Becoming Unashamed

Honestly Me is participating in the #bloglikecrazy movement so all November, blogs will be centered on a common theme: Becoming AND tell a story. That means all of November’s blogs will be connected, kind of like chapters in a book. This is the first, so keep up with next week’s to see other ways I am #becoming. Don’t forget to comment below with who you are becoming this month.

Keeping Being Honest!

In high school I was the quiet kid. Classmates often mistook my silence for rudeness and became surprisingly offended. 

“What’s up?” some random guy in my geometry class asked me. I just stared because I didn’t know what else to do. 

“What’s good?” I heard him ask his friend next to him after I had taken my seat. 

“Man, I ain’t even do that homework last night,” his friend responded.

“Nigga, I forgot we even had homework,” the what-up boy responds. 

They continue their conversation while I prepare my desk with paper and pencil, and simultaneously take out my homework from last night. 

“But, it look like she did the homework,” what-up boy says while peeking over my shoulder. 

“Oh, yeah,” his forgetful friend speaks up.

“ ‘Xcuse me, Miss, can I see what the homework assignment was,” the friend asks. He peers over my shoulders too. I turn around to look at both of them and say, “it was on page 45-46, the section called “Finding Slope.” It should all be in your notes from yesterday.” They both look at each other and roll their eyes. What-up boy says, “Nah, I mean, like, can we see what you got for the answers?” I pause and hold my notebook paper up to show them front and back what I have. It was mainly scribbles of answers I’ve tried and failed to solve. Slope intercept was never really my thing. They both look at each other again. The what- up boy’s friend puts on his hood, taps his friend on the shoulder, and says, “man, just leave her alone. She not trynna give up no answers.” 

“Yeah, nigga, she prolly end up giving us the wrong answers on purpose. You know she mean,” responds what-up boy. They both laugh and turn back around to their desks and begin scanning the room for other peers to participate in their cheating. 

I didn’t mind them cheating off of my paper. I didn’t mind them asking me questions either. I just didn’t know what they wanted

Let me explain, I take things literal… too literal. I’m realizing that I am extremely specific. If you ask me for a piece of paper, I will definitely give you “a piece.” If you ask me for a small pink notebook and the notebook is purple, I will be giving you all the notebooks I see. And it’s not that I’m petty, my brain is just wired that way. 

Which is why I write. Before embracing this fact, I was afraid of my unique type of conversation.