Writing Samples: Non-Academic, Short Essay, Blog, & Short Story

It's Not a Black Thing
It's a Beauty Thing

In Response to Why Much of Why My Content Appears Center Black Women and Women of Color

I've been asked why my platform focuses on Black women and women of color. Some have even said, “I wanted to support you and ‘like’ your page, but I saw that it was for Black women, so I didn’t continue reading.” This response saddens me.

Yes, this space is dedicated to Black women and women of color because I see a pressing need. But it’s not exclusive; it’s for everyone. It’s about raising awareness of the challenges we face and the beauty we embody.

Growing up in Orange County, California, I rarely saw reflections of myself. I questioned my hair, skin tone, and body. Family comments like “You’re getting too Black” or “Don’t mess up your hair” made me feel disconnected from my own beauty.

In school, literature rarely featured characters who looked like me. When I asked my teachers for more diverse stories, one cautioned me against being “too militant,” while another worked with me to find and share culturally rich literature. That experience taught me the power of representation.

A pivotal moment came when a teacher founded our high school’s Black Student Union. She taught us to love ourselves, introduced us to HBCUs, and exposed us to a world beyond what we knew. She showed us that we mattered, that we were beautiful, and that we could achieve anything.

Unfortunately, not everyone receives such guidance. I’ve witnessed hurtful comments about skin tone and hair texture, even from loved ones. These words can deeply affect a child's sense of self-worth.

In my classroom, I see students who struggle with their self-image. They often rely on wigs and makeup to feel confident, and without them, they become withdrawn. I make it a point to affirm their beauty, and the smiles I receive in return are priceless.

The need for this platform is evident. Black women face systemic challenges:

Only 18% of Black girls are proficient in reading by eighth grade.
Black women have the highest student loan debt among all demographics.
They lead in health disparities, including maternal deaths and breast cancer rates.
They are often underrepresented in media and academia.

Despite these challenges, Black women possess immense strength and resilience. We lead in educational attainment among women of color, earning a significant percentage of degrees across all levels.

This platform is not anti-anyone; it is pro-Black beauty, pro-Black excellence, and pro-Black joy. I want everyone to see and celebrate the beauty of Black women.

I’ve hesitated to highlight Black women and women of color on my site, fearing exclusion. But I’ve come to realize that our beauty matters, and it deserves to be seen and celebrated.

This is not just a “Black thing." it’s a beauty thing. It’s about affirming that all beauty matters, especially the beauty that has been historically overlooked.

CHARLESTON SHOOTING: LET THE CHURCH SAY AMEN

My grandfather has the early onset of dementia, and this is a pretty tough time for our family because he has been our Superman. I’ve never seen him meet a stranger because he LOVES to talk. Our family became aware of his disorder because of his constant repeating. He can say one thing, and a minute later, he will repeat it as if he never said it. It breaks my heart, but I listen as if it’s the first time I heard the story. However, lately, I’ve been listening closer.

The common denominator in his stories are rooted in trauma, things he never said are now seeping their way out. Understandably, as a retired veteran, he constantly revisits his experiences in the war. He served a few tours and often weaves in how he was treated during Jim Crow. Born and raised in Columbus, GA, there was no escaping it, and although he brushes over it and sometimes jokes about how he was called “boy” as an adult, watched family inventions taken and patented, treated as if he was dumb, and remembers walking by lynched bodies as a "boy," this was his reality, a reality that still haunts him to this day.

While Granny weirdly, almost removes herself from discussing experiences during Jim Crow except for nodding in agreement, Granddaddy refuses to forget yet tries to glaze over it by reminiscing about the “good ol’ days.” This sugarcoating is very reminiscent of Sweet Home in the novel Beloved where Toni Morrison provides vivid description of Black men and women savagely raped and beaten physically and psychologically during slavery. And although every inhumane possible thing happened at Sweet Home, when removed, the characters still spoke about Sweet Home nostalgically. However, there was nothing sweet about it. In fact, it was everything but that.

This "Sweet Home" trauma still lives in Granddaddy and has been passed down to all of us. I guess this can be viewed as another form of generational curses, constantly living in the “never forget” and are forced to remember through sporadic traumatic, experiences.

While I never forgot the essence of my grandfather’s stories, I became accustomed to them to the point of almost becoming numb because they were just that… “stories.” Although I have always felt a little sting, I never thought I'd feel the fire.

Jim Crow has never just been a Southern thing.

Somehow, though I did not live through the trauma of slavery and Jim Crow, I still lived it in other ways. I lived it through my mother’s anger about her own experiences growing up and my father’s advice of always being mindful, but I also had a few of my own.

Growing up in Orange County, California as a teenager, I remember being randomly stopped for unquestionable searches for just walking, being pulled over when riding in the car with my friends while driving speed limit and being asked to take our pictures by police officers just to have them on file, being watched when walking in stores, being overlooked in certain settings, and having “the talk” about having to be 10 times better because I’m a Black woman. What do these messages say to a child?

The paradox is that in a land that “sees no color,” I am ALWAYS reminded that I am Black, by what I see and don’t see in the media and by continuously seeing people that look like me being mistreated and murdered, a series of modern day lynching camouflaged by “we are all one human race” speeches…Indeed, we are one human race, but who actually believes it and lives it?

Lynching is still very much alive. Trayvon Martin, Michael Browne, Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, Miriam Carey, Yvette Smith, Andy Lopez, Rekia Boyd, the Charleston Massacre, and not so subtle messages in between, We are lynched daily. Many of us knowingly and unknowingly are born with a noose around our necks and death sentences waiting to happen.

Who wants to tell their child they can be anything they want to be “even the President of the United States” but have to give “the talk” behind it by having to explain double and triple consciousness (Being American, Minority, and Black)? where the child has three options: overly rise to the occasion at the cost of neglecting his own culture, do just enough to fit in so no one bothers you, or do much less because of feelings of defeat and ignorance. All are modern day slavery and psychological lynching.

I guess this is part of what Michelle Alexander speaks of when she writes of The New Jim Crow.

I wonder if America is like the functional drug addict in need of an intervention, constantly everyone around sees that there is a problem, but America, like the addict, thinks everything is okay because we appear to be functioning okay, yet we are dying, and killing the very organs that gave us life to begin with.

I’m fearful of lessons unlearned repeated and rearing its ugly head.

This time it took a Bible study of 9 harmless people to awaken us yet again.

I can honestly say that I try to see God in everything, but I am trying my best to find God in this...Perhaps, God is in all of this as a wake up call.

“Let the church say Amen?”

I don’t know, but we need to say and do something…

PRESERVED

Ever felt overlooked or like an opportunity bypassed you when you just knew you were the perfect fit? This has happened to me many times.

I remember looking for a job right out of college. I was applying for any and everything, I just needed to be employed. I went from one job interview to the next only to be met with what seemed like a line of rejections. After receiving notice that I was not selected for the positions, I would dissect whether I said too much of something or not enough, question if it was my clothing, race, gender, age, etc., I would study proper interview etiquette and attire and have mock interviews with family, friends, former professors and follow up with the companies to get feedback. I was determined to know what I did wrong.

As my "somewhat" of a free spirit self, I would like to say that I surrendered to wherever God led me, but that was not the case. I sulked and felt like I wasn't enough. After exhausting myself trying to find a company to hire me, I begrudgingly went to a temporary agency, and they placed me immediately.

Guess what? It was perfect! The office, my teammates, boss, and the atmosphere was exactly what I subconsciously desired and where I needed to grow. That position, to this day, laid the foundation for every place of employment and business opportunity I have had since. It literally prepared me for everything. I realized in being denied the other positions that I was saved for something better.

I wonder if we reframed our perceived loss (jobs, relationships, housing, loans, opportunities, etc). NOT as rejection but actually preservation for something greater.

God always protects his children...

IT'S TOO EXPENSIVE

Imagine having to hold your breath for a second and then breathe and repeating that for a minute, an hour, a day, your whole life. For the minute, the exercise may not seem like much, but for the hour or day, it can be exhausting. Many of us don’t realize that we’ve been holding our breaths our entire lives by not being ourselves. The world, tradition, religion, etc. has convinced some of us that we are to live our lives holding our breath... robotically. We do it so well that we become masters of disguise, and the problem is that we don’t know it. However, without realizing it, it can show up in different ways, such as anger, anxiety, confusion, depression. It is our mind and body’s way of responding to being out of place.

So what do we do? How do we respond to this? We take a step. This can mean taking a leap and doing that thing that is inside of you that you’ve been sitting on, but it can also mean pausing and taking time to listen to get instruction on the best way to execute. The main thing is to be you.

The world was waiting on you when you were born, and we are still waiting.

Not being you authentically is costing you your true existence.

I can’t think of anything more expensive than that.

What’s stopping you?

Sugar Pill Excerpt

Get to Know Us

Excerpt from Short Story

"Hey Girlie! What's Up. I know you are trying to do the 'I'm happy being single, loving me, I can take care of myself cuz I'm a strong, black, beautiful woman thing' right now, but I have someone I want you to meet. He's a good, well seasoned man, and I think you all have a lot in common."

Surprised and a little puzzled by her offer, "Yeah, if he's so well seasoned, why is he single?"

With a little spice in her voice, Sole responds, "Same reason you're single, a mystery unknown. People just don't know how to appreciate good people. Is it o.k. that I give him your number? I've already told him about you."

My first thought was to say "no." I'm not into the, "I wanna hook you up thing." For some reason, I connect "hooking up" with high school and desperation. I definitely don't want to go back to high school dating, and Lord knows I'm not at the phase where I'm desperate for a man, but I'm curious. Sole' is not the matchmaker type, and she has very good intuition. I guess it won't hurt to just meet him.

I take a deep breathe, "okay."

(after our first conversation)

Should have known he would have some type of drama. After going through about 30 minutes of his history and background information, I found out that he has 2 children by 2 Baby Mama's. He is a stylist. Like myself, he just recently divorced (neither children are by his ex-wife), owns his home, has a car, has a relationship with God, attended a local Historically Black College and University, and he spends lots of time with his kids.

Truthfully, I don't know why I allowed myself to agree to meet him, but when he called, there was this overwhelming excitement to at least see him…maybe desperation…who knows. I’ve been desiring companionship lately, and as my students would say feeling, a bit”thirsty,” so a brief exchange didn't seem too bad The phone conversation was not long at all. It was mutual that that we both felt there was no need for a whole bunch of talking. Seeing one another was the priority to gauge if there was physical attraction. The intimate talking could come later, if there was any chemistry.

He suggested, "How bout we meet at Starbucks on Battleground Ave tomorrow at 6:00 p.m.?"

Pleased by his offer, "Sounds good to me."

I was so excited to meet this mystery man but not feeling cute and no where near sexy. I had braids in my hair, and from the first day I put them in, I was not feeling the look. Immediately, for some reason I did not know, I started taking them out. I wanted him to see me with my natural, wavy hair. I wasn't sure about how he felt about braids, so I decided to go au naturale.

6:00 p.m. could not get here fast enough. I started getting dressed at 4:00 p.m. Made sure I had a fresh pedicure and manicure and did my make-up nice and slow to ensure perfection. My hair, wavy and free, looked better than it did in months. I was feeling good about myself. I chose a nice, white breezy blouse, with a bohemian, airy flare to it and opted for jeans, so it would not appear that I tried as hard as I did to look cute. I put on my highest boots to help create the long, lean, tight leg look, laced myself with my favrorite scented body oils, and I was ready!

Yeah ready and already 10 minutes late. I had not even left my house. What was I thinking. Shoot! Already a bad impression, but I convinced myself I didn't care.

I don't know him anyways, he's probably ugly. Plus, he's got 2 Baby Mama's. What am I doing meeting him? I should just leave my butt at home. Why am I even going on a blind date? That's it. I'm officially desperate.

On my way singing and swaying to one of Sade's songs, cuz I think that I am halfway cute and feeling super grown, my phone vibrates. "Dang, it's him." In my unconcerned voice, as if not knowing, I answer.

"Yes"

Sounding concerned with a smile in his voice, "Hey, where are you?"

"Stuck in traffic on 40. I'm so sorry. I'm never late.”(I’m always late)

Jokingly, in his sexy low, raspy voice, he says, "Tell me where you are, and I will come and rescue you."

Whooh, I don't know what it is about this comment that just made me want to meet him more, but I can not get there to him fast enough, so I fly to Starbucks, get out of the car, straighten out my pants, take a deep breath, and---

Buzz.

My phone again?! It's him. Oh heck no! He's got to be greasy calling me twice already. I don't even want to meet him now, but I'm here, so just go in Ayisha.

More confident now because I have a subtle attitude about my second call, I walk in with hard, elephantish steps ready to appear unphased --

BAM!

There-He-Is.

Okay. Why is he so fine, and why do I feel like I am about to fall walking in front of him? And why does he have to already be sitting down, facing me? Please don’t stare at me while I walk. Let me hurry up and sit down.

I've been wearing heels since I was practically born, but I feel like a beginner right now.

He stands up to greet me. "Are you Ayisha?"

"Yes"

I want to scream and say, "YES!" in a cheerleader like tone and also add, "I do, promise to obey, love, honor, respect, and vow to be your next Baby Mama." I know I am grinning literally from ear to ear because my ear sockets are aching. I feel like Ms. Celie on The Color Purple when Shug finally convinces her to smile, smiling so big it’s probably almost creepy.

He waits for me to sit, and then, he sits and offers to get me a cup of coffee. I am too nervous to drink anything in front of him, but I need time to breathe, get myself together and wipe the sweat from my back, underarms, neck. I accept.

"Sure…Chai Tea Please"

When he stands up, I take full advantage of surveying the goods. Tall, mocha, smooth skin, perfect butt, broad shoulders, manicured nails, long, jet black locks, slanted, smoky black eyes with long eyelashes, goatee cut to perfection, and straight, white teeth.

HE IS DEFINITELY A WINNER!

(30 days later)

“I have something to teeellll you…” I said in an almost singing voice to Sole'.

“WHAT! Please don’t tell me you already did the DO?” Sole replies in a giggling, questionable tone. Her questioning is familiar between us, but something about the way she questions me this time makes my insides turn.

Laughing but almost embarrassed by her response, I laugh, ”What…I couldn’t help it. He is just so fine.”

Sharing in my laughter and light heartedness, Sole' then gets serious and ask, “So what are you guys doing? Has he taken you out anywhere?”

Feeling awkward and like a reject, I almost whisper, “No, I have just been to his house, and he’s been to mine.”

After feeling a little stupid and naïve because Sole' didn’t completely share my excitement, I tried to butter it up that Troy and I had not been anywhere in public except for the day we met at Starbucks.

“Girl…it’s just been 30 days, no rush. I never said I was going to marry the man.”

But I have a sudden rush of doubt.

What am I doing? At what point did I become “booty call” or “jump off” girl? Is being with a man that important that I am willing to give up my principles and the commitment that I made with God? Dang Eva, what are you doing?