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 

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!!

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

Hey I’m in class so I have on my serious-note-taking face. 8-|

I guess this will have to be short, but I just had to share. I realized I was attracted to someone who I had never really thought of as particularly attractive. It blew me away a little bit, because objectively speaking, I’ve been (for the most part) overly concerned with pretty boys, and haven’t had too many relationships because well… good-looking men who have actually developed their personalities are few and far between. I don’t blame them for having the depth of a puddle though, nobody has demanded more of them (yet). They’ve had no problem pulling a crowd of admirers even though they’ve lacked opinions, humor, significant hobbies and/or the ability to sustain interesting conversations pretty much their entire lives.

What really sucks is being attracted to one of these beautiful men/women (basically because they look edible), and then being attracted to another person who isn’t as aesthetically pleasing, but has a captivating personality. Don’t you just wish you could mesh the two together? But of course you can’t… so you can either go ahead and settle, or keep looking for someone who has all these qualities and that kind of person is about as common as a unicorn.

Allow me to illustrate pictorially:

Yup. Take note of the highly coveted ‘null set’, and as for the ‘zone of pain’… May the good Lord help you all… :-/

But yea, back to my story. I realized that I found this guy’s mind so attractive. And excuse the nerdiness of this next statement but I actually got inexplicably excited just thinking of the kind of conversations we could have… (no, nothing sexual here guys, I’m just saying….) And it was a good feeling. Clearly, I’m excited that I’m evolving into someone that can be just as sexually attracted to a mind as they can be to a face/voice/body type… I’m very content with that realization as I think it shows maturity. I’d love to hear thoughts on this and any related issues… use the comment box… Please? :-/