Mangoes

"Whether fucking or fighting, we getting it on." - Common, in Common/Nas "Ghetto Dreams"

Almost everyday I'm at my babysitting job, the old woman whose grandchildren I run after gives a mango and sometimes Mango soda. I cannot not take the mango... so I have delicious mangoes for snacks quite a bit. The preschool boy has a little bit of a lisp and likes lying on my lap and when I hold him during thunder storms... I adore him and I think the feeling is mutual. His 11 year-old brother is mature beyond his years and 18 month old sister is the boss of the house. She likes hitting me, playing chase, and making me pick her up on a constant basis... who needs exercise when you're watching a baby? On days when I'm too sore or don't have time for my runs, it's nice to see kids. As unsentimental and often cold person as I am to adults and friends... I love kids because they're creative, they seek adventure, they're honest, they're fearless, they look to learn, and they know all about what matters.

I find life humorous... I'm a vegetarian so on the night before my birthday party, my mother, my father, and I were readying pounds upon pounds of steak-kabobs for hungry Vietnamese men, not to mention the chicken. I can't eat a lick of it but I'm growing older and further apart from my family so the bonding was nice. I never used to like cooking but I love it now... there is something awkwardly therapeutic about chopping and designing beautiful and healthy meals. It's like an art... I eat as much as a football player when I'm nervous or when I overthink so it's always nice to explore what to and not to binge on.

Hence the program to get minority women to buy healthier foods for them and their children in Maine this summer.

But beyond that, I named this post "mangoes" because I've recently rediscovered what it meant to live life with flavor... spice, fiesti-ness, passion. My home is now in suburban Maine but every once in a while when I go downtown to the housing projects where I used to live and see the Vietnamese, Sudanese, and Cambodian community I grew up... I feed off that energy.

I used to resent it because society preaches a fight for upward mobility. But often along the way people who are different from the status quo are forced to sacrifice their uniqueness, their language, their culture, and their slang to fit into this bland, acceptable nature of what an American is supposed to be.

I was the flyest, most stylish, most confident kid in that downtown elementary school filled with kids with immigrant parents and learning disabilities... it's nice to have those opinions, and love of dancing, and dressing up, and make-up, and food, and appreciation of Pan Asian, African American, African, Latino cultures and language back. I lost myself in a middle school and high school filled with children who played lacrosse and loved Eminem and teachers who taught about Washington. Even when I had a side of me that adored NaS and Malcolm X and revolution and Jazz and REAL poetry.... I wanted to fit in. And the best way to fit in is to be silent and accept.

But, I'm not a high school kid trying to express what suburban public school teachers and their children want me to express. I'm 23.
I love mangoes. I love chocolate. I love Vietnamese food and soul food. I love freshness. I love hip hop. I love high top sneakers, dresses, high heals, and culture. I love people who haven't been jaded by their money. I love cussing.

I love the chaos of housing projects more than the safety net of living next to people with 3 cars, 2 kids, a dog and a cat, and whose children wear crocs.

And I love waking up in the morning and seeing this Black and Asian woman who absolutely makes no more apologies for being outside of mainstream American (white) culture and loving people who are outside of that mainstream white culture.