Six Ten AM

Words, like many things in this society, have their moments. They trend until we forget about them. Remember when Justin Bieber popularizing  swag  in the 2010s caused an uproar and suddenly, people were debating the  real  meaning of swag? Hmm… okay, given the cultural and historical context, maybe I won’t use  swag  as an example, but we all know what I mean! That being said, it’s been  years  now, and calling women  females  is still a thing. Bathong? Aren’t we tired? Even women calling other women  females … on  Beyoncé’s  internet? Where did this trend even come from? I guess we can blame a mix of internet forums, hip-hop culture, and  alpha male  rhetoric. The word  female  has always been around in science and the military, but somewhere along the way, it got picked up in male-dominated spaces—gaming, Reddit, rap lyrics—and became less of a descriptor and more of a way to talk about women like we...

I know Kendrick Lamar made being a certified hater cool over the last year, and that’s great. But let’s run it back to when people had us all wrong—when they thought we carried hate in our hearts like a sickness, that we were miserable simply because we refused to forgive. I still stand on the idea that forgiveness is a Western concept. It has nothing to do with me. Before colonialism, our justice systems were built on balance, reciprocity, and accountability—not the moral obligation to forgive. Colonial rule, especially through Christianity, weaponized forgiveness to pacify the oppressed, discouraging resistance and justifying harm. Traditional justice was replaced with laws that framed vengeance as barbaric while upholding colonial power. Even today, reconciliation efforts prioritize forgiveness over real justice. Do your findings.  Forgiveness, as they define it, was never ours . Our justice is about restoring balance, whether through compensation, exile, or vengeance. Some peop...

  There are days when everything that could go wrong does—horribly. Today was one of those days. You all know her by the billion nicknames I have for her, but today, she will simply be my little girl. My little girl hasn’t been feeling well, and naturally, she took being a Velcro baby to new heights, practically gluing herself to my chest. Just last week, her dad and I were taking shifts carrying her day and night because she needed that comfort and care. She’s a real cuddler, just like her dad. I, on the other hand, am touch-averse. And while you can reason with a partner who craves physical touch, you can’t do that with a baby. Now, you’ll never hear me call my daughter “difficult.” For one, I don’t think it’s fair. And two, I refuse to associate negative emotions with someone who cannot take care of herself and has only been alive for all of nine months. It’s a mean and ridiculous sentiment. Until the day comes when I know  she’s  the drama—meaning we’ve raised her wel...

I had a version of this piece sitting in my drafts—a more charged version that addressed the negative attention I received during my pregnancy. That was written by a different version of me, fueled by none other than postpartum rage. I know and recognize when I write, think, or speak from a place of anger. While I’ll never suppress my anger (it has its purpose), I’ve learned to feel it, let it go, and move forward. Anger often serves as a clue to the real issue: Am I hurt? Embarrassed? You know, the usual suspects. Today, I write from a more lighthearted perspective because I stumbled upon a quote. I don’t remember it word for word, but it went something like: “We give people way too much credit for having malicious intent.” And it’s true. People say all kinds of things for all kinds of reasons. Of course, intention doesn’t erase impact—that’s not what I’m saying. I’m not justifying ignorance, insensitivity, or outright dumbbitchery (mine included). But sometimes, it’s better to laug...

I have to laugh. I love a bit of irony—it’s good for one’s morale. This was sitting in my drafts, but at this point, I have nothing to lose. It was a few days before Christmas when my mom arrived with my brothers in tow. The following day, I inserted myself into their plans to go to the mall because my own plans got canceled. At home, my cousin was presumed asleep. By the time I thought to ask if he wanted to tag along, everyone was already outside, and the Indrive was here. Did I feel a little bad? Yeah, a little. But it didn’t seem that serious because when I asked earlier if he had any plans, he replied with an “I don’t know.” As soon as we got to the mall, I received a phone call from my adoptive mother. She asked where we were, and when I told her, she got to the real purpose of her call: “Why did you leave my son behind?” She started going in on me about how we should’ve invited him, how we could leave him behind when we were all out as a family. And that’s when I said, “How man...

Happy New Year, everyone! This year, I’m kicking off the blog on a positive note—no festive chaos, just pure gratitude and reflection. Let’s dive in. When I was pregnant, some people thought it was funny to tease me with the idea that my daughter would be my “mini-me karma.” You know the drill: “Your daughter is going to be just like you—good luck!” It’s a trope that many women with daughters face, this idea that we’re doomed to relive our mischief or shortcomings through them. Because of who I am, those folks were convinced my daughter would be my reckoning. Well, guess what? The joke’s on them. Maybe I’ve said this before (forgive me if I’m repeating myself—terrible memory here), but my girl is an absolute wonder. I adore her infant personality, her confident curiosity, and her sheer joy in exploring the world. And it’s not just love—I like her. I genuinely enjoy spending time with her. Watching my little quirks pop up in her makes me laugh, and no, she doesn’t feel like ...