Wednesday, April 26, 2006


If you've been reading my blog a while, you know one very important thing that makes me who I am: My mother is white, and my father is black.

And not only is my mother white, she's a traditional, somewhat conservative, white woman from Texas. She kind of fell upon my father; it was not planned or intended. I think she just thought she'd try something new.

My father was gone by the time I was two, and my mom was left to raise me alone.

Througout my life people have asked the same questions:

So, what are you?

What race do you consider yourself?

Are you black?

Is that really your mom?

Why are you trying to act white?

Why are you the only black girl in AP classes?

Why do you only date black boys/men?

What do you put in your hair?

Do you think you're better than everyone else?

Is life hard for you?

Wouldn't you like to know...

I love my life. I love my mother. I love my father. I love me.

How Important Is A Person's Race?

Posted by Jaimie :: 5:58 PM :: 25 Peeked Into My Diary:

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Tuesday, April 25, 2006

Dancer In The Dark

One thing that I have learned after being a teacher for 8 years is that every human being has a talent. My talent is dancing.

For some unknown reason, my mother put me in dance class at age 3. I don't remember much about it, except that there was a recital and my mother was there, smiling proudly and snapping away with her cheap camera.

I continued taking dance my whole childhood. My dance teacher told my mom, "You know, she really is quite talented. She's one of the best in the class." I beamed at the compliment.

In high school I was a cheerleader, but this was not a true dance experience. The moves were regimented and stiff and there was not much room for improvisation. It was not until college that I was able to really explore dance.

In my college dance class, our teacher was highly eccentric. We had to dance as if we were machines, statues, and food. It was definitely interesting.

James likes to watch me dance. He seems intrigued that my body can move the way that it does without skipping a beat. "How do you do that?" he asks. "I don't know," I respond. "It's just so easy for me. I don't even think about it."

What is your talent?

Posted by Jaimie :: 10:35 PM :: 8 Peeked Into My Diary:

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Saturday, April 22, 2006

He Made Me Do It

One night, in 1998, after discovering pictures and love letters from another girl to my boyfriend, I decided to get a tattoo.

The next morning I called my friend Veronica and told her the news about my discovery. "Why don't you come out here?" she asked between my wails. "We can go to lunch and hang out," she continued. "Out here" was Pacoima, a true ghetto of the valley. "Ok," I answered, wiping away my tears.

After exiting the off ramp I passed a tattoo parlor. It was at this moment that I decided that I was going to get a tattoo and that my tattoo would define me. As soon as Veronica opened her front door I said, "I'm getting a tattoo." "Oookkaayy," Veronica said slowly. " mean here, in Pacoima?" she asked, surprised. "Yeah, here," I answered.

I described where the tattoo parlor was, and Veronica shook her head fast. "Oh, no, I'm not taking you there. That place is super-ghetto. I know this other place, up the hill." She began describing the tattoo parlor, telling me about how there were sofas and air conditioning. "Don't most places have sofas and air conditioning?" I asked Veronica as she led me outside. "Not in Pacoima," she answered.

We got in the car and drove to the tattoo parlor. No one was inside except the tattoo artist, and Veronica was right-there were nice comfy sofas and the parlor was a comfortable cool compared to the valley heat. "So, what kind of tattoo do you want?" the tattoo artist asked. "I think I want something in Chinese," I answered. He pulled out a book filled with Chinese characters.

Veronica and I poured over the books. There were so many characters, but I had an idea of what I wanted. While looking over the characters Veronica said:

Veronica: You know, Jaimie, I can't believe (name withheld) did this to you.

me: I know. (tears welling up in my eyes)

Veronica: I mean, doesn't he know what kind of woman you are? And whoever that girl is, she's just some tramp. You have to be a tramp to mess around with a guy who is already with someone.

me: Well, maybe she didn't know.

Veronica: Yeah, right. She knew. I mean, you're one of the truest women I know.

That was it. I found my tattoo.

I walked over to the tattoo artist. "Ok, I know what I want. I want my tattoo to read 'true woman', in Chinese."

"That's dope," the tattoo artist said, nodding his many-pierced head.

He took Veronica and I to a back room. The pain at the small of my back was unbelievable, but through it all, I kept thinking, true woman. After it was over, I turned and stood in front of Veroinca and the tattoo artist and showed them my new tattoo. "True woman," they both said in unison.

Thanks to Veronica, the tattoo artist , and people in my life who have made differences in my life: good and bad, serious and hilarious.

Do You Have A Tattoo?

Posted by Jaimie :: 7:00 PM :: 23 Peeked Into My Diary:

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Sunday, April 16, 2006

You Love Me, Don't You?

Hey Father,

It's me.

You know, you really surprised me with this one. I wasn't expecting it at all.

Are You testing me? Are You just seeing how much I can take? Is this funny to You? Are You sitting up there, laughing at me, watching me and how I'll handle all of this?

You're quite humorous Father. I mean, You took this really great thing I did, and turned it completely upside down and backwards, just to see how I'd do with this completely ridiculous challenge of my sanity.

You know me--You know I'm a survivor. It's in my blood. I don't give up. I'll never forget that it is You who keeps me going when I feel defeated. It is You who I turn to, even though there is so much about You I still don't understand.

It's okay though. I still love ya God...


Why Is God So Confusing?

Posted by Jaimie :: 7:09 PM :: 15 Peeked Into My Diary:

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