Not Anymore

So I needed to watch a sexual assault awareness video to register for classes
It was called Not Anymore
A long interactive video that seemed to drag
This isn’t the first video I’ve had to watch of this type
It probably won’t be the last
Some of the antics are ridiculous
Some of the acting is crazy
But it makes me wonder
Will this help anyone
Will this stop an attack
I can’t help but to feel that most of the time
Assailants know what they are doing
They may not label it at the time
They may not refer to themselves as a rapist
Or a sexual predator
But there has to be something deep down that had already told them that it was wrong
That what they were doing is bad
But it keeps on happening

Maybe it’s an effect of people believing that they are the exception to the rule
Maybe it’s them being in denial
But I doubt most rapists think their rapists
So will this video help?

This video becomes clear toward the end
It’s not for them
It’s for us
The ones who know right from wrong
The ones who see it happening and decide to look away
The ones who don’t want to have that awkward conversation with a friend
It’s telling us to do something
To act
And potentially be the hero somebody needs
To stop this violent act from happening again

So perhaps the video shouldn’t be called Not Anymore
But Now More Than Ever


I find myself falling asleep
I don’t want to
It’s not time yet
but I can barely keep my eyes open
Its because my minds not working
my body has slowed
My heart rate drops
and it expects me to sleep
I am fighting it
Putting my mind to the test
trying to push my way through it all
Trying to do my best
But I can’t avoid it at times
My life had its lulls
But I fight boredom with all of my

Each day is a struggle
But I will win
Because life is wonderful
and it’s a beautiful place within.

The Little Things

Standing on the precipice of sleep
Working my way to my feet
It’s the little things that make and break me
Each day I go through each day
Trying to catch the good moments
Letting the bad ones go
But being tired makes the whole thing a lot more complicated
Makes me wonder about how good of a person I am
Deep down
It’s the person who pushes through obscurity despite it all
that’s the person to aspire to be
I catch myself sometimes
Failing to do good
Because my body falls behind
And my mind drives me to close my eyes
Wanting there to be more to it all
To return to the land of dreams when the sun is still shining
Keep going
Keep pressing on
You have to pull out a win
This is for you
No one is going to be pulling you along
Drag it
Pull your body along with your aspirations
Drive it with your dreams
It will follow you where you go
Because it has to
Then you can sleep
When you have exhausted all your resources
And gotten the job done
That’s when you deserve it.

The Place Where You Belong

I felt it again today.
That surge of electricity that flowed through my body as if I had been I had been finally plugged back in again.
I sat around that table, flooded with this familiar feeling that had been gone for such a long time.
How could I have forgotten about it, how could I have doubted
I knew that life might not have been going the way I had wanted it to, but if how I felt is any indication of where I should be then it’s the universe telling me that I just struck gold.
I help but be excited
Finally, I feel like all of my zeal and passion is warranted
there I was, surrounded by the simple word peer again wrapped in the frame of cohort.
I haven’t even started yet and the questions began to flow, like a dried up creek after the rain.
I felt as sense of being alive again
Like blood was finally unstuck and my brain was taken off pause.
A sense of self that resumed naturally almost like automation
This is who I am and I haven’t felt this why in a while
My dad and I talked after
he said life is about finding your people
for now, I know these are some of them
maybe this will change in the future
I don’t know
I just know the electricity that I feel coursing through my bones
and the feeling of being alive again
This should be a good year.



I don’t know
I don’t know what I should do.
Ripped and torn from direction to direction
My life asunder
Tired each time I wake up
With no easing as the day presses on
So many things
It makes me feel as if everything needs to be done
But nothing really does
Just a swirling
A flowing of an ever growing
I know what I should do
I know what I actually do
And sometimes hope aligns them
Time escapes me
It hopes for me to duplicate
To be two or even three
Maybe then I can get things done
Maybe then I can I can finally catch up
That’s all I want
To finally get my head above water
And see the sky again
And breathe
Like I used to

The World In The Life Of A Guy: Part 4 – Hair

In a way to stray from the normally serious and at times heavy nature of this blog I decided to cover something a little bit lighter this month. Hair, and it’s not just because I have beautiful flowing locks of brown/black hair, but its just something that people honestly don’t think about all too often and yet it takes up so much of our lives.

You see, just like for girls, puberty is a very strange time for us.  Other the hormonal cocktail coursing through our veins, hair, and body growth are two things we have to face.  Now growing taller, getting deeper voices was never something I felt self-conscious over, quite the opposite, I enjoyed every second of it.  The hair, on the other hand, was a very different issue.  For guys, hair becomes thicker and more noticeable. This is usually when things start to change depending on your genes and a bit of luck. I still remember vividly when this began to happen.  Changing in a locker room and looking down at my chest to see darker more pronounced hairs take root.  Before I knew it, it was everywhere, and for the most part, I was the only one who had it in spades. It was very strange, and for a while I was a bit embarrassed of it.  Even now, its at times a very funny thing to me.  If I wanted to go through the regular effor to remove it (which I have done with shaving and an attempt with my friends at some amature waxing (don’t ask, and yes it was as painful as it sounds)) it seems as time goes on it gets more difficult and time consuming.  It took a while not to feel uncomfortable with my shirt off, and its not like hollywood is known for having hairy actors.

But that’s not even the half of it. Learning to shave my face at first was a very exciting time, though it was nothing more than peach fuzz, by the time I was a junior in high school I was doing it regularly enough for it to become an inconvenience. This is given the fact that since it comes in patches, its like a jigsaw puzzle of epic purportions hoping the right pieces come together so you can actually make something cool out of it. I was lucky, I had more complete hair than guys my age but it also came with the price of having to shave more. So I grew out a goatee, and like all the other subsequent times I have grown out my facial hair, more guys comment on it then women.  Not to say that it isn’t nice to hear you have nice facial hair from a dude, but it isn’t exactly what I was going for when I decided to stop shaving for a while.  Doing it regularly is bothersome but necessary, but I count the minutes as I take in front of the mirror doing this repeatative task.

Lastly, its always strange, how many different styles of hair guys can have, depending on how the hair on their head compliments the hair on their face. A stereotype is that guy can have one hair style that lasts him a lifetime. Now the current generation has a little bit more fluidity of hair style but the traditional cuts are seen as more professional or clean.   I have to say though it really comes into perspective when there is a chance you could lose your hair, hair becomes very important.  Now, it’s something I have thought about, my dad is partially bald, and no matter how much I look I can never get a definitive answer as to which side of the family tree that gene comes from and to be honest, unless its good news I don’t want to know.  So I take the time to have a variety of different types of hair styles and types to make the most of what I have.  Who knows where it will end up but I realized that embracing what you have is really the way to go.

A lot of our lives are devoted to some form of hair management, and it show when there isn’t a lot of effort we put in.  I know guys don’t take as long or use as much product as girls but there is still there is a lot of hair in being a man, trust me, a little too much sometimes.


I hate it
that you made me aware
I was perfectly content
focused and driven
you showed me what I had purposely put aside
it’s not your fault
I should have been more careful
now I am left
with an ache
that I can’t resist
I don’t know if I should thank you
or scorn you for this
it’s on my mind now
I can’t shake it
I am losing my drive
my focus
to this feeling
I will fight it
tooth and nail
until it’s time
but now is not the time
so I hate it.


I was walking through the night air

Puffing steam with every breath

The only sound around me were my shoes

as they would clap at every step

I needed someone to talk to

but no one was around

so I called out to the moon

and what I found made me frown

She just ignored me

As I missed her gaze

She just ignored me

and I didn’t know who to blame

She so bright and so beautiful

And yet I got no reply

So I called out to the stars

And be it a surprise

No one up there would answer

me or any of my cries

There are so many of you up there

How could this be

So many of you up there

How can’t it be just me

As I walked through the earth and pondered what may have been my mistake

only to come to the realization

My plan was half baked

That is when to a degree,

I knew what ultimately must be

It is I who stood and talked to the sky

But here on earth is where I must try.

A Dampened Expression

This happens every time! Something good happens, and I should be jumping for joy and be screaming to the heavens, but nothing moves within me.  It were much colder and calculated wondering about the next step to take. It’s infuriating!
Not to mention the slight overhang of matters of emotion and the hearts that seems to overhang like an overcast day, why won’t you at least let the sun in for peak of how bright the future might be.

I find this whole emotional state to be incredibly bothersome and a bit of an annoyance. My body is tired along with my eyes and yet with the mere mention of what should make me happy I feel nothing. Maybe it will hit me later when I least expect it, but intuition is telling me to wait for the clouds to pass, for the wind to come and blow them out of my otherwise bright sky and then finally I will be happy with the ray touching my face.

Maybe a good nights sleep will do it, free me of this mood, free me from feeling as happy as everyone seems to think I should be.  Allow me to be excited.  My heart controls when I get excited, unfortunately, and it will only move when it wants to. So for now, I wait to see if it will move for me or perhaps someone else.  Either way, it doesn’t change the amount of work I need to do, I will keep at because I am finally starting to hear the winds of change.

An Ode to A Room

Of all the religious beliefs out there in the world, the one I have always resonated with (aside from the religion I belong to) is animism.  Animism is the belief is that all things from animals and plants to rocks, rivers, and words have some a life and spirit to them.  There is an agency to them, an intentionality of their existence and that they all have their own wants and desires.  It is considered of the oldest types of religion, and that most other forms of religion stemmed from this idea.
For me, this is a familiar feeling. Much to the chagrin of my mother, I tend to hold on to things.  Once a memory is attached to a certain item, then it feels as if part of my very soul is connected with it. You might say, that’s just because you are a sentimentalist. I can’t argue with that, but for me, I have always wondered if everyday objects have wants and desires.  If when using them for their creates purpose they are delighted and fulfilled, and when they are left to sit unused they feel dejected and alone.
All this personification aside, objects within our lives that have traveled with us take on a particular personalization.  Like well-worn clothes, they seem to fit the curves and angles just right, or a pen starts to feel familiar in your hand.  Now I want to tell you a story about one of these objects, one I’ve been with longer than most things in my life.

When I was told that I would finally have my own room, I was ecstatic. Finally, I wouldn’t have to share a room with my sister (at least not all the time).  My five-year-old self didn’t understand the concept of privacy or the later significance of four walls to call your own would be, I only knew I wanted one.  I was taken to my new room, a small multipurpose floor with sliding glass door to the outside, and an even smaller closet. At the time, I was the one who took up the least amount of space it made sense I would get the most modest space (that logic didn’t persist when I became bigger than both my mother and sister). I remembered being terrified of my room in the beginning. There were 4 doors in it and all of them held the boogieman.

Eventually, the glass door became nothing more than a window, my bed became larger along with my clothes.  The fears of childhood left me, and I went from playing with blocks and legos on the floor to watching movies and reading on my bed.  Being someone who spent a lot of time at home, my room was the most familiar place to me in the entire house.  It became a sanctuary, a refuge for my the long nights and growing pains I experienced.  It became a place to hide away when talking to other people was simply out of the question.  It was my fortress of solitude where I could have any thoughts I wanted and not be judged. It was a consistency in my life, and the only time I would be separated from it was when my family would visit, and I would have to relinquish my room to my grandmother.
My room continued to evolve with time, filling with trinkets, nicknacks, and pieces of my life I thought were important at the time.  My small room began to fill with memories I created, mixing the old and the new to make up who I was. In a way, it was a reflection of growth and proof of existence.  Furniture came and went, it moved to different settings, feelings, and configurations but never grew to beyond the scope of those four walls. The room never changed in size or color but at times felt entirely new and different. It’s all I could ask for, and it made me happy.

By the time I entered college, I had started to feel the limitations bearing down on me.  My spirit wanted more, and I was growing up and wanted to get a space without all the rules of home. I got my opportunity came when I went off to school.  Only when I would come back to visit would it see me again.
My mother used the space as a spare bedroom for anyone who needed a place to stay in the meantime. It was then my room became stagnant, that it stopped growing with me and became a reflection of who I was before I left. This why after to years of growth and change we were thrust together again.  It became flooded with new memories, and a new desire for it all at once and I was thrown back into my life before I left.  I had finally realized what it was to grow beyond the 4 walls and now the space had felt like a prison. It confined me to the person who I was before I left, I know it didn’t do it on purpose, and it meant well, but the box was already open.
The room offered me a home, as it always had. Even through all the hardship, it was the familiar place to go back to at the end of the day. I learned all those hard lessons within its embrace, it sheltered me those dark sleepless nights.

When my mom told me I needed to look to moving out, I knew that my time in my room was over.  Over the course of many months, I started to dismantle what my room was, piece by piece.  Took the pictures off the wall, removed the items from my top shelf, emptied out my closet and bookshelf.  I slowly began to see the white walls again, and the feeling that it was slowly becoming less of my room began to set in.  At the end, all I had left was my mattress on the floor and empty bookshelf, and now even that is gone. All there is left is the memory, the marks on the wall, the patches in the paint, the stairs that lead to nowhere, the small marks and indent on the floor from my furniture.  These are all memories etched into this room’s surface.The physical manifestation of time passing and lives being lived. I’ve had this room just short of 20 years and it is marked by our time together.
Eventually, when some else lives there, will they understand the dents in the wall, the scratches on the floor, the life I had in this room? To anyone else, these are just imperfections to be fixed, like how someone sees another person’s scars.
I am happy to have spent all this time in this room, and now that I am leaving it’s only fitting at taking a second to pause about the experiences one room can hold.
This room will probably not miss me as I miss it. I wanted to send my words out into the ether, hope in some strange way that it understand that I loved it and I  couldn’t forget it even if I tried. Thank you for giving me 4 walls, a floor that I could spend so much of my life in. Seeing you empty even now feels so strange, but I hope that whatever you become next is filled with as much happiness, love, and memory that my stay there did.

Thank you for all the years, goodbye and good luck.