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Sunday, September 26, 2010


It hit me this morning, darlings. The realization that I am not a kid anymore. See, I often read the back of cereal boxes in the morning, for it makes me look and feel less lonely at the table. I noticed their attention-grabbing illustrations of that superhero honeybee. And how the Honey Nut Cheerios were floating everywhere, as if every bowl made your mouth explode in the thrill of its glorious flavor. I suspect the advertisement team brainstormed possible ideas, and the winner was "orgasm in your mouth." What threw me over the top...was the big-ass exclamation point. At the end of an exciting sentence about the Cheerios' ability to magically lower cholesterol, they slapped a big-ass exclamation point. What are they doing? Naturally, everyone's attention goes to big-ass things, so this would lead some consumers to read it backwards. The now-backwards sentence don't make much sense, but they understand "cholesterol" and "lower," and bam, orgasmic big-ass advertisement team wins. Fast forward to morning after their delicious purchase, and they are on a couch, stuffing their faces, expecting the explosive pleasure that the box told them they were going to get. All of this was going through my mind at the table, and I began to voice my opinions out loud." A "BULLSHIT" rang out, and I slapped the box down. No one was watching me, no one cared. But I was ready to pull them into my raging storm, if needed. Years of schooling and common sense told me that Cheerios actually do NOT magically lower cholesterol, or fat, or sodium or whatever the hell you want to get rid of. Boys and girls, you have to WORK. I've been eating them for years... The Cheerios company even put a damn paragraph on the side, explaining how they "absorb" cholesterol. Ha! Ha! I glared at the fine print, as if to send a telepathic message to the production company, to make them piss their pants in fear. It wasn't until I finished my innocent cereal bowl that I realized...I wouldn't have done this 3 years ago. What is this, these feelings of hatred for a cereal box? I would have eaten even more, because Mr. SuperBee was on it, smiling while dripping sweet honey onto the mini-doughnuts from his honeycomb, stinger in the air. That's what hit me.  I have gotten to the point where advertisements supposedly aimed for a younger audience don't excite me. I'm growing up. And I hate it.

Let's go a little deeper, more important than cereal boxes and honeybees. As I've grown up, friendships have changed as well. I remember getting into a fight in 2nd grade over a group project. I wanted to weigh something, a dime I think, and this one boy didn't let me. I started crying. You would, too, if you were hell-bent on weighing a damn dime. A few more tears and everyone was trying to comfort me, while he sat awkwardly across from me. Somehow, I exploded at him, he started crying, the teacher got involved. While the rest of the class went outside to see the bunny and duck farm (I kid you not...they let us name them, too) I stayed inside. Yeah, only me, he got to name bunnies and have a grand time with everyone else. For a few years, that was the biggest "friend" issue I've had. And it started with a dime.

But let's go forward to my tween years. The awkward age where you don't really have your own personality, you based it on Disney shows, which, back then, were the shit. That was back when I thought a boy was in love with me if he asked me if my Tamagotchi could "mate" with his. The major "fight" with my friends was brought on by comments on hair. Hair. A mistake on my part, I didn't know a damn thing back then. But we made up, everything is fantastic. This was a time when the biggest secret someone was willing to tell was who their crush was.

Late tween years...this is when things started to get a bit more "real." People actually excluded others, and didn't let them back in. People actually had "rumor books" and some of the content was actually true. If we heard someone was making out with someone else's boyfriend, we weren't surprised. Of course, in less than a week something new would spring up. I think at this point, we were still basing our personalities on Disney shows...this was when Hannah Montana came out. Only our best friends knew about crushes, and it also included who they hated. Damn it. Congratulations, we've moved from dimes to hair to boyfriends...a little less materialistic as we go down the line.

Now present day, where issues involve actual personalities. That's right, people are fighting over what people are, and how they act, instead of what they do. Yes, material items still play a part in tearing relationships apart, and they will continue to do so. But the addition of an actual reason to fight has manifested itself in the hallways of high school. I'm not whining about it, I'm just acknowledging its existence. Secrets now involve family issues that you can now understand, and psychological, serious shit. Friendships are killed by someone's habits. In addition to being excluded from a group, people are willingly leaving, because they think they can judge what's really happening. Boyfriends not only talk to other girls, there's a possibility that he may be cheating with her. Sex is real. Drugs are real. Replacement is real. Loss is real. No longer are these the stories we see on television, we're in the middle of it. I think that this is the age where you can actually fall in love, because you've stopped relying on Disney to tell you who you are. Because of that, this is the age where you can actually get hurt. Feel free to disagree.

We've grown "into" the music too. There was I time I enjoyed Christian bible songs, and I was proud to have my mom blast it from our car. Now I am questioning the existence of God. Again, feel free to disagree, but refrain from trying to shove it down my throat.  There was a time I could spend the whole weekend watching TV. Now it's homework and being a lazy-ass on the internet. I didn't know anything about people back then, or myself, any more than they knew themselves. I hold a fascination for those days, because I feel that by being around each other, we built our own personalities. I didn't even have to think about college. I only said I wanted to go to UT back then because I liked Bevo. I used to ask my parents for money, and I would get excited for 20 dollars. Now I feel guilty when I receive 10 dollars, because I realize that my parents don't have money to throw away. A pinky promise was in order when a friend told us to keep a secret. Now they are called up when we have to actually do something.

I think what I dislike the most about maturing is that I am aware of all of the negative things. That's why I wrote this. All of this was happening when I was younger, I just lived in a beautiful world of blindness. Ah, where am I going with this? I don't know. This sort of jumped from cereal to life...I apologize.
Try being a kid  again, today. 

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Playing with the Cards I've Been Dealt.

  This, right now, 10 or 11 or so in the morning, is the best time to type this. I recently woke up, pretty damn content, sticking my tongue out at my alarm clock, who can't wake me up with its howling. Guess what, bitch? It's Saturday, which means I could stay in my lovely slumber as long as I wanted to. If you even tried to buzz today, I would "tie you to the bed and set this house on fire, just gonna-". That aside, get ready for another over-used pop song reference, I sort of woke up "in the morning feeling like P. Diddy".  

  "Sean John Combs (born November 4, 1969), currently known by his stage name Diddy, is an American record producer, rapper, actor, and men's fashion designer.". And though Wikipedia did not officially state he was black, because it's pretty damn obvious, he's black. 


Where am I going with this? Well, by following the Law of Syllogism, we get:
1) If you are P. Diddy, then you are black
2) If you are black or at least half-black, you are Micaela Williams.
3) P. Diddy is Micaela Williams
Wait, what? This proves another point; I suck at math, do not ask me for help, thank you.

Anyway, I woke up this morning feeling black. I am black. But I actually felt it. My status on Facebook, "which is like, THE social networking center, LOL, im funni" has already made a reference to this situation. And worry not, it is in NO way negative at all. It's just that I haven't felt like I was paying a lot of attention to either half of my culture, lately. 

Most of those who are reading this are aware that I am biracial. My mother is Filipino, and my dad is straight-up black. He does say that we're Cuban somehow, but, we're black. Well, no, he is black. I am Blasian. According to Urban Dictionary, Blasians are pretty damn gorgeous. 

Exhibit A. Amerie, Black and Korean. Also; 

Tyson Beckford, who is of Jamaican, Panamanian, and Chinese descent. 

Sebastian Grant. Black and....well, he may not even be Blasian at all. The point I am making is, Blasians do not always get the best of both worlds. 

   Why, yes, we look "exotic" depending on how our parents' genes mix. Black genes are almost always dominant, so a majority of Blasians look flat-out black, with Asian eyes. And so they live their lives as such. Sort of what I did. Back in the day, everyone, except for my family, thought I was fully black, and they treated me as such. Up to middle school, I guess, I was always included in the black group. Again, not negative at all, but in all honesty, I was considered an Oreo because I didn't...act black. And one day, I revealed that, yes, you beasts, I am half-Asian. Fili-freakin'-pino. And then they were gathering around me, this strange zoo animal, a mixed breed, like a Liger, eyes widened, mouths open. 

   Some assumed that I should start "acting" Blasian. "Oh, so you should, like, listen to rap, and do karate, and eat chicken, and use chopsticks, so then people would stop calling you an Oreo." No. Ok, race does not determine what music you are supposed to like. Hence, some Caucasians enjoy rap music, just as much, or even more than black people. We can listen to whatever we like. I enjoy rock music too, so sit in your corner and suck it. Second, not all Asians, or half-Asians enjoy martial arts. It's not like we are entitled to learn it, or piano, or math, or computer programming as soon as we are born. Next, ok, shut up, my dad, the black one, doesn't even LIKE fried chicken. He only gets it once every two months. He likes oven-baked chicken. That doesn't make him, or I less black. Lastly, I will probably never be able to use chopsticks, though my splinters prove that I have tried. Filipinos use our hands to eat. Call it "NASTAYYY" but no one gives a care. The only true thing that came out of the stereotypes is this: The black side of my family DOES like to sing. And the Filipino side DOES like karaoke. Bam, musical and racial harmony.

   Essentially, I am not able to act Blasian, according to other people's standards. Er, so what do I act like? White, I usually say, jokingly. I do not mean to offend anyone. It's just, I'm living in America and all, where of course, there is still racial prejudice, among other things. And I'm not comfortable with having to stress both races equally. It's impossible for me to act black or Asian. And in this society (again, I understand if you are offended by this, but I don't mean to do so) acting black means...well, look at the media. We are portrayed as gangsters, dancers, criminals, overall, highly negative. America and the rest of the world eats that up. And Asians in the media are usually portrayed as super-geniuses, speakers of Engrish, nail salon owners, greedy. I'm not making this up. But that's the media's perspective. And to be honest, if you believed anything the media said about a certain group of people, you are an IDIOT. As I have said before, I'm too black to be Asian, too white to be black. 

  My name is Micaela Williams. My mother is Filipino. She is an Asian. My father is black. He is..he is black. I am mixed. According to society's physical standards, I am black. According to black standards, I am white. According to Asian standards, I am just not Asian. According to myself, which is REALLY the only thing that matters...I am 100% Blasian. No matter what happens because of it, I'm proud of it. 

You...whoever you are, whatever you are, embrace it. And tell those discriminatory fuckers to shut up. 

This particular Blasian says EVERYTHING is going to be OK. 

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Let's Start at the Beginning...

Let me start out by saying this: before you decide to walk down this awkward path of my life, I must warn you that certain things cannot be accounted for. Specifically actions, words, emotions, so on. Should you disagree with anything that happens, be it my own or my friends'...just know that...I honestly do not care. Explanation?

When I was juuust a little girl...

I felt as though the opinions of all others mattered. I would step into primary and elementary school, building up the suspicions that everyone was watching my every move. "What if I tripped, and that girl saw me, and told everyone? No one would like me, I would never be popular. I'll die alone, Mother help me" That's normal right? For all of the introverts, or half-introverts out there, I suppose it would be. I can't even imagine going through the formative years of schooling with confidence. And yet, some people managed to pull that off nicely. Anyway, this feeling, this paranoid sense about me that I was constantly being watched and judged followed me throughout the majority of my school-life. 

Haha, hell, I wasn't a sweetheart when I was younger. Nor am I one now, upon closer inspection. I was a little bitch. A snivelling bitch. Despite my self-consciousness, I somehow...could be considered one of the "popular" kids, starting in 1st grade. Yes, one of the people that I glare at today. I had my own little clique. Wait, mind you, the school I went to was a small... REALLY small private school. We're talkin' 6 kids in the whole first grade. The school was the size of a fairly large house. (The tuition was the same as a regular private school though...God knows why) So this little clique was basically all 6 of us. We had already made our stupid 1st grade bonds. And then a new girl came. And for some reason, my dumbass 1st grade self wanted to be a total bitch to her. She followed my friends around. And I hit her with a rug. A motherfucking rug. I would go back in time and beat the shit out of myself. What. The hell. Was I thinking? It tied along with that sense of having to be perfect in everyone else's eyes. You had to "stay at the top" of the school pyramid, even if it meant pushing others down. This holds true, today, for the majority of society. 

I look back on that, and all of the other megabitch things I've done since then. It wasn't until middle school, that I opened my bitch-eyes to the bitch-world and knew something had to change. I moved to a new school, so I could basically start over. Somewhere around that time, I stopped caring about being watched. It's cute, I had my first play. The very first time preforming in front of people. Nervous as fuck. On top of that, I had a little solo. But it was what happened during and afterwards that changed my outlook. Long story short, it raised my confidence, ever so slightly. Ok, admittedly, my dumbass self got cocky. I would beat my ass again, if I could go back in time. The cockiness evened out by 7th grade, but not before it made me lose genuine friends. Still, popularity was more important than actual friendship, at that time. What. Nonsense. All that mattered was everyone else's opinions of me. My attitude, my way of speaking, who I hung out with, every aspect of my life was molded to the cookie cutter of society at that point. And then super HUGE bitch moment of mine came up, which is another story entirely. :( 

Shaky transition, insert here. 8th grade, something, I don't know what the hell it was, but something happened. Everyone outgrew drama, because we were finally getting out of this stupid hole we've been stuck in. Everyone...was nice. Most were. Shit, another random thing I forgot to drop in; I stood up for someone somewhere there, and kind of stepped out of the cookie cutter shit, and that made an Thing is, the majority of my grade, around 50 kids, were being bitches to the one I stood up for. With 8th grade over, and high school coming up, something in my head FINALLY FUCKING CLICKED. I...really don't give a SHIT what people think of me. What really makes me happy? Who really makes me happy? Could I stand to be around people who didn't let me like what I liked? Would I be able to deal with staying silent, for something that I placed all of my faith in? No. Bam. I stopped caring what others thought of me. For the most part. I came into St. Agnes Academy with a new mindset, determined to fit in with who I wanted to fit in. Hell if some bitch judges me on the shit I put in my hair, or the shoes I wear. You whore, it won't even matter 10 years from now. I'm so fucking happy where I am right now.  Yes, there are cliques and the like, and in some ways, high school is how it is portrayed in the movies, but unlike the movies, I'm not a helpless wimp who needs a savior. Well, I do have several saviors, but still. And yes, it's not perfect, but again, that's another post.

It is on this note that I end my heated...rant(?)/explanation.

tl;dr- I don't care what anyone thinks, so expect the whole truth in this little blog. life.