing and I just couldn't hang anymore. If all else fails I can always use these costumes for my guy. Right now he's my only fan and I'm more than pleased with that. 

- Asia Aneka Anderson, 2021 (c)

The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: The Kid Needs A Break

         I had thought about making a video on my channel for this topic, but I decided to make this post while the idea was fresh on my mind. 

       About a week ago I saw a post on Facebook in a group that I'm in that deals with black women and how they handle mental illness. This mother wrote how her teenage daughter was being challenging as of late and that she was on the verge of canceling Christmas. My shock was seeing all the other women encouraging her to not get anything for her child, when I've seen many of these member's detail the hardships they had growing up with their parents not seeing them as their own person and how a child should be able to express themselves and that children can get stressed, etc. Don't get me wrong, if you have a kid that is continually disrespectful towards their parents, that's a different story and sometimes you have to take whatever punishment you see fit. When you have a kid whose attitude is out of the ordinary it makes sense to try and have a one on one with them to find the root cause. I know that trying to get a teenager to open up is like pulling teeth, but they at least deserve the opportunity to open up.

        I know that it's easier said than done and that for me it's easy to say these things because I don't have a child. I understand how challenging it can be, especially when dealing with a teenager. I still believe that parents lose sight that children go through moods and emotions like adults do. Imagine being a teenager in 2020. You can't see your friends, your education is iffy, there's no dating, and now you're primarily in the house. 2020 is hard on us as adults and I couldn't even imagine being 15 and wanting to talk to your friends in the cafeteria, or see your crush in algebra, or missing school dances and events. Everyone's lives have turned upside down and our kids don't know how to express it and even prior to covid parents rarely gave their children the opportunity to be open and honest or make mistakes, have moods, have space, etc. Even without a pandemic the thought of treating children as property or servants always irked me. The idea of hounding a kid to do certain chores and not even realizing that child may be going through something like overwhelmed with homework, a fight with a friend, or they're heartbroken, and here we are hounding them for something that can be done the next day. Teaching a child responsibility is important, and so is structure, but allow them to decompress every once in a while. Allow them to be.

        Overall, don't take Christmas away from kids this year, of all years. They deserve some type of normalcy in 2020. That's if you're able to. I know a lot of families have had their livelihoods taken away because of covid, but still let them hold on to that Christmas spirit. It also doesn't hurt to really sit down and have conversations with your kids. Don't allow your kids to be like so many of us were growing up, feeling like it was us against the world or being told that we didn't have anything to stress about as if work and bills are the only things that bring stress. I know that this post has been mostly about teens, but this goes for all kids. Toddlers can be stressed because they don't know how to tell you what's wrong and are still figuring things out. Kids in elementary school can be stressed because of trying to figure out friendships and schooling. That doesn't even factor in the kids who are going through a parent's divorce, the death of a loved one, verbal/physical abuse, disease, homelessness, etc. They are people who go through all the range of emotions as well and we as adults should be the ones to guide them through that in a healthy manner that doesn't always lead to punishment.

-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2020(c)

The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: From One to Three

        2020 has been a hard year for many, if not, all of us. Even if, like me, 2020 has given you numerous blessings, it goes without saying that this year has been nothing short of chaotic. With this year being so clouded with illness, death, and uncertainty I  still managed to make this one of my best years in the past, at least, eight years. I started January with a new job, that allowed me to work from home, once this whole pandemic blew up. I couldn't imagine working at my previous job, in a retail pharmacy, once Covid was at it's height. The amount of people I can imagine me yelling at for not having on a mask or social distancing is enough to make my head spin. I also managed to grab my degree, although I am bummed that I didn't get to have a graduation. I was really looking forward to that after all the hard work I had put in. I finally finished my novel and hope to find a publisher very soon. Also, on my birthday, in October, I got a fur baby. A little hamster that I named Lady Samwise Hamgee.

        One of the most memorable moments came from one of tragedy. Unfortunately, on October 1st I lost my favorite uncle to covid. It was a shock, and still is, almost two months later. One day after his funeral I get a facebook message saying "Hey, I think you're my sister." It was from my half brother that I hadn't see since I was about 12 years old, and even then that was the only time I had ever seen him. He had heard of our uncle's death through his mom finding the obituary and unfortunately through that they learned of our dad's death. We talked for a while on the phone and pretty much introduced ourselves. I got to hear about him, his life, and about his family. It made me sad that my dad didn't get to meet his grandkids or even more so that my brother didn't know about our dad's death. I didn't know where to look, didn't know his mother's name, or if they even still lived locally, but I still made a point to add him into our dad's obit, because, in my life or not, he was family. To add to that I also have a half sister. I had never met her (but always knew about her), but my brother was determined to find her as well, which in a matter of a few days, he had. Earlier this month I had the great opportunity to meet with them and some of their families. I'm an aunt to 12 nieces and nephews and I'm no longer an only child. Now I'm the baby. I'm so amazed at how my family seemed to grow overnight. I wish we had all met at a better time when the world wasn't under so much fear, but there's no better time in the present. I'm already psyched to go visit my brother at his home in SC once Covid is over and hopefully meet all of my sister's kids as well. I hate that it took the death of my uncle to finally connect with my siblings, but it was definitely a light in something that was really dark. Finding my big bro and sis was a big, if not the biggest, highlight of my year. I feel like a part of me that was missing is full now. I know my dad is probably glad that we all found each other. I know that he made that moment possible and I thank him for that. 

- Asia Aneka Anderson, 2020(c)

The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: I Am He and He is Me

         It's that time of year again. That time that I dread. Every June 17th since 2016 I'm forced to relive the day that changed my life forever. The day I lost my dad. I'll never get over the universe's sick joke of taking him two days before Father's Day. Every year I get gut punched twice. "Hello, Asia here's the day your father died. Oh, and here's the day set aside to celebrate him." Thanks, universe! Thank you so much for that precious memory.
       This year it feels slightly heightened with everything that's happening in the world. Thinking of George Floyd's daughter spending her first father's day without one. Knowing that Rayshard Brooks' daughters are about to feel the same as I do. I wonder if they were daddy's girls like me. That's the hardest. I crumbled at the age of 33 losing mine. I couldn't imagine him being ripped from me before even reaching high school age. That's why this year it hits different.
        My dad was the one who tried to educate me about the injustices we face. I heard, but never listened. I was a kid. None of that had to do with me. That was all in the past, right? That's what naive innocent me thought. My dad knew better and he made sure I knew better. Like him I use my voice. I speak out and I stand up. In that he lives in me. He stood up for what he believed in. He said it with heart and he said it with force. I try to channel that in when I speak. The strength to fight for what's right.
        My father taught me about my ancestors. That started my love for autobiographies and history books. While every other kid wanted to read ghost stories or fiction I was in the library every week picking out books of black icons from Ida B. Wells to Marian Anderson to Jackie Robinson. I was forever learning. That thirst for knowledge didn't come from school. That came from William Anderson.
        He is the first black man I have ever loved and he was a great example of a caring, creative, knowledgeable, strong individual. I happy to be a part of him. I am more than happy to carry on his voice. I will be elated the day that I can have a child and pass on everything he ever was and everything that I am to the next generation of Andersons'. That would be my greatest honor.
         Still every June 17th I hurt and shut down. I still find myself trying to make sense of something that is and will always be a part of life. Still... Still I can't help but ask why. Four year later I still grieve. Time does heal some wounds but never all. I wish he could've made it this year to see me graduate. I wish he had made it to 2018 to know that there was a possibility that he'd be a grandfather. All of these milestones and the ones to come have an empty spot there. I know he's there for all those moments. I know that the grandchild that almost was is there with him now. The could've, should've, would'ves are all empty because that's not how life was supposed to go, unfortunately. No matter the hurt this is what the universe had planned. It's awful and it sucks, but this is what it is. That's the way life is. I'm thankful to have had him as long as I did.
         My father is gone, but never ever forgotten. I am he.

- Asia Aneka Anderson, 2020(c)

The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: We Would Never Sleep and You'd Still Never Get It

         In the wake of George Floyd's death and recent protests there is one question that rings in my head. It's a question that was asked of me by a former coworker around the time of the murder of Trayvon Martin. The question was something to the effect of "When things like this happen why does one story get more coverage than another?" Although that question annoyed me because it was the first of many times that a white friend would look to me to be their guide in racial injustice who assumed that somehow I knew all the answers to everything black and also because... How in the hell am I supposed to know?! I'm not CNN. Still that question sticks with me today because it was, in a way, a valid question. Why does that happen?

         I've realized that anytime news breaks of a George Floyd, or a Sandra Bland, or a Tamir Rice there are always little side stories that emerge that quickly get lost in the smoke. For instance a week after the murder of Mr. Floyd CNN ran a piece about a man named Javier Ambler the III. He is most likely the reason the popular show Live PD was just canceled because Mr. Ambler was murdered while their cameras were rolling. A story that got lost in the smoke even though a popular cable show may have been there to film his death. This was in March of 2019 and was only spoken about in mere minutes almost 15 months later.

        I now have one theory, among many which would be way more obvious, as to why a lot of stories go unheard. Of course a lot has to do with it perhaps not being filmed and no witnesses, but I also feel that if we were to hear about every single one that's all the news would be. In three months time we've heard about the deaths of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd. Think of the amount of people in between that are in small backwoods towns that were murdered, the ones that don't get filmed, the ones that are marked as missing and presumed dead. If we were to hear every one of these stories that's all we'd see on the news and up and down our newsfeeds. Just endless black death. That's how often this is happening. Yet still there comes no justice. In the past week two (or three, because again this happens so often that one often, and sadly, loses track) men have been found hanging from trees. Today a young activist was found murdered days after tweeting about being sexually assaulted. It goes on and on. Absolutely endless. 

       The thing is even if every news outlet covered every story or every case of injustice would you still hear it? Would you still be determined to say "All lives matter" in response to "Black lives matter"? Would you try to learn about systemic oppression? Would you listen to women tell their stories of assault? Would you still deflect and speak about black on black crime? Would you still deny your privilege? Would you still keep your eyes closed when presented with endless black death? Because the sad truth is.... a lot of you would. This is why we march, we vote, we scream, we fight. 

-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2020

        

The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: It's All Part of the Plan

        So I'm sitting here in quarantine and the creativity still ain't hitting me like I want it to. I'm working from home and business is slow. Maybe watch Netflix? Meh. Can't really focus on it. Maybe read a book? Meh. Once I start to get into it I get a call and in the end figure it' not worth it unless I can curl up, get cozy, and dive in completely. 

        One day after getting off the phone I scroll through Instagram and come across a horror account that I follow that posted a short clip of a horror video game. I got a little curious and headed to the comments to see if anyone mentioned the title of the game. A few had and I went to Google to search away. Down the rabbit hole I went. I came across a YouTuber that I will admit I quickly became obsessed with, and that's Corey Kenshin. 

        I've been glued to Corey's channel for a good month now and let me tell you that he's actually got me inspired again. Seeing his work makes me want to create. It makes me want to keep pushing. I know that sounds odd. He's a gamer that makes videos of himself playing mostly horror games or posting his #SpookyScarySunday of scary videos and I'm out here trying to be a writer and with my channel content being much more personal, intimate, and maybe, at some times, gloomy. I get that the content doesn't match, but I'm mesmerized at the growth. He's been humble, creative, and totally himself the entire time he's had his channel. He hasn't had to put on a fake persona or make some kind of gimmick to get people to like and follow him. I dig that. And although what we are doing is total opposite the goal is the same. He's reaching people by being himself and doing what he loves and that's what I hope to accomplish with mine.

        You can see that I've been trying to be more active. There is a small drawback to that. When it comes to the topics that I talk about they are much deeper and close to my heart. So when it comes to my channel there may not be an everyday upload or even every week, as sometimes these topics do take a lot out of me. 

        I do aspire to be that, at least, once a week person. That being said I'm taking my time learning how to edit, create thumbnails, add music, and all that good stuff. I'm starting that with a new video I recorded a few days ago. This video is a lot more personal than the few videos I have up now. With this topic being so close to my heart I'm taking my time with it. I want it to be right for right now. My channel will grow with my ability, but as of right now I want this to be the best to my ability as it is today.

        As my channel grows, I hope to incorporate better edits. For instance animated intros and things like that. I plan to do things like that for videos I may do when I talk about my writing or any projects that I have that are writing related. When it comes to my videos that are more me speaking to you about my life and experiences I hope to keeps those more subtle. I've actually made a few intro and outro edits for this new video I'm editing. Those will be at the bottom of this post. As time goes on I don't see myself like a Corey Kenshin with 6M subs. I just don't think I talk about the sort of things that 6M people would want to hear... and honestly nor would I want to. Just the thought of it makes me nervous to have 100 people hear me bear my soul let alone 6M. But here I go on this journey. Baring my soul for all of you to see whether it be through me or my characters. Either way it is a piece of me. 

*Let me know what you think of these edits I have for my next video** For whatever reason I cannot add the outro gif here. Check it out on my IG*

The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: Adapt, Adopt, and Improve

                         I started this blog in 2014. I got inspired to start on Blogger from seeing my best friend post her amazing artwork projects and vegan recipes among other things. I had so much of my work that I had back logged laying around in tons of journals and folders. Starting this blog offered me an outlet to share all of this work I had created. It offered me some inspiration that I had been lacking at that point in my life. Finding this space gave me the inspiration to branch out and create new and funny ways to tell my stories like my "Tragic Tales" or more recently "The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind". It gave me the opportunity to talk about topics that are important to me in ways that I hope others can relate to. I bare my soul in these topics instead of disguising myself in my characters. With my increasing need to bare my soul I got inspired to start an YouTube channel in connection with my blog. I'm still in my baby stage when it comes to my channel, but this blog gave me the confidence and motivation to take that next step. 

      I say all this because, slowly but surely, I've made progress with this blog. I may not have always known which direction I was going with it but I knew I was at least going forward. There came the Facebook page, the IG page, the YT channel, and now, my most recent step, as of last week, was buying my domain. I started with AsiaAnekaWrites.blogspot.com way back in 2014 and now I'm announcing that my domain is InsideMyCreativeMind.com. This is mine. This is my baby. I will continue to nurture her and watch her grow into something beautiful. For the people out there who take the time to read my work and watch me rant. Thank you. I appreciate your input and your warmth. Here's to a productive quarantine. I'm currently working on beefing up a poetry book to publish as well as possibly publishing my first short story. The on to much bigger and better things beyond that.

Thank you so so much for your support. 

The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: In Wounded Womb

        It’s been a while. I’ve been busy graduating with my creative writing degree and starting a new job. It’s been draining to say the least and it’s been overwhelming. Still all of this in the very best way possible, but still very draining. I haven’t had the energy to write, workout, update my new YouTube channel, or create. Nothing. But here I am with a topic that I need to express and there’s no other place I would other than here. 

        On a recent visit to my therapist we spoke about how things were looking up for me. I’m a college grad finally, my job situation just got 10x better, and I can finally FINALLY see a clear path up ahead on where I want to go. Then she stopped and asked me how I was coping with my miscarriage. This was the initial reason for me seeking treatment this go round. I told her that I was okay, but honestly it still sticks with me, over a year later. It’s more in the background like a low hum that I can ignore. Then there are the triggers where that low hum becomes a screeching siren. There’s the holidays where I think about how I’d be opening presents with my kid for the very first time or decking them out in their “My first ____” outfit. There’s the due date and miscarry date that is lovely placed four days after my birthday. Then there’s the baby announcements. Those are the absolute fucking worst. I truly want to hate the people posting their good news, but I can’t hate something that is a big moment for someone else and some I know the stories of their own heartbreak. I can’t hate on that other than that’s what I want.  

        I want my happy ending too and my brain cannot process why it was taken from me. So I keep going. I live with it everyday. Alone. I carry the weight of that. Alone. I have done so since day one and I will continue to. A man, no matter how in touch he is with his feelings, will never understand that kind of heartbreak, but God I wish they could. Now, I could stray from the topic at hand and scream “Men ain’t shit”, but I won’t. That’s a different topic for a different day when my heart does not ache like it does in this moment. That way I can speak truth and not hurt. Because even though it’s a popular go to saying I would like to believe that we know that statement isn’t true.

        I bring up my miscarriage because something my therapist said stuck with me. She told me that there have been studies that link the trauma that women go through after a miscarriage is similar to PTSD and I can see that. I felt that. The pain I felt when that happened somehow surpassed the grief that I had when my father passed two years prior. I was confused how I could be more devastated from losing someone I’d never met over the man who primarily raised me. There was the guilt that I had done something wrong or that something was wrong with my body. There was the feeling that maybe it was some harsh karma coming back to bite me or the fact that I’ve said, even since I was a kid, that I didn’t want kids. That one in particular has made my grief more difficult. I often ask myself “Do I have the right to grieve something that I swore I never wanted?” Either way it felt like my fault. You take that and add the fact that I find out two months later that my partner didn’t want kids it feels like getting hit with a bus. Then I realized why that weight felt heavy on my shoulders alone. 

         I think about this miscarriage today because I found out something troubling. There was something my partner did not even 6 months after this event that has crushed me. I won’t go into detail, I’m sorry. I’m so shocked and it’s a lot for me to process at the moment. With that being said, I look back on that time in my life of losing a baby, to finding that there may not be a baby with the man I was in love with, to a rift in our relationship shortly after, then us getting back good again, a surgical procedure to have my cervix shortened to prevent cervical cancer (and also would cause problems in me getting pregnant), and then all of this within 5 months and he does something to betray my trust. Something that I have still yet to hear sorry for and only excuses. It all makes me wonder what goes through a person’s mind when they hurt someone, especially after something life altering as this. I carry all of the burden of these things yet I was betrayed in a way no one deserves. My heart hurts. 

        So, in all honesty when my therapist asked “How are you handling the miscarriage?” I’m not fine. These are the little lies we tell ourselves to get by. “I’m okay”. “I’m fine.” “It’s no big deal”. It helps us not to focus on this, but at the same time it makes those feelings linger longer. So I am not fine. I am not okay. But I’ll carry this alone. Day by day. That’s all anyone can do. For now I’ll sit in this hurt. I’ll process and heal. I’ll learn from it and grow from it. I’ll build better with it. I’ll always wonder what I would’ve had, the mom I would’ve been, and the family that would’ve been created. My heart will always yearn for that. 

By: Asia Aneka Anderson, 2020 ©

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 ©️

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©️

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©

The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: The Fuckboys Are At it Again

        I came across a post on Facebook that I found a bit troubling. It wasn’t that this post, in particular, was triggering, but that many exist like it and it’s purpose is to solely do one thing: shame women.

        There’s plenty of memes floating on Instagram that people get a kick out of that will shame women for wearing too much makeup, having fake hair, being promiscuous, using Snapchat, what her vagina should smell like, what superficial things she should bring to a relationship, the size of her ass, etc, etc, etc. I could keep going for days. I’m not quite sure what I find saddest; the women who piggyback off of this type of thinking or the men who actually believe this no matter how vastly incorrect some of it may be (for instance the men who believe that if a woman sleeps with multiple men it changes the size of her vaginal wall or that vaginal discharge isn’t normal.)        In this day and age, why do people 40 and under keep pushing this negative image of women? We can’t win. If we have our makeup done to the gawds, eyebrows fleeked out, that Fenty contour on point, and a highlight that would make an angel cry we get called fake. Then comes the memes of “Take her swimming on a first date” or that we’re catfishing. Yet if we leave the house with just putting on Chapstick then we look like bums or plain. We can’t have close cut hair cause then we’re called men. If you have extensions in then we’re, again, lying or bald. We can’t be too fat, too thin, too dark, too light, hair not short, hair not long. God forbid you wear too many clothes and Lord have mercy on your soul if you wear too little. You can’t have more than a few past sexual partners, but also please don’t be a virgin, and even more confusing to add, if you suck dick you’re a goddess but if you don’t you’re childish.
        I know it’s all fun and games and there’s always the dude to comment “It’s just a meme” when you call them out on it. That’s fine, but to some it’s not just a meme. The girl who is wearing a wig may have alopecia or just went through chemo. The girl who is too fat was probably proud of herself earlier that day for losing 15lbs. The girl that is too thin could be battling an eating disorder. The girl wearing “too much” makeup probably has dreams to be a makeup artist. The girl who doesn’t like oral sex may have a had an ex who pressured her into sexual acts she wasn’t ready for. We all have a story. Some cut deeper than others.
        Men don’t know what it’s like to be a woman and have our whole lives and bodies verbally and visually ripped to shreds. It’s a shame that even some women seem to not know as well. There’s not as much sisterhood as we would like to believe there is when it comes to things like this because even we deal with a toxic masculine outlook on certain things in our society. We call each other sluts if we have multiple sex partners, but don’t bat an eye when a man behaves the same. We bash each other for excessive use of makeup as if most of us don’t have a makeup drawer or bag, and who really gives a damn what someone else has on their head?
       My point in all of this is, If you feel beautiful wearing every single makeup item you have or just mascara, I support you. If you want to play around with Snapchat and take 32 pics of yourself with the teddy bear ears, I support you. If you have weave in your head that’s past the crack of your ass, I support you. There is no one way to be beautiful. Be as extra as you want to be or be as natural as they come. If you feel comfortable and beautiful that’s all that matters. Don’t let these internet fuckboys who don’t even have the slightest clue of where the clit is determine what your beautiful is.

-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2018©

The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: My Daddy’s Gone

        Father’s Day 2018 marked the two year anniversary of my father’s death. That was a double gut punch. A day dedicated to him and the day that he left all in one. That day I spent in bed. If not for work that Saturday I would’ve been in bed the whole weekend. The anticipation leading up to that weekend was nerve-racking and by the time Saturday hit I was emotionally exhausted. At work I couldn’t stop the tears from randomly falling. I finally got fed up and went to our break room just to take a breath and cool my mind. Not 5 minutes after I’m called to the front where my Uncle just decided to randomly pop in because he was in the area. It was as if my dad sent him. When he hugged me I became a blubbering mess. Like an idiot I apologized for having emotions and he reminded me that I’d see my dad again, the healthy him, and that he was proud of me. Which was the perfect thing to say to make me cry harder. Father’s Day I hardly left my bed. I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t want to talk. I just wanted to be. Even now 10 days later I still feel emotionally exhausted and just spent. 2018 seems to be a harder year than the last, dealing with his death. I think the reason for that is that my boyfriend reminds me so much of him. The fact that they’ll never meet makes me sad. I feel like I’m finally on a path to somewhere and he’s not here to see it. If we get married or start a family, he won’t be there. That hurts.
       Today I saw my therapist, the first time since that weekend and we broke it all down in a way that I’ve thought about in fleeting, but never unpacked it the way I did today. She took me back to the feelings I had when he died and how our relationship was before that. I didn’t realize all the feelings I had about him, his later life, and his death until today. I also barely thought about how he must’ve been feeling all that time too.
        From 2008-2012 I was living away from and most of our interactions were through phone because I could barely afford to visit in those years I were away. When I returned late 2012-2016 my feelings about him changed. I got to see first hand his drug abuse (that I’ve talked about several times before). I saw how his body was breaking down and how he truly wasn’t the man who had raised me. He was in there somewhere, but his soul was weak. A few years before he passed I remember completely losing my shit on him. I caught him actually doing drugs in our home and all of the anger of seeing dealers come to our house, his total disregard for the safety of his family, and just the overall feeling of “this wasn’t supposed to happen to our family”. One day overhearing him deny his activities to my mom, I lost it. I came in screaming, hollering, crying, and cursing. I’d had enough. Everything bubbled to the surface. I don’t remember everything, but I do remember saying “I wouldn’t care if you died.” Yeah, those words still ring in my ears. I carry a lot of guilt because of it. I wonder if when I said it, he thought “I don’t either.” Although that happened a few years before he passed I wish I could take it back. I don’t know if those words stuck with him as long as they stuck with me.
        When I was much younger, around four or five, I think, he had an accident at work. He came in contact with some chemical that really fucked him up. No, he wasn’t deformed or anything like that, but he’d have times that his hands and feet would swell tremendously to the point where it would break the skin. There was lots he couldn’t do for himself. Even toddler me would comb his hair because he couldn’t so much as grip a comb or brush. I was so young at the time that I had no concept of the possible severity or time. I can’t tell you if this went on for months or years and I can’t honestly tell you how much pain he may have been in because I don’t remember him showing any signs of being in pain, ever. As I told my doctor, it wasn’t until my sophomore or junior year of high school that I noticed something was off. He never had any money, always behind on bills, gas tank forever on E, and would always borrow money from me as if I had a job, so essentially just asking to borrow my allowance back. It wasn’t until I was about 24 that I knew for certain something was going on. My dad had frequent trips to the ER and on one of them the doctor let it slip that he found cocaine in his system. There it was. The truth laid out in front of me. Not until today did I wonder, did this start when I was five? I remember around that time always going to the doctor with him and getting scripts. Did it start with the pain meds from all those years ago, and by the time I was 16 he was into a full addiction, and by the time I was 24 he was in a I don’t give a fuck phase of his addiction?
        While I was still living in Chicago, maybe around 2010, he had to be rushed to the hospital again. I didn’t rush home because my mom told me it was just more of the same. She told me that he had finally admitted that he was doing heroin. I look back on that reveal of the cocaine and think was he doing cocaine and escalated to heroin? Was he just taking what his dealer had available? Or in true Dayton, Ohio fashion when it comes to these sleazy dealers, did he maybe by weed or pills and it happened to be laced with something? At the point of his heroin reveal I didn’t really care because in the end of the day he was still an addict. That time I wrote him a loving letter letting him know how proud I was of him for taking that first step. I wonder if he truly absorbed those words I wrote. One time my mother told me he admitted he thought he was depressed. If so maybe it’s possible my words felt like lies or just blank words on notebook paper. That’s what depression does, after all. It turns love into lies. We never really discussed it and naive me thought the best was ahead of us instead of the worst.
        In those final years his health was completely shot. In 2011 he had a stroke. He had developed COPD as well as congestive heart failure which lead to him getting a pacemaker in 2014. The following year after that he was on oxygen, and followed a diagnosis of an aneurysm in his stomach. Looking back it was a miracle he lived as long as he did. As my doctor said, with the COPD and congestive heart failure alone he had to be in constant pain. By then were the drugs to numb the pain, out of addiction, or both? With my begging him to quit was he afraid that if he did the pain would never stop? In the end even if it did numb the pain the drugs only accelerated the damaging of his health.
        Today I looked back on how alone and helpless he must’ve felt for years. I remember when my mom told me about his self diagnosis of depression and I didn’t know what to say because I was trying to understand my own. I can’t imagine what it must’ve felt like to be a man, and feel like if he were to reach out for help he might of been seen as less than. Not only just having it not make sense because he was of a generation who definitely didn’t talk about depression. It was just suck it up and get on with it. I can’t imagine being so lost that you become something that is the complete opposite of yourself. My dad was creative. He loved to draw, build things with his hands, and play music. He taught me a lot. He was very in tune with his culture, black empowerment, black knowledge,  black history, etc. He drilled these things into my head, that at the time, I didn’t want to hear or didn’t understand, but I completely get now and plan on drilling into my kids heads. He was the epitome of black excellence so to see him deteriorate the way that he did doesn’t make sense to me and makes all of the sense at the same time. It is unfortunate. I see that he was a complex human being. He wasn’t always strong. That’s the image I always had of him. Strong, but he was human. He had weakness. He had emotion. He did hurt. If only he had opened up, but perhaps he was too busy trying to be strong. But good or bad, strong or weak, he was my father. I loved him then. I love him now. And I will love him forever.

-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2018©