Honestly i’ve always loved to read (cliché much) and i’ve always thought i was at LEAST a SEMI decent writer. My GCSE (for my americans my high school final exam) English Lit&Language creative writing paper scored me a grade 6 (9 is the highest grade, 1 is the lowe…

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Honestly when i published my first two articles i didn’t expect anyone to actually read them?!

I made a new friend today and told her about my writing and shared the link and she had so much to say, she told me my writing style is unique and it feels like having a conversation instead of reading an article

I’m so happy and grateful that so many people actually enjoyed the first two articles, i have many more in the making and a collaborative project with multiple writers/creatives currently in the works (stay tuned - spoiler: the article will be called Segregative Feminism)

I’m so happy to have so many of you interacting and reaching out and getting involved.

Let’s do great things!!!

Goodnight!

- T

I was given this book — “Hood Feminism” — For my birthday a few weeks ago, so far it’s a great read and definitely one I recommend >

I’m dedicating a segment of The Black Girl Diaries to it, the concept of the segregated aspects of the feminist movement - that’s SUPPOSED to be a united front - is really speaking to me.

I’ve already got 3 people from different backgrounds ready to feature their perspectives and concepts for this which i’m super excited to get started on!

I’m still looking for more people with fresh ideas and the same longing for REAL unity within the feminist community as us so if this project sounds like something you would like to be a part of then shoot me a DM on here or directly on my Instagram @tameemiya777 !!

Bye for now!

- T

I started doing my own hair when i was 12, i was tired of my Mum pulling, and parting, and braiding, and twisting. I wanted the styles like the girls at school. They had slick backs, and long knotless braids, and edges. Realistically, i just wanted to fit in.

Looking back now, i wish i had more time sitting between my Mum’s legs for hours while my butt went numb, getting my hair braided and twisted, parted and pulled. A new style every few weeks, the comments and the questions. “I like your hair!”, “I want my hair like that!”, “Who does your hair?”, “Is that your natural hair?”, “It’s probably extensions” —

—Wait a minute, what was that?

After school my Mum would ask me the same question after my hair had been done. “Did any of your friends say anything about your hair?”, she just wanted to know if her hard work made me happy. If the kids at school gave me compliments on my hair. If i felt pretty. I always told her about the positive attention i got, the compliments and the praise — none of the little comments.

But i still complained about how it hurt sleeping with my fresh braids! I think as a community that’s an experience all little Black Girls share.

Frequently, i wore my hair out in its natural afro. Big fluffy curls. It felt good to let the wind blow it around and leave the tension of braids and canerows off my scalp for a while. Soft strands tickling my face, the sweet smell of Coconut all around me.

Provided, that also brought comments and questions. “I like your hair!” , “How do you get your hair like that?”, “Your hair is so soft!”, “Can i touch your hair?” , “You need to tie your hair down. It’s distracting the class.” , “Can you move? I can’t see.” , “Your hair is so greasy”, “You wash your hair every 3 weeks? That’s disgusting.” —

Stop!!

It seemed like as long as my hair retained its natural personality, someone had something to say.

Jealous digs and microaggressions like that can really damage a little girl’s confidence. Suddenly the oils and butters her Mother has used in her hair since childhood were dirty. Greasy. Distracting.

So she begged and pleaded with her Mum to let her do her own hair and she did. Washing it every week like the White Girls at school said she’s supposed to. Skipping the Coconut Oil, the Shea Butter, the Blue Magic.

Cool girls style with Gel and Hairspray. She trapped her beautiful curls in the popular grasp of the Slick Back.

Now, understandably, her hair breaks off. Her curls get damaged. Years of haircare down the drain for the sake of fitting in with the rest of the crowd.

Let this be known. You do not need to change your hair for anyone, especially not to look like everyone else. Who wants to fit in with a sea of sheep? Your hair is your identity, embrace it. Let your hair breathe. Let it be braided and twisted in its natural state. Let it curl and coil and frizz a little. You do not need gel, you do not need extensions, you do not need hairspray, you do not need to slick it down or tie it up. You do not need to tame your curls, they are not distracting.

The oils, and butters, and grease your Mum used in your hair was to keep it healthy, it’s what worked for most of your life and it’s what your hair is used to. ‘Don’t change what ain’t broke’. You need to come to the acceptance that your hair isn’t like everyone else’s. Your hair is unique and beautiful, so take care of it.

That’s all for today <3

-T

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I woke up today and realised i’m in my final year of being a teenager, I mean I already knew that but now I really feel it. Looking ahead I can see the life i’m building for myself, what i’ve been working on for years. But when I turn around i’m looking at the beauty and brutality of my teenage years, and I can’t tell if this is how it was meant to end, would I do it all over again if I had the chance?

It’s like those Reddit posts: “If you take the blue pill you can start your life over with the knowledge you have now, If you take the red pill you get a million dollars.” Would you take the million dollars?

I suppose that’s how growing up is meant to feel though, isn’t it? Looking back at all your memories with friends you no longer know, wondering who they are now. Looking at all the lessons you’ve learned and thinking back to before them, when you were confused and naive. Finally forgiving yourself - you weren’t evil, you were fourteen.

Looking into the past can be both painful and beautiful, but it’s up to you to choose which you prefer. Will you think about all the time you wasted? All the mistakes you made? All the friends you lost? Or will you think about all the good experiences you had? All the times you learned and grew? All the friends you’re taking with you into adulthood? I prefer the latter.

I’d like to share a few lessons i’ve learned these past 6 years. Taking these lessons with me into my final year is a blessing not many get to have and I hope a little black girl who needs to read this, finds me.