A Note to Self

"I expect my life to have a twist ending"

This Feeling.

This feeling right here.

It leaves the warmth of my person and ventures off into the wild. Not knowing what it’s gotten itself into.

It’s cold out there.

Noticing this almost instantaneously, it frantically looks around for ways to escape such frigid conditions.

Letters.

All over the ground. They’re wildly strewn about.

This feeling.

It takes these letters and crudely sews them together.

Words.

It clothes itself in words.

Without these words, it more than likely would have never survived the journey it had ahead of it.

But it made it.

This feeling, clothed in this rough assembly of words, managed to find its way in you.

Warmth.

Clothes are no longer needed.

This feeling.

Was once mine, and is now yours.

Some bullshit I had written in my old phone. Sounds exceptionally shroomy. It could use some bongos, some incense, some finger snaps. All that shit.

Why The Fuck Did Gandhi Smile All The Fucking Time?

I always wondered this. When you see figures like that, people who have witnessed mankind at its worst, a lot of them are stone-faced, look really frustrated, or seem super bummed. Gandhi, however, smiled. Always.

And I think I get it now.

She leaned in close as if she was going to whisper into my ear, but instead spoke at full volume. “You always have the greatest shoes.” It put my mind at ease. Though her words were light when she threw them out, they landed particularly heavy. She said “you always have the greatest shoes” but the way she pronounced it, it sounded more like “you’re changing for the better.” And that’s exactly what I wanted to hear. Stop tape. Rewind. 2012… 2011… 2010… 2009… 2008… Oh, hey. That’s pretty. 2007… 2006… 2005… 2004… 2003… 2002. Play. I suppose the year is all that’s important. The day is irrelevant. They were all the same. Now take a look at the kid you see. His shoes are from Payless. Big, brown, clunky, generic things they are. But that’s neither here nor there. What you see is an ordinary everyday boy. Quiet? yeah. Shy? Sure. What you don’t see is the loop of I Hate Myself’s and Fuck Life’s circulating through his mind; a couple of nasty little buggers, those are. Note the headphones that have begun to grow accustomed to his ears. They fit quite comfortably. Fast forward a couple of years and you’ll notice a teacher set this young teenager aside and ask him why he’s always sporting headphones. This teacher goes on to say that this kid is cutting himself off from the world. The kid shrugs and keeps it moving; not knowing how to articulate the idea that Tupac, Nas, and Biggie sounded a whole lot better than the noises reality had to offer. Now let’s bring it back to 2012. Funny enough, those 10 years of shutting himself off from the world resulted in this kid, now an adult, feeling eerily comfortable in a music studio. He’s going to school for music. His professor is giving him praise. His headphones are still attached to his ears, though the noises of reality they used to block out…the ones coming from home, the ones coming from school (which often came in the form of laughter directed toward his big clunky shoes), and whatnot are now nonexistent. Everything he does now comes at a stark contrast to who he used to be. He has a job that requires a pleasant attitude, is interning for a field that forces motivation, and is standing in front of a microphone that demands confidence. So much so that this must be who he is now, right? The sleek dress shoes he now sports smoothly glide along the pavement with every calculated step he takes, and help to maintain the above mentioned contrast. But there is always resistance. Sometimes he’ll simply let go and be what all of these things are demanding he be, then other times he’ll catch himself, once again, being peculiarly introverted, insecure, and in his own head. From time to time he’ll look down only to, for a split second, see big clunky shoes wrapped around his feet. And they feel comfortable. It’s funny how that works, right? We cling to things that aren’t good for us just because they’re familiar. Now, keep your eye on him. He’s sitting comfortably in a classroom with his headphones on, steeped in this familiar state. A fellow student walks in.  She leans in by his ear, catching him off guard. “You always have the greatest shoes.” And just like that, he’s swept back into the sweet, sweet unfamiliar.

She leaned in close as if she was going to whisper into my ear, but instead spoke at full volume.

“You always have the greatest shoes.”

It put my mind at ease. Though her words were light when she threw them out, they landed particularly heavy. She said “you always have the greatest shoes” but the way she pronounced it, it sounded more like “you’re changing for the better.”

And that’s exactly what I wanted to hear.

Stop tape.

Rewind.

2012…

2011…

2010…

2009…

2008…

Oh, hey. That’s pretty.

2007…

2006…

2005…

2004…

2003…

2002.

Play.

I suppose the year is all that’s important. The day is irrelevant. They were all the same. Now take a look at the kid you see. His shoes are from Payless. Big, brown, clunky, generic things they are.

But that’s neither here nor there.

What you see is an ordinary everyday boy. Quiet? yeah. Shy? Sure. What you don’t see is the loop of I Hate Myself’s and Fuck Life’s circulating through his mind; a couple of nasty little buggers, those are. Note the headphones that have begun to grow accustomed to his ears. They fit quite comfortably. Fast forward a couple of years and you’ll notice a teacher set this young teenager aside and ask him why he’s always sporting headphones. This teacher goes on to say that this kid is cutting himself off from the world. The kid shrugs and keeps it moving; not knowing how to articulate the idea that Tupac, Nas, and Biggie sounded a whole lot better than the noises reality had to offer.

Now let’s bring it back to 2012.

Funny enough, those 10 years of shutting himself off from the world resulted in this kid, now an adult, feeling eerily comfortable in a music studio. He’s going to school for music. His professor is giving him praise. His headphones are still attached to his ears, though the noises of reality they used to block out…the ones coming from home, the ones coming from school (which often came in the form of laughter directed toward his big clunky shoes), and whatnot are now nonexistent.

Everything he does now comes at a stark contrast to who he used to be. He has a job that requires a pleasant attitude, is interning for a field that forces motivation, and is standing in front of a microphone that demands confidence.

So much so that this must be who he is now, right? The sleek dress shoes he now sports smoothly glide along the pavement with every calculated step he takes, and help to maintain the above mentioned contrast.

But there is always resistance. Sometimes he’ll simply let go and be what all of these things are demanding he be, then other times he’ll catch himself, once again, being peculiarly introverted, insecure, and in his own head. From time to time he’ll look down only to, for a split second, see big clunky shoes wrapped around his feet.

And they feel comfortable.

It’s funny how that works, right? We cling to things that aren’t good for us just because they’re familiar.

Now, keep your eye on him. He’s sitting comfortably in a classroom with his headphones on, steeped in this familiar state.

A fellow student walks in. 

She leans in by his ear, catching him off guard.

“You always have the greatest shoes.”

And just like that, he’s swept back into the sweet, sweet unfamiliar.

It being the middle of the night, me hiding behind her, and armed South African soldiers standing in front of a moonlit doorway as my mom spazzed out on them is the last memory I can recall of my cousin. Now, for those who don’t know me…the following is going to sound like an extravagant series of lies but I assure you, on everything I love, they are not. First of all, she’s not my cousin. That was a lie. She’s my mom’s goddaughter, but what the fuck else am I supposed to call her, right? She recently added my mom on facebook, which was our first contact with her since the above memory. This triggered an insatiable curiosity on my part, because this is a girl who completely changed the course of my life. She taught me how to lie. I just got off the phone with my mom, who acquainted me with the current situation; the conversation eventually gravitated toward recollections of our time spent living in South Africa and her struggles to preserve my innocence.  In the eyes of the law, South Africa had just been freed of racial segregation. I arrived there at 5 years old, completely blind to the concept of race. I’m not sure of the exact moment when my eyes were opened, but one of my classmates informing me of my black skin being the result of dirt (in that Afrikaans accent that I, to this day, despise), me staring into the seemingly endless abyss of a shotgun barrel aimed at my face as I stood alone in my backyard, and the stories I’d hear about kidnappings and people being pushed in front of trains are all well qualified candidates. My mom lied. Every once in a while, in order to preserve my innocence, my mom lied. We moved to South Africa from an early 90’s Washington D.C.; my place of birth. It took me a bus ride in San Francisco (my current place of residence for the past 14 years) to connect the dots and realize that the “crazy people” my mom told me to avoid on the street were actually crackheads. D.C. was full of them. Then it took my return to D.C. for the first time in over a decade, as my mom drove us around our old neighborhood pointing out where all the drug dealers, thugs, and prostitutes used to post up, to realize how good a job she had done shielding me from all that shit. I really had no idea. But South Africa was different. There was no avoiding it. We stayed at my cousin’s family’s house one night. I don’t remember why. I don’t ask questions. I think this is a little bit before we flew back to the States. All I remember of it is how small the house was, there being little-to-no furniture, and my cousin and aunt telling me there were snakes slithering all throughout the grass outside. My mom tells me there were a few “crazy people” slithering about as well. She also tells me that those armed soldiers that came to their doorstep in the middle of the night were actually policemen and my cousin’s family was getting evicted. Which makes sense, since last I heard about them, they were homeless. And last my mom had heard about them, my cousin, her brother, and her sister, got arrested. This shit always trips me out, seeing as my cousin is Nelson Mandela’s grand-niece.  As a kid I assumed that meant they were set. But I guess my mom’s efforts to somewhat distance ourselves from them was an effort shared with the Mandela family. I think she didn’t want anything to rub off on me. But I learned how to lie. And that’s a different story all together.

It being the middle of the night, me hiding behind her, and armed South African soldiers standing in front of a moonlit doorway as my mom spazzed out on them is the last memory I can recall of my cousin.

Now, for those who don’t know me…the following is going to sound like an extravagant series of lies but I assure you, on everything I love, they are not.

First of all, she’s not my cousin. That was a lie. She’s my mom’s goddaughter, but what the fuck else am I supposed to call her, right?

She recently added my mom on facebook, which was our first contact with her since the above memory. This triggered an insatiable curiosity on my part, because this is a girl who completely changed the course of my life.

She taught me how to lie.

I just got off the phone with my mom, who acquainted me with the current situation; the conversation eventually gravitated toward recollections of our time spent living in South Africa and her struggles to preserve my innocence. 

In the eyes of the law, South Africa had just been freed of racial segregation. I arrived there at 5 years old, completely blind to the concept of race. I’m not sure of the exact moment when my eyes were opened, but one of my classmates informing me of my black skin being the result of dirt (in that Afrikaans accent that I, to this day, despise), me staring into the seemingly endless abyss of a shotgun barrel aimed at my face as I stood alone in my backyard, and the stories I’d hear about kidnappings and people being pushed in front of trains are all well qualified candidates.

My mom lied. Every once in a while, in order to preserve my innocence, my mom lied. We moved to South Africa from an early 90’s Washington D.C.; my place of birth. It took me a bus ride in San Francisco (my current place of residence for the past 14 years) to connect the dots and realize that the “crazy people” my mom told me to avoid on the street were actually crackheads. D.C. was full of them. Then it took my return to D.C. for the first time in over a decade, as my mom drove us around our old neighborhood pointing out where all the drug dealers, thugs, and prostitutes used to post up, to realize how good a job she had done shielding me from all that shit. I really had no idea.

But South Africa was different. There was no avoiding it.

We stayed at my cousin’s family’s house one night. I don’t remember why. I don’t ask questions. I think this is a little bit before we flew back to the States. All I remember of it is how small the house was, there being little-to-no furniture, and my cousin and aunt telling me there were snakes slithering all throughout the grass outside. My mom tells me there were a few “crazy people” slithering about as well. She also tells me that those armed soldiers that came to their doorstep in the middle of the night were actually policemen and my cousin’s family was getting evicted. Which makes sense, since last I heard about them, they were homeless. And last my mom had heard about them, my cousin, her brother, and her sister, got arrested.

This shit always trips me out, seeing as my cousin is Nelson Mandela’s grand-niece. 

As a kid I assumed that meant they were set. But I guess my mom’s efforts to somewhat distance ourselves from them was an effort shared with the Mandela family. I think she didn’t want anything to rub off on me.

But I learned how to lie. And that’s a different story all together.

“And really, I think I like who I’m becoming”  -Drake I assume I was too caught up in the moment to really let that line marinate. Just know it suited the situation and everything that led up to it perfectly. I got up to pause the movie we’d been watching and, with the last few minutes we had that night, decided to play some music. Managing to find its way under my clicker, the song the above quote is from flooded out of my speakers and steered itself through every nook and cranny my room had to offer. Having no urge to change it, I sat back down as my guest proceeded to attach herself to my face. “And really, I think I like who I’m becoming” For once that line went over my head, though the words that made it up were the most relevant to my life at that moment and continued to hit home for me the entire month they boomed out of my headphones.  And what a month that was. Understand that at one point I was no different from you. You and I once adorned similar outfits. Pessimism is your sweater, your jeans are made of hesitation and your shoes, much like your other articles of clothing, are different shades of nervousness and regret; two colors that blend together beautifully. Fear being in season, the world is your runway. But seasons change. You are no longer fashionable. And fear has no place in my wardrobe. I dug into the depths of my closet to find anything that could separate me from you. Confidence, which always felt a few sizes too big for me, feels oh so comfortable nowadays. Self-worth, which never matched anything else I had, seems to go well with everything in my closet. Perseverance, having never been my style, all of a sudden looks fresh as fuck on me. I wore this new outfit of mine outside and heard things like… “You’re really coming into your own” “It’s always a pleasure being around you” “I really like you” Do you know what it feels like to command the mood of an entire room? I wore it to school and heard things like… “You have a great mind” “I really enjoy your writing” “You’re a great speaker” Do you know what it feels like to grasp the attention of an entire class? I got a job. I got an internship. I got nothing but good grades. People on the street smiled at me as if they knew. And I smiled back. Do you know what it feels like to feel real? I got off the phone with my mom the other day. We’d spent the previous couple of hours trading stories about the darker times between the two of us; all of it in past tense. She explained how excited she was for me and how she doesn’t doubt the fact that I have great things ahead of me. Someone displaying such blind confidence in me used to scare me shitless but I’ve outgrown that. Anyway. Back to the original scene I set up. It’s no wonder I missed that Drake line. Gorgeousness incarnate walked through my house in a fashion that, much like with our previous encounters, had me struggling to keep my notoriously solid composure. Black heels. A black and gold dress. I wondered what they were made of. Fear has no place in  my wardrobe. My fear of being hurt, something I’m sure you share, is one of the last things I made a conscious effort to shove to the wayside. I’d said a good amount of things to her in the absence of that fear, and I’d like to think that they are the reason she appeared at my doorstep. I hold on to that. Just like I hold on to everything else I mentioned. I’ve got to, with every bit of strength in my body, remember these moments. I learned a lot of lessons and was hit with a lot of blessings that month and I try, every day, to remind myself of them because I know life is going to try its hardest to have me forget. But I don’t think I will.

“And really, I think I like who I’m becoming” 

-Drake

I assume I was too caught up in the moment to really let that line marinate. Just know it suited the situation and everything that led up to it perfectly.

I got up to pause the movie we’d been watching and, with the last few minutes we had that night, decided to play some music. Managing to find its way under my clicker, the song the above quote is from flooded out of my speakers and steered itself through every nook and cranny my room had to offer. Having no urge to change it, I sat back down as my guest proceeded to attach herself to my face.

“And really, I think I like who I’m becoming”

For once that line went over my head, though the words that made it up were the most relevant to my life at that moment and continued to hit home for me the entire month they boomed out of my headphones. 

And what a month that was.

Understand that at one point I was no different from you. You and I once adorned similar outfits. Pessimism is your sweater, your jeans are made of hesitation and your shoes, much like your other articles of clothing, are different shades of nervousness and regret; two colors that blend together beautifully. Fear being in season, the world is your runway.

But seasons change. You are no longer fashionable. And fear has no place in my wardrobe.

I dug into the depths of my closet to find anything that could separate me from you.

Confidence, which always felt a few sizes too big for me, feels oh so comfortable nowadays. Self-worth, which never matched anything else I had, seems to go well with everything in my closet. Perseverance, having never been my style, all of a sudden looks fresh as fuck on me.

I wore this new outfit of mine outside and heard things like…

“You’re really coming into your own”

“It’s always a pleasure being around you”

“I really like you”

Do you know what it feels like to command the mood of an entire room?

I wore it to school and heard things like…

“You have a great mind”

“I really enjoy your writing”

“You’re a great speaker”

Do you know what it feels like to grasp the attention of an entire class?

I got a job. I got an internship. I got nothing but good grades. People on the street smiled at me as if they knew. And I smiled back.

Do you know what it feels like to feel real?

I got off the phone with my mom the other day. We’d spent the previous couple of hours trading stories about the darker times between the two of us; all of it in past tense. She explained how excited she was for me and how she doesn’t doubt the fact that I have great things ahead of me. Someone displaying such blind confidence in me used to scare me shitless but I’ve outgrown that.

Anyway.

Back to the original scene I set up.

It’s no wonder I missed that Drake line. Gorgeousness incarnate walked through my house in a fashion that, much like with our previous encounters, had me struggling to keep my notoriously solid composure.

Black heels.

A black and gold dress.

I wondered what they were made of.

Fear has no place in  my wardrobe. My fear of being hurt, something I’m sure you share, is one of the last things I made a conscious effort to shove to the wayside. I’d said a good amount of things to her in the absence of that fear, and I’d like to think that they are the reason she appeared at my doorstep.

I hold on to that. Just like I hold on to everything else I mentioned. I’ve got to, with every bit of strength in my body, remember these moments. I learned a lot of lessons and was hit with a lot of blessings that month and I try, every day, to remind myself of them because I know life is going to try its hardest to have me forget.

But I don’t think I will.

Fear Is The Opposite Of Inspiration

Inspiration is a state of fearlessness. One is not afraid of the past or future, one is not afraid of opinion, and most importantly one is not afraid of themselves. Fear stems from the feeling of not understanding and in a moment of understanding, inspiration flourishes. As a result, fear and inspiration cannot coexist.

Just a lil’ sum’ sum’ for the artists and whatnots that I do and don’t know.

There Is Absolutely Such Thing As A Dumb Question

Whoever told you otherwise is fucking lying. We’ve all heard them, don’t pretend like they don’t exist.

But for fucks sake, ask dumb questions. Don’t get so caught up in saving face. Life isn’t meant to be taken seriously. Just handle your business and keep it moving. If you don’t lighten up and get the dumb questions out of the way, you wind up being dumb your damn self.

And that’s the truth, Ruth.