Virginity for Sale?

January 23, 2009

Dear Diary,

Natalie Dylan is selling her virginity. Diary, I'm not lying! This beautiful queen. This magnificent being, who is precious in the sight of God has decided to sell her virginity to the highest bidder. Oh, and the bids are high. According to CNN(www.cnn.com/2009/LIVING/01/22/virginity.value/index.html), the bid is currently at $3.8 Million! Dylan's milky skin, and supple body has provoked men in California to go wild! Or, maybe it isn't in her long, layered, shampoo model hair or her hips that sit ready. Maybe it's in the idea of being the first. The ego trip that it takes men on to know that they were the first to conquer the purity of  an untouched womb. What a gift that is?  Not just to be the first touch it, but to be able to hold onto to that gift for 22 years. This morning, I wish that I could bring Ms. Dylan to Anacostia Senior High School. I'm sure 3.8 Million is very tempting, but somethings should be priceless.

I would walk Ms. Dylan around to the teen parents program so that she can sit and ask each young lady how their first time was. 3 out of 10 students in this program are trying their hardest to forget it. There were no candles and slow music playing. There were tears. Moments of gasping for air trying to breath in spite of the pain that they were feeling. Their minds were wondering if they told their mothers the truth about this experience would she ever believe? Ms. Dylan, while you are  selling your lovely livelihood for the price of your soul, my students are mentally frozen in a place called rape, molestation, violation, manipulation. A place of, " I did it because he said he loved me", and " If I wasn't as developed my uncle would have never touched me". Now, I do know women who don't have this story. Who would tell you to take the money and run! They aren't aware of the power that you possess and the power you are willing to give away for financial stability. Has the economy come to this? Are we so hard pressed for dollars that we are willing to sell our integrity and bodies? Explain your way of thinking to young women around the world who built their discomfort in knowing that the one thing you are willing to give away they had taken away or gave in hopes to receive love. 

Some way I know that Ms. Dylan is looking for the same thing. 

I'm sure she feels loved because CNN is making her a star and MySpace is laughing at her all the way to the bank, but that will never be enough. 

LadyDiva's, you will be searching your entire life for the love that ONLY God can give. There is no man, money, clothing, or accomplishment that can wipe away the feelings of abandonment, rejection, abuse or neglect. Your virginity is not all you are, but it is a gift from God. Please cherish and hold onto it! I'm sure that this is an unpopular message. However, I don't care about fads or popularity! THERE ARE WOMEN ALL OVER WHO WISH THEY COULD HAVE THAT SPECIAL, IRREPLACEABLE, INNOCENT GIFT BACK! SAVE IT! LOVE IT! AND GIVE IT AT GOD'S APPOINTED TIME...and  HIS TIME IS NOT THE TIME THAT THE WORLD IS ON!

Ms. Dylan has the opportunity to stand for women all over( Especially with all of this media attention)! She can stand for the young girl whose mother sold her for a hit of crack. For the girl sold into slavery at age 8 and was forced to be the concubine of a ruler 3 times her age. For the girl who must prostitute her body in foreign countries to provide for a family that was destroyed by war. Diary, she can stand for me. 

And If she doesn't, although I pray she does, WE my LadyDiva's will stand for ourselves! We will, despite what life has offered us, increase the value of the virginity, thus our commitment to self-preservation. We serve a God of the 2nd, 3rd, 1500th chance! I am learning diary, that everyday is another opportunity to get it right. To be better than the day before. To embrace our story and find beauty in it's ashes. 

To find Beauty in It's Ashes...

That ALONE is priceless...

In Sisterly Love...

THELadyDiva 

The Morning After.... Pill

January 22, 2009

Dear Diary,

I woke up the day after inauguration feeling like I had been through a war. The bottoms of my feet were sore, my shoulders were aching and my eyes were heavy from the tears that poured all night long. It was the Morning After. Although I had just partied to Marvin Gaye and re-dedicated myself to the struggle and my own liberation as a woman, I needed a pill to ease the pain; to ease the surprise.  As I poured my Honey Nut Cheerios and kept my eyes glued to CNN, I realized how amazing it would be to have a morning after ( The Re-dedication) Pill. You know what I mean by The Morning After Pill? The "Plan B" pill that will calm all fears and make a women feel powerful because of her options; her choice. Well Lord knows that this morning I needed a choice! I was exhausted and anxious to see what this new day was going to bring. Of course I knew I was going to work with my students, but I was nervous about the new era we had  just entered and where I fit in. Better yet where did my girls , the future of this nation, fit in? 

Then, like Diana Ross in Lady Sings the Blues and the Wiz( Honey, Afro wig and sequence gowns included!), I felt myself caught up in a daze that made me as nervous as a young women who had unprotected sex with a man she barely knew.

When i opened my eyes I wasn't in my apartment anymore... I was in the free clinic. The walls were painted the color of healthy regret. The carpet was stained with red roses, just in case the clients have never received them from their fathers. On the wall was a lovely picture of Dr. Jill Biden and Mrs. Obama. To my left were pictures of the late Dr. Betty Shabazz and Hillary Clinton. I felt surrounded by powerful women yet alone. There I was pregnant with possibility, yet preparing to get an abortion.

I had the choice.

I was choosing to abort my destiny before it even had the chance. I was in shock. I never intended to get pregnant with so much potential. I was trying to stay below the radar,trying to fit in. So I covered up my struggles with weave and MAC make-up. I got in relationships with men and allowed them to expose my body to diseases, never expecting them to do so. I remember how I felt the morning after... the morning after I realized that I couldn't use those things to cover up my budding greatness. Body, mind, and spirit of laziness was aching. Now, I sit here pregnant with a vision that can't be denied, but I'm choosing to abort it.

If Only I Would Have Taken the Morning After Pill?

My fears would be calmed. I could go back to bed with complacency without using a rubber. it would be no mistake.... I knew exactly what I was doing. I would spend the $50 in currency but the priceless amount in self-respect and buy the pill. I would feel my hormones get out of whack and watch the blood gather between my legs even when it wasn't that time of the month. I had dodged the bullet. I had dodged my purpose. I had escaped myself. I was free from pain, right?

I realized that i was no longer in the clinic of my nightmares and that CNN was now watching me. 

However, it got me thinking. How many young women today are aborting their visions to be mediocre? They get all excited about the change but aren't ready to put the necessary work in to bring that change to the surface. So... they make the choice to take the Morning After Pill to kill the shock; ease the apprehension that you may have about  sacrificing for this next level. In worst case, those dreams, visions, and plans are aborted.

You have the choice....

LadyDiva, Just because you're family, friends, or peers choose to take short cuts doesn't mean you have to. Learn to take comfort in the discomfort of the struggle that is destiny. 

So, I managed to leave the couch and get dressed for the day. Yes, I was still tired. Yes, I had no clue as to what God was going to do with my life, nor where he was going to take my young sisters all of the world. But, I was hopeful. I was audacious. I was willing to suffer for righteousness sake. 

No Pills Necessary.

In Sisterly Love,

THELadyDiva

Inauguration day... Where my Ladies at?

January 20, 2009

Dear Diary,

It was a cold day. I mean I literally felt like I was going to faint from the gripping pain that pinched my hands with a vengeance. However, It didn't matter to me. I was lost in a world wind of love, power, respect, and the majestic sovereignty of God. Today was Inauguration Day. I sat as an innocent flower among thorns trying to figure out why I couldn't push out the tears that I felt sitting on the inside of my belly. I mean, I was truly moved. In one moment our new president made me shed my Willie Lynch induced insecurities and dream. For the first time in my life, I had standards for what I thought a man should be, and I had the overwhelming desire to hold everyone who crossed my path to those standards. I became less and less consumed in what was popular, and more consumed in what was morally right. I found myself back in the kindergarten, reversing the moments that I hated every light skinned girl and deemed myself gorgeous because my eyes were a lighter shade of brown. I wanted to bathe in my blackness. Yet, the tears wouldn't flow. They were frozen by the surreality of the days events. They were frozen by the armor that I had successfully built during the storms in my life.

But... that carefully crafted iron barrier was melted down to nothing when I saw Michelle Obama, gracefully  cascade down the hallways that was never built for her, yet she made it bend and succumb to her brown crown of LadyDivalikeness. Then, as I thought of how many young women across this nation  laying on their backs to drown out pain. How many young women at that very second had their lips wrapped around a crack pipe to find release. How many of my sister were dressed in their designers best, but hiding bruises, some found painted purple on the outside and some painted navy blue on the inside of their hearts; I tasted that familiar  wet saltine that I so often gave away to men, women and situations that weren't as nearly as important as this moment. Mrs. Obama made it okay for me to be exactly who I was, flaws and all. There is something about the way that she walks that lets me know she has been down every dark tunnel that we all have been through. She is NOW sitting on pearls of wisdom, so that we don't have to cast our pearls before swine. It is in the way that she owns those perfectly designed hips, that thick but tamed hair, and our president that truly makes me question every unrealistic standard that America has placed on us. I got over the fact that my booty ain't big, that my hair ain't swinging down my shoulders,and  that I'm not good at organizing my life.... YET! Our new First Lady allows us to be human, not psychologically frozen in a perpetual state of perfectionism. 

And then those girls....

Malia and Sasha  have already  made the arduous decision to be ladies. Their own father described them as "Poised and Elegant". So, what is stopping me at 23 years of age from being all that and more? I'll tell you, ME! I have gotten so caught up in being "Fabulous By Any Means Necessary" that I forgot about being a Lady by those same means. As I stared at the innocence of those girls I remembered how God views me. He doesn't see me as the used, abused, phony, crazy women that I have been rumored to be. Oh, no. He sees me as his little princess , wearing nothing but garments of praise for the spirit of heaviness. Despite everything we've gone through as women, in God's eyes we are just like Malia and Sasha ( J Crew Coats and All!). 

So, right on the National Mall, while tasting saltine tears and feeling my hands scream for warmth, I re-dedicated myself  to being a Lady. Somewhere along this journey we all get muddied up by life's dirt. Now, we all need a little dirt to grow. However, some of us are staying in the dirt refusing to grow. I can relate. It feels good being the victim... laying in dirt... sulking, crying, and soaking up some much needed and deserved attention. However, My LadyDivas, it is time that we rise from those ashes and offer them as a sacrifice of praise. I mean what happens to people who never purge or clean themselves? They begin to stink. Today, I covered my funk up with Issey Miyake ( lol), but actually underneath my well-crafted exterior, I smelled like years and years of baggage. I'm surprised our new president couldn't smell me from miles away. 

The wonderful thing is... I, WE, Have no more excuses. Our First Lady teaches us how to be a lady and our President teaches us how a lady is to be treated. 

From this day forward... I'm gonna embody the essence of a LadyDiva... How about you?

In Sisterly Love,

THELadyDiva...