The Beautiful Ones

What we did and what we wore was ours, pure and rarely simple. They had to look at us. They had no choice… 

We are the beautiful people…who scooped mud from the red earth and moulded our hair into sculptures that inspired and educated their masters. We are the beautiful ones who took what they saw as only a tablecloth and wore it as a skirt then as a shawl, then a gown then a crown, then at day’s end use it as a tablecloth and dine naked in our loveliness.
So to us, what’s a pair of jeans but another canvas on which to paint our portrait or another page of a journal to write our endless memoirs?…We turned all their punishment and persecution into possibility.

 – Michaela Angela Davis



About four weeks ago, my family eagerly awaited the birth of my nephew. I will quickly admit that I was having a fairly crappy day and this was the one good thing I had to look forward to. Or so I thought.

Anyway, that evening, while looking through the pictures and video clips from my bro-in-law, I wondered what kind of aunt I would be. Which was strange because I already have plenty of nieces and nephews. So I’m already an aunt. Why was this different? Because deep down a part of me felt like maybe I haven’t been the best Aunt to his older brother. (A role that I actually have to just define for myself ’cause I have no clue what it entails) Like his parents were raising him a certain way and my being was disrupting that instead of enhancing it.

So while these and many other thoughts were swirling in my head, I get invited to the kitchen for pancakes. (I live in a backpackers) There is a huge stack of pancakes on the table. Along with syrup, lemon juice, butter and cinnamon. I don’t remember the last time I ate pancakes, but I grab myself a plate and sit down. The late night chatter and laughter from the other guests is soothing. People dish and leave. Others stay. A syncopation of sorts.

In between mouthfuls, my hair is decorated with fallen flowers while a guy takes pictures. I don’t remember pancakes ever tasting this great. I smile and wish my nephew a Happy Birthday. When he’s much much older, we’ll celebrate his day every year by eating pancakes. And he’ll think I’m weird for it. But I won’t care. ☺