Self Exam

Yesterday, in spite of all the gatherings and delicacies, I found myself confused. I took note of my family and all the curves the women proudly bare and thought I figured out something about each one. What I actually discovered was something about myself. This past year was one I'd like to quickly recover from. I had some major Celebrations, but also 7 months of lack. In this lack my physical self took on a new look , a look that seems to want to stick around. I have fought with myself finding creative new ways to overhaul my already strict vegetarian diet in hopes of shedding this new look. Each week or month I'd try something else and when the going got tough I quit and resumed my lack luster lifestyle. But it was yesterday that I learned another not so happy detail of my not so fabulous life, I battle with insecurities, both physically and spiritually. For instance when I sleep, I am tormented by fear of death and hell. When I am awake I torment myself by not accepting myself the way that it is. I spend a lot of time focusing on the not so slim areas which drag me down a slope of depression that at times in unbearable. With all I have to be thankful for, and with all that is good in my life my image of myself is bad and it keep me from being the person I know I can be. As I watched my female family members bask in unassumed confidence, I left feeling as empty as my plate is at KFC. Today I had to reflect and in this time knew why this year and my writing career has taken a stand still, I have to learn ( but how ) to love and accept me the way that I am. To no surprise God, my creator knows this and everything else about me, and gave his son for me already so I would not have to live this incomplete life. Yet I still do, can't seem to just take it all in. Indeed we all have expectations of ourselves that drive us further in life or insane, but this year for me has had a most negative effect on me, and my children notice it as well. What am I supposed to do?

Mixed feelings in September

Whew! This has been one long extra boring week, however TGIF. I went out on Monday and enjoyed the view, had a little doubt after I left my appointment for future work and I suppose I carried that energy all week. Because I was unsure of the right strategy to solve a problem, I somehow became incompetent. I felt indifferent because I should have known the answer. I know now that I stored that feeling of self-worth in my subconscious and rendered myself depressed. The three days after that was a drag as I moped around the house unable to shake myself and this heavy weight loose. I listened and read even avoided social interaction thinking that it was people I was becoming tired of. I found myself questioning purpose, health and sanity, my three biggest fears. I even went through a few vinyasas thinking that of course “centering” myself would alleviate this for lack of words, pain. But I soon realized that to come to the yoga mat with any feeling of negativity is a waste of time and only prevents and prolongs the healing. I went for a long walk with my sons and I believe a little light began to shine through this dark soul. I’d had enough of this feeling that I was in that I ran to my first love, Christ. I couldn't’t bare another night of sleeplessness that made the day’s quest for sleep inescapable. I had exhausted myself and my very limited abilities and knew the only way out of this was to take it to the father. I let go and released all the weight of the past week into the lap of my savior. I told God that it was too much for me and that I needed his strength. I told him that I could not or rather did not want to experience another one of these days. I took a deep breath and was sound asleep. A few hours later I woke up because my room lacked a midnight cooling I’d become so accustomed to living in the city by the lake. I rose but commanded myself to be at peace and found myself back in dreamland. Though I cannot recall any of the contents of my dream I am glad because it means I slept well. When I did finally did wake, I went for another brief walk to get my new day going and I must say I felt good. My only concern is why did I let this linger for so long and where was my faith sooner? This has a lot to do with my sometimes inability to let things go, but we will discuss that later. In all, today really is a new day, and writing is how I give thanks, because I am present which means I matter. Thank you God….

One day on the bus

Sometimes I wonder why is there so much ignorance amongst my so- called “people?” Why is it that when we are confronted with another perspective, to highlight our shame we, hate on another person. How come instead of asking the other person about their ways, we assume and stereotype. We label each other based our outer appearance and assume, assume, and assume that the difference has to be because they are wrong and we of course are always right. I have lived in Chicago my entire life and have watched what ‘street life’ does to so many people, my family included. I have seen that so called having street knowledge lead one to jail, abandon his family and end up a statistic. I have felt the grip of molestation. I have seen first hand those around me turn to drugs and alcohol to cope with life’s issues. I have also decided to be a responsible parent and not let my children become victims of street-life. This is for many a topic of discussion, and subject to scrutiny. I walk in a certain air, thinking that I am a little better than what’s around me, and for that I come off arrogant. This is only because I choose to have a different perspective in and for my life. I choose to do things a little differently, and I also choose to show and give my children more than what I have. Some might say that I am sheltering them this is not the case. For where we have lived for the last six years is as bad as it gets, and yet I try to take my children out of this environment to show them more, that there is more to life than hanging in the streets, having illicit sex, rapping and basketball. I have intentionally crafted a life for them simply by exposure to the arts, that will enable them to dream a little bigger and want for a little more than a good paying job. I graduated from college so my children could walk in pride knowing they have the same opportunity, I afforded. I am a first generation college graduate in my family because my parents wanted more and I want more for my children, is that so bad? I think not. In fact, if one were to sit and talk with me they would learn more about what really matters, Christ and the love he gave which is why I have an obligation to serve him by obedience in raising my children in the way they should go so they will not depart…is that so bad? Again, I say no! To those that think otherwise, I pray for your soul, I pray that you get the same chance to empower your children that I have and that you also teach them the ways of Christ. I hope that your soul finds rest with Christ…Amen

Morning Commute

“The next stop will be 79th street. Doors open on the left at 79th street. Standing passengers, for your safety please do not lean against the doors,” the invisible automated male voice spoke. Amongst the silent colorful shades of brown faces staring aimlessly at the traffic flow outside the train windows, a middle aged man stumbles into their commute. His unshaven face is dark and tight, a sign of hard living unmatched by the warmth of his brown eyes. The red baseball cap covering his bald head reads in white letter’s “Guaranteed Before You Leave” an unfamiliar declaration unmatched by the common daily pleas for loose squares, CD’s, DVD’s, bible-thumpers and loose changers that permeate the trains. Regardless of the length of the commute, count on a less than desirable stranger asking for, or selling an item that they feel you cannot live without. Unseen by the “I don’t want to go to work today, so please don’t say anything to me” colorful crowd is his mobile office paired with his supportive obliging wife of ten long years. Marcus’ shirt matched his hat, a bright logo of a white stove with two small pots spilling with what could be soup or stew on top of a silver speeding train, highlighted by his slogan. “Hmmm, never seen this before,” says the young teenager with her cell phone attached to her heavily pierced ear. She’s on her way to school, in her common uniform, blue pants and a white shirt which she has paired with her fur-trimmed boots and jacket. “Girl I’m gon’ call you back!” she says to her invisible phone friend. She pulls down her black and gold “Baby Phat” hoodie revealing a head full of shoulder length multicolored micro braids and a face that screams young and inexperienced by her bare eyes and glossy sparkly full lips.
Quickly Marcus gives his story, his time on the trains taught him to be honest with the public and no gimmicks or sob stories. With cold dry hands, lifted in the fluorescent-lit air, “Good morning everyone, we don’t mean no harm, just want to give you something warm. Flapjacks to Applejacks, eggs to toasted bread, guaranteed before you leave. Now folks, I’m no crook or ex-addict. I’m a husband and father of three. I’ve been to school and hopes to one day open my own place. My wife and I simply want to feed the streets with good quick eats. We’ve got it all and we make it good. For four-dollars we cook and you eat and like I said, we guarantee your food before you leave.” Marcus catches the attention of young urban professional man with dark Chanel shades sitting by the door and leans into him, careful not to open the portable oven strategically strapped to his back.
“Sir what will you be having today?”
The young man removes his shades showing his bright brown eyes, “You got any fresh fruit sir?”
“Sure young blood, anything else?”
“Perhaps your business card if you’ve got one.”
Angie, Marcus’ wife, who doesn’t look old enough to drive, is visibly smaller than her full size husband, leans over to pull out the fruit. She’s also wearing the red hat and shirt that her husband/business partner is wearing. She leans her petite body down reaching inside a side pocket on their oversized gym bag grabbing a sticker with their logo and contact info slapping it across the bag of fresh green grapes, red apples and oranges handing it up to her husband before tying it closed. Marcus hands the mesh bag to their first customer in exchange for a crisp ten-dollar bill.
“Thank you. Angie get this man his change.”
“Sure thing, honey.”

An elderly lady sitting across from the young man, peers over her reading glasses and watches the transaction waiting for some sign that this is just another person trying to hustle people out of their money. She is on her way to work and every morning there are people mostly men, selling things that she deems are a way to support a habit. Most days she is right, but this man seemed different. She decided to give him a try. She looked up at Marcus, “Uuhm, excuse me sir, do you have any toast?”
“Yes mam, white or wheat, butter or jelly, grape or strawberry?”
“Wheat with grape jelly hold the butter.” She says back.
As if speaking into a speaker at the back of a noisy diner, Marcus tells Angie the order and makes eye contact with the other passengers, to see if anyone else will want anything. He’s learned many things on the train, and one of those lessons taught him to multi-task. In the morning people are pure skeptics and they have to make decisions all day and the last thing they need in the morning, is another person asking for something or suggesting they think about where they will spend eternity. Quickly Angie hands Marcus a square Styrofoam box with two thick slices of wheat bread and a pat of jelly in the smaller inside square. Marcus hands it over to the lady; she gives him a five dollar bill and tells him, “Keep the change.” Marcus tells her “Thank you mam, it means a lot.” There was something different about Marcus, his hands were clean, his voice was clear and his eyes, there was something about his eyes that spoke a different story.

Character conflict intro

As the sun peeled into our bedroom, I felt the unfamiliar movements underneath my tightened skin. The crisp white sheets I preferred looked blue underneath its glare. I looked up at the clock on the armoire and noticed it was five am, the time when witches ran for cover and the angels assumed their defending position. Growing up with an over religious mother I’d learn to rise with the sun and pray to the silent God. My mother would stand over my sister and me teaching us how to act in public, amongst friends and strangers, at restaurants, socials to make sure we knew proper etiquette. She would place her right gloved hand on the middle of my back and with her left hand, pressed my shoulders down, “When you walk, stand or sit down, push your chest out and drop your shoulders” she would say in the sweetest voice. My mother walked as straight as a board. She walked as if she were a puppet on a string being led by a straight cord from her head to her toes down the middle of her back. I remember she smelled like sweet peaches when her thick air floated through our house. Mom slept in rollers and make-up. Before bed time, she would say while tying here dark hair in pink rollers, “The good Lord will not call me home and find me unprepared.” I never understood what she meant when she said things like, “Clean hands and a pure heart, got to have a flawless face and groomed hair” but figured she meant well. I pictured her standing at heaven’s golden gates harps twinkling praises and giant angels awaiting Sister Mom. The good Lord waiting for her while she primped and puckered her shiny lips. Mom never wore any color on her lips, she said if God wanted her to have red, pink or purple lips he would have painted them at birth and since he didn’t, all she needed was to have them shiny so people wouldn’t think she was a chapped lip heathen. I watched my mother take care of my father as if he were her king. I tried to be like her and do for Craig all that I knew how to do, but it didn’t seem to work.