LOVE HER!
*****URGENT! PLEASE SIGNAL BOOST! FIVE-YEAR OLD GIRL ABDUCTED FROM WEST PHILADELPHIA SCHOOL!*****
NAME: Nailla Robinson
APPEARANCE: Nailla stands about 40 inches tall and weighs around 35 pounds. She has a medium skin tone, brown eyes and black curly hair.
CIRCUMSTANCES: A woman entered the school and told school officials her name was “Tiffany,” and that she needed to take her daughter to breakfast. The woman then allegedly signed Nailla out of the office and took her away at approximately 8:50 AM on January 14, 2013. The woman was dressed in a traditional Muslim over-garment and Niqab. She has her face covered and only her eyes showing. She’s wearing gloves. She’s wearing all black. She has something white on her arm and she has a long black umbrella. The surveillance camera shows them walking through the hallway to get to the door. The next camera picks up and she’s putting her umbrella up.
More information can be found here.
If you have any information, please call 911 or contact Philadelphia Police. And, of course, SIGNAL BOOST! Some one out there knows what happened to this precious little girl. Help her come home!
(Side note: So help me, if I hear one person try to turn this into “this is why they should ban the veil!”, there will be hell to pay.)
It’s S.A.D.
I feel that someone is sitting on my chest.
Last night I got my bed and I did not sleep, instead I lay with my eyes closed processing every anxiety that I felt. I let my brain be terrorized by its own insecurities and acute ability to replay, edit and create its worst nightmares. I lay in bed catatonic. Unable to move and save myself from the self- deprecating, humiliating visions that paralyzed me. I tried to yell a couple of times, but nothing came out. I only had enough energy to open and close my eyes. I did not even have the strength to look up. To be honest, I was too afraid of facing God…anxious beyond belief of what he might say to his prodigal child. I am ashamed that I have let myself reach this point. It’s not the first time, it’s not the second time, it’s the third. The third I have let you back in hoping that “third time’s the charm” It’s not. It’s crippling. It’s dehumanizing. It’s pathetic. I have gained nothing. Nothing but a stomach ulcer and a lack of trust.
The Letter I can never Send.
Dear you.
I’ve come to realize you a Grade A, asshole. Congrats on actually receiving high marks in one area of study, because from seeing your report card in the past…These A’s are far and few between (PE, and other basic non major/core curriculum courses do not count). I realized that for the past year I have allowed you take up far too much space in my mental cavity. From praying for you to praying to get over you, I have wasted valuable dendrites, spindles and neural synapses/pathways on justifying your ridiculous behavior.
Let’s start from the beginning. Your hot and cold manner was clearly the prototype for Icyhot. I will never understand how in one second someone can be so affectionate and warm and in the next moment, Old man Winter rolls up and I am suddenly so unfamiliar? Like really? The first time that crapped happened, I thought it was just a by-product of your “confused” emotional state (which we have all been through.) however after seeing this pattern of bi-polar emotional terrorism, I should have got the hint, but no I stuck around.
Finally when my gut took over and I began to think a bit, you were renamed in my phone “Think Twice, then Don’t Do it to yourself, then You’re being F’ed with” ALL clear visual reminders that interacting with you has/will continuously be a bad idea. Then I took the step and deleted your number. Which was pointless because I have photographic memory. (Please do not flatter yourself, this talent was around way before your lame behind came into a existence.) Then suddenly this summer right before Usain Bolt and Yohan Blake ran in the Olympics, you show up at my door. and for 72 hours feign the desire to rekindle. Only to realize your feelings, that like undescended gas in one’s stomach, once “released” are forgotten. (No one seems the remember the longevity of previous discomfort once relief is provided.)
Months passed with no communication again, not even for help with your homework and yet once again you re-appear. This times with hands and lips faster than the speed of light. Holding my hand and whispering questions girls only dream about hearing. The ever romantic, ever passionate “ Is it bad that I know what that look on your face means? and “Why do we always end up here?” And with that the spell was cast, the curse undone and my lace delicates were dampened. And so we end up where we are today. With me finally realizing that you are a user and probably out right now with your bro’s cakin’ up with a few ho—-mely girls. (I really should not call other women hoe’s, as I don’t know they, but when you feeling-some-type-of-way everyone you don’t know is a bitch or a ho, so bite me) Anywho I had quite a few epiphany’s after seeing Michael Strahan and the Nicole Murphy downtown last night. (And might I add, they look great in person. )
The first epiphany. You don’t care about me. As hard as that was to write, it was harder to hear. But I am so happy that I have the realest, most brutally honest bobcats as besties because sometimes we just need to slapped into reality. You don’t care about me. I’m sure at one point you did. But ever since last year around this time you made it CLEAR, you don’t. You do not genuinely care about me. However you have been so expertly socialized that you can portray on cue whatever behavior that is needed. When you see my look of deep reflection, you know a little nuzzle in necessary, but WAIT there is a catch. if other females are present who fit your mold that all goes out the window. Not to mention, if I was sick, bedridden all weekend, and you lost your phone only to get it back again…realizing it does not make outgoing calls to me. All these previously aforementioned social behaviors are forgotten. So despite being sick and wanting to spend time with you (I am the first to admit that I am a germaphobe, however when I get sick I like people to check in on me and give the occasional hug, cuddle or bounce…behaviors I am willing to bet have never resulted in a fatal bout of pneumonia ) Anyway when I asked you to tell me how you felt about me, you instead decided to impart hurtful juvenile comments about how I should have stayed home if I was sick and washed my hair. The shit that comes out of your mouth is uncanny. So witty, so funny and yet I still can’t find myself laughing. Oh that’s right because you said that shit genuinely trying to hurt my feelings. Your honesty was not meant to clarify the situation but rather ratify that you were in control. Here is the catch. Jokes are hilarious, when meant in jest, but the second you come for me. You’re done.
Now lucky for this universe (because black woman cannot afford another caricature of the angry, crazy or unpredictable crackhead) and you, I was raised in a stable household, with God fearing parents who had common sense, balance and love mixed together in such a fashion that I learned from day one how to act, what to say and how to say it. Also lucky for you I did not inherit my Dad’s or sister’s callous tongue. Which if I had would have love executed you by way of oral annihilation and laid your lame ass out a long time ago.
That being said I have decided that no matter how long my list of grievances are and how excited I was to list them out and make them known, my breath and sanity are too valuable to waste any more time in your toxic webs of lies, deceit and disingenuous nature. You are cute, but looks aren’t everything. Your character is and from what you have showed me, the one consistent thing I can say on your behalf, is that it has a lot of growing to do. It is not established or rooted and anything of substance. The ideas you propagate and perpetuate about your life “mission and morality” are all excised and borrowed from the works of others in the most haphazard and psuedo-scholarly fashion. In all honesty, you are a farce. Your compassion for the diaspora and your “brothers” are all cover-ups for that fact you have no idea who you are, and if someone were to ask you who you are beyond the tattoos and your name you would have a difficult time giving a convincing answer of truth. You know no truth. You live a life in a grey where you take no responsibilities for others in an attempt to leave yourself blameless; yet the reality is this. *clears throat* You’re a jerk and an ass and I no longer see your “potential.” I see you where you’re at right now and I am no longer willing to put up with it, make excuses for it or hope that is changes, for me, because it won’t. I am finally ready to pivot and leave your ass right where I see it. On the threshold to nowhere, busy, but never accomplished. I’m out.
P.S. Oh and by the way, I meant to tell you…No tea, no shade, but $20 doesn’t cover two adult movie tickets at ANY New York City Regal theater my dude. Zero. You owe me a balance of $9.36. For friends I don’t keep track, but you sir are a stranger. I’ll let the happy hour tab slide for now…consider it charity.
