Reflections

Queenie: Respect isn’t unreasonable

I hadn’t read a book properly for ages, so quarantine is a perfect reason to cram a lot of imagination into my day. Like a novice I had only just finished Malorie Blackman’s ‘Noughts & Crosses’, so reading a book from an author amongst the new wave of female Black British author’s ( who is also from Jamaican descent wood woop!) was a logical step. Thank you Candice Carty-Williams! I’m very glad I took a chance on the rave reviews, Queenie is a great story and one that needed to be told.

On my first introduction to the title character I found her quite agitating, her neediness and limp rationality of life made me want to shake her. However, like everyone else in the world Queenie is a multi-faceted human. Even though we try to portray ourselves as unproblematic beings with only two sides, strong & strong in vulnerability. But what about those awkward edges and our personal ‘-isims?’ Queenie laid hers shockingly bare and although she didn’t want to it does require more strength and gives power to her name. I suppose that’s why she was easy to pick on- guilty. I also grew annoyed when she insisted on being desperate for her ex-boyfriend Tom. Rejection is a painful lesson and its good that she saw her faults however, he could have done more to stand up for her. Not all of her desires were UNREASONABLE.

One of my preferred elements of the book was how the black female characters were recognisable in my own life. My favourite was Kyazike as she is an amalgamation of myself and other friends. I commended her fierceness, authenticity and loyalty. I was ready to back her beef when she wanted to duppy certain man! To the untrained eye (and in my opinion) she is a caricature of a young black female Londoner, but I saw as a woman who was simply herself and we should not be apprehensive of this quality.

Furthermore I appreciated the growth of Queenie’s grandma. Many old Caribbean’s diminish the woes of our generation as they don’t feel it compares to their own traumas. Therefore I was glad she made the step to even believe in mental illness and that our version of suffering is valid.

Simply put, we as readers are put in the mind of a young woman as she combats and embraces her life. I’d need a podcast to scratch the surface of the book but hopefully you understand the reason this story normalises Black women’s lives and the different shades it comes in.

Reflections

Your cracked eyesight is not my business

I had a revelation last year. Caring in vain is dumb, and I’m clinically dumb for subscribing. Loose here!

As a free woman I looked back and let go of many of my worries and wanted to slap myself up for taking them on. KMT, *cuts eye*.

Worry makes the heart sick and doesn’t add a single better day to our lives. Next thing you know, you’re spiralling with a million questions like: Am I likeable enough? Approachable? Banter strong enough without being over confident? Should I be this funny? Blah Blah crap blah.

Begin to realise that someone’s reaction to you, or lack thereof, may have little or nothing to do with you personally. If you’re emitting vibes which aren’t reciprocated this isn’t something for you to agonise over. Of course this makes sense regarding strangers, if this is your friend then that’s a conversation. We shouldn’t take on the weight of everyone else then wonder why our shoulders are heavy. Furthermore no one is obliged to you and vice versa.

So instead of wondering if you fulfill the needs of the crowd, wonder if you’ve fulfilled the needs of yourself.