Ibi Zoboi Quotes

We’re not gonna throw away the past as if it meant nothing. See? That’s what happens to whole neighborhoods. We built something, it was messy, but we’re not gonna throw it away.

If hot red is for anger and rage, pink is the color of a soft burning – hot enough to light up the dark corners of sadness and grief, but cool enough to be tender, innocent, open.

Don't ever stop dreaming big But for now, put that dream on paper It's easier to carry around

We were a mob a gang ghetto a pack of wolves animals thugs hoodlums men They were kids having fun home loved supported protected full of potential boys

So trying to come to America from the wrong country is a crime?

Because the thing about sharp corners is, the right turns can bring you back home.

The only way to survive hell is to walk through

IT’S A TRUTH universally acknowledged that when rich people move into the hood, where it’s a little bit broken and a little bit forgotten, the first thing they want to do is clean it up. But it’s not just the junky stuff they’ll get rid of. People can be thrown away too, like last night’s trash left out on sidewalks or pushed to the edge of wherever all broken things go. What those rich people don’t always know is that broken and forgotten neighborhoods were first built out of love.

never let the streets know when you’re upset. Don’t let any strangers see you cry. Hold your head up and look as if you’re ready to destroy the world if you have to.

school teaches you what to think not how to think and nobody raises their hands except to give the right answer

Sometimes love is not enough to keep a community together. There needs to be something more tangible, like fair housing, opportunities, and access to resources. Lifeboats and lifelines are not supposed to just be a way for us to get out. They should be ways to let us stay in and survive. And thrive.

English requires two mouths to speak and four ears to understand

My lips are sealed but my words have a life of their own Even if they're locked up they'll bounce off three walls and slip between metal bars

Ah, mija! There you go! Rivers flow. A body of water that remains stagnant is just a cesspool, mi amor! It’s time to move, flow, grow. That is the nature of rivers. That is the nature of love!

Say it just like that. Let the words slide out and don’t be so uptight about it. It’s just English, not too complicated.

Every book is a different hood, a different country, a different world. Reading is how I visit places and people and ideas. And when something rings true or if I still have a question, I outline it with a bright yellow highlighter so that it’s lit up in my mind, like a lightbulb or a torch leading the way to somewhere new.

We have more space and less time. And the love we had for our whole neighborhood now only fits into this wood-frame house in the middle of a quiet block. We don't know the people who live across the street or on either side of us.

I killed chivalry myself with a pocketknife

My life, my whole damn life before that courtroom before that trial before that night was like Africa And this door leads to a slave ship And maybe jail maybe jail is is America

We were too heavy. Not with our bags. Not with our bodies. But with our burdens.

Umi told me to wear a gray suit because optics But that gray didn’t make me any less black

Blind Justice II All because we were in the wrong place we were in the wrong skins we were in the wrong time we were in the wrong bodies we were in the wrong country we were in the wrong were in the wrong in the wrong the wrong wrong All because they were in the right place they were in the right skins they were in the right time they were in the right bodies they were

And we stepped onto the tipping scales of Lady Justice with her eyes blindfolded, peeking through slits because that rag is so fucking old worn-out, stretched thin, barely even there

because where I come from jail or death were the two options she handed to us because where he came from the American Dream was the one option she handed to them So here we are, blind Lady Justice I see you, too

If you could fuck a book, you would." "You know what?" Chantal comes over and shoves Pri's head. "I would fuck a book before I fuck some dude who doesn't respect me. I'd fuck a degree, a paycheck, and a damn career!

...as long as you have a bougie heart, you can aim for the finer things in life.

But then I realize that everyone is climbing their own mountain here in America. They are tall and mighty and they live in the hearts and everyday lives of the people.

They believed those lies about me and made themselves a whole other boy in their minds and replaced me with him

The bookshelves here are not walls They're closed windows and all I have to do is pull out one book to make these windows wide open

Don't give me no 'but you're beautiful on the inside' bullshit." "No, you are beautiful on the outside," I say. "Don't give me that bullshit either. I'm beautiful when I say I'm beautiful. Let me own that shit," she says. Her eyes have not left the computer screen this whole time, but I know she's paying attention to everything I say. "Okay, then you are ugly." "Thanks for being honest." "Seriously. That's what we say in Haiti. 'Nou led, men nou la.' We are ugly, but we are here." "We are ugly, but we are here," she says, almost whispering. "I hear that.

We have to become everything that we want. Consume it. Like our lwas.

I became the color red boiling-hot lava rising to the surface I became a dragon and the planet Mars I became war I became rage and revenge

And we stepped onto the tipping scales of Lady Justice with her eyes blindfolded, peeking through slits because that rag is so fucking old worn-out, stretched thin, barely even there

They got married at a very, very young age. And thank los espíritus, as Madrina would say, that they at least liked each other. They more than liked each other, though. They are actually still in love. I know this because as we’re all yapping in the living room, Papi washes the dishes, cleans the kitchen, and comes back to offer Mama a glass of water while he takes her empty plate.

Even as you kept telling me that I'm becoming a woman, you never let me go out into the world to be free.

My first meal in America is one that I make for myself and eat by myself. I wonder if this is a sign of things to come.

When you remember all the ways you been killed, and how that shit hurt your fucking soul, ain’t no way in hell you could shake that off. So I didn’t give a fuck about nothing.

Blackness is indeed a social construct. Within the context of American racial politics, there can be no Black without white. No racism without race. But the prevalence of culture is undeniable.

If Madrina’s basement is where the tamboras, los espíritus, and old ancestral memories live, then the roof is where wind chimes, dreams, and possibilities float with the stars, where Janae and I share our secrets and plan to travel all over the world, Haiti and the Dominican Republic being our first stop.

Creole and Haiti stick to my insides like glue—it’s like my bones and muscles. But America is my skin, my eyes, and my breath. According to my papers, I’m not even supposed to be here. I’m not a citizen. I’m a “resident alien.” The borders don’t care if we’re all human and my heart pumps blood the same as everyone else’s.

warm summer breeze blows, and tiny bumps form on my arms. This is what Madrina calls grains of sugar adding sweetness to my soul; the first sparks of love and attraction, of something so new and tender that if I’m too firm with it, it will burst.

We fold our immigrant selves into this veneer of what we think is African American girlhood. The result is more jagged than smooth. This tension between our inherited identities and our newly adopted selves filters into our relationships with other girls and the boys we love, and how we interact with the broken places around us.

I forget every single thing in the world, every heartache, every tear, every pain as I watch that performance. The dancers, the music, the lights, the people in the theater are all so beautiful that I want to wear them on my skin for the rest of my life.

And we stepped onto the tipping scales of Lady Justice

They call it free time and it's the biggest lie because we are still here

Everything is how it’s supposed to be—except for that mini-mansion that’s like a newly polished pair of Jordans thrown in with a bunch of well-worn knockoffs.

There’s no such thing as a half sister.

I have always thought of Bushwick as home, but in that moment, I realize that home is where people I love are, wherever that is.

We have to become everything that we want. Consume it.

Manman says that in order for the lwas to help us, we sometimes have to embody them, let them mount us so they take over our thoughts.

Papi reads as if the world is running out of books. Sometimes he’s more interested in stories and history than people.

I dreamed of going to the most remote places on this earth to dig for old bones, older than people. Before humans and their stupid ideas. Before hate. Maybe even before love, too. Dinosaurs just existed. No lectures, no books, no language. No world-conquering Europeans and no defeated everybody else. Just those powerful, unrestrained creatures roaming the planet.

The story that I thought was this life didn't start on the day I went to that park The story that I think will be my life starts today Anything that happened before today is only the prequel the backstory the story behind the story Nothing before today matters

Late June in Brooklyn is like the very beginning of a party-when the music is really good, but you know that it's about to get way better, so you just do a little two-step before the real turn-up starts.

Chantal’s English is like that of the newspeople on TV. Her voice is high and soft, and every sentence sounds like a question, even when she gives them my name and my mother’s name. It’s as if she isn’t sure of anything and this uniformed man behind the desk and the computer will have all the answers in the universe.

Death parked itself on that corner of American and Joy, some days as still as stone, other days singing cautionary songs and delivering telltale riddles, waiting for the day when one girl would ask to open the gates to the other side.

Eyes watching through filtered screens seeing every lie, reading every made-up word like a black hoodie counts as a mask like some shit I do with my fingers counts as gang signs like a few fights counts as uncontrollable rage like failing three classes counts as being dumb as fuck like everything that I am, that I've ever been counts as being guilty

With Wakanda’s help.

On the day of my conviction I memorize my inmate number my crime my time On the day of my conviction I forget my school ID number my top three colleges my class schedule

Okay, but don’t underestimate bougie rage. That’s on another level.

floor. And when Papi looks up from his food to add his two cents to the conversation, it’s like his words are a tambora adding deep wisdom to all that superficial gossip.

the thing about sharp corners is, the right turns can bring you back home.

The county jail behind the courtroom is called the tombs because it’s where the system buries their dead

I wrap my arms around his shoulders, pull him in, and give Darius a deep, long kiss for what feels like forever.

were a mob a gang ghetto a pack of wolves animals thugs hoodlums men They were kids having fun home loved supported protected full of potential boys

wanna get white-boy wasted?

We aren’t thugs in this family. We respect the police,” he’d said. Like BLM was about respecting authority, not demanding the right to live.

He laughs and I pick up the sweatshirt—a logo of Hillman College from that old TV show A Different World—and hand it to him.

Every book is a different hood, a different country, a different world.

This is the first time my feet are bound where the fuck am I supposed to run anyway

We were a mob a gang ghetto a pack of wolves animals thugs hoodlums men They were kids having fun home loved supported protected full of potential boys

I could pull myself together and be my own damn sidekick, road dog, and ride-or-die chick.

Blank Canvas I have a crayon and paper I didn't know that I could hold this little bit of freedom in my hands

Motown, J Dilla, Slum Village.

This is the stuff my mother practiced back in Haiti. She is a mambo, a priestess. This is how we pray. We see the magic in everything, in all people.

Yes and no. It’s Vodou.” “Voodoo? Oh, I get it now. You put a spell on me?” “No, that’s not real Vodou. We have spirit guides—our lwas are like saints and I pray to them for help.

there are squiggly lines that want to form his name in pretty script letters with curlicues and flowers and stars and hearts and more hearts.

That’s disgusting—you don’t kiss girls, you understand? We don’t have gays in our family,” he said. Mom eventually got him calmed down, but I never forgot the way his eyes bulged as he yelled “GAYS.

Processed It's like I'm meat or wheat Made into a burger or deli slices Made into pasta or bread Processed Not the boy I was before the machine Before the braking down and pulling apart Before the adding and taking away I was made for easy, fast consumption Like food chains in the hood Umi said don't go there That you are what you eat Those jails that system has swallowed me whole

Umi didn’t know that I had cut school to visit the art museum downtown I had cut school to sit in the park on a bench with my sketch pad drawing trees and leaves and sky and birds just to get my skills up just to understand the rules of line and texture and shading and black and white Just so I can break those rules And I didn’t need Ms. Rinaldi to tell me that I wasn’t advanced or I didn’t have history

Grandma calls me *Master* Amal because she says I am the master of my own destiny I am the master of my own fate I am the master of my body, mind, and spirit So there was only room for one master and Clyde ain't it

My cousins are hurting. My aunt is hurting. My mother is hurting. And there is no one here to help. How is this the good life, when even the air in this place threatens to wrap its fingers around my throat? In Haiti, with all its problems, there was always a friend or a neighbor to share in the misery. And then, after our troubles were tallied up like those points at the basketball game, we would celebrate being alive. But here, there isn’t even a slice of happiness big enough to fill up all these empty houses, and broken buildings, and wide roads that lead to nowhere and everywhere. Every bit of laughter, every joyous moment, is swallowed up by a deep, deep sadness.

Saying down with the blacks but uplift the white race Raising the banner to the sun in haste Mobbed deep, hoods and capes Sun-dried and bloodstained Saying down with the blacks but uplift the white race Unjustly tried an indelible conviction the usual result of five shades of darker skin Justice unjust, black robes and pale face Didn't have a chance, they called us apes I wish I would have known the false smiles Evil intentions fulfilling their taste Why me? Why us? Justice unjust, black robes and pale faces?

words can paint black and white pictures, too Maybe ideas have their own eyes separating black from white as if the world is some old, old TV show [...] our mind's eyes and our eyes' minds see the world as they want to Everything already illustrated in black and white

Dad was blowing up my phone and I was ignoring him. I knew he’d want me to come back just so he could yell at me and tell me how irresponsible I am and that I shouldn’t even think about going away to college because I couldn’t remember a simple thing like buying food for the house.

Amal Shahid to the left​Jeremy Mathis to the right perfectly imbalanced because where I come from jail or death were the two options she handed to us because where he comes from the American Dream was the one option she handed to them So here we are, blind Lady Justice I see you, too

I give them each a kiss on the cheek, and in that moment, I feel like I can fly around the world and back if I want to, because this is what will always be here waiting for me: my parents’ love; my loud sisters; my crowded and cluttered apartment; and the lingering scent of home-cooked meals.

Black Mona Lisa My umi's face is the most beautiful in the world Skin like sleeping in on snow days beneath thick blankets black Smile like an eighty-degree summer day in April bright Eyes like long subway rides looking out windows watching nothing and everything go by in the dark and letting my thoughts swim deep

and soon there was this invisible line we couldn't cross like we can't go where the nice places are Can't touch the nice things because everything about us our skin, our faces, our hair, our words, our music will break things will ruin things will make things ugly just by us being there But those white boys didn't care about no lines The world belonged to them including our hood

Read to travel,” Papi always says. Every book is a different hood, a different country, a different world. Reading is how I visit places and people and ideas. And when something rings true or if I still have a question, I outline it with a bright yellow highlighter so that it’s lit up in my mind, like a lightbulb or a torch leading the way to somewhere new. It’s usually enough to make me forget I’ve barely left Bushwick.

And we stepped onto the tipping scales of Lady Justice with her eyes blindfolded, peeking through slits because that rag is so fucking old worn-out, stretched thin, barely even there Amal Shahid to the left​Jeremy Mathis to the right perfectly imbalanced because where I come from jail or death were the two options she handed to us because where he comes from the American Dream was the one option she handed to them So here we are, blind Lady Justice I see you, too

God, the Artist Allah is the only artist here And He prefers the darkest night to be his canvas He paints the past in broad strokes, bright hues And the memories dance all over my mind in living color He paints in words and voices, rhymes and rhythm And every whisper, every conversation beats a drum in my mind at full blast He paints in wrong choices, regrets, and broken dreams And every acquaintance, friend, and enemy laughs at me in my mind really, really loud

They’re just so stupid,” he says, sighing. “In addition to this stupid, racist feud they have with your family, they’ve got all of these Make America Great Again posters plastered over our windows, and while we were in the living room watching a movie together, they just kept making really shitty homophobic comments. And I had enough.” He sighs again. “And you know, they had the nerve to threaten me, saying if I cost them the race tomorrow, they’ll send me to Texas to live with my grandparents.

Ms. Rinaldi taught AP Art History and for whatever reason Advanced Placement seemed to be only for the white kids at my school But there I was in my only AP class the only black kid in the room looking at slides of old paintings and it was boring as fuck Muted and dull colors Sad and pale rich white people doing nothing but looking sad So I’d pull up my hoodie and put my head down There, behind my closed lids I could paint me a world that made sense And there was that one time Ms. Rinaldi yanked my hoodie from off my head If you cannot pay attention in my class then you don’t deserve to be here she said through clenched teeth So I picked up my bag and walked out I failed the class She failed me

The first book he gave me was “The Autobiography of Malcolm X” And I thought he was trying to tell me something because Malcolm was Muslim Malcolm was a thug Malcolm was in jail Malcolm was all about the people Malcolm went to Mecca Malcom said some shit Malcolm was shot dead The only book I gave Clyde was “The Rose That Grew from Concrete” I was definitely trying to tell him something because Tupac was a poet Tupac was a thug Tupac went to jail Tupac was all about the people Tupac went everywhere Tupac said some shit Tupac was shot dead Clyde didn’t know that Umi made me read all about Malcolm in eighth grade Clyde didn’t know that I read about Martin Luther King and Nelson Mandela, too Clyde didn’t know that I’d read big books and watched documentaries on my own Clyde didn’t know that I’d reread that book in five days because after two months He asked me if I was done And by that point I had gotten through twelve books To take my mind off things for a little while, I said