I often feel conflicted when I hear the phrase “You are a strong Black
woman.” I usually think, “Of course I know that,” or “Do I otherwise seem
weak?” It’s a phrase that elicits a flurry of emotions from me, ranging
from confusion to almost accepting my moment of strength.
Over the years, I have had to grapple with this phrase. On one
hand, I am all for understanding and emphasizing the strength
behind being a Black woman, but on the other hand, it feels like it takes
away from our vulnerability. To me, nothing makes you stronger than
being vulnerable and being able to communicate your feelings. Over
the years, Black women have always had to be strong for themselves,
their families and their communities.
As Malcolm X once said, “The most disrespected person in America
is the Black woman. The most unprotected person in America is the
Black woman. The most neglected person in America is the Black
woman.” This doesn’t only mean being looked down on for being both
a woman and Black, but it also means being underestimated, which
has been made evident through Serena Williams her entire tennis
career or Allyson Felix in her fight for maternal rights with Nike. It
means knowing we have to consider what we name our children so
they aren’t discriminated against when they are applying for jobs.
Beyond this, Black women are the most unprotected people
in America. For example, when Megan Thee Stallion was shot in
the foot by Tory Lanez, the internet made jokes about it instead of
having empathy. Our pain is constantly undermined or receives
little to no attention even when it is most pressing. In all walks of life,
Black women are oversexualized or deprecated for their looks or
unappreciated in general. Even in work settings, Black women have
to wear certain outfits to feel respected and be seen as an equal no
matter how hard we work. We have to shield ourselves from prying
eyes even as young girls.
In general, as Black women, we are constantly called “emotional,”
“irrational” and “temperamental.” However, when we show our
strength, we are called “demanding,” “controlling” and “aggressive.”
We are all strong, but we all have areas of our lives where we are
vulnerable. I would rather connect with the people around me,
emotionally and intellectually, instead of having to constantly walk a
tightrope or stay reserved and “strong.” I continue to learn to adapt
by looking at the women in my life who radiate strength, poise and
compassion in spite of the circumstances that try to restrict them.
One of the strongest women I know is my mother. This is not
because of the strength she needed to raise my brother and me, but
rather because of how she never saw herself as small, despite being
5’3”. She refuses to be underestimated and always stands her ground.
Her strength is evident in her eloquent words, her posture and her
smile. My mother is always strong, but her power is often shown
through different outlets such as humor, her tears or the way she hugs
me.
We don’t need a phrase to constantly remind us we are strong,
because strength is ingrained in us. Our ancestors had no choice but
to be strong, no choice but to be the roots in their house, no choice but
to be part of the armor that protected their families. Black women
are “strong” in not only the traditional notions of strength, but also
in our love and vulnerability. To be a Black woman is so much more
than strength, and “strength” should not define who we are. We are
defined by our loving hands, our words of wisdom, our ability to help
our community and everything in between, not by our strength alone.
Michigan in Color
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Wednesday, October 27, 2021 — 9
A reflection on three things that bring beauty
for those who need inspiration finding it in everyday places
T
he sky: One of the biggest flaws of human
nature is we become so used to what sur-
rounds us, no matter how incredible it may be,
and we forget how miraculous it is. Every single morn-
ing, the entire scope of the horizon drips with gold, rose,
violet and monarch orange. The sun lights the sky into
a blue powerful enough to illuminate the entire world
around us from millions of miles away. After revert-
ing back to a marble of warm and cool colors, the sky
darkens into pitch black and glitters with stars, encom-
passing a moon that illuminates the stillness of the
night. In a world that’s been incredibly industrialized,
with every other corner a construction site or an office
building, the constancy and simplicity of the sky’s pres-
ence have always reassured me. It’s amazing to think
that when we look above, that same sun, moon and sky
has been over the human species since we began to
exist. When you need to escape from the rush of your
life, just look up and take it in. Take in the fact that there
is a whole other realm above you whose sunshine and
rain mimic the fluctuation of human emotions. It goes
through its ups and downs, the sun rises and sets, the
sky shines and rains, the moon appears full one night
and then disappears the next, just like the way we feel
can change within every given moment. The sky con-
nects us to a network much larger than just the human
species or other living organisms. It lets us look up and
see a part of the universe within us. Or, as Rumi says,
“To see the moon that cannot be seen, Turn your eyes
inward and look at yourself, in silence.”
F
lowers: There are hundreds of kinds of
flowers, all of which come from a seed, and
yet bloom unique from one another. There is
a surprising amount to learn if we observe the process
in which flowers grow. They start rising after they’ve
been buried, and are completely unseen to the eye
until they sprout above the ground just the tiniest
bit, eventually turning into a fragrant, beautiful,
vibrant flower that people stop to stare at. It serves
as a reminder that we, like flowers, still have the
chance to flourish even after we feel like we’ve
been beaten down. Starting from somewhere small
doesn’t necessitate that we won’t be able to bloom
and accomplish phenomenal things. Flowers are
beautiful because they show us that even though
our circumstances and successes may come from
seemingly negligible beginnings, if we reach our full
potential, we can grow into extraordinary people
who can accomplish remarkable things.
Like the growth of a flower, Tagore’s description of a
flower’s purpose can be embodied by us as well:
“Flowers are
The Earth’s endless effort
To speak
To the listening heaven.”
T
ea: Sitting in front of a window, rain hitting
the windowsill, a book in hand and an earthy
cup of steaming milk tea is how I’d describe
my perfect night. To me, chai is special because it’s
been a part of my routine since I was a kid. Before I
started kindergarten, my mom would give me three
sips of tea a day, and since then, it’s been a constant part
of my life. No matter how busy I get, even if I’m late to
class or I’m missing an important meeting, nothing
comes before my one cup of tea in the morning and my
one cup of tea at 4 p.m. I drink the same kind of chai
every day, the kind my parents and their parents had
before they immigrated from Pakistan. It’s become a
family activity, everyone sitting down and drinking
tea together, sharing their funny stories or unique
experiences of the day. You may not like tea. But find
something that brings you so much simple joy that it
may become your daily teacup, something that lets you
step away from the world and breathe a few breaths of
relaxation. Find a shared experience you can do with
the people you love that creates space for conversation
and community. Find your tea, anything that lets you
reflect on how you are feeling with people who value
listening to your experiences so that no matter what
else is going on in your life, happy or sad, you will
always find a moment to relax and take it in one sip at
a time.
The complexity of chai can be best explained by
Ralph Waldo Emerson: “There is a great deal of poetry
and a fine sentiment in a chest of tea.”
Strength of a
Black woman
SIMONE ROBERTS
MiC Columnist
Texts as texts
KARIS CLARK
MiC Columnist
In the car. On the bus. In the
classroom. In the bathroom. In the
store. At the game. In the theatre.
Right when we wake up. And
right as we go to bed. Incessantly
throughout the day and deep into the
night, texting takes up a tremendous
amount of our time, often without us
even realizing it.
We’ve all seen the commercials
cautioning
against
texting
and
driving with the staggering statistics
to boot. On a smaller scale, we’ve
witnessed professors profess to
their pupils their disdain for texting
in class, threatening not to pass
those who do so, yet nonetheless,
students still find a way. But what is
it about this simple act of electronic
communication
that
has
the
capability to apprehend our attention
and prompt us to precipitously situate
ourselves in precarious positions?
Is texting a pathological pastime
to which our society must acquiesce,
or is there a deeper mystical meaning
to our messages? A sacred essence of
our daily digital conversations? If we
see texts as texts, documentations
of our social experience carrying
with it divine implications, we might
get a better understanding of our
underlying reliance on them as a
mediating tool for communication.
Jungian psychotherapist Thomas
Moore, in his book “Soul Mates,”
dedicates a chapter to “Letters and
Conversations.” He claims that
writing letters has a profound effect
on our soul in the sense that it serves
our “soul’s organ of rumination
rather than the mind’s capacity for its
understanding.”
Writing letters requires ample
reflection.
Unlike
face-to-face
conversation, our words are chosen
in precise, proximate and purposeful
manners and we give extreme weight
to what we decide to disclose and
what we choose to conceal. All of this
reigns true for texting, which can
easily be seen as an advanced form
of letter writing and sending. Moore
maintains that there is an artfulness
and thoughtfulness inherent in this
method of expression.
Many of us have had the
experience
of
ruminating
over
our word choice in the process
of revealing bad news, texting a
crush or engaging in an argument.
Sometimes pressing send can feel
like launching a missile. Even the
shortest response can fill us with
an insurmountable dread. One text
can make a day or ruin a week, and
waiting for a text back can fill us with
anxiety like no other. Of course, this
is only exacerbated when texting
is our only means of long-distance
communication with an individual.
A text from an old friend or flame
can be a game-changer in a rather
mundane day — for better or for
worse.
Our texts have the capacity
preserved for posterity, as we
allow each recipient to revel in the
revelation of our own transient
thoughts, emotions and experiences
as soon as we press send. There’s
an element of enormous trust
between the sender and recipient,
so fundamental to our texts, which
is predicated on this notion of
revelation and disclosure. In texting,
we reveal information that we
wouldn’t dare to discuss in person.
We deal out details and disclose
important truths, trusting that our
musings are mediated in confidence.
Yet, as French philosopher Georges
Bataille asserts, any accumulation of
knowledge is also an accumulation
of non-knowledge. The more we
unveil to one another, the more
we realize how much more there
is to be unveiled. The dangers of
divulging in this medium manifest
in the impermanence of our modern-
day devices. Unlike face-to-face
conversations, anything we say via
virtual communication can easily
be shared without our permission,
taken deliberately out-of-context,
re-purposed,
re-defined
and
ultimately used as a “receipt” for later
occasions. In other words, oftentimes
in texting, curiosity can kill the chat.
Moreover, Moore asserts that the
“person whom we write our letters to
is more imaginal than actual.”
We have a perception of that
person in our mind as we write out
our message that is mostly made up
and, for all intents and purposes,
a falsified fantasy. We never truly
know what the person behind the
screen is actually thinking, doing or
feeling when we text them, contrary
to how they might communicate
with us in the conversation.
Yet it’s the transient nature of
texts preserved for posterity that
endows them with a divine quality.
As Moore states, “Re-reading (is) a
form of reflective meditation.”
Texts are a portal to the past. They
dissolve the lines between space
and time, giving us more insight
into our own or other’s feelings in
a fleeting instance. Going through
old texts from my family and close
friends has made me see how our
communication with each other has
changed over time.
I recall recently re-reading texts
from my old phone and coming
across a group chat I had with
close high school friends in 2019,
the summer before I came to the
University of Michigan. It was a very
anxious August, as I prepared myself
to move away from my hometown. I
likened the experience of choosing
between colleges to committing to a
marriage, claiming I felt like a bride
getting cold feet before her wedding.
I talked about my expansive plans
for my college experience and the
different clubs I wanted to join —
some of which I didn’t and some
of which I did. Some of the things I
dreamt about doing then, I would
despise doing now. Yet other dreams
became reality — like writing for a
satire paper and joining an improv
team. When I first went through
those texts, I didn’t recall being that
anxious before starting school (yet
rightfully so) and I had forgotten
wanting to be in all the clubs I never
joined. The things I did want to do
which came true shocked me as
well. I couldn’t believe how long
ago I had considered being a part of
certain groups or organizations. Yet
as psychology researcher Elizabeth
Kensinger recounts, our memory is
widely subject to distortion, causing
us to forget basic details of past
events from where we are, who we
are with, what we are doing, etc.
Our accounts of events are likely
to change over time. Retroactive
interference also makes it so that
newly gained information interferes
with our retrieval and memory of
past events. In this vein, our old
texts being recollections of events in
relative real-time, allow us to recall
more accurately how we felt in the
past.
At first, I wanted to write those
texts out to be an exemplification
of my blissful ignorance, overt
ambition and immaturity, but
then I also found very similar
texts this August, as I dwelled
on my own anxiety and fears
about returning in person after a
year of virtual schooling. In the
present, we’re divorced from our
dialogues of the past, and our
perception of what we wrote way-
back-when is significantly altered
with time. I’ve cringed at how I’ve
responded to texts a week ago,
was totally surprised at texts sent
a month ago and utterly confused
at conversations from a year ago.
Nonetheless, I always admire how
much I’ve evolved yet at the same
time stayed the same. Much like
back then, I still spend ample time
storytelling over text to my friends,
persisting in giving a creative,
chronological retelling of every
peculiar instance of love, hate,
drama and comedy I come across
in the day-to-day. Maybe it’s just
the writer in me, but I really do be
texting way too damn much.
In looking through old texts,
I’ve noticed the subtle intricacies
and complexities that vary yet also
persist in my various conversations
with individuals — how others and
myself respond to exciting news
and announcements (acceptances,
jobs, promotions, releases, etc)
or pressure and duress (losses,
rejections, break-ups, etc). I also
noticed the differing ways I said
the same thing — in essence —
to different people. Changes in
dialect, code-switching, omissions
of certain facts or the adding in of
certain details, all became clear and
clarified how I related to that person
at that moment. In written form, it’s
easier to recognize the distinct ways
in which the people closest to us
exhibit what Erich Fromm denotes
as the four basic elements of love:
care, responsibility, respect and
knowledge.
Care and respect manifest in the
simplest of syllables, the “I / love
you” texts, sometimes given with
reservation and other times with
jubilation. It’s the paragraphs of
pensive consideration and concern,
the
checking-in
and
hearing
out. Responsibility manifests in
responsiveness
(responsibility
meaning “being able and ready to
respond”). When I was verbally
accosted walking down the street
in February, I was able to turn to
my close friends over text who
assuaged my fear and fright at the
moment. Knowledge manifests in
the knowing of those we’re closest to,
being able to interpret what they’re
saying and communicate effectively
with them through such a separating
mediated medium.
Moore posits that “finding
words that truly express our
feelings and experiences is an
achievement of a high order.”
With this in mind, we should
strive to see our texts as [holy]
texts. By doing so they become
an artful and expressive means
of communication rather than a
trivial tool for talking.
SYEDA RIZVI
MiC Columnist
Design by Melia Kenny
Design by Jessica Chiu