I Feel. You.

Those days when I feel you nigh…I sit up-right…forearms resting on my inner thigh…

I Feel. You.

When the exact words I want to say…get caught up in the tumultuous fray…

I Feel. You.

They said you were a simple man…”One who would understand”…even if there were no master plan…

I Feel. You.

Our responsibilities were not the same…you married and chose the family frame…while I decided to go insane…

I Feel. You.

Now that I am you when I was just a kid…a midlife man with feelings hid… although no wife or child to do my bid…

I Feel. You.

Today I know what it’s like to be a man…a boy trapped inside who doesn’t understan’…the responsibility of being a leader…when the voices outside just wants to jeer and cheater.

I Feel. You

I feel you dad…I feel you dad…every second of every day…when times get tough and I’ve lost my way…I follow exactly what you say…

“Just kneel down son and pray.”

Blog Highlight: Beauty Beyond Bones

I’m about three months into the blogging universe. It’s such a huge space with so much talent and creativity it’s hard to capture it all in one sitting…heck, I don’t think one could ever catch up. It’s like Netflix – the queue goes on forever!

As endless as the rabbit hole is, there are some ideas and blogs worth visiting on a regular basis. For the month of March our blog highlight focuses on Mental Health. Beauty Beyond Bones is an inspiration…not just because of the content but the organization and aesthetic of the blog itself is beyond.

When I look into the future, I imagine my blog will look something similar to BBB. The content is real, personal and vulnerable. All three ideas create a full, breathing, living human being on the other side of the screen.

Beauty Beyond Bones has taken her pain and published her own book: Bloom. An interactive journal of past experiences with anorexia. Even though I don’t personally know her, I love her for this. This is definitely someone who has taken her struggles and turned it into joy.

If you haven’t already, please take time to follow the links above to peruse a website that will not only inspire but motivate the reader to take charge of their own pain and experiences.

Ing. Ring. Pring. Spring.

Spring is almost here and it’s a gorgeous day in Southern California.

After spending countless hours at work all while moving into a new apartment, I’m definitely ready for the relaxing sounds of Spring Break.

I’d like to share with you — my 20+ followers — a couple of pictures snapped around the property earlier today.

I hope you enjoy them! See you soon.

Tear Droop
Icy
Being Flight
Copper the Line
Sun Soakers

Crewaiting

From what I’ve learned about creating and inspiration: it takes time for the energy to flow through. Currently, I’m in the middle of a move which has kept the flow from…flowing through?

In the meantime, here are a couple of pictures I’d like to share from a recent visit to Paris and London:

The London Eye…brought to you by Coca-Cola
The Moon and Paris

The Ketchup Stain

Fontana High School; 10th grade

Dede’s rage was flaming as high as her hair the moment her friend pointed out the ketchup stain along the back of her white t-shirt. I witnessed the whole conversation take place outside while Denise and I dug into our burgers. By now, Dede had had it…and the look on her face as she swung open the door proved it.

For the longest time, Dede and Denise would exchange dirty looks as each passed the other throughout the day. As her best friend, I never mistook the facial exchange as something threatening. When it would happen, we would stop mid-conversation, laugh nervously and move on without a mention…but that moment in the restaurant everything was about to change.

The chaos began while Dede waited for her order. Denise’s eyeballs quickly began to wander towards her direction. As the seconds ticked by, I could see the rage between them growing. When the pick-up order bell rang, Dede came out swinging. On her way out, with food in hand, she grabbed a fist full of Denise’s french fries and threw them in her face.

That’s when Denise picked up the ketchup bottle.

With no time left to react, she squeezed the contents in Dede’s direction.

“You fucking bitch!” was all I heard as she swung open the door, aiming right towards our table.

The next thing I knew both girls had each other by the hair…pulling and socking one another to the ground. I had no idea what to do. I stood there frozen as two tables, three tables, four tables went down. With no end in sight, I tried to help Denise by grabbing her shoulder and pulling her away…which left me planted in a pile of uneaten food. By then, the owners came, broke up the fight and all that was left were the dreams of an empty stomach.

Mr. Patron

Sequoia Jr. High; 7th grade

“REMEMBER…WHEN YOU GET HOME FROM SCHOOL, WASH YOUR T-SHIRT AND SHORTS, PLACE THEM IMMEDIATELY INTO YOUR BACKPACK SO YOU DON’T FORGET THEM MONDAY MORNING!

As always, anyone who didn’t show up dressed for P.E ready to play received a full-on humiliation yell from Mr. Patron our 7th-grade P.E teacher.

Today was my turn. I forgot my clothes over the weekend and all morning my stomach twisted in knots knowing I’d have to face him later that day. I had two options: get to the locker room first and ask for loner clothes…or face humiliation in front of the other students while I received a tongue lashing. Anyone who feared Patron as much as I did made sure to get on his good side. It was the only choice available for not having shown enough responsibility.

“AT LEAST YOU WERE HERE FIRST!” Those were the only words I wanted to hear him say as he compared me to all the other students who had forgotten as well. Although dressing out meant I’d have to play some organized sport — which I hated — acceptance was the one thing I wanted the most.

Later that day, as the last few students meandered around the lunch counter, the first bell rang. I ran into the locker room as fast as I could. The smell of old plumbing and cologne filled the air as I made my way down the hall, past the lockers. I may have been overreacting but my desperation to please him was all that mattered. With no one else in sight, I could see the white fluorescent lights shining past the door of his office.

As I approached the last few steps, I could hear Mr. Patron clearing his throat along with some ruffle of activity. As I neared the door, I noticed his hands were clearing the wrinkles out from under his shirt, but I wasn’t prepared for what I saw next. Like my P.E clothes, Mr. Patron had forgotten to wear underwear that day…or maybe he just didn’t wear underwear. His shorts were down to his knees as he cleaned himself for the next class. He wasn’t doing anything inappropriate or questionable, I just walked in at the wrong time. He immediately began to yell at the top of his lungs, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN HERE…GO WAIT ON YOUR NUMBER!”

I ran out as quickly as I came in…not only having been yelled at — which I was trying to avoid — but feeling worse than ever before.

Father Gay

Serra House Seminary; 1992

The waiting room of the local Catholic seminary was a little chilly for four o’clock in the afternoon. As I was waiting, I could hear seminarians down the hall discussing the day’s events with a quick declaration of:

“I’m freezing my ass off in here!”

Not something I expected to hear in a place I thought was supposed to be silent or filled with chants of prayer and singing. From where I sat I had a view of the outdoor patio which lay motionless in the ever increasing, enveloping tightness of the night sky.

I wanted to be here; I insisted my mom drive me across town during the middle of rush hour traffic so that I could visit the seminary. But as much as I wanted this experience, I still felt the all too familiar pangs of anxiety within my stomach.

As I waited, I thought about the last two years since that night of the N.E.T retreat. My life had definitely changed since then: I became an obedient son, purchased a gold crucifix to wear around my neck, joined the Christian club at school and volunteered at every parish event. I did everything necessary, I believed a baptism by Spirit required. I had become so focused on achieving high standards in my new life in Christ – the seminary was the next step in my impulsive evolutionary process.

At eighteen, I’m not quite sure what I expected to find in the seminary on those first few visits but one thing I did know: I wanted to become a Roman Catholic priest.

***

The head rector had already passed by once to greet me but was a bit put off by the fact that I had arrived an hour earlier than scheduled. I could have sworn he said four but then again, he was a priest so who was I to argue? He didn’t know what to do with me since most of the seminarians were still at school and he was busy handling the business of the day so I just sat until dinner was ready.

Before we sat down to eat, Fr. Tony said, “please have a seat where ever you like and please, feel free to ask the seminarians any questions you might have.”

The dining room was very simple with only a large square tan wooden table in the middle that sat twelve. The walls were bare with only an eggshell color to cover them. As everyone sat down to eat, I felt invisible. The seminarians were occupied either vying for the opportunity to speak louder than the other or finish their salad so as to get on with the main course. I tried my best to hone in on one of the many conversations that were being had but it was hard to try to talk and eat at the same time.

I was comfortable yet a little nervous as I focused on eating one leaf at a time all the while I tried to insert a forced laugh or “is that right” statement in between pauses. After a couple of bites, and finally winning a spot in an engaging conversation with a seminarian from Vietnam, I started to feel my body take over. The all too familiar process and subsequent fight that followed completely distracted me from where I was and could only be avoided by excusing myself from the dining room table. This overpowering feeling had happened before in restaurants and the dining room tables of people I barely knew – I was going to throw up.

“Could you please tell me where the bathroom is?!” I hurriedly asked my startled companion.

Once I made it inside the bathroom, my mouth stopped its unrelenting production of saliva. I was safe. After a couple of minutes in complete stillness, and after the storm had passed, I was able to regain control and start to move around a little. The little bits of salad I had eaten before the attack ensured that I wasn’t going to throw up but I knew that going back, I wouldn’t be able to take another bite.

As I made my way back, my friend from Vietnam was already on to a new conversation No one else seemed to notice that I was gone. The one person who did was Fr. Tony, he asked if I was okay as I sat down. Yes, was my cautious response as I carefully sat down trying to control everything around me.

“The spaghetti has been served so please feel free to help
yourself.” I slowly started to pick at my salad and engage Father in a conversation. I felt that if I distracted him, he wouldn’t notice I wasn’t eating.

After dinner, we went on a tour of the house. I was a bit more relaxed after dinner and was able to think more clearly. It was then that I started to feel like this was something I could be a part of; that is until Fr. Tony started the informal interview.

“Are you currently dating anyone right now Eddie?” Fr. Tony asked as he looked pensively at me and waited for an answer.

“Yeah, I’ve had a couple of girlfriends in school,” was my short response as I anxiously awaited for his approval.

“But are you currently dating someone right now?” he proceeded. “No” I quickly replied. I wanted him to get off the subject so that I wouldn’t have to face the answer. He shook his head lightly and went on to say: “The reason I ask is because your hand gestures seem a bit feminine?”

There’s that question again, I anxiously thought to myself.

“I use my hands a lot when talking and sometimes I get excited,” was my last second, unrehearsed reply.