Today while bathing, I was looking at my legs. Normally, I shudder at the whiteness of them and the ever growing web of veins that mark them like road maps. Today, however, I looked at them and had a revelation: I am a human being. That sounds pretty obvious, but it isn't something I think about everyday.

I love being human and to be reminded by the shape of my legs is a blessing. We are products of divine design. Not too shabby a job either. Many of us would change some part of our bodies. Many of us do not think about what this miraculous design has brought us. I am a person who thanks God for the use of my legs like Jewish men are thankful for not being born women. I am aware that everyone does not have the same use of their limbs and I am grateful that mine work in a way I can appreciate.

Having suffered injury and despair, it was a good reminder that human beings are flawed and perfect all at the same time. Look at your legs.

Over the rainbow.

Since I have to up my web game and my Mom asked me to write everything down, I think it is time to revive the blog. I have some observations best left to twitter and some pictures that are easier on facebook. I think my blog should have more depth than crypt and more thought than wit. To that end I am not going to write here all the time, because frankly I don't like to think that much. I did a lot of thinking when I was young: pondered the miracles of the universe, pined deep in my soul about the plight of my people. Now, I'm older and trying very hard to become the Dalai Llama of old ladies. My goal in life is to view the world as wonderful, to love everybody, and to rest on my considerable laurels. As you can see, I have a long way to go. That's why I started at a reasonably young age. Even so, I'll be 47 years old in July: pushing hard on half a century. Now I often ponder my date with immortality through mortality. I pine deep in my soul for my people I don't necessarily feel like interacting with anymore. I am engaged to the extent I can manage and will move to the beat of my own thunderstorm as long as I am able. I have a storm in my head and my heart and I'm trying real hard to think life is wonderful. I'm trying to taste the rainbow.

The last conversation I had with my mom, she was trying to comfort me. My good friend who helped shape the woman I am still becoming died the week before my mom. My mother said, "Write everything down." I tried to say what my friend meant to me and I couldn't find the right words; so I became rebellious and I didn'twrite anything after that. I'm trying again. There's so much to say. So much loss in the last month, I can't even wrap my head around it; but my mom came to me in a dream last night. Made me wish I was with her when she died. She wants me to know that she died at home. She wants me to know that what I saw at the hospital wasn't real and to let it go. She wants me to know she is always with me; and as much as I miss her, and as unreal as this all feels, I have to write it all down. Who else is with me?

4 YEARS

I've gone on with a life...can't say it's mine. I remember some parts of my life and much of that is fading. Even as I have returned to my city after two years of displacement; I still feel strange here. So many new faces. So many people who thought Katrina was an opportunity instead of the tragedy it really was/is. I can tell who they are by their demeanor and their attitudes. They didn't bother to get to know those of us from the real New Orleans. They changed and co opted and iconized our culture. They have a pioneering, colonial spirit. They came here to make a New New Orleans. They are disappearing us even as we try to hold on to our way of life in the face of their overwhelming resolve and determination to replace us.

It's been four years. We're all not home yet. There's no where for us to live in our hometown. People are telling us "not in my backyard" in what used to be our backyards. And if you don't know who "us" is, the greater the tragedy; and a convenience of consciousness we are not able to phathom. Displaced, disregarded, and dismissed in America. Disoriented when we come home. Don't know about you, but Katrina is still a catastrophic tragedy to me. I'm home... at least for now.

Dear Middle-class Boot-strappers,

It is always going to be more expensive to install new feet than it is to buy new boots.

There's also the other issue of whether the footless even want feet or boots; but we'll deal with that after you adjust your cost-analysis.

Still waiting,
Ahianna Nia

I worked in Domestic Violence. I was trained and am happy to report I managed not to re-victimize any of the women I had the honor of serving. I believe in people. I believe that people can transcend any obstacle except death. The fact is that 50% of American women are in DV situations, and of that 50%, 1/3 of them will die at the hands of their significant other. Domestic Violence is serious and life altering, and life threatening, and should be treated as such.

I hate when people get bogged down in theoretical discussions about "issues" when real people's lives are at stake. I don't care why any one kills the person they used to love. I don't care if it's mental illness or bad parenting or a crime of passion. I, frankly, don't care if the abuser ever gets well. I care that it's mostly women who are trapped in a cycle they believe they are responsible for and it can cost them their lives.

Let's start right here. To the men and women facing this abuse and terror, know that it is not your fault. It will only get worse. And that your only option is to take the chance on leaving. It doesn't matter why. It doesn't matter. What matters is the life of you and yours. There are safer ways of leaving than what you think. You have options that you may not have investigated. It is worth the trouble, because you are worth the trouble. Be careful when you investigate. Make sure there are no traces. But for God's sake, find out how to leave. It is the only answer unfortunately. But it is an answer that gives you another chance.

I've seen miracles in ways you wouldn't believe. What causes the miracle is the step you take to get your life back without whoever is abusing you. It's not fair and it's not easy; but it is well worth it. You're worth it no matter what the abuser ever said. Believe.

Margaret Walker wrote a poem called For My People (look it up). It spoke to me of the love that our people need and deserve even when others may argue the validity of either. I cannot argue who is in need or who is deserving. I can focus on the need of my people. My people are black people in America. My people are poor people in America. My people are disenfranchised, dislocated, and displaced. My people are New Orleanians wherever they landed after Katrina. My people are me and I am my people.I was not always sure my needs could be met. I was taught that they shouldn't be met. I have learned that we are all deserving. I will do my part to honor the Human Rights of all who strive; and I will work to see that someday, somehow, our needs are met.