Category Archives: Reality Bites
The Hardest Part is Putting It In Words You Can Understand
I wrote this at some point this summer. At first, it was for my eyes only. However, the closer we get to November 8th, the more sick and terrified I get. It is near impossible to think about anything else. I know I am not the only professional woman of colorstruggling with the bullshit in the world right now, and so I share this for anyone out there who can relate, but may not be able to find the words.
This is for us.
You’re my friend. You’re a teacher. We grew up together. You’re an immigration attorney. We date. You claim to love me. I fight for your cause. You held my hair back in college. I watch your kids. Our dogs are friends. I’ve traveled to visit you. You’ve traveled to see me. I am your honor student. You eat my food. We’re colleagues. You’ve met my mother. You’ve seen me cry. And yet, nothing I say can make you understand that this fight is not about political correctness. It’s not about black vs. white in the sports metaphor, all-or-nothing way we all cling to; neither you nor I should come out on top, we should be equal. You’d like to think that we are, but as it turns out freedom and justice are not for all and to ask for it is treason.
You tell me you have to park a certain way because your ostentatious car attracts negative attention. Your car (and by extension you) can be judged for it’s outward appearance, but when I suggest a malevolent bias against me based on my skin color the notion is preposterous to you. You see how the hostess doesn’t think we’re in the same party, forgets to take my order, or perhaps brings me the wrong drink three times while everyone else is served on par. You know I won’t come out on St. Paddy’s and how I always leave before last call because I’ve told you I don’t get a recklessness pass. Yet you don’t understand what that means. You don’t understand the limitations on my freedom, the same freedom we’re supposed to share. You’ve told me you wouldn’t trade places with me. You’re mad about how I was treated in Malta. Like, when the bus driver wouldn’t let me board or the time I was assaulted and told to go back to my “dirty country Africa” or the numerous times I was called a “nigger.” And you negate my experience of the same treatment in the United States as “oversimplification” or “race baiting” or “dramatic.” There is always some other justification than the one staring you right in the face. I tell you about being stopped THIRTEEN (now) FIFTEEN times for proof of identification and residence while walking my dog in the THREE years of living in my neighborhood, how the number increases in the winter if I dare to wear a hood on my head in negative windchill. You tell me you’ve never been stopped walking your dog nearby and suggest I don’t wear a hood. Do you cover your head in negative windchill? Why can’t I? YOU yourself have asked me “why do black people like Kendrick Lamar?” or “Why is Tyler Perry so popular among black people?” but let’s re-share all the “let’s not lump all the #PSL types into one basket” posts because it’s damaging to people who like pumpkin spice lattes. You’ve stated, “well, I don’t really consider you a black person” in an attempt at a compliment and when I tell you that the stigma that comes with being black is a hinderance to my pursuit of life, liberty, and happiness – because it prevents people from seeing who I really am because they see my skin first or see my more than two syllable, non-Anglican name and apply their odds-are-never-in-my-favor-negative bias – that I’m wrong because “you’re so amazing! If only they’d get to know you!” And don’t see how those are connected. I tell you how in 2016 I had to ride 6 MBTA stops being ridiculed and belittled for the color of my skin and the biology between my legs while other passengers heard but averted their eyes and your response is “people suck.” That time I had to cancel our plans because I had a broken third brake light and couldn’t get it fixed for 48 hours, so I refused to drive for the very real fear of losing my life? Your reply, “so what if you get a ticket? You’re a lawyer, argue out of it.” Philando Castille was murdered 6 days prior and you don’t understand how in my world there is no such thing as the presumption of a minor traffic citation. When I tell you about the Texas ambush wherein I was informed that once Trump becomes President I will no longer be allowed to walk freely because all the monkeys (in case you’re uninformed: this is a negative term for black people) will be put back in their cages where they belong and you assure me that “politics aside” YOU are simply not like that. Your “politics” are quite literally my LIFE.
You hear my tales and you say, “I wouldn’t trade places with you.” And yet somehow there is nothing I can say to make you actually understand. You cannot comprehend the terror of living on American soil as a black woman. And because you cannot literally feel the eviscerating slashes causing me to slowly bleed to death, you cannot understand and because you cannot understand, you do not see. You do not care. You do not fight. You do do not chant. You do not read about. You do not acknowledge. You do not comfort. You do not encourage. You do not protect. You do not support. You hide. You excuse. You vote selfishly. You make false equivalencies. You play with my life.
~NV~
Bar Exam Side Effects
Hello from from my wits end. MA bar exam results are due very soon. I’m in a familiar yet loathsome place. The bar exam comes with side effects and prolonged exposure increases the likelihood of developing the side effects. It is advised to seek help from the source of your choosing if the side effects persist for more than three months. The most common side effects are:
Loss of humor, forgetfulness, irrational anger, night terrors, spontaneous bouts of insane sounding laughter, anxiety and depression (godspeed if, like me, you already suffer). Insomnia, irritability, hermit syndrome, nausea, upset bowels, and lack of appetite, but a profound thirst for alcohol. Muscle aches, jittery nerves, teeth grinding, hair pulling, chest tightness, and loss of blocks of time due to conditioning of single minded focus.
I find it hard to articulate exactly what is going on and why. All I know is “bar exam…” A friend of mine, the same friend who helped me express my racist bar exam experience, who has no ties to law school and probably gets it better than most people, even those with ties to law school, articulated it so well:
“Taking the bar is the most stressful thing you have ever done. And you know the feeling you get when you take it and don’t pass and then have to retake it. So now all of the previous test anxiety is hitting you before you get the results because you don’t want to go down that path again. It makes sense. But it sucks. A lot.”
#accurate
~NV~
The Waiting Game
It’s been just over a month since my most recent sitting for the bar exam and I have a little under a month left to wait for results. Before I took the exam, I blogged about my life plans for afterward and since I have nothing else to talk about, I figured I’d give an update on that.
1. I have read two books from my ALA Midwinter pile. Wink, Poppy, Midnight by April Genevieve Tucholke and What the Dead Want by Norah Olson. One was good, the other not so much. At the moment, I’m reading books on my 2016 TBR Manners and Mutiny by Gail Carriger (audiobook) and Leave Your Mark by Aliza Licht (hardcover). I had been reading A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab on my iPad at the gym, but I haven’t been to the gym since Jan 23rd.
2. Quite possibly my most successful task on the list. Not every night do I get to come home, walk my dog, take off my bindings and call it a day. Some days I have to apply for jobs or work on stuff for Phi Alpha Delta or I pace. But there are some days where I do come home, walk my dog, take off my bindings and pass out for a much needed nap or watch hours of things on Netflix I’ve likely already seen and can completely zone out to. Those are the days…
3. There haven’t been any Federal holidays for me to day drink during, but I have not seen the inside of a library in a month. I am overdue for a trip to pick up some books (and maybe return some overdue ones).
4. I’m only caught up on some of my bookish podcasts (Books on the Night Stand, Get Booked, All the Books, and Dear Book Nerd). I also started listening to The Truth, which is a storytelling podcast a lá old school radio shows. It’s odd, but I like it. And the job search never ends. It’s also not showing a lot of prospects, but I can’t go down that hole right now.
5. I am eating less. My slim bank account appreciates this.
6. The nag, nag, nagging feeling that I shouldn’t be doing anything else but studying lingers. It’s lost some potency, but it’s still there. I reckon it will be until I pass.
7. I’m only caught up on Sleepy Hollow because reasons (black girl lead, white male opposite, all the feels). I’m having a difficult time getting back into regular tv. I’ve been watching it so sporadically for so long now, I have no idea what’s going on with what and when things air or where to watch them most of the time. Also, I don’t want to get drawn in and then have to stop because of bad reasons I won’t say in an attempt to not jinx myself. And CBS is the worst! They don’t play well with others (Amazon Prime, Hulu, & Netflix) and I refuse to pay for a streaming service for network TV, so I miss out on Criminal Minds, which is another show I can watch over and over all of the time. I did spend one Saturday on my couch zoning out to almost all of the Police Academy films. They should reboot that series.
8. I have not decluttered a thing. That Saturday where I couch surfed Police Academy I kept saying to myself, “you could multitask and clean out a closet while you watch this.” I couldn’t talk myself into it.
9. My bar books are picking up dust on the floor and in a corner where I can’t see them. I have not gotten that massage yet, though. I need to jump on that, but since I spend the weekends not wanting to leave my apartment this is difficult. As my friend so aptly stated, I’m an anxious hermit right now.
10. The jury is still out on this one as I wait for my letter. I dare say, my gut says I passed and I won’t be doing this again in July. My brain is cautiously optimistic and prepared for that possibility that I won’t say.
Until next time when maybe I have something interesting to say…
First Post Since the Bar Exam
Before I begin, I need to say something. I am lucky to have a friend who will call me out when I’m throwing softballs and will push me to tackle the tough shit. She won’t want public recognition, but without her I could not have finished this post so she’s getting it.
Now, lessons in white privilege: Let me tell you a story…
To my non-POC readers, let me attempt to explain what happens to me as a women of color in this world. You may think the news stories are exaggerated, you may believe that Trump isn’t as bad as the facebook posts say, but it’s a very different experience for me and I don’t get the privilege to ignore it.
I recently sat for the bar, as avid readers will know, this wasn’t my first time. One of the proctors of my exam, the one assigned to my section, was an older white woman, assumably a baby boomer. The first day of the exam she haphazardly tossed everything at me that she had to hand out with the excuse of, “Oh, sorry. I should not have thrown that at you.”
Now, the first time this occurred, I gave her the benefit of the doubt, I figured it’s no big deal because I understand how something can slip from one’s hands when you’re handing it to someone else. But in each subsequent test session, whether it was a wristband or an answer booklet, it was tossed at me with the false apology of “I should not have thrown that at you.” I doubt her sincerity, I even doubt that it was accidental at this point. I did not witness her having this exchange with anyone else in my section.
Then, in one of my legally mandated rest periods, we had the following conversation:
Proctor: “I don’t want to be a wise ass, but have you taken this before?”
Me: *blank stare & panicked thoughts of “what did I do wrong?”* “Yes.”
Proctor: “Oh, because I thought you looked familiar.”
This brief conversation distracted me. Did I look familiar because of all the bar examinees that have come in and out of here for her during her tenure and she is that observant to recognize me? I know she has never been my proctor before and perhaps it is possible she recognized my face from 7-12 months ago (the last 2 times I sat). I’m dubious.
If you’re unfamiliar with sitting for the bar, you usually sit in a row of five seats across, there is a seat card with your personally identifiable information on it designating where you sit. At the beginning of both days one & two you flip the card over and fill in your name, date of birth, city of birth, and sign it. You sign it again when you come back from lunch. The proctor picks them up at some point in the afternoon session.
On day two, the afternoon session is about to start. We’ve been instructed to sign the card for the afternoon session and the proctor is walking around my section stopping and talking to some people and not others. She’s behind me, I’m focused, and rarely turn around; and I assume if it were relevant to everyone in the room the person at the microphone will share with the class.
The proctor picks up the seat card of the middle-aged black man to my left, turns it over and then puts it down. She does the same to my card and then to the young black man to my right. I don’t think anything of it. I have other things on my mind, like you know, passing the bar exam. I know some people are incapable of following instructions and assume she is double checking to make sure it was filled out correctly aka doing her job
. Then, just after she puts down the card of the young man to my right, she says this, “Someone in my section was born in a place that starts with a “G” and I’ve never heard of it before. I can’t find it now. It was a black person so I’m checking your cards.”
Silence. My heart stopped. No. This cannot be real. This woman, who is paid by a professional company to ensure a fair and honest examination setting decided to enter my brain. My brain that is already stressed to the max.
The three of us all looked at each other. Uncertain of what to say, if we should say anything. How to react, if we should react at all. I knew I was helpless in the situation and just had to take it, as usual. Almost simultaneously we all gave a nervous laugh and shook our heads (mine in disgust) as she walked away – walked right to the front row to check the card of the last black person in our section, in search of the mysterious birth location that begins with “G” and bypasses everyone who is presumably of the caucasian persuasion.
This proctor does not dictate whether I pass or fail. Her sole responsibility, is to ensure I didn’t cheat and to not lose my test. To some, it seems harmless. However, to be sitting in an allegedly neutral exam, in a supposedly neutral environment and to be singled out for your race is not harmless. I’m black and the proctor was white. It was upsetting. Yay, another reminder that my race comes first and usually not in my favor. It shifts your mindset and I had three more hours of day 2 to get through. I suddenly felt very exposed and on guard even more so than I already am on a daily basis because of situations like this that are forced upon me on a regular basis.
And suddenly the repeated slip of the hand with the faux apology and the “you look familiar” remark that I’ve already experienced are not so benign.
I was angry. I am angry. The board of bar examiners cannot allow their proctors to disrupt my examination. This woman, should not have felt so entitled to parade through the room and find out who was born where. If she was not informing me that I have to tuck in the hood of my hoodie or that my water bottle MUST be UNDER my seat and specifically NOT next to it, she should promptly shut the fuck up.
Instead, things will remain the same: People, like this proctor, will continue to walk about on their entitlement and encroach on the sanity and safety of others. And those others, people of color like me, will have to continue to shoulder that extra burden of being seen as a color before being seen as a person. The Board of Bar Overseers isn’t going to do anything about it. In fact, I’m waiting for the templated reply letter to my complaint. Something to the effect of, “the experience being necessary to be able to handle life’s adversities & challenges” with not a single shred of acknowledgement that the proctor was in the wrong.
~NV~
Sleep Deprived Until 55…
When I tell someone I’m tired, the first thing asked is about my previous night’s sleep. The thing is, it doesn’t matter how poorly or how well I slept the night before. Every day I am a member of the walking dead by early afternoon and practically useless for many hours until I get a second wind around 10pm, but if I ride that second wind I won’t go to sleep until around 4am and then have to be up in two hours to function for the business hours we all prescribe to.
I wake up for work every day at 6 and I am not even productively awake until about 10am, but I’ve dragged myself through four hours of waking up, getting dressed, commuting, communicating, and trying to do the job I am paid for. I’m already spent because everything I did for the last four hours has taken double the amount of energy they should actually take thus depleting my already low reserve at twice the rate.
I know I am not alone in this unfortunate situation, but there is apparently science to back up what I already know because I live it every day – it is torture to be forced into a “9-5” schedule. Now let us all sit back and watch while other countries adapt to improve the lives of their Gen Xers and Millennials, but don’t fall asleep at your desk or be fired for lack of productivity.
~NV~
Sanity Overruled
It’s been two months since I’ve blogged. So what’s happened?…
Possible. A case of munchaussen By proxy, a.k.a. pre-bar prep. Mass dissemination of a dose of doom from soul-shattering career panels. The inevitable senior frustration with administration because so long as they’re serving themselves, they’ll never get it right. Let’s not forget the same old shit, different day of going to class when everything else in your world is a million times more important. Reading for First Amendment is really hard when I also have to dig up my entire life to be scrutinized by someone I imagine will sit in an oak room as they read my plea for admittance to the bar. Go to allegedly career advancing events or attend class? A daily battle, often decided by whether I get up early enough to wear something other than leggings.
Alone. I was recently asked if I felt like I’m going through law school alone. As in, do I feel a lack of emotional support? I don’t know if it’s lacking intentionally or if it’s a biproduct of the law school system. I think people understand what it means to put a lot of time into something. I think on some level, they may understand how important it is to me. But it stops there. They don’t, cannot, understand the emotional toll, the demoralization, the uncertainty. The alienation. Three years (maybe four), gone. Credit, irrevocably ruined. Substance dependency (pick it: caffeine, pills, alcohol…), required.
False. Friendships are the ticket to the rest of my life. I’m a little slow on the uptake, apparently. I recently realized that I will never have another genuine relationship in my life again. Every one I meet I will either be angling to get something from, or they will want something from me. I don’t do false very well.
Meaningless. Vague career advice: “NETWORK.” A word almost as empty as “interesting” and “nice.” For the definition of ‘network,’ please see the previous paragraph.
Impossible. Scary job qualificaitons… “5+ years..” of anything is terrifying when at least 3+ of those last five would have been a time suck and the mid-20’s law grad would have been in college before that. Let’s say, hypothetically, you got an awesome job your 1L-2L summer and kept it until you graduate. That’ still not 5+ years. “Discretion, sound judgment, tact and diplomacy in all communications.” I will never win this. “Full-time, No benefits.” WHAT?!
Bad. Responses like, “thank god I’m not in law school” when you’re busted up about the pending bar app. The oh-so-supportive “I hear ya” from the disinterested friend who didn’t hear a word you said about every fucking deadline coming at once and they still expect you to attend class and sleep. The empty “you can do it!” people think you want to hear when you work with a professor who makes ambiguity seem like a cake walk, but really it just ups their dopamine levels. These kind of responses from people you know, people who should love you, just makes it all that much worse. So, talking to other law students is a drag because you’re all suffering the same affliction; and talking to loved ones is depressing, since their dismissive take on your goals leaves you feeling like they don’t care/don’t value/don’t understand anything you’re trying to relay to them.
Pacman and Patents
Remember how a few weeks ago I was touting my lethargy? I must eat my words. 
Panic hasn’t set it, but reason has. And, no, not that mythical, pie in the sky, reason of the other day. Reason brought about by experience has told me that classes are over TODAY (despite the day full of make-ups TOMORROW) and if I do not do SOMETHING, a week from tomorrow I will be ineligible for redemption.
Now, if someone could tell me how to stretch my 2 minutes and twenty-seven seconds opening statement for my Patent Litigation final exam to be “8 to 10 minutes. No more, no less,” I’d greatly appreciate it.
“Reason”
“Everything happens for a reason.”
We’re told this and it’s supposed to be a sort of soothing balm to whatever has pissed us off or torn us down.
But why?
Who is to say that “reason” is even a good one? Or that the “reason” it happened wasn’t just to make you miserable? Or that the “reason” is simply to prepare you for worse crap? None of those “reasons”, equally possible to the soothing balm, make me feel the least bit better.
I think it’s one of those psychological mind games. Maybe developed in the 50’s. I say that because it has a passive air to it; a resigned feeling. That’s how I picture women in the 50’s.
I just think that “reason” is too vague & open to many, many interpretations. The lack of certainty makes it less appealing to me.
Childhood Lessons
I got spanked as a child, and rightfully so. The thing is, I can’t recall a specific instance of a spanking, I just know it took place from a general knowledge of my childhood.
The punishments I do remember the most are those where my mother would express her disappointment. It was the utter sadness in her voice and the shattered look of hurt on her face that singed my soul.
One time, in particular, I remember my mother saying to me, “if you’re truly sorry, you won’t do it again.” The follow up to that was the singed soul from her disappointment as I did whatever it was I said I was sorry for a second time (or possibly the fifth, who knows?).
That memory sticks with me to this very day, and when people tell me “sorry” or “I apologize” or “I didn’t mean it,” etc. for actions/inactions they do repeatedly, it makes me so cross.
I think that memory has a lot to do with why I’m not prone to apologizing for things. I’m certain I meant to do it at the time I did it, so it makes no sense to apologize for it. I, instead, am more likely to apologize for the effect it may have had. Simply because I did not intend to hurt someone or offend them or whatever.
Example
Person A: “Did you make that phone call?”
Me: “No.”
Alternative: “No, I’m sorry. [possible excuse added for false sincerity, but not required].”
repeat.
I much prefer my answer.
This annoys people, but it’s totally logical to me. Saying you’re sorry for something you keep doing is a flat out damn lie. You’re not sorry, if you were sorry you would stop. Instead, you do it again and once again apologize. More lies. I’d rather you not say anything to me than to pacify me with lies because that’s the polite thing to do.
Sustained Sanity 