black is Black is social is black is African is not Black

 

When in doubt, wear your identity. It never goes out of style, it is always slimming, and when your identity’s Black, it goes with everything. Whether you are wearing leopard print or a pre-dominantly-White-fictitiously-left-wing-political-party-needing-a-severe-makeover, a Black identity is your best bet for looking great.

During the 2008 Presidential Campaign, many issues regarding identity have arisen and rightly so. Hillary Rodham Clinton has been ostracized by men claiming to be women, commonly referred to as Radical Feminists, for adopting male attributes to achieve political gains.

For many Feminists (specifically Difference Feminists), it’s not about Clinton individually – it’s about the arrangement. There is a strong belief in the enforcement by the male-orientated system, on women, the ridding of individual qualities and the adoption of so-called masculine qualities to fulfill their public identities.  It’s ultimately about respect – women and their so-called attributes getting the respect and recognition they are entitled to in a domain outside the local strip club.

While Clinton’s genitalia has been of great interest to millions during this campaign, willingly and unwillingly, the issue regarding Democratic candidate, and Clinton’s biggest rival, Barack Obama has been far more emphatic and controversial. According to Debra Dickerson, a writer for Salon, Barack Obama is not Black. His ancestry does not trace him back to the good old days of the slave trade; his father immigrated to the country from Kenya in the 1950s. Because of his more recent inauguration into American society, and lack of a horrific oppressive past in the country, he hasn’t dealt with the identity issues and inherent sense of inequality that has become a part of the social identity of being Black. Obama’s African, and apparently the Blacks in the United States are just extremely dark-skinned individuals with a certain social history who happen to have some far-away link with Africa but aren’t really African.

The case made by Obama’s critics has several legitimate points. Firstly, he is definitely not Black or black or noir. No one’s actually black, except for the Nigerians. Obama is definitely more of a Sandy Taupe mixed with Ecru Beige and a dash of Sienna. If I were God/evolution, I would have added some Light Khaki for sake of highlighting his strong, warm-toned eyes.

Secondly, social history is a legitimate part of any ethnicity. Jews who were not kicked out of Israel way back in the day whilst seeing the fall of the Temple or did not experience the Holocaust are not really Jews. You’re not actually White in the United States if your ancestors never owned a slave or if they supported the Abolitionist movement. An Aboriginal not living on a reserve? Not a real Aboriginal; he just won at life’s Russian roulette.

The most legitimate point by critics of Obama’s candidacy is that he is perfect for the Democratic Party which is consistently trying to show itself as socially progressive, and inadvertently, intellectually regressive. The lean, white leftist has been seeking a way to distance himself from the stigma of his arbitrary yet socially and historically defined Whiteness. Barack O’bama (a suggested change for the Candidate to subtly embrace his whiteness) has provided these under-fed cats a progressive line:

“We have a Black candidate, and you do not. Na-na na-na boo boo.”

Ted Kennedy refused to further comment.

Regardless of how Brent O’Barry is viewed, he still has the support of millions of Blacks and liberal political science university students with B averages.

So, what does the future hold for Blake O’Blarney? Sweater-vests? New-England style tweed jackets? A Kennedy accent? Saturday afternoons at the club playing croquet? Skin bleach? A Presidency?  Whatever it may hold, the 2008 Presidential race (and Race) is not the only thing which will continue to be discussed. Is Hilary a womyn or a Woman? Is Ron Paul a Republican or a Solution to the World’s Problem Known as American Interference? Is the Giuliani riding on the coat-tails of 9/11 for his platform or is he riding on the coat-tails of 9/11 for his platform?

Barack Obama’s not Black but he is black. In fashion terms, he’s that Gucci bag you bought by the sketchy Bengali in some alley in Rome as opposed to the Gucci you could have spent much more on with the money you’ve slaved over only to have the bag freed and faced with continuous institutional and social discrimination at the hands of the fat, rich all-seeing White man.

So, if you’re black you can be Black. If you’re African you can be black but never Black. And if you’re Black and black you cannot be African.

But, then again, maybe it’s just all about jealousy. Maybe the socially acceptable Blacks are jealous that Obama can get a cab, and they can’t.

 

ACHTUNG! EXPLOITATIONGUZSCHLEIFEN UN HEIMERSCHMIT! Etc.

So ..the children of Holocaust victims are apparently suing Germany for psychiatric compensation.

http://www.reuters.com/article/worldNews/idUSL1715469820070717?feedType=RSS

Seriously.

Now, the Jewish Holocaust was horrible. I don’t place it above or below anything — genocide of any sort is horrendous, from Armenia to Rwanda …extermination of innocent human life for any reason is inexusable. Unfortunately, it seems, that many feel otherwise. Now, I’m all for compensation; if they hurt you, they must pay. Yeah sure, sounds good. Whatever makes you sleep at night, I say. My problem comes in when people put importance on certain suffering over other and when that suffering is exploited.

In my own opinion, the worst apparent genocide of the century has been the Rwandan genocide. The Armenian genocide was horrible, and is made worse by the fact that Turkey, everybody’s favourite second-hand-European-wannabe state, flat out denies it. The Jewish holocaust was horrible because of the methodology which was used to carry out the murder of millions. You had Pol Pot kill milions in Cambodia. You had Mao kill over 50 million; Stalin over 20 million. Mussolini in Ethiopia. Idi Amin in Uganda. Nixon/Johnson in Vietnam. And on and on and on. The genocides of the past century are truly endless to list, with disputed numbers and much argument. Ultimately, none is upon a higher pedestal than the others. Mao having killed over 50 million does not make the Chinese genocide greater than Mussolini’s 300,000 or so. Murder is murder. Hatred is hatred. You cannot compare it, nor can you lessen it. It’s something I find hard to argue against. But back to Rwanda. I’m not saying Rwanda is the worst genocide in terms of numbers or methodology — it’s the worst because it has been the most recent (aside from the Iraqi genocide, which many people would argue that the victims have not been racially pinpointed, and were casualties of war ..I would beg to differ greatly, but for simplicity’s sake …I’ll save it for another time). I’m not going to explain the entire conflict, because, quite honestly, you should know. If you don’t know, then be ashamed of yourself for being a complete idiot. The Rwandan genocide was one which could have been prevented. Everyone knew what was going on, everyone was watching on their telescreens; safe and warm at home, on the couch. But no one did anything. Over one million lives were lost in 1994. Soon there’ll be the ‘final’ numbers for the Iraqi genocide, and then the final numbers for Darfur. Those aren’t complete genocides yet, you see — they’re in the process. The most recent genocide is always the worst genocide, I believe, because it’s one emphatic reminder, everytime, that we just never learn; that we’ve let a huge portion of our fellow beings down.

So, genocides are continuing to happen. The Jewish Holocaust taught us “never again”, did it not? So why again, and again, and again? And why so much importance to it in comparison to the other genocides? Why isn’t anyone reading the names of the million or so killed in Rwanda on my campus? Why didn’t I learn about the Rwandan, Armenian, Ugandan, Chinese, Russian, Aboriginal genocides in High school history classes? It’s vital that you note that I’m not, at all, trying to diminish the importance and significance of the Jewish Holocaust — but I am asking why has the importance and significance of the others been diminished? As a, you know, human being, I find it offensive that some genocides are more important than others. That some are more worth our attention, than others.

And this is why the asking for psychiatric compensation by the children of holocaust victims troubles me. I would understand and entirely support pyschiatric care for direct victims — but second generation? Why does the word exploitation appear before my eyes? Not to sound harsh, but the families of the Holocaust victims have been given much more than any other genocide victims’ families–including a whole country. I don’t hear the children of the Muslims and Hindus on those infamous trains during 1947 asking for any compensation. Did the Vietnamese ever ask for anything? I wonder if the survivors of the Rwandan genocide will ever ask. I wonder if they will ever be given anything. I usually wish for the best in people ..but I feel that perhaps a good lawyer found these individuals and decided to capitalize on a horrible genocide.

I hope they don’t win the case. Germany has paid greatly for it’s past. Canada and US (including Britain and France), haven’t given really anything to the victims of Aboriginal (Native-North-American) genocides which encompasses more than 80 million by some counts; instead, they’ve ghettoized and intoxicated what is left of the Aboriginals. Germany has paid billions in reparations, lost major nationalistic pride, compromised freedom of speech in it’s state, and has to face decades more of international humiliation at the hands of young males on the internet because of a man with a really emo haircut and an even worse moustache. The US and Canada briefly mention the blood on their hands in their history books. If these individuals do win the case, in my own opinion, it’ll be a slap across the face of every other victim or relative of a victim of a genocide or war.

Again, I’m not trying to diminish the Jewish genocide; I’m just trying to figure out why we’ve degraded and forgotten the rest.

Check (him out) Mate (after marriage)

The great thing about being some one who doesn’t date it that you’re able to take the objective viewpoint, analyse and critique, and understand relations between people at a much better, clearer level. It’s dope. It’s the reason my friends consider me the “go to” person for relationship person …seriously.

A prominent finding of mine in terms of what screws up relationships and the minds of those involved is the amount of ‘games’ which are played between the two parties. It’s just nauseating, and when you’ve seen such games played out over and over again especially with the same people ..you ask begin to ask yourself: Why do I know these idiots?

So, what I’ve decided to do is gather a bunch of my personal favourite games — games which you should play before you enter a relationship and/or are in the initial stages of one. Games, just like in politics and economics (boo game theory), can help you discover potential outcomes and the behaviour of the actors; they require thought and the way you play them is very microcosmic.

1. It’s important to know how articulate your potential lover will be; a limited vocabulary makes for limited, redundant and boring conversation. I want my man to be able to use words like: nectareous, alimental, and thermogenic just to describe the dinner he just had. One of the best games to play to determine his vocab prowness is Scrabble! Traditional, clean, good fun. What’s not to like? Plus, you can also determine how much sex he or she has on his/her mind — look for double entendres in the words that your potential significant other throws out there. Seriously — Scrabble can get pretty perverted. It’s not a game to play with the grandparents sometimes.

2. Fiscal skills are dire. If you’re going to be spending a lot of time with this person(i.e. your whole damn life), you need to know how your potential other handles his/her purchases, bills, are they frivolous, and whether or not they make overall good investments. For this I suggest another classic: Monopoly! If they end up in jail, expect future trouble and kick em out. Don’t forget to throw a soap-on-a-rope at their head.
3. The mind is a terrible thing to waste. It’s also a terrible thing to not advance, thus leaving all those who interact with you in agonizing pain. Stupidity is not cool. Cranium provides the ultimate intellectual test — you get trivial pursuit, pictionary and charades all in one! So, bring out the fair trade soda, and Cran’ on!

4. Communication is KEY! This will ultimately make or break a relationship as it is the foundation of every kind of relationship. If you are unable to communicate with someone, a romantic partner or other, then your understanding and compassion towards one another is weakened and limited. And for this important aspect, I suggest a few games. Pictionary! You are forced to guess what your partner is trying to convey without the use of any words, only through what he or she is trying to draw out for you. This is also helpful if you want to know about his or her artistic and creative skills — not everyone can draw out the word “dignity”. Charades provides the same advantages — except is a little tougher because not only are words not allowed, but there are no pictures involved either. Just body language — which is good if you want for the relationship to progress; body language is the hardest language to understand (aside from goddamn math) and often results in many misunderstandings: did his shrug mean he’s happy? Oh, he’s not happy. oh god, he hates me. OH GOD, I’M FAT, I’M UGLY, MY BABY MAKER IS BREAKING AWAY SLOWLY, WHAT MAN WILL HAVE ME? etc. Body language is a horrible, horrible thing.

5. Fights are a natural part of a healthy relationship — they cause us to re-examine things, to vent, and to critique those we love whilst recieving the critique ourselves; anger and tears can often bring two people closer together. Of course, no one really likes to fight. I mean, come on, unless you’re into the whole Sado-masochism thing, you freak. Anyway, there are games you can play in order to be prepared for what your potential significant other may throw at you during a fight. Strategy games! The best ones are checkers and chess! Checkers is great, because it’s so racist. Red vs. Black? It’s like the dream game of a 1820s White land owner, damn injuns ‘n negroes! Chess is a little more cliche in terms of racism, but cool because Black gets to have its own kingdom, political hierarchy and all! Plus, chess is pretty pro-Feminism — the King’s this total weak slob, and the Queen is pretty much your biggest weapon to protect. Although ..I guess you can read that as incredibly sexist ..using the Woman as a tool. Anyway! Checkers is a fairly quick game, representing those quick “before going out” arguments, so it can show you the moves that s/he will try out. Chess is more tedious, thus representative of those long ..long, nasty fights that bring out the tears and chocolate. Look at all the pieces as representatives of the different sorts of arguments that are used in a fiery fight. The Pawns are just those small, petty little insults and arguments that we just throw out in the heat of the moment–and eventually, we run out of those; they’re useless, really. The Bishop is that ‘transcendental’ point that we always make in any argument — it has nothing to do with the big argument at hand, however has everything to do with the bigger picture. It’s pretty useless in the short term, but later on you will realize its importance and will think about ways you could have better utilized it. The Knight is that point at which we become tired of fighting, and hold the other person as to momentarily reconcile — but we know it’s useless, although it makes some pretty dope moves and can sometimes be really successful. The second most powerful piece is the Rook. The Rook is what we drive in right before using the big guns. It begins to get nasty, and much more deceitful at this point. Sweat is breaking all over you, and the time has slowed down. Then ..you use the Queen, your final weapon and last hope. If she’s gone, your hope lies in the lesser of your weapons ..this is your rationality, your big point, your argument. If you lose this, you’ve pretty much have lost the game unless you’re talented at utilizing the other pieces to keep the King, your ego, in tact.

7. I’d recommend the 90’s good time game of Twister for *raises eyebrows repeatedly*

Flexbility is important when you’re cleaning the apartment — being able to reach above the cupboards is sexy.

7. Ambitious people are so hot. Seriously. I love people with drive and a thirst to achieve something they definitely don’t have a chance in hell of achieving. Risk is the BEST game EVER to play. PERIOD. It will show you not only how strategically advanced your other is, but will show you also how deceitful, how ambitious, and how in control he or she can be. Seriously. Just try one game, and if you’re not attracted to them — then you clearly need to consider changing your sexuality to “asexual” on myspace, cause yeah ..just ..yeah.

8. Clue’s a good game to play. Nothing particularly relationship-y about it. It’s just fun. The movie’s pretty dope as well. Check it.

9. Solitaire. If he or she is good at it, dump ‘em right then and there. Clearly they’ve spent lecture time in university, hours that were supposed to be spent working at the office, and Friday nights playing the damn game.

10. We spend life constantly searching for things — the perfect school, the perfect career, the perfect dinner, the perfect person, the truth. Hide and Seek is an excellent mechanism for learning what tools the other person utilizes in his or her world to find those things they are constantly searching for.

11. People are consistently trying to put the pieces of their life together, and often need help. Puzzles, of any sort, can help you and her/him work together to sort through the mess and create a clear, visible picture — the one on the box; the way things are supposed to look like.

12. If all else fails, play Life. It seems pretty encompassing by sounds of the name. I’d really recommend it if you’re planning to spend the rest of yours with him or her.

So there you have it folks, games to play when you’re getting ready to jump into a relationship. If you’re going to play them, at least make them somewhat interesting and wholesome.

SCREW YOU, MIRROR!

I’m going to skip through all the past bullshit I don’t want to share. I’m going to skip through the ‘inner’ feelings, all the conversations, all the misunderstandings and misconceptions. I’m going to skip through the explanation about how I’m not a huge fan of feminism–wait. Actually, yes, yes I will because it leads into my main discussion.

I took an interest in Feminism in the 11th grade. My pull towards the philosophy wasn’t so much so a result of any discontent with social structures or “the man” (although, that discontent has existed ever since the 4th grade) or anything of that sort. My pull towards feminism was a result of validating my own convictions, character, and beliefs by written philosophies. Which, by the way, is the biggest vice of philosophy — searching for absolute and/or validating answers in theories — which are tend to be flawed or disproven eventually.

I have never been a stereotypically feminine female. I spent my childhood interested in reading, the history channel, listening to my parents rant about politics, and chasing this boy Eric around the playground. Ah young love. So aggressive. Doesn’t really seem to ever change.

In my teenage years, I became far more interested in politics, activism, debate, and leadership. I had started wearing the hijab (islamic scarf) in the 8th grade, and since then I’ve held, just like any other female in my situation, the burden of answering questions and concerns by others in regards to the scarf. Which is cool, really. We’re down with all that; we like answering questions–well I do, anyway.

I started wearing the hijab at a critical point in my life, something which was unbeknownst to me and those around me. Because I was the only muslim kid in my elementary and one of the few non-white kids (yay for new york jewish surburbia!), I was often ridiculed on everything — too fat, too stupid, too smart, too quiet, too weird (apparently hanging out with older kids makes you uncool), too ugly, too different, etc. While I had some great times during my childhood, a lot of the school stuff was complete shit. I had it tough in comparison to many others in my school…one of my worst memories is being ridiculed on something or other by the entire school bus. Younger kids and older kids. Ugh. I often came home crying or I just sucked it up. I began to cope with things by lying, just to be more accepted ..and yeah, not cool.

The worst thing of all is that all of those words, insults, and memories have stayed with me. Kids look pretty innocent, but as a former child myself I can honestly tell you they’re horrendously cruel little heartless bastards. All of them.

Anyway, the words, memories, everything stuck and it, surprise surprise, affected my self-esteem to the fullest. While kids wished to become firefighters, or basketball players, or UN diploments when they grew up, I wished to be prettier when I grew up. Frightening, isn’t it? I was 9/10 years old and I used to wish, on every shooting star, pray to God that when I grew up, I would be beautiful.

Fast forwarding to the hijab years: I started wearing the hijab as per request of my father. It didn’t really bother me much, I was just all like “whatevz”. However, the impact it would have on me over the next 5/6 years would be incredible.

Initially, I hated it. Well, hate is a strong word ..but bear with my inability to be articulate please. The hijab, as I understood back then (the meaning has entirely changed for me, and I will illustrate that soon), was meant solely to conceal a woman’s beauty — one of her most sexualized parts being her hair (I’ll get into this more later). Now — imagine thinking you’re ugly and then wearing a scarf which is meant to conceal whatever little beauty you have left. I had a hard time coping with that initially–why would I need to conceal beauty when I have none?

Things changed quickly though–by the 9th and 10th grade, my confidence had risen. I became politically active–inside school and out, and I was enjoying life with good friends and good times. But the only problem was that I wasn’t always wearing the scarf. I’d wear in school, etc — but if i were going out, I wouldn’t. I was pretty lax with it, and at the time I didn’t realize why. I understand completely now, and it’s been this understanding which has made me wear the hijab for good. I went through really early puberty, and it was looooong…so a lot of those years were just really awkward years for me. Raging and out of control hormones, acne, boobs (OH NO!), etc etc – it was all weird and uncomfortable. By the 10th/11th grade..I was beginning to somewhat “blossom”, if I can use such a heteronormative word (I’m using heteronormative in great abundance, even out of context, just so it can lose all meaning..it’s my own little fun experiment). And I don’t mean physically only, but mentally. By the 12th grade, I had become extremely assertive, self-assured, and confident (albeit I had many self-esteem issues, which I will illustrate). I was also becoming aware of my own beauty (and I mean this in the LEAST egoistic way). I wasn’t a fan of the perfect body or face any more (I was all about the LOVE YOURSELF! shit, etc etc), but I began to realize that I did have some pretty qualities. I knew that not everyone would see them, but the fact that I could see them gave me some comfort. My hair became the biggest part of this — everyone loved, and still loves, my hair–apparently it’s the shit. Which is dope.

But it overtook me.

Slowly, but surely, I became what I had always hated: Vain.

I began to obsess over my looks. Make up became a daily, needed regiment. Leaving the house without eyeliner? Heavens forbid. And then after gr. 12, I discovered cover up–and to this day, it’s hard for me to leave home without some coverup. I’ve been able to stop the eyeliner thing, which has been a good step — but the coverup thing remains. In my egoistic defence — I had some skin discolouration that apparently only I can see. Cough.

Anyway. In the past few months, I’ve realized that my hijab has been tool for coping with my vanity. It has kept me grounded, kept me humble, and has been a daily reminder that my looks are secondary to everything else. This has been my “hammer” to “crush patriachy”. I fight the patriarchy, that everyone always seems to rant about, and the absurd beauty standards on a daily basis by just putting my hijab on — and it’s made me a happier, better person. I am constantly hiding the most visible sexual part of myself–my hair. And a woman’s hair IS very sexualized, there’s really no way to deny it. As Fran Lebowtiz once said, you’re only as good as your last haircut. Think about all the effort put into hair, how it personifies people (i.e. blondes v.s. brunettes and all the sexual connotations), how many products exist solely for hair, the colours, the media emphasis; just everything. Think you’d be treated the same with a shaved head?

While I’m still coping to keep my ego in check (whether it’s down or up..I have a lot of “YOU’RE UGLY DAYS”), I feel as though I’m much further along than many other young women who are constantly battling the standards that are put upon them. Vanity is one of the worst enemies of any person — regardless of sex. I knew enough was enough when I’d be passing a store, and couldn’t resist seeing my own reflection. Reflection oppresses (Ohh, that’s deep..).

I don’t fight the so-called ‘patriarchy’ or ‘heteronormativity’ or ‘imposed social construction’ or ‘the chains of gender’ by becoming a lipstick lesbian, having tons of sex, listening to the indigo girls, or quoting judith bulter like its a holiday, I fight it by first fighting the results of it on myself.
So, go ahead and break your mirrors. Can you do it?

Breaking Up with your Best Friend’s Boyfriend

Danny and Amanda were one those couples that just made you sick. Not in the “oh my god, can they not take their hands off of one another for a minute?” kinda way, but sick in the “If this ends ..it’s going to be ugly” sorta way.
It did.

And it was.

Danny and Amanda were your typical high school couple. Met through a mutual friend, found some sort of attraction within one another, had doubts on both sides on the other’s feelings, and there was that awkward period of ‘courting’ ..over msn.

As Amanda’s best friend, I was thrilled that she had found someone. Danny was her first boyfriend, and she wanted everything to be perfect and special. Their first kiss had to be perfect, their song had to be perfect, their connection had to be perfect. And all of that was perfect.

For the first few months.

The relationship had happened at an awkward phase in our lives, to be quite honest. It was the February of grade 11 when Danny asked Amanda out. We were that phase in life when we all were entering the early stages of something which would stalk our thoughts for the next ten years or so. You know what I’m talking about. I had started having pseudo-subconcious-anxiety attacks about my future. Katie was entering the ‘re-evaluation of self and direction’ phase. Jocelyn ..well ..the thing with her is that she keeps everything bottled up, so whatever her ’something’ was supposed to be ..it was kept bottled up deep inside of her. She knew what it was, but the rest of us could only guess. As far as Amanda was concerned, she was entering the “where do I fit in? Who am I, really?” point in her life. All of these phases are your prototypical growing up ’somethings’. We all have them at various periods in our lives–they’re what shape our thoughts, opinions, actions, travels, writings ..everything. We become that ’something’ for that given period.

Anyway.

Amanda’s ’something’ received much attention from those of us who were her friends. Danny was your typical high school punk/ska , short, skinny portuguese boy (which actually reminds me ..bonus points for dating out of your ethnicity, Amanda!). Needless to say Amanda, her identity at its most vulnerable, quickly adapted to Danny’s style. She became, and i know she’ll cringe at reading this, a pop-punk princess. Now let me explain this term in context for a second. Amanda basically delved into the underground world of indie music and mainstream punk. From Rooney to Death Cab for Cutie to My Chemical Romance to Simple Plan–Amanda had found her temporary niche. After a couple of months, the new image, the relationship, the pink and black–began to get to the rest of us. That famous relationship cleavage was created–best friend and best friend’s boyfriend on one side ..and then you on the other. In the year and so that they went out ..we missed out on a lot with one another in many respects during a crucial period in our lives.

The summer of their relationship was a critical one as Amanda began expressing doubts. I think it’s safe to say that she was hitting a new level of maturity and was realizing the relationship for what it was: superficial. She would tell me how she’d ask Danny, after making out or cuddling, why he was with her and before he could say a word she’d say “And don’t say because I’m hot”. And he wouldn’t. Unfortunately ..he wouldn’t really say anything else either. She also began to realize that they had nothing in common. Amanda is an extremely artistic person by nature, and Danny ..well ..Blink 182 is probably at the pinnacle of his artistic tastes. Maturity began to catch up with Amanda, and it wasn’t making her mind any less chaotic.

During their relationship, I learned what it really meant to be the third wheel. I didn’t mind hanging out with Danny; him and I had become good friends towards the last few months of the relationship. I loved hanging out with Amanda–she was my break from maturity. I just didn’t like standing to the side while the two held one another on the skytrain and nuzzled. I didn’t like how I could never get alone time with Amanda anymore. Seriously, I couldn’t. Even if we were physically alone, Danny was a common topic for conversation. But ..as a friend, especially a best friend, you know that your role is to be supportive and help push your best friend towards breaking up with her boyfriend.

It was December of our final year in high school, when Amanda approached me with tears in her eyes about how she was sick of everything about her relationship, how she felt it was going no-where, how it had plateaued in every aspect, and how she felt she had been in it for all the wrong reasons. In the 7 minutes I had before history class, I basically calmed her down and told her to do what she felt she had to do. Of course we talked about it later in the day several times–but that was my basic message. She shouldn’t be in the relationship if its causing her so much pain and if she honestly feels there’s nothing left to discover nor anywhere to go. It may sound harsh, but I promise I worded it in a much softer, more persuasive way.

The next day she approached me again, teary eyed, and told me how she had broken up with him. I’m not going to lie ..I didn’t really see it coming. NOT THIS SOON. Immediately pangs of guilt went rushing through my body. Had I just helped end a year and a half relationship? OH my god, was I going to have a bunch of punk skids on my ass (no pun intended)? I know these are irrational questions, but hey, in my defense I was 17 and suffering from constipation during that time.

The break up happened and I thought that would be it. I knew I’d have to deal with Amanda, her emotions, her doubts, her rebound. But I was prepared.

Then they got back together.

And broke up again.

Who saw that coming?

While I was, again, prepared for the Amanda Aftermath, I was NOT prepared for the Danny Disaster. We went from talking once a day in school casually to talking 5 hours a night on msn, with him pouring out his heart, soul, and insecurities. It was intense and ugly. Danny and I were decent friends at this point, and someone I really liked and thought was an overall nice guy–but it became to much for me to handle, what with my own ’something’ happening. How the hell did I end up becoming the third wheel in the break up? Does this come with being a best friend? No one told me this when I signed up.

After I was finally able to get Danny to calm to down and stop messaging me all the time on MSN, after the initial Amanda Aftermath seemed to calm down, after the awkward lunch hours, after the disasterous ending to prom, after graduating, after going off to university ..I realized something.

Amanda wasn’t the only one who had broken up with Danny. We all had.

While Danny and I weren’t super close, we were still good friends, something i’ve downplayed in this piece. He was my best friend’s boyfriend, we spent a lot of time together, and I made him cringe with my perverse sense of humour. Jocelyn was perhaps the closest to Danny throughout–they had a friendship outside the ‘best-friend-counterpart’ realm. But it all ended when the relationship ended. We stopped talking. We stopped seeing one another. In fact, the first time I saw him after the break up was over a year later when I returned home from university. The friendship definitely had ceased to exist. The last time I saw was this past December, when he showed up at my place with one of my best friends and her boyfriend, who’s also a good, close friend of mine ..to say goodbye, the night before my flight. It was odd, without a doubt–an old friend I hadn’t seen in long time. A best friend’s baaaad-break-up ex. And now here he was, in my living room, just chatting away. He definitely wasn’t the same Danny I had known in high school, but then again, I wasn’t either ..er ..the same Sana. Belated cliche alert. Sorry, guys.

Anyways.

What his last visit made me realize was that a relationship between two people is not contained. There’s no Truman doctrine, there’s no Marshall plan. A relationship is between the core, which is the two people who are all gross and lovey with another..and then there are the peripheries..the friends, the family, etc. Once the core breaks apart, all the peripheries are severely affected (mmm..sweet, sweet political realism). Everytime I see Danny I’m reminded of all of this. For almost two years, he was a friend. We shared many good times, and have a lot of fond memories. But once him and Amanda broke up ..it ended, right then and there. We didn’t really talk about it. It was understood. Danny went from being a physical person, a good friend to just another character, a memory. All we have left of one another are memories and yearbook signatures.

While our friendship isn’t as strong as Jocelyn and Danny’s had been (and I know it was tough on her), it still hurts sometime. Not the actual situation itself, but the idea of breaking away from someone you’ve come to know ..because their relationship with your closest ally has deteriorated. I know that there will be more Dannys, that there’ll be more ‘breakdown of the cores’. I know that sometimes it’ll happen and I won’t really notice, and I know that other times I will notice, and who knows ..maybe not even approve because of that. All in all, what I’m trying to say in these last few words is ..that I really don’t know how to end this entry.

so.

yeah.