Water for Breakfast

you are gorgeous...drops dead

Mon, 07 May 2012 15:54:53 -0400

Thanks for the follow. You're a gifted writer :)

Mon, 07 May 2012 15:39:38 -0400

thank you!

You have a boyfriend?

Thu, 03 May 2012 19:28:04 -0400

Man Up!

Sat, 21 Apr 2012 15:55:02 -0400

I just received a subpoena of sorts…LOL. I’ve gotten so many the past few months, and they all want to know the same thing: Why won’t I post on my blog, why has it been so long, what is the meaning of this? I’ll take responsibility for my irresponsibility, but I’ll also blame it on fear. Trust me, my Draft folder is full of posts and snippets of posts, and padlocked securely by some intense fear… fear of mediocrity, and fear of each post not being better than the last. I suppose I’m not being held to any real standard or rubric, but it wouldn’t feel right if I posted unreasoned crap.

But I know I must post today; enough is enough!

For ages I’ve wanted to write a post about how hard it is to be a man, but every time I mention it, my friends tell me to shut up. I know people will disagree with some things I’m going to say in this post, but that’s a chance I think I’ll just have to take. I’m not naïve enough to assert that men are sad little pathetic beings that need our sympathy, and I’m no stranger to the fact that society hands them several privileges and opportunities that women aren’t as lucky to receive… so just read this keeping that in mind.

I was watching The Texas Chainsaw Massacre the other day for class and got to the scene where the group of teenagers picks up a young girl from the side of the road. She shoots herself in the back of their van, and they end up with a dead body on their hands. All five of them are repulsed. After driving for hours, the girls can no longer take the trauma of sitting next to the body, and run out of the vehicle, puking repeatedly in the bushes. At this point, the girl’s body is still there, and the girls have left the van crying and throwing up. It is the guys’ duty to figure out a game plan to get the body out of the van. Now this is all well and dandy, but bear in mind that 1) these kids are all the same age, 2) just like the girls, the guys have never seen a dead body 3) they have no special training on what to do in such a situation; just like the girls. But somehow, in that situation, they are supposed to reach deep within them and pull out the fearlessness and level-headedness of being an alpha male leader and a calming, reassuring presence, as well as the presence of mind to deal with a corpse. Oh and they’re to do all this without getting sick to their stomachs. And the only thing that has prepped them for this situation is the fact that they were born male.

Even with all the injustice and angst it comes with, I’m glad I’m a woman. I’m glad I can choose to sit back and allow someone to help me, and society won’t judge me if I choose that. I’m glad that I’m allowed to have emotion and that I have permission to cry when I hurt. I’m glad I’m allowed to be a human and not a robot. I’m glad that I can be girly one day, and a tomboy the next and go right back to girly the next day. I’m glad that I can kiss my friend on the cheek without being called gay, and can also pat her on the back if I choose. I’m not glad that I will be judged by what I wear or that some people still find rape jokes funny, but I’m not blind to the things that I am ”allowed” to do because of my gender. I’m dissatisfied that so little of the world’s wealth belongs to women, but at the same time recognize the level of emasculation a man faces from society when he spends his woman’s money- something it’s unlikely that I’ll ever have to face. I want more women to be CEOs and Executives, but why does society shame the men who work underneath them? As long as there is a source of shame and emasculation for men working underneath a woman, there will be sexism. And that sexism is a misguided form of self-defense.

Men grow up their entire lives in a frame. Clear lines denote what is considered acceptable and what shouldn’t be done, right from the first disapproving glance they get when they try on mummy’s shoes because they saw their sister do it. How dare you want to degrade yourself to being a woman? You are a man, and men are not concerned with female frivolities. This immediately sows the seed of male superiority and dominance. And we are all guilty. I have certainly snatched my lipstick from my 2 year-old nephew’s grubby palms, and he is only TWO. Did I instinctively forbid him from doing anything un-masculine lest he descend from his throne of manhood? (albeit a 2 year-old man lol) Does that make me sexist? Against my own gender? No, I think I am just a victim of societal pressure.

It makes it very hard to be a man. Is my voice deep enough? Am I tall enough? Am I good enough at sports? What if I don’t actually enjoy watching football? Do my abs look good enough to make her notice me? Is my dick big enough? Do I make enough money? Is my car luxurious enough? Do I pop enough bottles in the club? Am I muscular enough? Do I look good in a suit? What if I’m not good at Science & Math and I want to draw or write or design or cook? Am I aloof and unemotional enough? Have I slept with enough women? Is my favorite rapper gangster enough? Do I own too many clothes in secondary colors? Is the face of my watch large enough? What if I like salads? Do I order one? Is it okay if I like a Beyoncé song?

Not that I’m saying women don’t have insecurities, like hell we do- and the whole world knows we do. We are constantly given the leeway and several opportunities to discuss them- both with each other and in the open. But do we acknowledge that men do too? Can we even encourage them to discuss these things? Since after all discussing emotions is also taboo?

Anything that speaks for men and tries to be a counterpart to feminism, is not masculism, but instead, sexism… why?

Love,

Devil’s Advocate

#frametastic

Wed, 14 Mar 2012 04:17:44 -0400

#frametastic

Me Too Monologues 2012!!!

Sun, 04 Mar 2012 20:34:57 -0500

Hi everyone,

This month I was involved in one of the most meaningful experiences of my time here at Duke: Me Too Monologues 2012.

I worked with 14 other cast members and a wonderful production crew to tell 19 beautiful, anonymously submitted true stories. Some of them made us want to find the author and hug them, several made as laugh, and some brought us closer together. Working on Me Too didn’t feel like work, and even now, I found myself reciting random lines of monologues every now and then.

I want to share a Youtube playlist of the videos. (The one I’m in is towards the end, and it’s called “Convince Me”)

For all Duke readers who will be here next year, apply to be on the 2013 Production Team HERE.

And seniors, you can still submit monologues as alumni.

Enjoy the show!!

Feeling Peckish

Fri, 24 Feb 2012 13:31:00 -0500

Hi everyone!

I realized I can’t necessarily categorize my blog as anything- I post about any and everything. I’ve decided to settle on: Lifestyle! HA. I cook a lot in my apartment, but I never take photos or think about sharing that with anybody outside. I was playing with my phone while cooking last night, and while I didn’t start taking photos till I was done with making most of the meal, I thought, hey, I haven’t posted in a while so I could just share this recipe and a couple of photos. (Disclaimer: I am not good at food photography- I’m gonna need to get better if I intend on putting something like this on my blog again lol)

I went to the store originally looking for lamb chops, cos I came across another recipe recently, similar to this one (can’t find it now though), anyway, I couldn’t find any, so I got a couple rib-eyes and some pork chops as well. Even though I cooked both types of meat last night, this recipe relates only to the rib-eye. (I pretty much used the same method for the pork though)

OK.

Pan-Seared Ribeye and Creamy Mushroom & Green Pepper Sauce

I didn’t want to go through the hassle of getting up an outside grill, and so I pan-seared the rib-eye in a skillet and then finished off the cooking in my (pre-heated) oven.

First, I made my marinade.

Ingredients I used:

black pepper (to taste)
garlic (I used about 5 cloves for the 4 slabs of meat lol; garlic lover)
ginger (like 3”)
thyme (about a teaspoon per rib-eye)
mint
onion (1/6 of the whole)
paprika
complete seasoning
habanero peppers (two green; kpakpo shito)
a bit of salt/maggi
oil (tablespoon; olive/sunflower/vegetable)

I tossed these into a blender, added just a bit of water, and created a delectable ‘smoothie’ for my meat. Watch it when you open the blender- the habaneros release some powerful ‘fumes’ ha. Make several incisions on the steaks (there’s nothing more disappointing than surface-only flavor) and put them in a bowl. Generously cover them with the marinade and sit that in the fridge for at least a half hour. I did mine around 3.30, and left for class. I didn’t cook them till nearly 7.

Prepare ingredients for the sauce next.

mushrooms
light/single cream
black pepper
salt
onions
bacon
garlic
green pepper
parmesan cheese (grated)

Chop up the mushrooms, garlic, green peppers and onions. For the bacon, you may use my method or cook the rashers however you normally cook bacon- in a skillet, in the microwave etc. I line a baking tray with foil (shiny side up), lay the bacon on the foil, and put it in the pre-heated oven around 350F. It cooks the bacon in about 5 minutes, and I find that I prefer the texture and it’s less work than the skillet method. Mop up the oil on each rasher with paper towels. Chop up the bacon.

Sautée the onions and garlic first. Add the mushrooms next, and the green peppers last. Season to your taste at this point. Pour in the single cream and lower the temperature. Let it sit for a while and thicken; I did about 3 minutes. Mix in the grated parmesan. Add the bacon bits last.

For the steak, heat about a teaspoon and a half of oil in a skillet till it’s really hot, listen for the sizzle. Put your marinated steak in the pan and let it cook for a couple of minutes, flip it over and brown the other side. Move the entire skillet to your oven (pre-heated at 350F remember, don’t turn it off after the bacon)

I let mine stay in there for about 4 minutes at least; I like my steaks done medium well, adjust the time as suits you. Flip it over halfway through with a pair of tongs or a regular ol’ spatula. Take out the skillet (with gloves or a dish towel!) and set it on the stove. Check to see that the middle is cooked to your preference. Remove and place it under foil while you finish other activities :)

To go with this, I decided I was going to have anything but rice. I actually brought some yam with me from Ghana. YUP. I don’t know why I haven’t done this in the past. I peeled and cut them up and they have been in the freezer ever since.

Clean them up, cut them into serving sizes and place them in cold water for a bit. Drain and salt them to your preference. In a skillet, heat a considerable amount of oil. To get crispy fried yam, the oil must be at least high enough in the pan to cover the midway thickness of the yam pieces. I hope that makes sense :/

Anyway, fry, flip over, fry the other side! yayy

Sorry there aren’t any photos of steak prep. This was kinda spontaneous! I’ll plan better next time

This made me smile sooo much lol. I loved this lady. RIP...

Mon, 13 Feb 2012 21:01:10 -0500

This made me smile sooo much lol.

I loved this lady.

RIP Whitney.

I know its your birthday soon, today maybe? Either way, HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Sun, 05 Feb 2012 10:48:00 -0500

Yes, it’s this month. Thank you veryy much :)

Since I don't have tumblr I can't directly comment on your recent post, but I would TOTALLY watch your own show.

Sun, 05 Feb 2012 10:47:00 -0500

Really?? Thank you. :))
I’ve also fixed my comment widget. Thanks for drawing my attention; anybody can comment. You should be able to now

Dare

Sat, 04 Feb 2012 00:52:21 -0500

You know, sometimes we’re afraid to voice our true aspirations. We’re scared of how other people will react, scared that they’ll push us down and make us feel small for even daring to think that we could be something great.

Sometimes we won’t admit it to anyone, not even ourselves. We’ll relegate ourselves to second place because we convince ourselves that somene got there first, deserves it more, or will do it better.

All that amounts to nothing. It’s weakness, and I try not to be that.

*deep breath*

I WANT MY OWN SHOW.

There… I said it.

I want. My own. Show…

Said it again. Dang, I could get used to this…

Photo

Sat, 07 Jan 2012 20:18:00 -0500

I LOVE your recent piece on the Ghanaian Dream Jessica! do continue to enlighten me and many others with your writing :)

Thu, 05 Jan 2012 04:49:54 -0500

thank you lover!! :) im really happy when i can say what everyone’s thinking (but hasn’t realized they are) in a blog post.

The Ghanaian Dream

Tue, 03 Jan 2012 20:49:00 -0500

I feel like I’m always apologizing for something here now lol. I’m on break, but haven’t had internet for about a week and so I apologize for you not hearing more from me, even though I’ve had a lot of time on my hands. Christmas in Ghana for me is really just higher level socializing, networking and relaxation. No complaints here.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

2012 needs to be a big one for me. Graduation, job prospects, decisions waiting to be made and so much more. The thought that I have no clue where I will be in say, October 2012, frightens me… very much. I also turn a very frightening age NEXT MONTH. Like, I never thought I’d be turning this age, at least not for a while. I certainly don’t feel that age. I’m panicking just thinking about the number… and what comes after it, and what comes after that… Jesus. But anyway, I’m going to try not to panic, and take things a day at a time.

On to the post. (oops, yes, sorry, that was all just a few words saying hello, and stuff)

I had a conversation with my nice friend, Jake, a while back. It was humorous for the most part, but it really made me think. We were talking about, and describing ‘The Ghanaian Dream.’ Or at least, our idea of it. It popped into my head this morning and made me laugh, so I thought I’d share :)

First of all, The Ghanaian Dream takes place in Accra, and only Accra. You may have some sort of leeway in Kumasi, if you have a home in Asokwa, or Ahodwo, but even that, is an Ashanti Dream. The proper Ghanaian Dream happens in Accra. And not just any kind of Accra, mind you. It can’t take place in Western Accra. No Lartebiokorshies or Mamprobis invited. Think big. Think East, think North. Labone, Roman Ridge, Cantoments, East and West Legon, Airport, Airport Hills…yup.

You must own a story-building. If you own a one floor building, it must be a very beautiful one with a large compound that makes up for its lack of staircases. The gate needs to be large and intimidating, and there needs to be a security guard present at all times. He doesn’t live The Dream, but he exists to make sure yours unfolds flawlessly. The house itself has several bedrooms, anywhere from four to twelve is fine. Because you know, yes, you have three children, but your extended family from England and America visits you twice each year, and the extra space is a Godsend. You live with a Yaa or an Abena or a Mavis, whose job it is to see to it that your laundry transitions from piles on your bathroom floor into stacks in your walk-in closet through a perfectly undetectable process. She would cook too, but there is a chef for that, so she helps him by chopping his veggies and passing him a utensil here and there. Your garden is impeccable, and your pool exists even though you never use it.

Your three kids go to a school that is most likely abbreviated into three letters, and has an international curriculum and students from all over the world. You have as many cars as there are people in your home, yet, only half that number possesses a license. In fact, the day you knew for sure that you lived The Ghanaian Dream, was the day processions of people from your church began to arrive at your house and request use of one of your cushy vehicles for their son’s wedding convoy. Those requests haven’t stopped since, and you don’t mind it. After all, you delight in giving back to the community. Not all will see the interior of a Range Rover in their lifetime, and if it falls upon you to facilitate the experience, who are you to decline? It is the Lord’s work.

Even though you sound privileged and spoiled, you really are not. You are deserving because you worked for it. Well, either you worked for it or you too, were born into a household which predisposed you to a path leading to The Dream. You do the right thing, you go to church, you make sure your children receive the best education, you give alms, you send money home to your village every month, and you manage to juggle all these without cracking your iPad 2 screen.

You love Ghana, you see, there is a lot of money to be made here. There is so much potential, but you see, the people’s attitudes are the problem, eh, they are not serious. The unprofessionalism is at an all time high, you say. People are lazy, they are not punctual, their work ethic is poor, corruption is everywhere, people want something for nothing. You and your friends have these conversations often, over beers at Rhapsody’s, while berating the self-appointed ‘parking lot attendant’ who feels entitled to 1 Cedi for his efforts.

The money can be put to better use; your kids need to take their annual Summer vacation, because Ghana is hot and dusty, and there is still no McDonald’s here. What will they wear to school in September when all their friends are back and smelling like Yankee with their Yankee shoes and Yankee gum and pencil cases? No ma’am, their friends need to know that they come from a Good Home. That they too live The Dream. And of cooourse they can come swimming on Saturday afternoon. It’ll be fun as always. Your chef will cook, and their driver will drop them off.

* disclaimer: sarcasm fully intended, social commentary sold separately

You're amazing. Can't say it enough.

Thu, 22 Dec 2011 20:27:07 -0500

I’m glad you think so and always tell me. It means a whooole lot :-))

JESSICA!! Tu me manques!! Je t'aime!! x

Wed, 21 Dec 2011 07:03:35 -0500

I loove and miss you aussi, mon amour!

5 year-old virgin

Wed, 21 Dec 2011 07:02:39 -0500

I haven’t told a story in a while, so I figured my ‘return-from-the-dead’ post should be it. This is a story every girl should remember, especially if they’re as lovey dovey as I have the tendency to be.

My first kiss didn’t quite happen the way it was supposed to. Yes, there’s a protocol for the way these sorts of things are suppsed to happen. The memory of a girl’s first kiss is supposed to last a lifetime, she is meant to be swept off her feet, and the kiss should haunt her for days after it’s happened. She’s supposed to want to tell her friends, and yes- look at the giver of that kiss differently from that day forward. Yea, I’m dramatic, but let’s go with it… ok? Right.

So, like I said, my first kiss didn’t appear to be any of these things. I wasn’t in love, it wasn’t at the end of a wonderful date filled with shy advances and ‘longing glances’, it wasn’t my birthday, it was certainly not Valentine’s day, and nope, he definitely didn’t tilt his head or grab my chin.

Well, he did grab something but… I digress. My first kiss was a display of five year-old ‘passion’. See, I had asked Mrs. Mensah’s permission to go to the bathroom, and all I was doing was walking there. The girls’ and boys’ bathrooms were adjacent to each other, much closer than any older kids (read teen) bathrooms would be, but I guess the administration hadn’t really bargained for testosterone to rear its eager head this soon in our young lives. So, I was going along my merry way, hoping to get to the restroom. All of a sudden— and this happened in a flash— all of a sudden, I was pinned against a wall and there was saliva on the area of my face below my nose. The wall pinning and saliva smearing happened simultaneously, just to help with your imagery. For a few seconds I was confused, then I looked to see who my ‘attacker’ was. Let’s call him Stephen Darko. Stephen Darko! What did this mean? What was he trying to tell me? Where did this go from here? I mean, could I still go pee… like nothing had happened, like my life didn’t just change forever?

After much thought and consternation, I had decided. The truth had to be told. I’m not proud of this, and I apologize to Stephen Darko, wherever he is. I went to Mrs. Mensah and shared what had happened. Yes- Stephen had kissed me, and I wasn’t sure what was next. In my defense, I felt bad when I heard Stephen’s five year-old butt getting acquainted with her cane.

Then I went home, my family had to know too. I told my brothers the news. ‘Stephen kissed me.’ (They should know who Stephen is, doesn’t everybody know the people in my class?) I guess I didn’t get as much attention as I hoped, so I lingered around as they asked questions. Yes, Mrs. Mensah had beaten him, no, he was not my ‘boyfriend’, actually, I didn’t know…

My brothers continued their conversation about their own more excitng lives. ‘This girl Nina was a virgin… bla bla.’ I heard a word I didn’t recognize.

“Virgin? What’s a virgin?” They hesitated. My brother Chris said, “A virgin is a girl who hasn’t done… anything with a boy.”

I quickly saw an opportunity to inject myself into their conversation.
“Then I’m not a virgin! Cos Stephen kissed me!”

… O__o

They had to agree.

jessica your last post was in september :/ we are in december now... whyyy are you depriving us

Mon, 19 Dec 2011 18:23:51 -0500

Hi Sharms,

This semester has been my most stressful everrrr and I sincerely apologize for sucking SO BAD with my blog.. i’m going to try now that I’m on break.. okay? :(

A Real Coming of Age story

Sat, 17 Sep 2011 21:00:00 -0400

I’m a big girl now!! I’m a big girl now!!!

All people want to talk to me about are things like apartment hunts, and rent, and jobs, and marriage, and degrees and menopause. I kid on the last one… but, boy do I feel old.

I’m a Senior at Duke University, trying to shape my future, acting like I know what I’m doing until I can effortlessly play the role I want to, or at least make it appear so. This semester is a truly formative one: I’m deciding what I want to do after graduating in May, I’m evaluating the last 22 years of my life… well the last 12 at least. We can give the first ten a pass, I just played with Barbies and learned to spell big words.

I’ve never really ‘felt grown’ though. Never believed in acting much older than my age, cos I’ve always felt like there was much more time for that. For the first time in my life now though, I feel grown. So many things make me feel this way; the things I think about first of all. Lately, I’ve thought a lot about my life’s purpose… my ultimate goal. And I’ve decided that it will always be to make those around me happy. I realized that in the long term, that’s all that really matters. Do that, and the rest will follow. There’s a difference between this and being a ‘people pleaser.’ This is striving to be more selfless and putting the needs of others over my wants. I know for sure that if my mother bought a new car each time she felt like it, I probably would lack several of the things I grew up with— which she perceived as my needs. I want to be selfless and provide for those around me before myself. This is going to prove very challenging, but that’s because it’s supposed to be. Selfishness is the surest mark of childishness and immaturity. Children just take and take and never give. The point at which you realize that others in fact do exist outside of yourself, is the point where coming of age really begins. The answer to ‘does someone need my help?’ will always be yes anyway; the key is being more conscious. More conscious of the people around us, and always being available to help. More conscious of the people around us that have made sacrifices for us, have never wanted us to feel pain; the people who have gone without so we could have.

I’ve also become more sensitive and decided to embrace it instead of shun it. I’m not ashamed to cry— childish me would boast about going two years without crying, now I know there’s nothing wrong with tears. I get happy and I cry, I count my blessings and I can cry. I don’t cry about everything, but I’m more vulnerable and I’m okay with that.

I care more about the long-term. I keep trying to do what I need to do, not necessarily what I want. I’m learning self-control and discipline. Deciding to take care of myself more, care about my health and not only care about me, care about others and take care of them too. I’m trying not to procrastinate, I’m trying to be kinder, pay more compliments and just be better.

Soo.. what does it really mean to ‘grow up’? Doesn’t just mean get bigger and wear a bigger size shoe. Don’t sweat the small stuff, see the bigger picture. Question less, appreciate more. Accept the world, don’t expect fairness, take losses and disappointment in your stride; learn that they are inevitable. Take responsibility for your actions, don’t look back, only forward. Create principles for yourself and hold yourself accountable for sticking to them. BE GRATEFUL! Accept yourself and like yourself but don’t be afraid of self-improvement. Forgive people, and don’t be too hard on yourself either. Tell the people you love that you do. KEEP YOUR WORD. Live within your means, save more money. TELL THE TRUTH.

This post is all over the place, and that’s because I didn’t plan it. It’s clearly not an exhaustive list, but it’s what was on my heart… Hope you’re all enjoying your weekend <3

*steps off soapbox*

"A woman must continually watch herself. She is almost continually accompanied by her own image of..."

Sun, 11 Sep 2011 18:19:23 -0400

“A woman must continually watch herself. She is almost continually accompanied by her own image of herself. Whilst she is walking across a room or whilst she is weeping at the death of her father, she can scarcely avoid envisaging herself walking or weeping. From earliest childhood she has been taught and persuaded to survey herself continually. And so she comes to consider the surveyor and the surveyed within her as the two constituent yet always distinct elements of her identity as a woman. She has to survey everything she is and everything she does because how she appears to men, is of crucial importance for what is normally thought of as the success of her life. Her own sense of being in herself is supplanted by a sense of being appreciated as herself by another….One might simplify this by saying: men act and women appear. Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at. This determines not only most relations between men and women but also the relation of women to themselves. The surveyor of woman in herself is male: the surveyed female. Thus she turns herself into an object — and most particularly an object of vision: a sight.”

- John Berger, Ways of Seeing (via stellablu)