Saving All Our Love For You...NOW.

Sometimes, you’ll laugh.

And sometimes you’ll cry.

Life never tells us the when’s or why’s.

But when you’ve got friends to wish you well,

You’ll find your point when you will exhale.

Take these words in. Slowly.

Beyond measure, I felt like this week’s entry had to be dedicated to my distant mother, Whitney Houston. I never knew the woman personally, but her music has been a constant throughout my entire lifespan. Although throughout her career, she had many songwriters/producers/team of folks to keep her music as timeless as it is, it was her voice, her beauty, her strength throughout each stage of her life that kept every lyric ringing in our ears. And this song, “Exhale (SHOOP SHOOP), more than any, has been one I’ve revisited in every period of my own life, particularly my adult years.

I wonder if she revisited these words in her trying, often tumultuous public life. She must have known her friends and family were her rock, her shield from a bloodthirsty media that only thrives on negativity and people’s downfalls. Even in the liner notes of her 1999 album, It’s Not Right, But It’s Okay, she thanks Bobby Brown endlessly for being in her corner, and ends with “let’s give ‘em something to talk about.” To our eyes, sure, this was a fucked up ass relationship. But up until the end, they weathered an industry that rains down hard on its entertainers, with no umbrella in sight. Especially Black entertainers.

From ’92 onward, every magazine on the racks was dedicated to keeping Whitney on its covers, closely following her every move. Literally. If the woman sneezed, they snapped a photo with a headline of “WHITNEY ON ALL NIGHT CRACK BINGE.” The sensationalism caused all of us to get caught up in the ruckus, wondering “what happened? How could she let Bobby do this? She ain’t got no business smoking crack! Crack is cheap, crack is wack! Her daughter’s goin down the same damn path…” and so on. I struggled to remain neutral to the evil forces of the industry, knowing the damages they do to our folks, knowing they’re being scrutinized tooth and nail on every action.

As I got older, when I saw the headlines, I reverted to my four year old self, the one who first listened to her remake of Chaka Khan’s “I’m Every Woman”, who watched the video and wished I was one of the little girls with the fresh ass PCJ perms dancing around. She gave a timely reminder in the booming, independent ‘90s era that we can cast a spell, sure as you can tell. We are magic. We are POWERFUL. For every anthem she created for women in her early career, there appeared to be a headline, interview, or TV appearance countering it in her later one. At what point did the magic stop?

I personally don’t think it ever did. I do think there is danger in a public that catapults you to the top of an imaginary pyramid and tells you you’re the greatest, and dares you jump off. Dares you to make a human error. Dares you to fuck up, ever. No, you’re perfect! You should always be perfect. Be exactly who we want you to be. Don’t make decisions for yourself. This same public is what drove Whitney to use drugs in the first place, and criticizes her for doing so. I mean, honestly, who wouldn’t be driven to use, in order to cope with these insurmountable demands on your life, your voice, your body, your legacy? Doesn’t matter if it was crack, coke, pills, alcohol, weed, etc. Anything to numb the pressure.

Granted, at some point, drug use turns into its own issue. It’s of course amplified when your face ends up on the cover of every magazine in the aisle, saying you’re “spiraling out of control.” It’s quite easy to lose yourself in that industry period, as you are only a product who must keep producing “classics”. But it’s especially easy if your name is Whitney Houston. You’re pretty much damned if you do, or don’t. You're a black woman who’s defied the odds, made it out the hood, modeled, sang (and when I say sang, I mean saaaang), acted, and pretty much transformed an entire generation of sanga’s and musicians who want to sing, look, and act just like you. Even the “crazy” version of you (think of every parody you’ve ever seen).

Which is why it upset me so dearly to hear that she left us the night before that godawful excuse of an awards show, the Grammy’s. I wondered if the pressure of this, as she was getting ready for the pre-Grammy party, led her to relax herself in the bathtub…into the ultimate sleep. Not to mention, the pre-Grammy party didn’t stop for Ms. Houston, no sirree. Clive Davis’ old ass must have spent too much time preparing that he couldn’t stop folks from giving two fucks about the woman of the night. While her body lay cold and lifeless upstairs, the music kept pumpin, the bottles kept poppin. Respect my ass.

I swear to you, I never wanna be famous. Infamous, yes. Famous? HELL NO. You couldn’t pay me Jayonce money to do that. Because our Black entertainers not only have to entertain, they have to be our heroes. Whitney was our Superwoman: she was a quadruple threat. But that’s just the problem. She wasn’tSuperwoman. She was Whitney Houston, born August 9, 1963. A Black woman with a voice, one of the few who “made it” because of this voice. But as we have witnessed, this means nothing if you aren’t taken care of, and aren’t in full tune with yourself beyond your voice. She was strong beyond belief, but there's only so much one person can take. Family and friends sustained her, yes. But she was the one who had to bear the burden of her success.

What I take from her transition is the message that we all need to appreciate ourselves a little more. We need to keep folks around us who will remain supportive, to not pay a rat’s ass mind to drama, or folks that bring negative energy to our doorstep. We need to live out our passions, and ensure that our passions aren’t eating us, but feeding us. But above all, we need to exhale.

Whitney, thank you for all you’ve done for us. To those who are just waking up and realizing the damage they’ve done to you, who decided to apologize when it was too late, I say, It’s not right, but it’s okay. You are truly appreciated.

Love, the U.N.Eyewitness.

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