The Girl

With his feet dangling over the full size mattress (that was anything but full for his large body) he rolled over to turn off the alarm on his worn out Blackberry. But more importantly, he rubbed the memories of yesterday's reality out of his eyes and examined his mobile device for that little 20 pixel by 20 pixel icon that only meant one thing: she sent him a text message. She rarely sends him text messages these days, but he is always expecting one. Anything close to the not-so-occasional "good morning how r u" signals the start of a great day. Without hesitation, he gives his thumbs a 20 second workout while he types his response with an ear to ear smile that made his big white teeth peak out of his mouth as if they were trying to escape.

To be continued...

I am a

Willingness to

Report

Investigate

Tell

Expose our

Reality

I'm a softy for the Softee

After moving back to Manhattan three years ago, I came to the conclusion that there was only so much snow I could handle. Before that I was living in San Juan, Puerto Rico, and needless to say I was quite spoiled when it came to weather conditions. Don’t get me wrong, I was born and raised in New York City and there is no other place in the world like it. The Lower East Side of Manhattan is my hometown and a place that I’ve lived on and off for over ten years. But what once used to be the highlight of winter vacation, is now something I lose interest in very quickly. Sure, the first snowfall of the season is beautiful and romantic, especially on a brisk Manhattan evening, but after a while it loses its luster. By February I am absolutely sick of it and I can get excited just at the thought of spring arriving. Even the process of registering for the spring semester gets me excited because I know soon enough it’s going to be April and soon after summer vacation is upon me. And for the last two years, something simply amazing has happened in the middle of February; a magical phenomenon that cannot be explained in words, only in the sounds of its sweet euphoric existence. On Wednesday, Feb. 11, at 6:07PM, as I was typing aimlessly away on my laptop, I heard the greatest sound I have ever associated with New York City spring time: The Mister Softee Ice Cream Truck. Yes, I did. I could not believe my ears. I had to stop what I was doing and sit back and hear the mystical and magnifying melody as the sound waves flowed through my ears like a lullaby of season’s change. If you spent your childhood in New York City and have no idea what I am talking about, then shame on you! I spent many adolescent spring and summer afternoons chasing after the Mister Softee truck with my wrinkled dollar bill (ice cream used to be cheap back in the 90’s, go figure) trying to buy that one piece of frozen bliss that I would devour as fast as the speed with which I ran after that damn truck. And while I rarely purchase ice cream from Mister Softee these days, I always get a giant smile on my face when I hear the music of the moving joy machine and I see children lined up to purchase that vanilla cone with rainbow sprinkles. There is nothing that signals spring’s arrival more innocently and more vividly than the Mister Softee Ice Cream truck coming out of its six month slumber to make its way around my neighborhood. I don’t have to see, smell, or feel anything. All I have to do is hear it. A thirty second loop of a song older than my parents tells me all I need to know: Spring is coming and I can’t wait!

The Letter

You know that once I get in front of this PC and get to writing, it’s on. And trust me, today, it is on. I love starting letters by enticing you into my emotional whirlwind so I can keep you reading. But today there is hardly a breeze, let alone a whirlwind. There is not a day that goes by where I am not thinking about you. I keep saying to myself that the brain is a manifestation of millions of thoughts and you are nothing but a single thought among millions. But thoughts vary in significance and memory value. I have, in essence, committed more of my short and long term memory for you. There is value for me in keeping you in my thoughts. I love originality. And I especially love originality in language. Even me saying “I love originality,” is me being unoriginal. It’s no one’s fault but my own. But here is something completely unoriginal that I nevertheless still love: The little things matter to me. The quality of my life is better because of you. Every attempt, calculated or miscalculated, that you make to better my life, is infinitely appreciated. Whether I am able to display that appreciation or not, is another story for another day. Every single day that I don’t see you, I miss you. And when I do see you, time, which has a complex way of fucking up my pleasure, travels at the speed of light. The term “speed of light” is a nice way to describe the passage of time. For one reason, the more time that I spend with you, the brighter your eyes become. And at that exact moment that your eyes begin to illuminate my emotional circuitry with its sunshine-like quality, I begin to feel like I am on Speed. If someone said it perfectly before me why should I try to make up my own quote? So I’m going to quote someone that I have a lot of respect for: the rapper Drake. “I was trippin’ off of the Speed at which life progress.” The friendship thread constructed on a premise as delicate as the thread itself, has seen better days, to say the least. The fibers on which trust and honesty lie, have struggled to remain intact. Even as I am sitting back and writing this letter to you, I feel like the connection we once shared has fell into a void of no return. Actually, I feel like I shoved it into the void with my constant irrational decisions. We are still young, and we are continuously struggling to find the meaning of love and how it affects our lives. Love, like writing, does not always make sense nor does it have to. But the time spent trying to decipher the code of this four letter more becomes more strenuous as the days go by. “ Life ain’t meant to come around twice,” (Lupe Fiasco) is the only code that I live by. And while I’m getting a little quote happy I will finish it with one last one, “I ain’t got time to waste.” (50 Cent) Life is a ride that doesn’t last forever. And by the time we realize it, the ride is over. The only way that we’re going to enjoy it together is if you sit next to me and never get off. Ultimately, that decision is up to you. My seat isn’t always going to be empty forever. And it is not going to be easy for you to make that big step. But nothing of value in this world is easy to acquire.

-Angel

Anyone wanna play catch?

Life is a system. A calculated formula. Or at least that's what I want it to be.

I am a man of logic. A man of order. I like to plan my future. Immediate and not so immediate.

Not in an obsessive compulsive way, though.
I do not have a daily schedule. And I am very messy and disorganized. With everything.

And yet, I like to feel that I have control over the order in which events occur in my life.
This is completely absurd to say the least. Who REALLY has full control of their own life?

I sleep more comfortable at night knowing that in two more years I'm going to graduate from Hunter College and acquire a Bachelors degree.

I sleep more comfortable at night knowing that I am not going to be fired from my job.

I sleep more comfortable at night knowing that I'm smarter than almost every person that I've ever gone to school with in my life.

Apparently, I'm not sleeping comfortable tonight because it's 1 A.M. and I'm writing a blog instead of sleeping.

Big boys don't need bed times leave me alone.

Am I the only person who remembers the "I'm a big kid now!" commercial?
I just failed for remembering the slogan and not the product

*Does quick Google search*
[ Quick Intermission ]
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Oh yeah!!! Huggies Pull Up's Training Pants.

What the hell was I talking about? Oh right, um sleeping comfortable.

None of the three situations that I mentioned are hardly fact.
I may never graduate. I may get fired tomorrow. And I may be a complete idiot.

But I feel like I can control my own destiny. Whatever that means.

Logic and creative writing almost never go hand in hand.

This very blog, to most of you readers, probably makes no sense whatsoever.
But it makes much sense to me. And only me really understands me.

Oh, my mom understands me too. Most of the time. I love you mom! <3

I have a mathematics background, and although my mastery and passion of the English language has guided my academic career since I entered college, the logistic and formulaic structure of mathematics is still at the core of my day to day thinking patterns.

But that has been steadily changing.

I was once entrenched into a state of mind where success and happiness was defined by the endpoint of life. Completely disregarding the struggle that was The Journey.

The Journey is a metaphor I use constantly.

The Journey is substance.
The Journey is perseverance.
The Journey is adversity.

Unfortunately for me, this state of mind that I was once in, evolved into a culture.

A young Tupac Shakur once said, "measure a man by his actions fully, through his whole life, from the beginning to the end.”

This quote has lived on with me ever since I had the privilege of hearing it.
But it was going to take more than a quote to make me realize that I was in a culture of drowning in superficiality.

There was only one thing in this world that opened my eyes.

And it's name is Sports.

Sports are a microcosm of life.

I can honestly say that I have learned more about life watching and listening to sports than I have in any academic institution I have ever been to.

The greatest lesson that sports has taught me is that changing a culture is extremely difficult.

Sports teams serve a number of different purposes and the best sports teams are the ones that have the most organized, motivated, and hard working culture.

And only the greatest minds of the sporting world have the capacity to change an entire culture of a team and turn it into a winner.

Bill Parcells with the New York Giants, and Joe Torre with New York Yankees, two legendary and iconic ambassadors of success, are clear examples of what can happen when a person is able to identify with their team and get the best out of their players.

It starts with the establishment of a hard working culture.

A professional sports team serves the role of a brotherhood, a tradition, an unconditional passion, a business, a spectator event.

And for die hard fans: a reason to live.

I can go on and on about every single specific aspect of sports and how it relates and influences the culture of my life, but the most important connection that drives me to be a fan of sports, other than the significance of a great leader, is the fact that human nature plays such a profound role in the greatness of an athlete.

The way an athlete performs under immense pressure impacts their wins and losses.
The way an athlete maintains their health impacts their performance.
The way an athlete communicates with teammates impacts their team chemistry.

This skill set transcends the free throw line and the end zone.
It is not a skill set for a great athlete it's a skill set for a great human being.

I can go to sleep more comfortable tonight knowing this.

Take me home

I don't know why but it's become harder and harder to keep up with this blog. I keep hoping to get a hold of an intangible piece of magic called Inspiration.

I am always looking for it. Anywhere and everywhere.

What is going to spark my next blog?
What is going to entice my mind to the point where I have to log onto this website and write until I can't write anymore?

It's not as if my life hasn't been eventful. I have stories for days.
But stories only go so far. The message that is derived from the story is just as important as the story itself.

Am I too caught up in the message that I want to skip the story of life entirely and get to the end where I learn the moral? It's quite possible.

I find it ever so amazing that as much as I try to negotiate my rationality and my emotions, the end result is often not in my control.

One always gets the best of the other. Always.

I am a native of the borough of Manhattan but during the beginning of my winter vacation two weeks ago, I took a trip to The Bronx. I got off of the 6 train and walked to the bus stop that I know all too well. But before I got to that bus stop something amazing happened to me. As I inhaled the smell commonality I felt a sudden weight lifted off of my shoulders. It wasn't a situation where I was searching for a form of stress release. I didn't know that I even had this weight on my shoulders until I felt it completely vanish in the thin Bronx air.

Bronx, New York.

It is not where I sleep at night. It is not where my official address is. It's not even the place I spend most of my time in. But at that very moment I knew one thing: I was home.

For the majority of my teenage life, The Bronx was where I grew as a human being.
Here is where I developed character, maturity, and self respect.

It is a rarity when I am unable to describe my feelings with words. But being in The Bronx just feels right. I felt like this is where I belong. This is where I should be.

Not only is The Bronx the borough which I used to reside in, it is the location where my greatest and most influential friends get the privilege of living. I am almost certain that they do not feel like it is a privilege to live in The Bronx, but I can assure them that they should feel that way.

As much as I love Manhattan, and trust me I really do love it, there is no other place in New York City like The Bronx and it will forever be a place that I call home.

In my own mind.

I will never be able to understand the mind of a writer.
I thought I was a writer. Once upon a time.
But I am really a complete nobody.
A self encompassing disease and detriment to the purity and nature of earth.
I am a failure.

Writers are inspired by adversity and a willingness to overcome defeat.
But not me. Because I'm not a writer.

Disheartening as a broken relationship that was never meant to be, today I lost all sight of positivity.
When I think about it, there should not have been any positivity in the first place.

Why am I even thinking about first place?
Last place is the only place. If any place.

To have a place you have to have a destination.
A journey to nowhere is what my life is based on.

I won't even call it a base. Nothing is holding onto me. I am floating in a sea of no purpose.

Is it the way I eloquently place these words together that makes me who I am?
There I go using the word place again.


I have to use words because that is the only way I can paint my world.
Don't worry about an array of colors. I only care about blue.
One language. One color. One man.

I will never find my place because I want to be everywhere.
I want to be a part of you. And you. And even you.

I am as flawed and I am grand.
Actually more flawed than grand. But I'm working on it. Progress is infinite.

My voice echos in my room because it is empty.
It is lifeless. Myself included. Life is only as valuable as you make it.
I just haven't done anything with mine.

I am a writer after all.
In my own mind at least.