Brown Skin in the City

Growing up in the jungle of Atlanta has never been a cake walk, but I have heard that it gets easier over time. I loved the peanut butter skin that God had put me in, but it made me uneasy to notice that was all people seem to care about when they conversed with me. What would start of as "Hello beautiful," always quickly turned into, "You know with looks like that, you could make it big in Alanna with my help." See for most people, Atlanta is known as the city of fame, hustling, and fortune. For me, Atlanta had always been the home of oak trees, peaches, and grandmama's comforting soul food plates. I had no understanding in this new concrete world that was being built on top of these soft Georgia hills, but I could tell that I had no choice but to get used to it. And I knew I had to figure out how to in my own way.

Most people had no idea that I not only enjoyed music, but that I am a creator of it as well. I can sing, rap, write, play multiple instruments, and have been able to since the age of four when my grandmama placed my tiny fingers onto her grand piano. There is something special about turning the energy of emotions into sound and being able to connect with people through that. Yet early on in life, I noticed how most people would know and feel this, but at the same time, did not value those that could do it. Even my family would tease about how "there is no money in music," and tell me how I was too pretty to waste my time on false hopes. There was no way I was going to allow anyone's opinions manipulate the passion I had to create and share music. I don't even have to touch the world, as long as I was able to be a beam of light for my city.

On what felt like a regular day full of Highway 85 traffic heading to downtown Atlanta, I had tingles in the palm of my hands. I had gotten a bit excited because the old folks always said that when your palms tickle, money is coming your way. Being that the only coin that came my way was only from music lessons that I gave to children three times a week, I could use some mula right here and right now. No more than two minutes later with 2:22pm on the clock, I hear through my speakers Radio Ray Raheem announce, "Taking only 4 more candidates to call in, and sing the rest of the lyrics to this song", as he proceeds to play the old school song "Before You Walk Out My Life," by Monica. This song so happened to be one of my favorites of all time, and I figured that even if I did not win, at least I would hear my voice over the radio. The phone rings once...two times...three times; I really do not think anyone is going to ans..."Hello", I squeak out in a voice I had never heard before. "You're on the mic," Radio Raheem shouts with excitement, "Do your thing!!" I hear the melody play in my mind and put myself into the lyrics Monica sung in 1996. I had gotten so caught up that I did not realize I sung far more than asked. I made it to the end of the song, and noticed there was complete silence. "Um...hi?" I asked to see if I ended up getting hung up on. "Wow young lady, the phone lines are blazing!! What is your name?" I guess I can be seen when someone has on the right type of lenses in this Atlanta concrete jungle.