To my Bestie

They say that people are brought into our lives, for a reason. That they are sent to teach us a lesson, guide our hearts, and heal our souls. I have seen this in my life, and I have seen that timing is everything. As I say good-bye to my best friend, I look at it as a tragic ending. Somewhat of a series finale to a great television show. Something like Will and Grace, MASH, Friends...etc. It's epic, but not in the good way. It's sad, but exciting. It's new and different. What will I do with my Monday nights at 7 now that this show is gone?

I don't know.

Although I am sad at his decision to leave me, I am forever grateful to what I have gained from our friendship together, and I am excited to know that although I am sure I will see him again. When we do meet, we will be different people, and rather than have to pick up from where we left off, we are able to start a new chapter to build a newer, fresh, and vibrant chain in our friendship.

I am numb.

I can't help but think that maybe I didn't say exactly what I wanted to say to him, in person. Perhaps, I didn't convey just how much I do care for him. This is where good-byes get a little tricky. How do I know what is enough? 

I don't. So here it is...my goodbye.

I love you, and I always will. I hope no one confuses this love with a romantic epiphany. My love comes from a brotherhood, perhaps even a motherhood. I love you with all of me, and hope you know that I wish for you worlds of happiness that keep you working towards positive aspirations in your life, and as long as you are happy. I can do the same. You have lifted me up, when I was down. You have made me smile, when I was sad, and we have survived the turmoils of cross roads that could have persuaded us to walk different paths when it was premature, and we didn't. We lasted longer than that, and I feel, personally. There was a reason. I don't think I'll ever know exactly what it is, but I know that it has changed my life, forever.

So, this is good-bye, for now.

But when we meet again, may we sit, and talk for hours, laugh for moments that exceed our lives, and live life to the fullest of it's extent.

Adieu. 

Rapper Rhythms in my Mind

Rapper Rhythms in my Mind
By: Nathan Rust

Okay.
      Okay.
He says, it will all be, okay.

Not that I'll change
or grow
or find something
new.

Not that I'll live
and run--or
speak to you.

Anyways.

It will all be okay.

People don't change
or die
or leave.

Like you do.

Please.

Not right now,
not today,
nothing--
of this sort
will be "okay".

Save,
your positive pleas
for someone who,
locked up their emotions
in a tomb--

Today.

I will cry.
I will scream.
I will run.

Today.

I will not be okay
with being okay,
because learning to
love,
means learning to hurt
and showing that hurt
means I can love
again.

When you come back.
Then--
I'll be okay,
but for now...

I'll hate seeing you
escape
my doorway.
When I watch you walk
away.

I'll imagine who we use to be
then I'll be ok.

Just some Second-Hand thoughts on First- Class Problems.

As of late I have been exposed to others' blogs that have been written on issues to which I find myself opposing their stance. Many of these are by friends of mine. So, I've decided to take the liberty, probably improperly, to blog, on these certain topics.

First off...I will be referring to a good friend of mine: Eric Blackwood's blog on "Being Nice." It can be viewed here:

http://www.ericblackwood.blogspot.com/2012/09/wait-that-means-they-arent-necessarily.html

The main point I'm trying to make, and the biggest issue I take with this entry is that people, who are nice, are not necessarily good. I don't find that to be the point. I agree, good acts don't necessarily parlay to being good people, but who is inherently "good", and to take that further what is "good"? It is an idea that is filtered into our minds, and varies from person to person, because it is influenced by our lives, and our surroundings as children and into our adulthood. Being good is as flippant as the idea of "perfection" or "love".

To example this, I have to reference myself as a senior in high school, and reading The Lord of the Flies, it was when my English teacher, in discussion, referenced an interview William Golding who was quoted as saying something to the extent of: People are inherently bad, that is why it is so hard to be good.

At first I was taken aback by such a statement, and almost appalled at the idea that people are bad, but it occurred to be that bad-ness, much like good-ness is an effect of surrounding and upbringing.

For me, I could relate that being bad was always the easier choice, but it is when I am given the choice to be bad, that I recognize that "good" even exists.

Eric believes that people who do good things are not necessarily good people. I disagree. I believe all people want to be good, therefore they do good things, and doing good things is not a  rouse to have ourselves be seen as good people.

He references that man or woman who helps as an act charity (whatever act, is for you to choose) and then that person, that same man or woman is living their life as an adulterer. Infidelity is a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes. These people are not bad people. If we are to pin the idea that infidelity is an act which makes someone a "bad" person, we'll have to include the act of murder, binge drinkers, porn watchers, etc. etc. Then who's left?

No one.

Are these acts immoral? Yes. Are some of them addictions? Yes. But the people who commit them have chosen to be bad. Why? Because it is inherent within them to choose what was bad for them, for whatever reason, and who are you and who am I to judge them for that?

Again, they are not bad people. They are people who have chosen bad things. It does not  mean that because they went to church on Sunday to help with a food drive, or took time to help someone jump their battery that their bad choices are disregarded.

As a society we are so quick to judge a person by their acts--and I can agree with Eric on that--when we should be judging them by their character. Someone can have a good heart and make bad choices. Someone can have a bad heart and make good choices. These are not what we should be looking for, but rather, the character and qualities of one's heart, soul, and mind. How do you see that?

You begin by understanding someone's story, their background, who they are and where they come from, and why they believe what they believe. From there you will see someone's true character. People just want to be heard. They don't want your charity, your money, your possessions, your hand-me-downs.  People just want other people to give them the time of day.

They don't want to be good or do good things. Although those things ease the pain of one's past and possible future, and perhaps even aids in salvaging whatever sort peace we still have in the world. Being good is minuscule to what truly matters and that is being kind.

This is just my two-cents about the world, and a different point of view on an issue someone else has written about. Take this as you will. Comment. Cry. Shout. Yell. Scream. Stomp. Like. Don't like. Whatever it may be I'd be very interested in what you have to say. Just don't come banging on my door at 2 in the morning. That would be inconvenient and rude.

Much Love...

Thank you (and some other comments too)

I was a Freshman in College (yikes! It's been a long three years), I was taking my Writing 2010, and we all had to choose a subject to write our five page paper on and present it to the class. Naturally, I chose gay bullying.

It was among my research that I found that many of the teenagers and young adults who had committed suicide due to bullying that year, they all became just a number, a statistical portion of evidence for people like me: a college student. To prove why bullying is so wrong. I didn't want them to be numbers. I wanted those kids, those who weren't able to live their lives, at least truly, to an extent that they loved themselves fully, I wanted them to have names and stories, and vicariously, I found mine.

There were so many emotions brought on by my paper. I was angry. I was sad. I was overwhelmed. Confused. Misunderstood. More than anything, I was a fraud, and I had been for nineteen years of my life. I was living two lives under one skin and I hated it. I hated the lying. I hated the scheming, and I hated the idea that I would never be able to have a husband, a family, one dog, one cat, twins, and a cow named Betsy (okay maybe the latter four I embellished on).

I had been posting status updates on Facebook (as much as I do now, yes), and the more I posted, the more obvious it became that I was a little...different. My updates caught the eye of my aunt, who then called my grandmother, who then called my mother. I came home from school one day, and sat at the counter with my mother as she made me something to eat. It was our ritual.

I didn't decide that day would be the day, but because of my paper it was just always on my mind, and that day it weighed heavily on my conscious, and my mother could see that. Our conversation went something like this:

Mama: Are you okay? She sits on the stool next to me at the counter
Me: I'm okay.
Mama: You know Grandma called me and said Stacy saw some things on your Facebook.
Me: Yeah.
Mama: Weird things. You should stop posting things on there.
Me: Okay.
Mama: Do you want to tell me something? You can tell me anything.
Me: I looked into my mother's eyes I don't want to tell you.
Mama: Why?
Me: I think you already know.
Mama: I need you to say it.
Me: I can't.
Mama: If I ask, will you tell me?
Me: I nodded "yes".
Mama: Do you like boys?
Me: Yes.
Mama: Did you think I would hate you because you like boys?
Me: Yes.

At this point my mother raised herself from her stool. Walked around the counter. Looked at me with tears forming in her eyes and said:

Mama: Did you think I would hate you because you are gay?
Me: Yes. I did.
Mama: I will never hate you. You are my son. I will always love you.

Then she embraced me, and we cried. After the waterworks settled, and the breathing came back to a momentum of speaking proportions. We talked for hours about how I felt, about how she felt, and about everything in between.

It was almost two weeks after that. I felt I had to come out again, because my mother who refused to acknowledge that I like men, pushed me back into the closet. Unconsciously  I'm sure of it. It was new and frightening for her, as it was for me as well. We were all in a space of awkward and shock.

It's been two and a half years, and my family (my brother and sister included) have become the loves of my life, and the support system that have trudged over borders I would have never thought possible. They are my rock.

With this all said, and today being National Coming Out Day, I must say, coming out was not an easy feat. It was something that took me a very long time to do, and it was something that I did when I was ready. The path after coming out, was probably harder than before or even during the coming out process, because after finally saying it, I had to redirect, or re-create rather, a life that was new and exciting, and more over: Mine.

With this said, I must end this note (novel) with this:

Thank you to my parents, who may agree or disagree or not even care about my life, but who have shown me time and time again, that they love and support me, and it is I who do not feel worthy to be in their life due to their kindness and undying devotion to me. I love you mom and dad.

To my sister, who has made all the difference, thank you for loving me, and letting me love you. Thank you for your acceptance. You are truly a woman of character and class.

To my baby bro, you are my child, and I adore you. Your innocence is recognized in my eyes as something that is fading, but you'll always be little Jerry.

To my friends, my extended family, my co-workers, my lovers, (those don't really exist), my strangers and unborn children: Thank you for letting me be me. Your support, and your ignorance (for those selected few) have given me strength and courage to go on.

I love you all, and hope that I allow you the same freedom as you have allowed me to not be just a number.

A letter-poem I wrote (first draft)

To the man who says I don't understand:

I do not claim to be entitled, and I certainly do not disregard your heartache.

You have been broken.
I am not here to put you back together.

Rather, I am here...
to throw away the broken pieces
and create new ones.

I have been bitter. Rude. Naive.
Insensitive and unkind.

I am sorry.

I was also broken.
You put me back together.
I don't remember when
I gave you that permission?

Sir, you are amazing
and I have been blind.
To what I truly feel.

I love you.

Whatever love means,
I feel that for you.
I must, because no matter how
hard I try
to bury it back deep in my soul
or dispose of it into the world
it returns,
to my heart.

Stronger.
Every time.

Don't let me frighten you,
especially if you don't understand,
because I'm just as perplexed
confused
and frightened as you.

In your eyes, I see your past,
as it navigates your future.
I don't ask for rings.
I don't ask for flowers.

What I simply want for us.
No.
For you, is to be happy
and the truth will be in
your eyes, sir.

I know more than you think.
But less than you know.
It is not my life to steer.
It is not my path to sow.

Do not love me in return
and my silence shall be shown.
To all I've said and done
I bring in peace.

Forget me my love.
For I fear, I have come
too late.

Sincerely,
Confusion