Tag Archives: honesty

Sep 5 2025

Love: What It Is and What It Ain’t.

My mother got admitted around midnight in July 2023, after a full day at the hospital. I called my girlfriend at the time, who is an oncology nurse, as soon as they took my mom in. She didn’t answer; it was late, she lives in Houston, I thought nothing of it and had bigger things to think about. She called me later that morning and apologized, sharing that my call didn’t go through her Do Not Disturb settings.

I left XXL Magazine in April 2023 because I was tired of being treated like a clown, knowing how much I contributed and how much of myself I poured into my work. We didn’t end on bad terms, but I couldn’t stay, it was untenable. I worked for OkayPlayer from late February until about the end of July. When that was done, I flew out to Houston to spend time with my then-girlfriend because I obviously missed her and needed a break from NYC. My day to day life was splitting my time (very unevenly) between handling a majority of my mother’s day to day caretaking needs, and working for OKP; I absolutely earned some time for myself, with my dad fully taking over my duties in my absence, with my sister coming when her work responsibilities allowed.

I was in Houston from about 6 weeks, a little under half of July and almost all of August, making sure to come back home before my mother’s birthday on August 27th. Somewhere around the middle of August, my mom texted me to tell me that when she went to her immunotherapy appointment, they discovered that she lost 15 pounds, and were scheduling an emergency CAT scan for her. I was over 1,000 miles away; I felt helpless. Every day I was in Houston, I worried about her, even with my mom asking me not to. I wanted her to be ok and I didn’t want things to go left while I was away, which was one of my worst nightmares.

After the CAT scan, they realized my mom was fine, her weight loss was solely due to her not eating enough, not any issues with her cancer, which wasn’t worsening. She was staying up late and and waking up later because she was watching the Olympics, even though she was fully aware she can watch the replays on my Peacock account. She did not care; my mom LOVED track and field and had no qualms with keeping her nearly 70 year old body awake at 2 am to watch it. All that waking up late cost her time to eat, and she wasn’t thinking about food anyway; she was thinking about the breakdancing competition on her TV. Of course, this aggravated me, but I laughed, happy that she was ok. I flew home about a week and a half later, making it home for her birthday. I don’t even remember how we celebrated or what she wanted; when your mother is as ill as mine was, you tend to just hope she makes it to certain milestones. She made it past Thanksgiving and Christmas, her favorite holidays, and this would be her second (and final) birthday with us.

When I was in Houston with my then-girlfriend, everything was fine between us. About 2 weeks after I got home, we were having a normal text convo, and she revealed she felt “weird” about a dream she had. The dream? She left me because I took too long to get engaged to her. I didn’t take this seriously because, I had no job and a very ill mother, there was nothing I could do about that. But I was also offended, because we had been together five years; I told her in year 2 she was the love of my life and that we were going to get married. I didn’t see anyone else for me, and the way I treated her reflected that. So for this “dream” (sure) to come up, then for her to act like I had no reason to be annoyed by how she was evasive about what the dream meant to her, blew this up. I asked repeatedly, in plain language, what does this mean, and she said “If you’re asking am I going to follow the dream, I’m not.” I wasn’t asking that at all. She then revealed that if she were to get to the point of being tired of waiting to be engaged in real life, she would “have to see how she felt in the moment,” which is a crazy ass answer. Nonetheless, the convo ended peacefully but I knew she was still mad, which didn’t make sense to me then and doesn’t now.

About two weeks after that (two week intervals were very big for me in 2024), we had a text convo about my mental health struggles, the despair of my mom’s now up and down health, my changing family dynamics, my career issues; basically, everything bothering me. I was the lowest I had ever been in my life. I was honest with her about how terrible and depressed I felt, like things would never get better for me internally and externally.

The next day, she texted me and said “I’m having trouble staying positive about your situation.” It is one thing to feel like someone you love is in dire circumstances; it’s something else entirely to tell them you are running out of hope for them, when they already have little hope for themselves. It was such a strange and hurtful thing to say, but I was so upset about my life, I just moved on. She didn’t try and clean it up or anything; she felt how she felt.

Over the next month, she would begin to distance herself from me, one time outright disappearing for a day and not speaking to me when I started texting her about my struggles again, then telling me she was busy with such things as watching the Netflix turd known as The Circle and working out. She was gone from the early afternoon until the next morning, something she does not do. When I asked her about it that morning, she acted like her behavior was normal and that I was acting weird for asking about it. Just a bunch of dumb ass excuses to cloud the truth; the terrible circumstances I had to face due to my mother’s illness, which I didn’t choose, made her just stop caring about me and what I had going on. My mom falling ill and music journalism collapsing in on itself changed my timeline for everything; there wasn’t shit I could do about that, and she knew. She was too much of a coward to say it was too much and she wanted to leave; she just became more and more callous.

This all culminated in her sharing that she feels a lot of “angst” in our relationship, mostly connected to us not having a plan for our relocation (she didn’t want to stay in Texas). The issue at the core of this is, she told me she wanted to move to another state; since we were long distance, the goal was to live together once that move happened. I told her since I have the flexible career (journalism) and she didn’t (oncology), she should look up the cities she can work in, then bring them to me and we use that as a starting point. She agreed. She then spent three years and only found 3 states, which I had to keep asking her over and over to give me. She spent years dragging her feet, and now, with an ailing mother and my life falling apart by the day, she felt it was urgent.

This led to her saying I “blamed” her for us not moving, 4 days of angry texting that led to her telling me she was not going to talk to me until the weekend (she shared this on a Wednesday in mid-October). I have expressed since the first year of our relationship that I don’t like the silent treatment/disappearing act, especially in a long distance relationship, because it’s unfair to me and also dangerous. If something happened to her or something happened to me, how would either party know if one half is intentionally ignoring the other? She knew how I felt about that behavior, and decided to do it for 4 days because she felt disrespected, something she would then not be able to explain when asked about it once she resurfaced. I wasn’t rude, I didn’t curse at her (because I don’t do that), I didnt yell, I was just tired of everything deteriorating, followed by vague answers as to why any of this escalating. She simply didn’t want to deal with her very real desire to walk because my life was fucked up, and chose to bullshit around that point.

We got on the phone that Sunday night. Longest phone call of my life. We spoke for 3.5 hours, but I knew my relationship was over in the first five minutes. As I mentioned earlier, she didn’t answer when I called to tell her my mom got admitted to the hospital. She didn’t answer again about 13 months later when my mom had to go back to the hospital late at night. I wasn’t tripping, but remember that she said she would handle it the first time. She called me later that morning and tested it like a day later; still wouldn’t work. She told me she would address it, and I moved on. I didn’t bring it up repeatedly, I really didn’t care since she said she’d take care of it.

Five minutes into that three hour call, I asked why didnt she take her phone into her service provider’s store and let them fix whatever the issue was with her DND. She interrupted me to say “…because I don’t have time for that shit and its not a high priority right now.” I was so taken aback by this answer that all I could muster was a “Wow.” You had a year plus to figure out why your phone literally doesn’t ring when your long distance boyfriend, with a sick mother, calls you after 12. I wasn’t calling to make kissy sounds in the phone, it was for an emergency every single time. This did not matter to her and I had to accept what I had thought for the last 2 months; the woman I planned to spend the rest of my life with, no longer gave a fuck about me. I kept talking because I wanted to give her the floor to share whatever her grievances truly were and well…..that was a ride.

Before we got to what she was upset about, she tried to defend disappearing for four days, before giving up and admitting it was excessive. Then she brings up us relocating, and starts arguing with and disputing that she wasn’t telling me where she wanted to move, along with not telling me when she wanted me to move in with her in Houston, temporarily, before a bigger move. This back and forth lasts too long, and out of nowhere she says “You’re right.” After my confusion, she reveals that she was “intentionally” not giving me any info on either move because she knew I was going through a lot with my mother, my family and my career. As if she was doing me a favor.

She made it seem like her leaving me in the dark was some sort of noble deed, after arguing that she wasn’t doing so. There is a way to discuss us moving, with tact. The answer is not to have developments, not tell me, then tell me you didn’t tell me because I was having a difficult time, which is indirectly blaming me for something I didn’t tell you to do. To be honest, I don’t believe this at all; I think it was just a convenient excuse. She wasn’t telling me and concocted a non-existent argument because she just wanted to go.

The convo continues on and she says something to me that I thought people only said in movies. “So you’re perfect?,” she exclaimed, after 10-15 mins of me airing grievances that she both couldn’t defend or explain. She tried to get me to “guess” what I did wrong in my relationship; when I refused and told her to say what she had a problem with, she shared the most callous shit I’ve ever heard from a woman.

Her first issue with me? She felt I took too long to get medicated, for my mental health struggles. I have generalized anxiety disorder and depression. I wasn’t angry, or abusive, or horrible to people…I was just sad and heartbroken all the time. I was afraid my cancer-stricken mother was going to die every day, I had no money, I was struggling as me and my family went through this uncharted territory; I was in pain. She expressed long ago that she was pretty much tired of me talking about how upset I was all the time, and that’s what she wanted the medicine to do; shut me the fuck up.

I didn’t get medicated for over a year because to put it plainly? I was afraid. I grew up being taught not-so-great things about taking mental health meds and I was afraid of side effects, personally. I had to push myself through that and decided to go get help when I couldn’t breathe as we waited for the results of one of my mom’s many CAT scans. Funnily enough, I was only given a low dosage of Trazodone. So, I’m being made to feel like shit over a medication that isn’t that serious at all. After I explained everything I said here, she said “That doesn’t make sense.”

Her next grievance was also ice cold. She told me she would have handled my depressive episode better than me. Yes, me being miserable over my mother being sick and the other stressors in my life, she would have done a better job than me. I was calm for the entire call; this was the comment that truly pissed me off. She has never experienced what I was dealing with, there is no comparison to make. She was angry that I didn’t ask how she was doing over a course of four text conversations; she bought it up when it happened, which was weeks before. I apologized and we were fine. For some reason, she bought it back up, and I was lost as to what she wanted me to do. It was never intentional. I told her “If I forgot to ask how you were doing, why wouldn’t you assume I was really struggling at the time?” She responded with, “Oh, I knew you were [struggling].” Very well then.

We finally end the call, she texts me the next morning saying she can’t talk because she’s behind in work because of our convo/issues last week. She then starts talking to me about when she wants me to mail her gift to her crib (her birthday was the next day) since she was going to be out of town at a festival in Atlanta. I knew about the festival, but the audacity to talk to me about your bday gift (which was never sent), along with you now having no time to discuss all that crazy shit you said last night, was insulting. She also suddenly realized she should take her phone to get fixed after saying it wasn’t important the night before; she knew what she said the night before about her not having time or prioritizing was both mean and bullshit. And no, she didn’t apologize for saying that.

I told her in that very same text convo that I no longer want to be with her based on her behavior as of recently and the things she said on that call. I gave her the option of getting on the phone to talk, but if she didn’t that’s fine too. Not only did she not call, she didnt text, she didn’t say another word.

Things were bad. Then my mom called me into her room to tell me she had to go back on chemo, but did not want to tell me because she knew I was upset about my breakup. The illness that would eventually take my mother away from me was worsening, and she still thought to protect me first, by waiting a couple days to tell me. I now finally knew the difference between someone who truly loves you, and someone who just says it.

I have not heard a word from someone I dated for 5 years, since October 21st of last year. She treated me like shit, then disappeared in silence. She didn’t send condolences after my mother died this April either, and she knew, because a bunch of her friends took it upon themselves to reach out to me. You really never know how someone will abandon you, but I found out, in the most difficult time I’ve ever faced.

Jun 16 2025

Cancer, My Momma and Me.

In July 2023, my mom’s longtime doctor called and told her that she needed to be rushed to the hospital. Her red blood cell count was so out of whack that he thought she was bleeding internally. At this point, my mother was very depressed over her younger sister’s death, leading to her eating less, sleeping a lot, and being in a general state of malaise I’d never seen from her. I knew she was sad and really needed help, but I never thought she was sick. I used to tell her to go to the doctor for a check-up all the time; she ominously told me right before she went that she was concerned that she might be really ill and decided to cancel my long-distance, now ex-girlfriend coming over for dinner. In something my family has said a lot since my mother’s passing, she knew.

My mom got admitted to the hospital around midnight. Back at home, I was eating once a day, and not sleeping. I was terrified, and seeing my mom in a hospital bed was really difficult. One day during this stay, I walked in as a doctor said she had liver cancer, which didn’t make sense to any of us, based on her habits. They came back in the next day and said they believed she had colon cancer which had metastasized to her liver.

Easier to treat than liver cancer and much more sensible to me, I was kind of ok with the doctor’s (unconfirmed) diagnosis. But I was still in serious denial. My mom? Handled it incredibly. She admitted she cried with my father the first time they believed she had cancer, but by day 3, she was just willing to do what she had to, to get better. Meanwhile? I’m losing my fucking mind, but hiding that from my mother. She got discharged on the 6th day after a biopsy earlier in the week; we had to go home and wait to see what the results were.

I believe we had to wait about a week and a half. In that time, my dad came home and revealed that he had a mass in his colon, discovered during his routine colonoscopy. He would need surgery to remove it, and they took a sample from the mass to check it for colon cancer. So, in short, me and my family had to wait to find out if both of my parents had colon cancer at the same time. I can only describe the experience as feeling like the top of my head was exploding, every day, with no relief; I don’t know how I survived. My dad’s sample came back clean, but after his successful surgery that cured him, they found out he actually did have a very mild form of colon cancer; my mom’s biopsy revealed that she had Stage IV colon cancer, that had spread to her lungs and liver, and she would have to start chemotherapy.

My mother made it a point to tell me, my sister and my dad that she wasn’t going to die immediately, because God was going to give us time to prepare for her to go. Yet again, she knew.

My mother’s first course of chemo was from August 2023 until mid-February 2024, just after my birthday (Valentine’s Day). My mom was a medical miracle; at 68 years old with advanced cancer, the chemo had shrunk half of her lesions and totally removed the cancer from her colon. We all went to the cancer center to see her ring the bell; we took photos and videos that never saw the light of day because my mother was very private about her illness. She was so happy that she cried; I felt tears welling up in my eyes that day, and I do right now. That was when my mom was the most like herself, and once she got put on immunotherapy, which was just an injection she got every 3 weeks, she only got better and better.

Now that her illness was taking less out of her, my mom returned to traveling with my father, one of her favorite things to do. My mother is very funny and incredibly smart; I’m wiping tears of grief and pride thinking about how unique her personality was. I knew my mother was doing better, because not only did she have a lot more energy, but she was back to talking shit about people.

My mom had to be taken to the hospital again in December 2024, one of a flurry of hospital stays throughout the year. When she got there, the oncologist on-site saw her and said her chemo wasn’t working. He ended up being correct; my mom was continuing to lose weight and struggling to eat. My mother was in the hospital for 5 days, even through NYE. Her personal oncologist took her off of that chemo in January, and switched her to chemo pills. The advantage of the pills is they would be easier on my mother’s system and she wouldn’t need to go down the stairs and leave the house, a task that was becoming more difficult for her with each passing week.

I regularly cooked for my mom, handled any day to day issues that came up, and helped her walk around the house. The neuropathy from all the chemo took away the sensitivity in her hands, making it hard for her to pick her pills up. I used to drop them in her mouth, and hold her water bottle, that was now too heavy for her. Seeing her that weak really killed me. This was all so sad, but my mind was set on helping her no matter what. How poorly she was doing was barely registering, but I felt it in my spirit. I felt in my (ongoing) inability to sleep, because I fashioned myself into a light sleeper so I could jump out of the bed and help her in crisis situations, which started to happen with more and more frequency. I felt it in my constant anxiety and fear, worried I was going to find my mother dead in her bed every morning.

My mom had to be taken to the hospital again in April because she had jaundice. I mentioned her eyes to my sister, and she said she had already noticed it. My sister called it in, and her oncologist said she had to go to the hospital to get her liver checked. I was honestly too afraid to call myself, because my mom had been in the hospital barely 2 weeks before, now so weak that she had to be taken home via ambulette, with the EMTs strapping her down flat to a stretcher and carrying her up the steps. I praise my sister for taking the initiative, and her courage got my mother examined.

Ultimately, they couldn’t help her. Her eyes and tears were yellow because the cancer in her liver was worsening, and there was no area where they could stent it and free the bile. On her second to last day, two doctors came in and told us that my mom’s options for cancer treatment are limited, that they didn’t believe she could keep doing chemo because of the state of her bones. You need healthy bones to produce red blood cells; my mom’s skeleton was so worn down from both the chemo and the cancer spreading to bones in her back, that her count was struggling to recover. It was up to my mom’s main oncologist to decide on the next step, on May 20th, a date I dreaded. I fully expected her to tell me my mom was going to die, that day.

My mom was discharged on April 17. They sent her home with the kind of aid she rejected in the past; she now had an in-home physical therapist, a home health aide 3 times a week, and a nurse dropping by to check on her. All 3 of these women were excellent to my mother, but that week is when I realized she would need even more help. She needed an aide that was around more often, and part of the reason my mom finally accepted that kind of help, was to ease the weight on me of taking care of her. I went out more, but my mom was on my mind at all times. I was enjoying myself (I guess) but it was very difficult.

The morning of April 26 at 9:01 am, I was woken up by my sister calling my phone, urging me to go in my mother’s room, because she believed she was home alone. I went in, reassured her, rearranged her in bed and fixed her pillows with my dad, and left the room, as she told us to go. At this point in my mom’s life, she couldn’t really move her legs or body in bed (due to muscle atrophy), so we would have to move them into comfortable positions. I fell asleep, and my eyes jolted open at noon, my own voice in my head saying “CHECK ON MOMMY NOW.” I went back in that room and what I saw broke my heart.

My mother was trying to talk to me but was nonverbal, just grunting through her clenched teeth, and not blinking. Then she started breathing heavily, almost panting. I yelled for my father, who ran upstairs and held her. We alternated in and out of the room, as I called 911 and we had to get dressed; we’ve called the ambulance for her so many times that we had a system. When I went into my room to find a hoodie to put on, I was panicking and couldn’t find anything. I heard, again, my own voice say to me, “Your mother is going to die. Stop rushing.” I immediately calmed down, slowly looked and found my hoodie immediately. I felt calm rinse over me, but I also hoped I was wrong. But I knew I wasn’t. I knew.

I went in that room and she was breathing so lightly that I thought she stopped. I yelled for my dad again, he runs to the bed and is cradling her in his arms. She took two more breaths and left us, and that was the last time I saw my mother alive. She passed before the EMTs got up the steps, and I will never forget how their demeanor changed when I led them to my mother. They relaxed, and had a gentle ease about them that I didn’t see in the many EMT duos I’ve seen in her room. They knew. One of the EMTs put the oximeter on her finger and it was flatlined, and never activated. I pretty much saw that and broke down with my father. Then I called my sister and relayed the bad news.

My friends, my sister with her boyfriend in tow, and my cousin rushed to the house, the officers and EMTs were wonderful to us in such a difficult situation, everyone went above and beyond. My mother passed peacefully, in the bed she loved, in the house she loved, in the arms of the love of her life. She would not have wanted it any other way. Her head rested on her pillows, turned towards the big window in her room. The sun illuminated her so beautifully, and she looked so pleased, that I had to remind myself she was gone. Even typing it right now, I can’t believe it.

Of course, my mom is always with us through her lessons, wisdom and eternal love, but not hearing that laugh ever again hurts me so, so deeply. My mother was in an unbelievable amount of pain, so I don’t want her here on Earth with us, suffering so I can see her face. I am at peace with her having to go, because honestly, things were dire. But I miss her, and not in the overt ways. The silliest shit will happen to me, and I’ll think “I gotta tell mom.” And I still can, but it’s not the same. Those few days after my mother’s death, I felt like I got so many random breaks, and got nudged out of so many poor decisions, that it had to be my mom’s doing. Whether it’s because she pulled strings in a metaphysical sense, or because her guidance still rang true in my spirit, my momma got me. She is still maneuvering things for me, I feel it every day.

When my mother died, I felt freed, which made me feel weird. I felt my desire to die, or totally give up on my life, lifted off of me when my mom left the earthly plane. These last 2 years were extremely difficult for me, between my mom’s health. my break up and my carer woes. When the sun hit me when I stepped outside, all of that was gone. I was good now. I had hope. My mom gave me a lot of things, but her death bought me back to myself. She outright told me that it wasn’t fair that I had to take care of her, that I should be enjoying my life and not spending my time worrying and making sure she was ok. I understood her passing as a chance to live for myself, because that’s what she wanted me to do. My mom handed me something that I could not give myself, as she always has. Selfless still, even in the afterlife.

As difficult as the last few months of my mom’s life were, we had a lot of good times. The smile on her face when we ate together, especially her favorite at the time, Japanese food. The way she used to laugh at my ridiculous observations, the way her laughter filled the floor anytime my sister came over. Me and my mom used to discuss politics, social issues, nutrition, you name it. I loved watching her random YouTube finds with her, whether it be women camping in far off lands or cruise ship reviews, or laughing at the insanity of Disney adults. I was happy to spend time with her, I took taking care of her as an honor, as a deeply held responsibility. My mom sometimes felt like she was a burden, but she was not. I’ve never missed a burden in my life.

I have handled her death pretty well emotionally, but seeing her casket get lowered in the ground was when I felt forced to accept everything. Since her death, I couldn’t remember her voice; it was like my brain was blocking how she sounded to shield me from the pain. But as she was lowered into her resting place, I could hear her saying “Best Son Ever!” which she called me all the time, and I only started to accept in her later days. As soon as I heard her voice in my mind, my eyes filled with tears. I will never be the same, but I’m not supposed to be. I died with my momma too, but I get to take steps to becoming whole with each passing day, and she made sure that I’d be able to do so.

Aug 13 2024

within the trench.

My mother has been asking me for years, when will I write on here again. That time is now.

My feelings on what’s considered a “normal” online presence have evolved; I don’t owe anyone anything regarding my life. I barely post on Instagram because I need some parts of my life, for myself. My distaste for Twitter worsens by the month. The way social media has wound itself into everything leads to a feeling of always having to be “present” and posting, and I just don’t find that interesting anymore.

As time went on, I felt less-inclined to talk about my life, because really fucked up things were happening to me. I had to go through the (still-active) pandemic in 2020 like everyone else, but I also had a house fire to contend with, where I narrowly got my parents out of the house. I found out King Von had been killed, who I had a growing relationship and who successfully launched my XXL IG Live show less than a week before. I was alone in my girlfriend’s apartment, tears streaming down my face. Things would become more difficult for me, going forward.

In the summer of 2022, both of my parents got COVID at the same time; I took care of the both of them for a little over 2 weeks without getting it myself, afraid they were going to die for pretty much that first week. When my mom recovered, she felt good enough to return my Auntie Leslie’s call, as she didn’t really have the energy for phone calls. My family’s relationship with my aunt has been up and down, due to her mental health struggles and what comes with that, but her and my mother had recently fices their relationship. My aunt didn’t answer my mom’s multiple calls. My sister went to go check on my aunt and all she found was her apartment window open, lights on, the horrifying smell of death wafting out. I was with my mom, who was now hysterical but hoping for the best. I was too, but it was too late. My aunt was dead, and she wasn’t even in the apartment; her body had been taken out of it days before, courtesy of the police and her landlord never notified anyone. My aunt passed in her sleep from COVID complications, right as my parents recovered from the same virus. We never saw it coming.

I loved my aunt and I wish I spoke to her more, and I should have pushed harder to make things right when things were rough between her and my family. But she knows how I felt. And she really helped me build my self-esteem, as I was a very shy, often-teased kid growing up. She told me she was proud of me all the time, and that shit really kept me going more times than she will ever know.

I didn’t know what to do when she died, honestly. I sent her a long series of texts soon after, and I realized we didn’t have a lot left unsaid. I wish we got to hang out as two adults, because I’ve really come into my own, and because I knew I could always be honest with her about what was going on with me. She is KEY in my love for Janet Jackson and dance music, and more importantly, for wanting to extract joy out of life.

I spoke at her funeral and all I remember is bringing up when she turned on Janet Jackson’s “Go Deep” video on every TV in my childhood apartment and singing and dancing as loud as she could, when I wanted to go to sleep. I was sobbing, because that ridiculous memory that scared the hell out of me back then was now something I really cherished. I need to be more like my auntie, I always wished I was; I’ve always been very guarded until my mid-to-late 20s. I feel I’ve fallen short of her example, and it eats at me from time to time, just like when I passed on hanging out with her at NBA All Star Weekend, because I was running around with my then-girlfriend. Those chances don’t come back and I have to live with that. I will miss my aunt forever, but I live in honor of her, because I know I couldn’t become the person I am, without her in my corner.

Jun 28 2020

“It’s a big difference.”

I heard an oddly familiar, but very loud beep. I assumed it was an alarm at a nearby house and brushed it off. Then I heard another, similar sound, followed by my mother yelling that there was a fire in the basement.

My mother is strong as fuck. I hate referring to black women as “strong” because it robs them of the room to be delicate, to feel pain, to be vulnerable. On the same token, I’ve watched my mother not flinch during shit that would’ve killed me, seen her stand up for people whose voice wouldn’t have been heard otherwise. She is a wonderful woman with a gigantic heart who ALWAYS sees the bigger picture. And that is strength, to me.

But she was concerned. I could tell from her voice. It’s the same way she sounded as she saw me spiral through a depressive episode for years. Just like back then, she saved my ass, yet again.

I ran down the steps, leaving everything behind. I was in disbelief, almost if my mom was mistaken. But nope, it was real, the dryer that I put my clothes in just ten minutes ago went up in flames, quickly overwhelming the basement, if the smoke that was seeping upstairs was real. My mom tried to go back downstairs to the fire, and I yelled (without cursing, because yes, I wanted to) for her to not do that and just leave the house. I told my dad the same; I also told him to just close the basement door instead of running down there. That move was done to save my mother’s cat Cathy from accidentally running downstairs and dying.

I get my parents outside of the house. I’m standing outside, hoping the fire doesn’t reach the boiler and blow the house up, and that the cat doesn’t die. I’m also extremely concerned about me or my family contracting Coronavirus outside, as the entire neighborhood is outside now, talking to us. My parents, thankfully, were masked up. I wasn’t, but kept my distance when I remembered. Long story short, FDNY put the fire out, the cat was fine (but scared, hiding in an upstairs closet), and the house is intact. We can’t stay there for some months, but we’re in a nice rental crib, my family is good, shoutout to the insurance my parent’s busted their asses for over the years.

My mother said I saved her and my dad (and by proxy, the cat’s) life. I decided to just be modest and not think about it. I talked to my girlfriend about it and admitted that I agreed with my mom’s sentiment, but it was a lot to stomach. The entire time I was trying to get my parent’s out of that house, I was thinking that the house was gonna blow up and they were going to die. That’s all that was on my mind. But I got them out, got outside and called 911. I was semi-hysterical but I was much more composed than I expected. But my mom thinks I saved them. And that conflicts with my idea of heroism.

My father is a hero. He saved my neighbor’s life when I was a kid, when she fell taking garbage to the incinerator on our floor and cut herself on the glass in the bag, leaving blood all over the hallway. I don’t know how he realized what was happening from inside our apartment, but he got to her and called 911, and saved her from bleeding out, and got his kids, who didn’t have local friends, a close friend down the hall and a family that embraced us. And he saved my friends lives too, with the way he has always been welcoming; they love him and admire him the same way I do. Because he’s a hero. And he’ll never admit that shit, because that’s not his style.

My mother is a heroine. She spent a lot of years in the New York Board of Education. She was a teacher, administrator, assistant principal and principal. I’ve seen the kids and adults that spent time in her schools, the lives she’s touched. They have an unending respect for her, as does everyone who has ever worked with or known her. She’s saved a lot of lives, directly and indirectly. She’s won awards for her work in schools, she has had students that would and have put their safety on the line for her. But she also would never admit any of this, because she is modest, and humble.

I have done a lot in my life. I am not modest or humble or anything of the sort. But I try to be my best self each day, and all I really want to do is help and do what’s right. With all of that said, I am (still) taken aback by the idea that I saved my family, because I just did what was correct to me, while being terrified. I understood that my fear could cost me the lives of my loved ones, so I acted as if I felt nothing, besides urgency. I do truly believe that I am a star that hasn’t evolved yet, but I’m no hero. I’m just someone who is trying to do his best, who experiences ups and downs like anyone else. And perhaps that’s enough. But, maybe, just maybe, I need to accept the love when I get it.

Sep 28 2017

Subtraction By Subtraction.

It’s not hard to have sex. But know yourself before you indulge in it.

After my TRASH 2015 that included two rather bad splits and other low moments, I had to look in the mirror. What is it that I’m doing that gets me into these situations where I get tied up with a girl I like, then things just go sour?

My solution was not letting myself get so emotionally wrapped up in dating, to just chill, to just “have fun.” I’ve done this before; everything worked out, for the most part. This second go-round was disastrous, not in results or quality of sex, but in the long-term effect on my mindset.

It wasn’t that my approach changed, I was a little more subtle. I’m not really sleeping over, I’m not cuddling overly long, because I don’t want you to feel as if I’m trying to nudge you into a relationship. I’m not exactly a hopeless romantic (this is a lie), but I couldn’t really operate like this. I tried, I really did…but it was not me. I was having sex and holding back my emotions because I was tired of situations falling apart.

My newfound “strategy” definitely had some rough spots. Do you know how weird it is to have good sex but also think “wow I really enjoyed just laying there and talking to you after?” My life was lacking affection (and still is), and I couldn’t say how I felt out of fear of misconstruing things. I’m Steve Urkel masquerading as Stefan Urquelle, but I’m ACTUALLY both guys. My issue is I repressed the more emotional aspects of myself because I was tired of getting stuck in doomed pseudo-situationships. My actions must match my words, and in my head that came down to cutting out cuddling and other #smooth romantic shit that I really wanted to do. Maybe I was wrong.

When you taper down your emotions, you start to attract and pursue women who are on the same page. The problem there is, some of those girls don’t give a shit about you. They might enjoy having sex with you, MAYBE even like eating chicken with you beforehand, but you are of no importance besides your filth and ability to be on time. For some guys, this is a dream situation. I was one of those guys for a couple of months; then, it was trash. Making things worse, I have a bad habit of making situations better in my mind than what they actually are, which leads to disappointment.

Things had gotten so filthy that I said to myself “I wish I could go on a wholesome date.” All I was doing was working, going to the gym, getting drunk, and having mostly-emotionless sex. That is a very jarring change from my early 20s, when I was just hoping and wishing to get my wee-wee dampened.

In the midst of all the struggling, this is what I wanted. This is what I ALWAYS wanted. Even as a child, before I knew what sex or kissing or anything really was, I vividly remember telling my dad I wanted women to really like me. He told me it would happen, just do my damn homework. That was sound advice! But I eventually got there, and it forces you to look at yourself in ways you may not want to.

If multiple women are interested in you, thats great. But the reality is unless one particularly moves you, everyone else has an expiration date. The very poor handling of the pain of my past loves has kind of ruined my view; I couldn’t just relax and “live.” This has bled into a lot of other aspects of my life. If things are going well, I can already see when it’ll going start going poorly, and I tend to fixate on it.

I knew things needed to change this year, when I started to think “I am attracted to this girl and it’s not a sexually based thing.” We’ve done nothing. Not one date, no drunken kiss, NOTHIN. It was her personality, her earnest curiosity about me, and doing just enough to show interest but never making me feel like she’s swarming me. That’s slightly out of the ordinary for me nowadays; at some point in my life, women started doing too much as it came to me, and it bothered me.

Things went wrong somewhere, and I really think it started when I started to safeguard my emotions, for fear of misleading, because I didn’t want to get myself into something I didn’t want. And now, I’m deciding to be more like myself, and deal with things as they come.

 

Jan 10 2017

Jealousy, also a male trait.

 

How would you feel  if someone you were dating and really liked, had a crush on someone famous, and that person was….accessible? I don’t mean “he retweeted her once”, I mean, they’ve met, or he frequents the same clubs she does, or even lives in your city. Would you care, or would you just brush it off?

Let me just save you some time: I cared. I cared for a very long time.

From about the time I was 19, I wanted to be in the music industry. I was always into music, but I couldn’t rap, sing, make beats, or play any instruments. Thus, I always wondered where and how I would fit in. I eventually found my way.

Working towards this dream, and talking all over the internet about being in the industry, thrusts you into different circles. Now I’m amongst like minded individuals, who want to do things in entertainment, in journalism, who like being in those scenes. And some of them are hot girls. A LOT OF THEM, ARE HOT GIRLS.

One would think that if you’re dating women who are constantly amongst famous and handsome dudes as part of their careers, maybe you’d have your jealousy under control beforehand.

LOL.

 

About 4 years ago, my girlfriend and I were talking about when she interviewed A$AP Rocky. She started giggling and talking about how he dresses and my jealousy switch flipped to ON. She saw me tensing up and she said “Oh Robby, come on. He was just really nice to me. Ferg is the one who made me blush!” She laughed at me, at how ridiculous I was being over all of this. She kept teasing me then gave me a kiss, so I would stop being so jealous. I immediately thought “WOWWWWWW I gotta give up A$AP now?? This love shit is COSTLY!” This was just the beginning.

In the summer of 2014, me and my relatively new date were walking around LES, trying to get a drink or 3. We end up bumping into her friends and they all decide to go to Beauty and Essex. If you’ve never been, it’s pretty nice in there, and I had only heard of it up to that point, so why not? We get in, we talk and drink a little, everything is cool. We go in the back to the couches and sit down, and there is where things went left.

In walks Mack Wilds. You know who Mack Wilds is (or you should). He’s an actor, singer, and most relevant of all to this story, he’s from NYC. Now I knew beforehand that my date had a tremendous crush on him, but I didn’t know how deep it went.

When she saw him, I kid you not, she started reapplying her lip gloss and checking her make up and hair. She was also hyperventilating. This situation is now in the red, and I don’t know what to do. I legit remember the sweat forming on my brow, and me thinking “AM I ABOUT TO GET MY DATE STOLEN BY SON FROM THE WIRE???”. I strongly thought about just leaving her ass in there, but I didn’t feel like that was a real way to go about it. I let it play out; he didn’t come over or say anything. We eventually left, I told her bye, and I got up outta there. She apologized soon after, and we even kept dating after that, surprise! Still, that shit was harrowing. I really don’t feel threatened by other dudes, but I felt threatened as HELL that night. I also liked his album! And The Wire! And The Breaks!

There was the girl who just LOVED Jesse Boykins III. Not to trivialize her as just some girl who was obsessed with a singer; I liked her a lot, and that feeling was mutual. I’m also a fan, but her tendency to constantly bring him up started to rub me the wrong way. On one date, she just went off on this tangent about how he just moved to Brooklyn, and how she hoped they’d cross paths. I mentally checked out and let her go on…until I just decided I had enough. She tried to make it seem like she wasn’t doing too much, and I was kind of uncomfortable for the next half hour or so. Now that I think of it, I’m starting to wonder if she was trying to make me feel….jealous? If so, she succeeded. After we stopped dating (it ended poorly), I kind of avoided his music for a while, because I actually couldn’t deal with it.

But why am I like this? What was I afraid of? Is my ego set so that I couldn’t deal with losing a girl to someone famous? Maybe I didn’t really believe in myself. I think once your self esteem gets to the right place, you tend to not move so fearfully. Crushes are crushes; this doesn’t mean they’ll be acted on. I feel like a part of it can even be an inferiority complex, where you feel you can’t match up. In my experience, those girls liked me enough to not just choose someone else over me, and maybe I shouldn’t have sweated it so much.

I shouldn’t have let jealousy get to me. I never acted out, but I spent a lot of time behind the scenes, quietly upset and fearful that I’d lose out to someone who was just more….everything, than me. I think what I had trouble grasping, was that women can sometimes see you as much more than you appear; you can be more than your outward appearance, your job, your social status. If a woman really feels strongly about you, it’s not as likely that she’ll just discard you for a famous dude. I feel like that’s a lot of guys’ worst nightmare, but I’ve looked it in the eyes a few times, and I’ve come out better for it. Don’t be afraid of her celeb crush sending a tweet and sweeping her off her feet while you’re at your regular ass job; she probably really likes you and values you more than him. Just treat her right, listen, and don’t answer her questions with a question; you’ll be ok.

Sep 1 2015

Lessons from the Sun.

Worst summer of my life.

Easily.

I would love to tell you that it was just 3 months of struggle and INCREDIBLE emotional anguish, but that would be false.

It was UNENDING struggle and emotional anguish. I still, somehow, got a lot out of it.

Love them while they are with you.

I knew, in my heart of hearts, that my relationship was doomed.

I knew it. I tried my hardest still, don’t think I’ve tried that hard at anything.

Didn’t work. But when I felt us very quietly and subtly hitting those dire straits, and that building dissatisfaction (it feels like nausea that does not cease), I decided to do something.

I decided to value every single good moment we had, and to feel honored to share her presence.

Good times do not last forever, so please…please…..squeeze every ounce of happiness out of them that you can.

I cherished every high and faced every low.

Until the low was too much for me. My appreciation and honesty and dedication to a journey that had no light at the end of the tunnel was not enough to keep my relationship from ending so jarringly.

But I don’t regret my relationship, or how poorly it ended, nor do I feel bad for putting effort forth and still failing.

I’m glad I did it. I learned who I am; I learned who my significant other was. I learned who my friends were.

I don’t speak to my friend of …13 years, over this shit. I loved him too. I loved my girlfriend. They simply could no longer be in my life, they were killing me.

However, I won’t die internally at your hands. No, I will not.

I loved the two of them as much as I could, until my very being gave away. Until I couldn’t.

One person simply threw my trust and good will out of the window; the other just…doesn’t support me when I needed him to.

Loving someone so much that you would happily tear your own heart to shreds, to save them from themselves. A worthwhile sacrifice.

And I’ll do it again, with someone else.

The inherent darkness of my split(s) this summer have made me appreciate the good times with everyone…because they do not last forever, and I must be at peace with that.

There is no shame in being a broke boy (or girl).

I mean really, I’ve been broke for about a year.

My brokeness SPIKED in the last 6 months or so, along with my break up, loneliness, my worsening depression, my inability to find a job, and no longer being friends with a close friend.

All at once.

So I was pretty much in an endless cycle of misery and loneliness that kinda never…stopped? The carousel is turning as we speak.

I had nothing, I felt worthless, I could not do what I want.

I still don’t have anything, really, but I don’t feel so worthless. Not so often.

Me not having money is somewhat out of my hands. I’m certainly doing what I need to do to get jobs, it’s just not coming together at the moment. So, I am slowly not beating myself up over it anymore and just trying to live.

I’ve had A LOT of money. I’ve had NOTHING. Money is cyclical, it will come back to me in due time.

I can only try to become my best self and keep applying, and keep thinking of places that I can contribute to, and roles I’d like to fill one day.

I only don’t feel so worthless, because people have shared words and time with me.

And because money isn’t everything, and it doesn’t define me, and it never has.

People will light your darkness with their honesty.

Knowing how badly I was doing this summer, I’ve had a lot of heart to hearts with a lot of people. Some who have been very close to me for quite some time now. Some who I was cool with, but not much more. Some I barely knew.

I was just seeking clarity. In that search, people have admitted to really painful things that made me feel like “I am not alone, here”. They showed me what love was, in a different light. They told me I would be ok, when I didn’t think I would. I’m still not ok, actually. Without their words, I wouldn’t even be on the road to “ok”.

I would be in the depths.

And I spent most of the last 3-4 months, in the depths.

Still, people reached out to me, texted me, hung out with me, emailed me, even though I was a total fucking burden, and surely no fun to be around. I appreciate you fine folks, for real for real. if you knew of my situation and shared a word with me, you’re good with me. I have no idea how I can repay that, but I’ll find a way, somehow.

I am just gracious for what was once part of my life, that which is no longer, that which I have now, and that which I will have later.

That is all that matters.

Jul 8 2014

a few things.

 

 

2014 has been good. 2014 has also been…. strange. The only way to survive when you are literally rebuilding your identity and getting in touch with your sense of self daily….is to try to stay level. I’ve soared just as much as I have struggled (ok, maybe I’ve soared more), but I see things differently.

I’ve admittedly been struggling to write, as I teeter on the line between “trying to write the very things you are experiencing as they happen” and “revealing too much and fucking your life up”. I haven’t really written anything in a while (other than a poem/song while on a bus), so I’m just gonna play the list game. I hate lists, and I hate when people acknowledge they haven’t written in a while. *SIGHS*

 

Having the purest of intentions will always help.

I can hear you sighing and rolling your eyes from here. When I say things like this, people pile on me with their examples of things not going their way when they had pure intentions.

“It didn’t work out with me and my ex who is a goober but….”

“I keep trying to pass this class but….”

“My jumper is broken and none of my friends pick me to play 5 on 5 help. I shoot every day even in the rain SON! I deserve this!”

 

The real problem here is, I’ve noticed human beings have this innate feeling that things are just supposed to go in their favor. Not the way life works. I too have been guilty of this, but I know better now. You can be the best person ever, you can always do the right thing, you can still take the hugest L ever. What defines who you are is whether you use that as an excuse to be a shithead. Don’t be a shithead. Understand that you don’t “deserve” anything but respect and love. Everything else, you have to work towards. But most important of all, you have to be honest with yourself, and do the right thing. Try your absolute best, pour yourself into what you do, and let that be it. If it doesn’t work, admire yourself for your efforts and try again. Or take your energy somewhere else. That’s a call YOU will have to make.

 

 Don’t be a shithead.

I’d like to think I’m a pretty nice guy nowadays. I can honestly say that being nice to people and spreading as much postive energy as you can just feels better. Having people around you who are happy, comfortable and smiling….can’t really be beat. I now think people who are always out to abuse and torture people have deeper issues that need to be addressed. A high percentage of those people are hurting over something else; I certainly was.

 

You don’t owe anybody, anything.

Not an explanation, not a conversation, not a phone call, text, email, smoke signal, tweet…none of that.  I’ve noticed that people have come to feel that I “owe” them contact. I do not. if I don’t wanna talk, I will not. If I don’t wanna attend something, I’m just gonna tell you no. I’ve grown tired of feeling obigated to give people my time when I don’t want to. Minutes, seconds and hours are valuable. Don’t waste yours just because you feel like you “have to”. You do not.

 

and lastly….

 

Most people will not get “it”.

When it comes to the choices you make in life, a lot of people will disagree. Most of these people, I don’t care about them because they’ve never taken a stand for anything. If you’ve never stood up in your life or put your neck on the line for something you believe in, why would I care about your thoughts? Sometimes, its not that cut and dry. Sometimes people you love will disagree. Friends, family, something more…it’s bound to happen. With that said, you still have to push on and do what your heart desires. Most of the time, those very people who disagreed come around when they see your conviction and passion. A lot of people don’t step out and go against the grain because they are scared to death. By pursuing what you really desire, you become an outlier. So, of course people will treat you strangely. It’s not about them and it never was; this is solely about you. When you are trying to grow and lighten your load, the journey is strictly about you. Don’t let ANYONE distract you from that. First you help yourself, then you help the world.

 

See you soon.

Apr 25 2014

Hitched, Part 2.

****Read this first.*****

    Over time, I started to notice…things. Well, just one thing. Whenever there were other girls around us, she acted “off”. I remember it clearly; when we were walking to go eat on campus, a girl from one of my org’s stopped me. We exchanged small talk, regular chatter. I guess this went on a little longer than she liked: She just walked away and left me. All I got was an “I’ll meet you there”. I wanted to introduce them to each other but she hung back so far when saw her, I couldn’t even tell where she was standing in the crowded student center. To be totally clear, I had a crush on that girl that stopped me at a point. My current situation really dissolved my interest in even going down that road. Maybe she “felt” something. Either way, I started to feel that we might be in trouble.

   My 22nd birthday came up. My 21st birthday was a mess, so I promised myself I would make my next one memorable. Me and my roommates brainstormed and we decided to have a party. We had liquor, I let the people know; no way this would turn out wack. I told “her” about it and she never really sounded too thrilled. I kept bringing it up, hoping she’d see how badly I wanted her to show up. Hours before the party, she said “I’m sure there will be more than enough girls at the party, you don’t need me to come”. I was sick over this. How could someone so important to me see her presence as disposable? She was always uncomfortable with my popularity(ugh, my friends were way more well known) at school , and that comment sent it home.

    The party went down. It was a success. I nearly got into a fight, plenty of girls came and it closed with the cops trying to arrest me (A+!). Seriously, it was a good time. With that said, I had a strange little moment there. My VERY first college boo(“A”) and her best friend (“K”) came. This is no big deal, as we were cool and put the past behind us (lol oh pls). They came through fly as usual, danced, drank, enjoyed. Once A walked away, me and K were talking. She out of nowhere murmurs to me…

“If you and B didn’t date……”

    She looked me in the eye and I knew what she was trying to infer. Ive known her forever. She’s been (and still is) an attractive woman. However, I didn’t hesitate. I defused that immediately and moved on with my night. I was very serious about whatever it was me and “her” had, even when it was on the rocks. My feelings and heart were tied up and I really just wanted to put my energy towards that.

    A few days later, she texts me back again. She tells me she doesn’t wanna come chill, doesn’t want anything to do with me, all that. I’m pretty much being dumped via text, and I don’t even know what I did. I’m not taking it well but my ego prevents me from chasing down the “why” of situations like these. If you want to let me go, cool. I won’t beg you, I won’t play myself. I simply asked her what lead to this and she once again bought up my popularity and how that was too much for her. I responded back calmly, accepting things for what they were. In the ensuing days, she continues to hit me up and make me feel stupid about the whole thing. How I shouldn’t have liked her so much. How I made it all into something it wasn’t, how all of our time didn’t really mean much. It was bizarre, because I wasn’t chasing her after she dumped me. She just kept coming back to me and killing me with the same knife. Me, in my state of need for her, kept responding until I simply was too bothered by all of it.

      I was totally fucked up over this. Non of my friends knew how serious it was for me, or that we even split. My roommate asked me “whatever happened to….” and to this day, I don’t know how I didn’t get out of that conversation without embarrassing myself.  Partner this bad heartbreak with the melancholy feeling of a pending graduation, trying to enjoy myself before it’s all over, and the incredible amount of violence going on at my school (guy got killed and his body was in the street a block away; on a separate incident a kid got stabbed up in the parking lot right outside of my window), I was stressed about everything. I’ve never really admitted this, but I honestly felt like I was going to get killed my senior year. I ended up adopting some beefs because of my loyalty AND a lot of students were ending up in crazy situations with locals after parties.

       I don’t really know how I decided to stop sulking. I do know that I found solace in my coworker’s bed sheets. We worked together on campus and I kinda knew she always liked me. I was sorta on the fence but as we got to know each other I warmed up to the idea a little more. She was cute; dark skin, big smile, infectious laugh. We hung out at the office, we talked on campus, worked on projects together. As fate would have it, she happened to live in my building. I saw her in the hallway while I was washing clothes, so I texted her when I was almost done. I ended up walking into her apartment and next thing you know, our lips meet. We didn’t have sex until maybe a few weeks later. Once we started, we didn’t stop. She was in an ODU office with me, amongst very important people, and no one knew what we did behind closed doors. There was a certain forbidden air to it. This went on until about a week before I graduated, when she disappeared quietly back home to northern Virginia.

     There was also someone else, who is memorable because she was a big “first” for me. She was at my apartment for a kick back. I was doing my homework; I wanted no parts. Me being involved would’ve thrown the ratio off. Nevertheless, I’ve known her for a few years but we’ve just been cool. I noticed that she kept walking by my door and peeking in. She eventually comes in and one of the guys (who I know WELL) pulled her off of me and out of my room. He had a huge (unrequited) crush on her, and I knew this. Never one to lose his cool in this situation, when she came by again, I took her by the hand and walked her into my room. She giggled and walked in curiously.

        I’m just running my fingers over her, admiring her form. She was sort of defined , smooth light skin and had an edge to her voice. She reveals to me “I’ve always liked you and thought you were cute, why didn’t you say anything?” BULLSHIT DETECTOR WEEEE OOO WEEEEE OOOOOOOO. I could’ve just been overcome with modesty, but I still think she was lying. How did I answer? With a lie of my own. “I’ve liked you for a while too!” First and last girl I ever lied to. It was pre-sex bullshit; going through the motions to make each other comfortable with things that aren’t true. I never subscribed to that again. Regardless, she chose to link up after Spring Break (which was next week) instead of doing anything that night.

   Our night came to pass. She came at 6 am, and slid into my building silently. I didn’t sleep, I just stayed up and waited for her. She hands me this, I take ONE swig, she is in my bed. It goes down from there, as Spongebob Squarepants plays far too loudly from my bulky silver TV. The next morning, I kept the lie train going and told her I had study hall. The truth was I didn’t want her in my spot all day. I eventually felt like shit about the pointless lies and vowed to never do it again. I also considered telling dude who pulled her out of the room what happened, because I wanted him to suffer. But I didn’t. So he may be reading this and just found out. If so, yes, her. 🙂 !

    The final part of my story that connects back to Hitch is simple. He approached women and all that they have to offer as “catching up on lost time”.  In reality, he was trying to cover up the pain of finding his girl in the rain with the resident cool guy on campus. She basically left me for her ex, then a FOOTBALL PLAYER. So she hated my popularity, then went to an athlete. Yep. I finally decided to entertain girls who I knew were interested in me, because I was fucked up. I was trying to patch the holes in my boat with lust. It never worked. Those girls didn’t particularly give a shit about me; they just liked what I projected. One of those girls I mentioned actually told me in bed “You were cute on that (ORG REDACTED) poster around campus, I had to have you”. It was never about me, just like it was never about them. I wanted to feel alive, after feeling as if I was literally dead on my feet. Casual sex is fine; just know that it doesn’t heal your pain. The emotional rawness of being discarded by someone who literally illuminates your days to girls who keep your nights shrouded in darkness is a lot for any 22 year old, especially one with a lot on his plate.

  I had to mature. I had to live. I had to understand that just wanting to have sex is fine, and so is wanting to put your all into a woman who’s special to you. Even though my clear blue sky turned gray, I didn’t want to be afraid the next time the sunlight chose me. With knowledge that it all ended so badly, I thank her for it. The highs, the lows, the jagged separation. My experience taught me to value myself and to appreciate the love in every waking day. Even the cold, lonely ones.

Feb 26 2014

Progression (aka Yeezus).

So earlier last week, a friend of mine shot me a flurry of texts that basically ended in “I have Yeezus tickets, I wanna go with someone who actually likes it….” I originally had plans with my DOG, KWAME but I got his blessing. He already saw Yeezus, knows how I feel about Ye’ and knew I needed to go. So I squared that away and I was on board.

Now mind you, I’ve been to Glow In the Dark. GITD changed my life. This was my first big concert and I was maybe 21-22. I paid damn near 300 for my seats (as if I had that, who was I fooling) cringed, and went after my spring semester ended. I vividly remember watching the whole thing thinking “Holy shit, why can’t I feel like this every day?” GITD was a culmination of Ye’s ego, imagination, and talent, all in one cohesive story that felt like a child’s well developed day dream. He has an IMAGINATION. Around this time I noticed that my own imagination was dying, and so was everyone else’s. He was “free” more or less. Kanye’s energy that whole show told me he wanted to be there, and there’s nothing else he’d rather do with his time. That was deep to me. At that age, I had only begun to understand passion and how it fuels you. Ye was operating off of passion and love, and I wanted that. The technology at the show was also out of this world, and directly affected what I wanted to do with my life.

So needless to say, seeing Kanye’ perform is kind of a different thing for me. I saw him at Watch The Throne but that’s a different type of experience from a Kanye’ solo show. I had to take part in this.

I get to Nassau Coliseum , we get the tickets (just happened to be GA floor, YES!), we linger a little bit, then we go in. First off, to get to the floor in NC, you have to go down like 6 -7 ramps, deep into the basement of the building. It’s basically like a bomb shelter, with tight ass hallways. We get down there, give in our tickets and walk in. (sidenote: My ticket number was “143” aka shorthand for “I Love You”. I wanted to keep it but they wouldn’t let me. I’m just into symbolism, from little things like that to the more grandiose.)

The show starts about 40 minutes later and I’m pretty into it from the get go. I’m really not the wild out at a show type unless its just that kinda night. I  like to digest what I’m seeing, rap/sing along, and just enjoy the show. New Slaves/Clique/Black Skinhead….I’m engaged. Then something happened.

When it come’s to Kanye songs, Coldest Winter (and Streetlights) are somewhere in my top 10. These two songs are just honest, poignant, the kind of things anyone who’s ever had to deal with loss or feelings of inadequacy can relate to. He walks out to the edge of the mountain built onto the stage. It raises into the air, and he lays flat on his back and goes into Coldest Winter.

Right before he starts singing it, he tells us it’s about his mother (which I’ve heard before and always wondered if it was true). My heart sank a little, because I could never imagine losing my mother and feel for everyone who has had to deal with that. I only have one living grandparent, so, it’s affected those amongst me.

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During this whole performance I’m staring up there, thinking how lucky we are to have someone willing to make music like this. We’ve had Kanye for too long; it’s to the point where we write off what he does. If we’re gonna be honest, from the gate, he was a talented guy making honest music. He was so self confident that we couldn’t tell if it was arrogance or someone willing themselves to the top (which he did). He has Grammy’s, sales, notoriety, fame, but I don’t totally really think that’s enough. His…”talent” for falling in and out of public favor has somewhat affected how people view him. He’s said shit I found corny (ie his reactions to Kris Humphries/ lyrics about Amber Rose post break up), but I’ve kinda got over it all. Sometimes he loses himself in interviews, but I’ve never felt that he meant any harm. He’s been coming off to me as someone trying to find themselves, and last night made me feel like he’s progressing.Once he took his mask off, he was….happy. Last hour of the show was pure glee; you could feel how positive the energy was from every in the house that night. He was at ease; anyone who has lost that knows how vital it is to have.

With all of that said, Kanye always makes me feel motivated when I see him perform.  Kanye gives his all, every time. A lot of things have happened to me fairly recently that make me feel like I should try harder …with everything. I’ve become somewhat concerned about not using what I have to the best of my abilities. I don’t really feel like I lacked talent (you can be modest if you want), but I do know I lack drive and motivation, sometimes. My life did not improve until I continuously pushed myself to the edge, and I think that’s the “secret”. I’m uncomfortable; shit is weird….but that’s fine. I’m becoming better and I see and feel it.  If you don’t squeeze every drop out of what you have, can you really complain about your results?

Life isn’t something you just stumble through. YOU control your reality. Just try to grow daily and keep stretching as far as you can. I get that in order to reach a point that you can only imagine, you have to prepare yourself for that and be disciplined. Kanye always worked, no matter what went on around him. He saw who he wanted to become, and he believed it enough for all of us. Is that not what success is?