My bad skin stresses me out.

I had this the other day.

I’d like to feel the sun reach down to caress and cover my smooth brown skin in a blanket of warmth while I lounge on a cot and sip some lemonade from a glass with one of those tiny umbrellas in it. I’d like to witness waves prompting water to kiss the sand on the shore.

A day at the beach would be nice.

“Stand Here”

Last week I took a trip downtown with my comrade Hasan, and after months of raving about this “statue with people coming out of the wall” that I had seen photos of online, I finally got the chance to witness the three-dimensional, bronze work of art formally known as the Freedom sculpture created by UPenn graduate, Zenos Frudakis. His sculpture features a man who, initially trapped in the wall, slowly but surely emerges and finally breaks free from his original stagnation. Frudakis describes the ideas and inspiration behind his sculpture in great detail here.

I enjoyed the intricate details that were included in this particular sculpture. Frudakis allowed room for the faces of various people, including his own, miniature representations of the human body, and I think I even saw his cat in there somewhere. 

I’m not sure of how well you can see this next photo but he also included a mini Freedom Sculpture somewhere near the bottom which I thought was pretty cool.

On to the photo-op!

I even let this guy borrow my purse for a quick shot!

You can find the Freedom sculpture right in front of the GlaxoSmithKline building on 16th and Vine St in Center City Philadelphia. I encourage you to check it out!

John Legend- “Cross The Line”

☐Male ☑Female

This is an old piece.

Pink are the bar codes found at the soles of your feet.

You, women, who were taken from man then transported into this life through the mechanisms of your mothers’ wombs.

Mere decorations to be gazed at, poked and prodded,

Wallflowers that are subject to everyone’s and anyone’s criticisms.

The world will gladly inform you of the moment that you lose your luster.

The world will adamantly force upon you the virtues that you must posses and

Any error made within this realm would be a grand misfortune,

For then you’d be likened to a fallen saint, a blemished dove.

Your mothers will be your teachers, sharpening your skills of silence and submissiveness.

Your fathers, your keepers, will teach you to live in fear and crave protection.

Independence, you will have no recollection of.

It was never yours to recall.

Independence from your parents bears fruit of dependence on your man.

Your fathers will simply hand you over.

Your last names will adjust to your circumstances when you shift from daughter to wife.

You do not define yourselves.

You are pieces of property, passed from your fathers’ homes to your husbands’ hands.

No identities of your own, only that of the men in your lives who define you.

Mrs. John Doe.

No one knows your name.

You are a housewife

A cook

A prize

A maid

A servant

A whore.

Safely kept under the glass ceiling, you’ll be content.

Women don’t posses ambitions.

It’s not in your nature.

The barcode in pink at the soles of your feet reveal it all.

But a view of such things is not always practical.

They could have found a better place to stamp you as WOMAN.

Luckily, we still have the check-box.

Validation.

Many minds were longing to speak today and many ears were open and eager to listen, mine included. One word that was spoken immediately caught my attention. It is the same word that entitles this very post: Validation. 

Validate.

Valid.

Something that is valid is sound, just, or well-founded. It has force, carries weight and cogency. It is approved of.

Let’s speak on approval for a second. As humans we naturally seek approval from our peers. If our peers did not approve of us, then they wouldn’t be so keen on interacting with us, would they? Someone who approves of us is someone who likes us and might say, “Hey, you’re doing a good job. I admire that. I take an interest in what you have to say. I find your company to be appealing. You are valuable to me.” That should sound good coming from anyone, right? But why is that we continue to seek outside validation from those who are somewhat estranged from us when we can obtain all that lovely praise from those who are supposedly held nearest and dearest to our hearts? I’ve been told many times from those who are close to me that if I claim to hold them to a high regard, my opinion of them “doesn’t count” simply because I know them. I’m accustomed to hearing, “Jo, you’re just saying that” after giving a pat on the back or commending someone for something that should be admired. Too often do I witness the words of other seemingly less important people to be carrying more weight than my own. Perhaps I’m wrong. Maybe the others are, in fact, more significant.

But, why don’t my words hold any weight? Why isn’t my opinion legitimate?

I see you beam when outsiders praise you. What effect does what I say have?

Bach / Gould - BWV826 - Partita 2 in c - 1 Sinfonia