Jen A. Durand's Blog: Thoughts Best Kept Silent, page 6

Memories

Lately I have found myself thinking about the past. It is unsurprising considering the changes coming my way. A little over sixteen years of formal education is coming to an end. I am finishing a major part of my life, and stepping into the beginnings of the middle part of a still forming trilogy. This ending makes me think about the past in a way I typically avoid for a number of reasons. The daughter of a two immigrants, life was not easy. My parents came to the United States when they were relatively young.       My mother came when she was in high school and my father when he was in college. They struggled individually and together. My mother was a single mother raising a daughter and working hard to complete her education. My father worked as a taxi driver to pay his living expenses and his tuition.They had me while they were still working on building their lives. One of my earliest memories is of doing my homework in the halls of York College as my parents traded off checking on my sister and me. We were living in a single bedroom apartment in Jamaica, Queens. Life was hard and there were obvious signs of struggle. But my parents did what it took to get their respective degrees. Their dedication to building a better future motivates me every day.       When I was 9 years old my mother and father separated. They no longer wanted to be together. This fracture was due to a number of reasons. The divorce impacted me, especially since we moved to South Carolina soon after. It was jarring to lose everything I was familiar with in what seemed like a blink of the eye.       While my parents were no longer together. They were still a part of my life. One was just there in a more limited role. My mother took on two titles, “Mommy” and “Daddy”. She was the disciplinarian, the provider, and the teacher. Marie was not one to allow her children to wallow in their feelings. She pushed us to adjust, and to flourish in our new environment like we had in our old.       Education had always been a focus in our home. My father respects knowledge above all else and is willing to engage in a debate on just about anything a person can think of. My mother values grades and GPA like some women value a new pair of red bottom shoes. There were times when my parents were the bane of my very existence because there was no chill in their vigor to sculpt us into better and bigger versions of themselves. Their dream was for their children to reach bigger heights and climb higher mountains.       Some children would be resentful of the constant push. Wish that they had a moment to decide for themselves, whether they wanted to follow the path set for them. And there were times when I did wish I could even entertain the idea of taking a different, perhaps harder path. But coming from a place of complete honesty, I would not change most of the things in my life now. Every push they gave me. Every stumble I made. The people I have impressed, and the people who would love to see me fail, have all helped to shape me into the version of myself that I am now.       I am far from complete. I certainly do not have everything figured out, but I am in a position where I can stand on my own. The dreams my parents had for me is being fulfilled. I am moving into this place where I know a few things for certain.       I am a capable young woman with the ability to rise to any occasion. The goals I have set are not unachievable. And my parents, for all their faults, are my loudest cheering section.
Jen A. DurandAuthor of The Secrets, Lies, and Betrayal Series and The Virgins Club, www.Durandpublishing.net
Completed WorksThe Secrets, Lies, and Betrayal Series:Wintr’s Homecoming:SecretsJaguar Nights:LiesPearl Moon:BetrayalShadowy LightsFearThe Virgins Club:The PlannerThe Fixer

Injustice

"My goal in life is to love more then I hate. Laugh more then I cry. To have faith, even when faith feels wasted." Jen A. Durand, 2012

When we were younger, our parents invested a lot of energy in encouraging us to trust in the process. Stay out of trouble. Be honest. Good things happen to be good people. Honesty will set you free. There is a fairytale that is drilled into our minds. We are taught that all things and people are equal. The hierarchy stops at Religious Leaders, Adults, and Children.
Then as we get older… As our lives become more complex. Things begin to change. Differences that were always there begin to take center stage. Especially if our skin is a little darker. Our eyes slightly slanted. Or if our accents is tinted with a little something unique. Suddenly the fact that we are human beings first, stops being the fact that makes us deserving of respect. The hierarchy changes and the Class system, we as children did not recognize, becomes more obvious.
I want to believe that people are intrinsically good. That the perpetuation of the need to find and attach ourselves to social identities is something learned. Since the beginning of written history, it seems as if people have chosen to distinguish themselves by joining like-minded groups and forming the equivalent of a social club. It starts off rather innocuously. They gather around a concern or a shared belief system. They organize and attract believers. Followers.
Suddenly. Or not so suddenly this group has power and those who are outside of the group are lesser. And those who speak against the group or “system” is wrong. Pointing out inequalities is met with ridicule, excuses, or outright denial. This country was built on a set of ideals. Liberty, equality, democracy, individualism, unity and diversity. Yet at the same time, this country. The United States that I love was built over the graves of Natives Americans. Constructed by slaves dragged from their home, raped, and in some cases murdered by the same people escaping persecution for their own beliefs.
I would think that knowledge of the history in this country would have taught us something. Showed us the error in our ways. But in fact, the hypocritical inequalities that colored our beginnings are still present. Just in a more camouflaged form. This supposedly nonexistent class system is as sharp as ever and reinforced by the self-drawn lines of social constructs.
“Black Lives Matter.” “Asian Lives Matter.” “Blue Lives Matter.” “All Lives Matter.” These groups were created to fill a need. To express perceived absences of awareness about the dangers and injustices imposed on one group over another. Their causes and motivations are admirable. Black lives do matter. Asian lives do matter. Blue lives matter. All lives matter. I do not think anyone could argue those points. I think the biggest contention is that while those lives do matter. The rules that govern all of us are not applied evenly. “A man should not be judged by the color of his skin but by his moral fiber.” ~ Paraphrased MLK. I would posit that a man or woman should not suffer or gain because of their outside appearance, but be treated equally in every facet of life. The fact that someone is an officer does not exempt them from the vary laws they are tasked with enforcing.
The supposed “Blue Line” should not exist because the police should protect everyone Black. Asian. Pan pacific. African. Caribbean. Male. Female. They all should be treated with a basic amount of human decency. The justice system should be applied to all with an even and fair hand. The burden to prove guilt is on the people, not on the accused to prove innocence. Access to a fair and competent defense is the law of the land but is rarely carried out.
I am not writing this to speak poorly about anyone. I have a great deal of respect for officers who wear their badges without abusing the power imbued in it. I believe in the reasons for their existence, to maintain peace and order. What I am writing about is my growing loss of innocence. The older I get, the more aware I become of the ingrained racial bias that surrounds me. How unstable the ground beneath my feet is as a dark skinned, black, Haitian American woman in America. Imagine for a moment how jarring it is to realize that we are a food chain within a food chain. And you have the position of the thing that will be swallowed first.

I Am Not Your Mother!!!

           The other day I was having a conversation with some friends. We were all in a newly renovated home, eating appetizers, and talking. 5 women. All of them educated with careers, or businesses. 2 women in separate committed relationships, and 3 single women. All of us laughing as we caught up.           We talked about food. Life. School. Men.           The woman in relationships complained about their significant others. Shared funny stories of the lover’s mishaps. The single girls

Micah Jalloh - Character Growth

      Micah Jalloh is a character with a lot of hurt. His childhood honed him into a hard man. His experiences jaded him. He is married to a woman he cannot trust and spends a large amounts of time trying to avoid dealing with the feelings there. We first meet Micah in the first book Wintr’s Homecoming. His appearance is small, but his marriage is referenced. Jaguar Nights delves into the scars created by lies.      Micah and Anaya have a long history together. Since childhood, Anaya has

Memories

       Lately I have found myself thinking about the past. It is unsurprising considering the changes coming my way. A little over sixteen years of formal education is coming to an end. I am finishing a major part of my life, and stepping into the beginnings of the middle part of a still forming trilogy. This ending makes me think about the past in a way I typically avoid for a number of reasons. The daughter of a two immigrants, life was not easy. My parents came to the United States when they

Jinx Wintr - Character Growth

          Jinx Wintr is perhaps one of the characters I love writing the most. I love all of my characters. Their quirks, fears, and egos. Everything about them is carefully constructed and thought about. Dreamed about in some cases. But Jinx is the character I am most proud of and protective of.         She is abrasive, loud, and overly protective. She is a bit of a busybody and incapable of completely trusting in something as grand as love. When the reader first meets her, she is a young woman

Injustice

"My goal in life is to love more then I hate. Laugh more then I cry. To have faith, even when faith feels wasted." Jen A. Durand, 2012 When we were younger, our parents invested a lot of energy in encouraging us to trust in the process. Stay out of trouble. Be honest. Good things happen to be good people. Honesty will set you free. There is a fairytale that is drilled into our minds. We are taught that all things and people are equal. The hierarchy stops at Religious Leaders, Adults, and

Inspiration

I have always loved to read and write. It was my way of relieving stress and experiencing adventure. I lived vicariously through the characters written down on paper. It started with Goodnight Moon, A Chair for My Mother, Oh The Places You’ll Go, and Anansi. Eventually that grew into Sarah Desson books and The First Part Last. Then I started reading series like Christen Feehan and The more I read, the more I wanted to write. To express my reality through words on a page and to draw in readers.

The Wait

When I was younger sex was not something that was talked about in my life. There were so many other things going on. The sex talk kind of fell to the wayside. My mother focused more on talking to her children about entering the right type of relationship. Newly divorced and left to raise four children on her own, she wanted her daughters to avoid the mistakes of her past. She instilled in us the belief that a relationship. A real loving relationship had to be based on more then just the