A New Normal

Today is my first day being apart of something normal again. Learning about the psychology of emotions from a book rather than through personal experience. Feeling the fabric of the seat of a lecture hall chair rather than the sheets of a hospital bed. Learning the examples of things that cause fear and anxiety rather than being the example itself. Yes, this is my first day back to a new normal and no, it is not Hofstra University in New York, but California State University. There is no Long Island Railroad to catch back to Bed-Stuy, instead it’s the I10 to downtown. What I am experiencing today isn’t the transfer from school to school or train to bus, but death to life, despair to hope... The promise of a new day and a new normal.

Eternal Sunshine

Me? I’m in a mind storm of thoughts, thinking about this, about that. Wondering and figuring out what’s best for me. It’s exhausting. I wonder if I’ll ever live out my dreams again. I act out every scenario in my head but my body stays still. For me, the same California streets are in rotation like the playlist on my iTouch. Beginning on Glendale Blvd. for 3 minutes the length of track #7, to Santa Monica Blvd., a more lengthier street so it’ll be Led Zepellin’s, “Since I Been Lovin You”. Then every couple weeks it’s onto Anaheim to visit mom, so thats just on shuffle; and finally, there’s Melrose Ave to appease my vinyl toy addiction while NERD plays. All streets are lit with the light of the sun here in California. There is an illusion that everything is perfect and that time does not exist, because here, the seasons do not change. It’s more of the same, but all the while the dates on the calendar are inconspicuously moving along. The next time I look up, it’ll be a new year and I’ll still be basking in the sun on Glendale Boulevard to Melrose Avenue. Time to plan my escape or be trapped in California’s “Pleasantville” forever.
Sun is used sparingly in places like Brooklyn and I swear these are the only days that Brooklynites smile. Is this why a place like California to them seems like nothing more than a ridiculous notion because they know the idea of constant sunshine, which would mean constant smiling, is absurd? In Brooklyn they mob along, wearing dark colors and solemn expressions. They push, they shove, and they won’t pay you any mind so don’t be too afraid to visit. When I first arrived it was a major transition from where I had come. I went through serious periods of sun light withdrawal and missed things like customer service in grocery stores, to say the least. Spoken like a true spoiled west coaster I know, but these are things you can only realize and appreciate when you’re away from home. I’m not saying anything new, in fact, I’m just a late bloomer who finally made my way to New York only after years of fear of leaving my mother. So what do I know that the next man 20 years my senior doesn’t? Who cares, maybe I’m not speaking to that guy. Anyhow, I’m not a self starter or self motivator and all that jazz. I suppose after a while I am, but I do like to sit on my ass and observe for a bit before making a move. I guess that is why I instantly fell in love with New York. When I finally went to visit 2, oh wait, now 3 years ago, I felt the energy of the city, given off by it’s residents who all seemed to have somewhere to be. I thought some of that would rub off on me and my lackadaisical ways would be hung up, put to rest, you know? I needed a fire lit under my ass and I thought there was no better place to do it than New York City.

I finally decided to go and it felt good to for once have something that I really cared about. To have a goal and something to look forward to. I packed up my apartment and rented a room from a couple in Alhambra, CA to save money. The wife, was a kind little Filipino woman named Norma, and her husband’s name was Ken. Five hundred bucks a month in rent would free up enough of money so that in a years time, I could be on my way. Life suddenly had more meaning and so did work. Since I knew I would be quitting, I could stop dreading my life every time I walked into the call center. Planning to flee the state meant I didn’t have to grow old there at the same desk with the same head piece attached to my head. I was becoming afraid I’d even be buried with the thing. I was attending community college and was able to earn my associates degree before leaving. The plan was to then transfer to a university in NY. I tried NYU but of course, didn’t get in. The date rolled around to quit my job and fly out to Brooklyn. That was in August of 2007. I was accepted to Hofstra University and everything was everything. I left behind a girlfriend who was supposed to come with me but when it came down to it, she ended up staying in California with plans to meet me there later. I wasn’t going let anything stop me. Not love, not money, not family. This was for me, and although my heart was breaking to say goodbye to her, I got on the plane anyway. I still remember the saddest moment on the elevator at the airport, looking down at her waving to me with tears in her eyes.


Arriving in Brooklyn was a serious culture shock. Reggae music filled the air as I walked down Fulton Ave. for the first time. The skies where grey and underneath them, everyone had something to sell. I could hear the sound of the Long Island railroad passing overhead and inhaled the unfamiliar smells of West Indian food, consisting of roti, plantains, and goat meat. I remember taking it in and then suddenly being overwhelmed by it all: the noise of the speeding cars, the trains, the people rushing along and bumping into me, the music, it got to be a bit too much. I became nauseous and rushed back to my room. That was only day #1. By day number 30, I found my place, learned their pace, and tasted my first plantain. School began, and that semester I made the Dean’s List. “Yep”, I thought, “I’m finally on my way!”

So what is all this talk of being trapped amongst California streets again you ask? Well, by the end of that school year, during winter break, I came back to California to visit my girlfriend and my mom. During my stay, I began to notice a bump growing in my stomach. And no, it wasn’t a “bun in the oven” and my girlfriend hadn’t miraculously knocked me up. It was a tumor growing on my right ovary and I endearingly named her Tammy. Tammy grew 9 inches in two weeks, she was a monster. My stomach got bigger and bigger until finally I went to the county hospital and waited 25 hours in the emergency room to be seen. Finally, about 5 nurses and doctors who all seemed to be the same age as me, reassured me that Tammy was benign, but that I would need surgery. Being that it was county, my surgery wasn’t scheduled till more than two weeks later, and on January 30th, Tammy was cut out of me. She was so massive and didn’t want to let go of my ovary so they took that out too.
After 3 hours of surgery, I woke up in excruciating pain and was immediately hooked up to the morphine dream machine. The docs come in and with my family all around me they said, without any warning, that they were wrong, Tammy seems to be malignant. For those of you who don’t know... CANCER. THAT MEANS CANCER. WTF....

I thought I was mistaken and heard them wrong. All of a sudden I didn’t know the definition of cancer because if she’s putting us in the same sentence, it must clearly mean something else. Something like, a word describing Tammy, like it was an adjective or something. Like they just wanted to tell me that Tammy was a happy tumor. So “happy” meant “cancer”. Not a noun. Not a disease that would require something as dreadful as chemotherapy.
I lied there in my hospital gown, blinking slowly, loss for words. Looking at my family for reassurance, hoping that they thought cancer meant happy too, but their faces said something different. My mom was a ghost, my girlfriend broke into tears, and my brother said nothing.
At that point, I went numb. Being that morphine keeps everything on an even playing field, I was too high to ask any more questions; plus crying and carrying on is not conducive to pain relief of 12 staples along your vagina. So I went to sleep and at for 4AM, I called my mom in the room to translate what the doctors were saying earlier.
Needless to say, I healed up from the surgery, found out that cancer DID NOT mean “happy”, and started chemo.

I loss all of my hair 3 weeks in, I mean all of it. I gave myself shots to keep my white blood count up, and was hospitalized for an intense treatment of the death serum 5 days a week every 21 days. I’m not going to give you an in depth description of what it was like. I’m sure you could figure that out for yourself, or look it up somewhere. We’ll just say it’s not fun at all. Its not a walk in the park or like making love to your girlfriend, or eating ice cream on a sunny day. No, it’s more like shoveling coal in hell. I’ll just say that its like having fire injected into your veins with a life support machine hooked up to you, because while their (doctors) killing you, they want you to live at the same time. It’s like being banished to cancer island because now you’re apart of a club you never thought you would. Where some of your friends even look at you like “oh, your that girl”. Its like being made out of cotton candy only there’s nothing sweet about it because your whole body is sensitive and bruises with the slightest touch. It’s like...well, you get it. So I go through that with a 95% chance of recovery, and I do recover. Cancer is gone.
And on the morning after my last treatment, I wake up, look around and wonder where my life had gone. I was here in California, I no longer had funding for Hofstra, I wasn’t even sure if I was ready or would ever be ready to live what life meant in New York. My girlfriend hung in there but was freaked out because of the whole strenuous ordeal. We hadn’t been able to fight like we normally did, to keep things fresh and to have make up sex. So the arguments got lost somewhere between hospital visits and severe nausea. And so did the love making. What do we say to each other now? It was like we were now in two separate worlds and sadly, the relationship ended.
So now, I am in a mind storm of thoughts, thinking about how to get my life back on track. I try to just appreciate it for what it is, sometimes battling with depression and anger at what has been taken away. Visualizing where I would be now if Tammy and I had never met. Thinking about the girl who was supposed to move to New York with me while listening to “Since I Been Lovin You” and driving down Santa Monica Blvd. I wonder if we would have survived the winter in NY and became fresh and new in the spring. The seasons have the power of healing you know.
But for now, I am stuck in the endless sunshine of California, eternal sunshine of a spotted mind... The dates on the calendar have inconspicuously changed and it is now a new year, and I am still here, in sunshiny California.

Just One of Those Nights

So I'm feeling like writing and sharing, so here we go. You ever have one of those nights where it's mad random and it feels like your dreaming because "this can't possibly be happening to me?" Well, last night, me and my girls definitely were staring in our own episode of the twilight zone.
Sidebar: When did Long Beach become the new San Francisco or Diego? And not in a good way. All I'm saying is, LB lesbians are not like Los Angeles girls. The fashion
forward kind. The trend setters. Yes I'm bigin' up LA for once. Say what you want about LA but we collectively got the hottest women.
Needless to say, we rolled out to LB and were fully equipped with "hi hatas" and everything. That's how you know you doin it. Even though there were some corny chicks and off beat strippers we had a good time. Transexuals were pulling on our clothes, Italian mafia chicks were gettin' gangsta when the attraction wasn't mutual, and a Latina snatched me up and salsa'ed me in the middle of the dance floor (spins and everything) it was entertaining. Okay so when did it start turning into "one of those nights" you ask? When we left the LB spot after they promptly shut it down at 1:30AM, and headed out to an "intimate engagement" we were previously invited to in a penthouse suite in downtown LA.

So we hype on our way there, partying, continuing what LB started right there in the Honda. Everything is smiles and laughter until we make the wrong turn onto Skid Row. Now, the homey drivin' is from FL, and I was raised partly in LA and Chino Hills so I don't frequent the hood hood. Skid Row at that hour is like nothing I'd seen in a looong time. I know ya'll reading this are like "oh yeah, its bad", but seriously, when the last time you been there? Its disturbing. Rows of tents and vagrants wondering freely in the street. No police. No civilians. Its like Night of the Living Dead as the fiends sluggishly roamed through the avenues with real life glitches like the scary fuckers in The Ring.

At one point we had to smash through the red light as a few of them were making their way over to the car. I have a lot of compassion for the less fortunate but I don't play that. We finally made it to our destination just a few blocks over and felt like we were in the clear, but were we ever wrong. We were in for a whole 'nother type of movie when we made it to the penthouse. I'm not one of substantial wealth so you won't regularly find me in Penthouse's for the weekend so I was thinkin', this is gon' be cool. We get to the top floor and entered the twighlite zone.

The doors were those of an old insane asylum (not that i frequent those either) but they were made with that thick molding of dark wood with the glass in the middle that you can't see through and the room numbers on them. The lobby had weird book shelves that were out of place and in the center of that was one single red chair.



Again, there was no one passing by to distract me and my party from the erie feeling. No janitors. No elegance. Just straight up white hallways of wooden insane asylum doors, silence, and a single red rocking chair. Okay, maybe I do watch too many movies but all the chair needed to do was rock once and i'da been out of there, but since it didn't we made our way to the suite. By this time, half of our party stayed in the car, (they clearly slept through the skid row experience so they were ok with that) so it was just me and the homey. The person who invited us to the gathering refused to meet us at the door and said to just come in, "the doors unlocked". That was weird, being that there was no sound coming from the room or any of the other suites on that floor, it looked vacant. We decided to go in and were met with the scent of marijuana and huge black velvet curtains. We walked through the curtains and into a red light special. It was a little swanky with its red and black decor, elevated round bed to the ceiling and 500 gallon fish tank filled exotic fish. It also had a pool table, a bar, a kitchen, and huge windows with a stunning view of the Skid Row that we had just escaped unscathed. We stood there, in the middle of this experience, greeted by no one, until we were summoned to the elevated bed occupied by what appeared to be a couple.

Now, my homie is cool, nice looking girl even, but getting down with her like that is like getting down with your 52 year old diabetic uncle Perry, so what I thought we had walked into was NOT going to go down how this couple had seemed to have planned it. However, as we walked closer and nervously asked, "where is everybody at?" we noticed a whole other bottom part of the bed. It was like a cool ass, modern bunk bed for rich adults because it was in the shape of a circle, first of all, and had a small rabbit hole opening and inside it were at least 5 or 6 lesbians. All chillin', all lookin high ass fuck, some even with their pants undone, lookin like they had just finished gettin it crackin or was about to and looked at me and my friend like we were just in time. We were, 1, relieved that there wasn't a foursome planned, yet afraid that an orgy was. As the host climbed down the stairs of the bed she tried to make small talk and break the ice that we had clearly brought to their party. I was still a little tipsy, at least enough to watch and be entertained by the fish while some who were in the rabbit hole broke out of Wonderland to play pool with the hostess. My friend and I took the opportunity to complain of hunger pains when party goer 2 prematurely knocked the 8 ball in the pocket, cutting the game short. We gave our hugs and goodbyes and broke out of there like two run away slaves. If my stud homie and I had seen each other naked like that, we would have never been able to look at each other the same again. Luckily we avoided molestation by the d-lister, the local rock star, the rapper look alike, and a of extras. We made it to the car laughing in disbelief, rolled out to the nearest Denny's, and filled in our sleeping co-stars, laughing so hard we cried while rocking back and forth like crack heads. After feasting and rehashing the evening, we let the credits roll as we made it back to the house by 5AM.

Its time for me to now get dressed for Part II. Hope to see ya'll there, maybe you'll get a part in my next post.

People watching

Location: Intelligentsia, Silverlake Ca.
Saturday afternoon, my unsuspecting victim sits next to me...
She is reading a book from one of those Kindle wireless reading devices.
I thought it was funny because I joked about coming here to show off my Macbook, when I became apart of the artsy Apple community (inside joke). I couldn’t help but think she was doing the same thing. “Look at my cool new gadget”, she must have been thinking. She must be here to people watch as much as I am because she keeps looking up and around, becoming easily distracted by the slightest movement from a passerby, completely ignoring Kindle. I was doing the same, only I hadn’t opened my book yet, so it was fine.

A private table I had my eye on opened up so I quickly rushed over and sat down, quickly placing my belongings on the table to mark my territory. She did the same after awhile and now as I sit here typing, she’s still looking around wildly. She put her gadget away and started in with the activity she must have come here for to begin with: filling out cards. Could they be "thank you" notes from a recent wedding? No, she looked too sad to be a newly wed, there are only 6 of them so perhaps it was for an apartment warming or recent graduation, although she has the stench of a college institution still on her. It’s a sort of heir of superiority that comes from the knowledge of books. Antiquated knowledge that can somehow make people think they are superior. Oh look at her! She pulled out her Kindle again which caught her neighbor’s eye and they are now engaging in conversation about it. She’s probably so pleased, gloating even, as she goes on and on about it, telling him more than he anticipated. I don’t know why I’m focused on this girl. Perhaps because somehow we may be one in the same. She has taken center stage now though as I sit on the sidelines and write about her. Hymph! Sort of like Fight Club when Ed Norton’s character discovers that Marla Singer is a phony at the support groups, completey sabotaging his experience. He finds that he can’t cry if she’s there. Perhaps I can’t show off my MacBook in peace with her sitting there blatantly showing off her Kindle. Shortly after the interested party shows no more interest in her machine, she gets up and leaves. She’s now satisfied, she’s gone now. And so am I.