Typical 20something

 I sat in the chair wincing as my hairstylist pulled on my tender headed scalp. I do not know if it was the comfort I felt over the nostalgia of being in a salon chair in someone's kitchen, the impending aftermath of the hair appointment (a likely immediate regret at making a permanent hair change), or the smell of hair grease faintly in the background, but it was at this moment I had a realization...I am evolving. 

 

Black history month is over and believe it or not... I am still Black! This particular Black history month meant so much to me. Last year was a HARD year to be Black. I do not need to go into detail with why, because you all already know. Despite it being particularly hard this year, that doesn't mean there weren't moments of Black joy. In the year of 2021, I want to remind myself every month to focus on Black joy and the parts of being Black that mean the most to me, from my most current years and my childhood. I want to tell a story from a time in my life where my Blackness was seen as different and how I leaned into it for comfort. I present to you one of my favorite memories...

*This Blog is inspired by the protest against gentrification in Brooklyn, New York. The chant they sang has not left my head since I saw the video of the protest* 

“BLACK PEOPLE USED TO LIVE HERE. BLACK PEOPLE USED TO LIVE HERE. FIRE FIRE GENTRIFIER. FIRE FIRE GENTRIFIER.” 

I lived in a very special place. Prior to the 60s, my side of town was once inhabited by the white elite. But, as Black families started moving in, unsurprisingly white people moved out with the quickness. Left faster than a turbojet...they were gone. Two adjacent neighborhoods ended up having two very different stories. 

Guilt is an interesting emotion. Unlike sadness, anger, and loneliness... it matches perfectly with anxiety and eats at your soul in small fragments taking minutes off of your life, feeding into the disease of overthinking.

 

This situation was different

I haven’t been one of the only Black peoplez anywhere in a while, and surely not the only Latina. Well... I hadn’t been, until I started my graduate MBA program in the fall of 2018. I did attend a white ass high school, and also white ass undergrad, but I left them behind for the diverse and black ass (although being gentrified) city of DC. And although I adored my time in the Chocolate city, it was time for a change. 

Hello friends, foes, hoes and bros. HAPPY NEW YEAR and  I hope you all are well. In the wake of the new year, new me and my graduation in May, I have been spending a lot of time thinkingggggg. Recently I have been having a lot of conversations with friends regarding this strange place in our life that is these late twenties. Twenty sunthins seem to continuously struggle as you can see from my previous blogs, but I feel like everyday in adulting I find a new way to be stressed tf out. A few recent conversations made me think of what I wanted to write for you all today and I really hope that ju all can relate.

Hello peeps and creeps, bros and hoes. As I slave away at my summer internship while boppin around DC experiencing my hot girl summer with my city boy, I realized I have been receiving about fittylevenmillion questions on my Grad School journey. I figured I haven't written in a while, so why not give my totally unbiased, completely professional opi...

My elementary/middle school was a small Charter school on a Taco Bell parking lot behind a community center. At lunch we played double dutch with extension cords, recess behind a big rig parked in the lot where we gossiped about dirty books, did laps around the parking lot at Physical Education, and for lunch ate hot cheetos with chilli on top (against my parents wishes and knowledge). When my parents decided it was time for me to move on to a new school in 8th grade I was pleased and smug. I wore my new fancy private school shirt on the last day of charter school and paraded around the parking lot with pride. I could not wait to dip. I struggled at my new school at first; it was hard to make friends and I got made fun of for my clothes and the way I spoke. But after a year of catered Panera lunch and adjusting to the air conditioned buildings, upscale art courses and fully stocked library, I adjusted and made myself at home. Soon I forgot about my previous experiences and  had a new standard for how I felt my educational experience should be. My new experiences became the norm and I never looked back.

It's 2010 on a Tuesday night. We are in a tiny conference style room on the 5th floor of Fluor Tower at USC. This floor known as Somerville is reserved every year for black freshman students who want an HBCU experience in a PWI university. Tuesday nights the group 100 Black Men meet to discuss a variety of happenings in the black community on campus. Despite the title of the club, the meetings usually have just as many women as men involved. Girls come per invites by the senior boys and to simply not miss out on anything interesting happening on the floor. These meetings usually start off civil and end in “debates” or screaming sessions about the hot topics of the times. I like to think of these days as the simple times, the “prequel to modern twitter”.

HEYYYYY FRENSSSS. So it has been a while. Between my grad school program, lack of energy, and frustration over a lot of things I took a lil break from the blog, BUT IM BACK AGAIN AND IM BETTA.

 So I did a lil insta poll to see what people wanted to hear about n shit and I got a lot of responses about the climate in the black community and the seeming tension between black men and women in here Amerikkka. I usually like to keep my personal politics out of the public because of backlash I don't want or need, but the people asked so I provide (plus my audience is small and quaint, which has its pros and cons lol).

 SO the other day a male acquaintance of mine,

I remember the first time I was ever truly personally insulted for another POC as a child. I was listening to the Miseducation of Lauryn Hill and in her hit song “That Thing”, during her verse dedicated to the 90s women of the world who needed to do better, she mentions that one of the problems of black women in modern society is we get fake nails “done by Koreans” (instead of possibly embracing our natural beauty?). I remember thinking to myself even in my childhood mind that she was a dumb bih BECAUSE nail salons were primarily owned by the Vietnamese anyway, and 

Hey Yallllllll what’s really good? So I have officially moved out here to NOLA and have been here for the last 2 weeks or so. Of course my lame ass has like no friends besides the creatures lurking around my apartment (Wasps, Spiders and “Palmetto bugs” OH MY!)... and a few cool peeps I know through mutual friends so I have been spending a lot of time alone. To cure some of this boredom I decided to do my fav activity which is attending the movies alone looking busted with that student discount ready okuurrrttt. This week I decided to check out the movie “Sorry to Bother You” which seemed hip, trendy and socially aware. 

This month has been hard. I am moving in less than a month and my shit is not together. Although my move is for an extremely positive reason (Graduate School) the stress of the big change has caused me to develop a funk. This funk defies logic so despite having a lot of positive things going on I have resorted to my 14 year old Emo self and done what any young black emo would do...listened to Paramore. It is a known fact that all black people not so secretly love Paramore. Considering their music is about a permanent existential crisis it’s relatable af.  

First and foremost I know I am late. In social media time Childish Glover gyrating around a warehouse and shooting people happened like 2 years ago, I know yall, I know. The thing is when this video first came out a lot of people immediately contacted me like you HAVE to write about this. I was initially hesitant because ju and I know that before the video was even done 25 million think pieces were already written and uploaded to the Internets. That just ain't me.

Hello Honeys and Haters. On this good day I came here in this safe space to discuss the Cardi effect. If you know me you know ya girl is a Cardi B fan. I always been and I continue to stan even through her continous screw ups (offset you know what you did). I love me a good round the way girl (New New from ATL is actually me...ask my dad how many times i tried to casually finesse my way to the hood)...so when she became instafamous I had to hit that follow cuz

I won’t lie y'all, a bih has had writers block recently. I just look at a blank screen until I fall asleep and wake up pissed and annoyed. I keep wanting to comment on all the amazing and interesting things going on in pop culture today, but I keep erasing my words not knowing if I am crossing any lines.

Which brings me to this: To be Woke or nah.

I sit in my freezing room in Arlington, Virginia, cold, upset, and passive aggressively cursing my roomates for not believing in central heating. As the last bit of warmth escapes my frail body, I sit, wondering if I will ever feel my toes again. It is in this vulnerable state that I realize I have a secret. I, Zenissa Roddy...had a positive thought about moving back to my hometown LA. Now this may seem strange, but anyone who knows me knows that in addition to spending several hours of my day working, journaling, and stressing, I take at least a full hour to talk shit about my hometown.

When I moved out of the city of (ark)angels, I literally threw my middle finger to the skyline as

I haven't been writing, I haven't been sleeping, I've mostly been stressing BUT finally I see the light.

December 14, 2017 I discovered I got into one of my top choice MBA programs. This means I am going into the New Year and holiday season employed at a job I enjoy, with a grad program secured, my skin and edges flourishing and parents in agreement with my crazy plans that actually made some sense for once.  I still have my lower 

One thing I’ve learned since I have become a pseudo adult, is that most people out here really don’t have their shit together. This fact took me a while to figure out, because people will finesse the fugg outta you to think otherwise. It’s like those *Instagram models who take bomb ass pics but you peep they Walmart mattress is on the floor in the background with star wars sheets. That ass still fat though. All jokes aside, the idea of finessing people into thinking

The conference:

I wasn't always an introvert but in the last few years the stress of a rough transition period has caused me to sink inwards and find a home in myself. As excited as I was about this conference, the idea of having to be my best outgoing self for four days in a row from 10am-3am was terrifying. A panic attack was avoided when I realized a college friend would also be attending the conference alone. At least I could have a familiar face to associate with when the idea of having to sell myself as a normal human being became daunting. Look at God. I arrived in my best airport chic fit, and with the exception of my rose water spilling in my suitcase,

The Journey… If you told a young(er) me that at 24 years old I would attempt to actualize a career in the music business, I would have dismissed you...loudly. Truthfully, I am pretty much my child-selves worst nightmare, a true millennial. I am catfishing my way through life, attempting to pursue my creative dreams, and somehow be successful in one...