Dump Cake // Blog

Dump Cake.

Visualizing what’s swirling around in my head..

Memories, emotions, moments, colors, recollections

nostalgia, segments, ingredients, deja vu.

My Black existence, diverse experience.

Visual Diary.

Throw everything together, bake.

Dump Cake.

I am the daughter of a mother, the daughter of a woman that is so much, that has had to face things I will never know about as I have had to face things she will never know about. As I have grown older, I have grown into the deepest appreciation for my mother that gave everything for me. I would undeniably drop every opportunity for her (and my father) if they ever needed it. That is the least I can do for people that have always let me be as free as I could in a life full of wonder.

Reflecting on Middle School

I often think about how my blackness was challenged from my black peers/ friends/ frenemies in middle school. I was quiet and kept to myself. I did have things that some of my peers did not. I never flaunted of flexed them. It was just noticed. All of that was interpreted as me being “better than” when I wanted nothing more to be friends with people that looked like me for once. I was shy. I hadn’t quite “earned my black card” yet (although blackness is natural, sometimes we have grow into it; get comfortable with it) Of course there was a tweet that said what I couldn’t concerning how my blackness seemed “watered down” or made to be weaker or less forceful than its expectation to perform tropes/stereotypes although for some it was not a performance as it was real life.

*whispers… “Oh she’s wearing Timbs today. Since when does she want to be black?”

* bumps into shoulder… “ What’s up white girl?”

*me and a former friend going through a box of purses some lady didn’t want/ use any more… “You should give me the LV. You can get what you want anyway. It’s not like you really need it.”

I also think of how my peers blackness (and mine even though I “fit” what a “good black student/person” should be, whatever that is) was challenged and manipulated to be less of who they were. How teachers weaponized us against each other through tokenizing the “better behaved” black child against another black child that was equally behaved but just happened to use slang and wore baggy clothing. How teachers always scolded (them/us) for not fitting a standard of whiteness that doesn’t exist. How a certain teacher called my mother to say what I was wearing was alarming (Baby Phat, tight jeans, fresh white forces) as if I was turning into another kind of “black.” A version of black that was unacceptable as if that could ever be real. A version of black that many of the kids in middle school fit and were constantly accosted for. How ghetto, in all its resilience, style, imagination, and creativity became “ugly” in proximity to “whiteness” and how those white teachers never looked passed what they thought was a “ghetto” child.

*a teacher to another black student…. “You’re never going to be anything if you keep that up” …in a class full of rowdy students.

* a teacher to another teacher…. “These children are just so aggressive and look at how they dress. I don’t even know what style that is. Too much bling.”

*a white peer to myself… “You’re such a nice black girl. You’re like a caramel barbie. I’m glad you’re not like the “other” blacks.”

Growing up spoiled made you seem soft bread, watery. Too spoiled, too privileged, makes you oblivious to social awareness amongst others and yourself. Growing up with less made it seem like the struggle was a trait of life that makes you stronger. In a way it does it but struggling beyond desire for basic needs is not okay nor should it be desired. Looking back and looking forward, we are allowed without permission to be as we so desire. How clueless we all were, at the time, that Blackness is limitless knowing no bounds and that we never have to fit a mold/ stereotype/ trope and yet it is okay if we do.

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