I am a mad black woman. I am Maxine Waters mad. I am Angela Rye mad. I am the original Aunt Viv mad. And while there was a point in my life when I use to concern myself with how being both angry and a black woman might be perceived, I can tell you now, that I released myself from the burden of those fucks some time ago. I am mad at the world I must contend with everyday, a world that challenges my sanity, tries my patience, and devalues my humanity. I am mad that I cannot be both angry and seen as whole, but white men like Anthony Bourdaine and John McEnroe can build or sustain their careers on a foundation of anger. I am mad that the angry black woman trope has historically, and continues to be a used as a weapon of oppression against black women such as myself. And I am beyond pissed, that in 2017, the intersections of racism, misogyny, and classism still have to be explained and exposed en masse to white people and ahem...men, who seem in too large a proportion, resistant to acknowledging these truths, and even more resistant to changing them. Yes, I am mad; yet, I am whole. So, here I stand...in the sun, with furrowed brows, eyes sharply cut side sideways, and leaning into in my own understanding of my justified anger and sharing my thoughts as I so please.
But, I am more than mad.
I am "Brave as a Bear" as defined my namesake; I am "God's Will" as told my by Igbo name. For as long as I've existed (according to mom), I have always had an exacting opinion on what I want (or don't), and an uncompromising taste for nice things. I am bougie and unapologetic about it. I'm stubborn and I like to get my way. I am and curious and adventurous and extroverted and easily distracted. It is my blessing, it is my burden, and it is your current source of entertainment. I write. I curse. I travel. I eat. I love. I laugh. I live.
I'm not always mad, but I am always bougie.