Thankful Pt. 2

So here's the thing. I didn't think I'd write through this medium again for a long, long time. But that's the thing about writing. You don't move it; it moves you. In the past few months the trials and tribulations enveloped me like quicksand. But suddenly I can breathe. It occurred to me today that one revolution around the sun changed more than the seasons. It changed my perspectives, my outlooks, my outcomes. It changed me. As it very well should. This same time last year I was grateful to be alive. I came within what I resolutely believe was within inches of my demise. I was wild with fury and prepared to fight for my life. But it went the other way. I lived.

I've never been a religious person. Spiritual yes, but far from pious. My moral compass has hardly ever pointed due north- but it has steered me where I was meant to be. It's what I call faith. I've experienced enough loss to know love. I am wise because I've been foolish. I'm compassionate because I've known suffering. At my most honest hour, when I question the landslide like Stevie did, I can say that I've handled the seasons of my life to the best of my ability. I'm a work in progress and I will make no apologies for who I've become along the way. It sounds cocky but truly- it's me at my most humble and imperfect.

Kanye had the right idea. In a sense, we all live by our own scripture borrowed from others. We apply what we need to our own existence. I've never fully known what to hurl and what to hold, so I keep it all to survive. Experience. Memory. Intuition. Compassion. Instincts. These are what I hold close. It's why a term like 'No Church In the Wild' resonates with me. Because every thing can flip in a New York minute no matter how unfathomable; and your mind is decidedly your own personal Heaven or Hell. In one revolution around the sun I've learned to be equipped. And to be thankful.

Overdue Conversation

Lately, the entries have been sparse. The ideas have been cluttered. I know when it's time to bow out. I know there is reason for the departure of my creativity. It's time to get back to center, redirect and refocus. Rather than fill this blog with useless drivel- I'm making the decision to close up shop. The next thing anyone will read by Jayne Neverow will be my book; a dutiful collection of my firsthand experiences in laughing, loving and living. I know I have an incredible story to tell in its entirety. It's time.

And so it goes; one journey ends and another begins. Every step of it has been authentic and fulfilling. I appreciate you all for taking a walk with me through This Bug's Life. With all that I am- I thank you. The faithful Bug readers, the passers-by, the quiet watchers and the vocal commentators. You have all made it worthwhile. Feel free to re-live the misadventures and musings through past entries. Stay tuned for Conversations with a Ladybug. Farewell thee well.

This Day is Mine

It's been a while. Trials, tribulations and a virus-ridden computer kept me away for a spell- but not for long. When I finally had a chance to be in my element again, I was at a loss as to what to write. The words escaped me. But now I'm found. Today marks the anniversary of my birth. I've been blessed to see another year of life, love and laughter. This time around, I'm filled with purpose in more ways than one. Had I known then what I know now, I wouldn't change a stitch of it. I'm here. I'm grateful. I am. Alive.

Still The Livest One

"Lyrical lyrics. Blowing lyrics out my larynx..."

March 9, 1997. Here's what I remember: Sunday morning. Crawling into bed at daybreak after a nice house party in Queens. It felt like I had just drawn the blinds and shut my eyes when my cordless rang an hour later around 8:30 a.m. With my eyes still closed I fumbled for the phone and growled to no one in particular, "This better be good." Instantly I recognized the voice on the other end. It was my ace, Tasha and she said the words I'll never forget. "Jayne, Biggie Smalls is dead." Hanging up, I sat right up in bed, turned on my stereo that was always tuned to Hot97 back then and laid back down. Christion's "Full of Smoke" was playing. That song haunts me to this day- in a cold comfort kind of way. When it was over, Angie Martinez was speaking tearfully. It was surreal. There was no background music of any sort. Zero. Just dead air between her sniffles and her confirmation of what my best friend had just told me. Brooklyn's Finest, Christopher Wallace was gone. I laid there thinking maybe, just maybe..I was dreaming.

"Representin' BK to the fullest."

It's kind of hard to explain. Biggie was one of those emcees that had no peer. There was no one like him. His imposing stature. The gruff and powerful voice. The witty, raw and at times hilarious lyrics. That incomparable flow was like none other. The first time I heard this dude I knew with every fiber of my being that he was the truth. 1993, one of my favorite years, ushered in the man we all came to know as The Notorious B.I.G. Party and Bullshit was just the sickest shit I'd ever heard at the time. He hit the ground running. With (then named) Puff Daddy at his side, he seemed unstoppable; his future bright. The moniker might have been Notorious, but his career and catalog was nothing short of illustrious.

Ready to Die. Life After Death. Some unforgettable remix cameos and mixtape verses. Biggie is a part of the soundtrack to my youth and early adulthood. The parties. The beef. The come up. The thoughts of doubt and the cocky confidence all at once. Struggle mixed with sophistication. He articulated all of it with a style of his own and I loved him. I wasn't the only one. Never before had I seen a rapper with more clout and receive more love from their borough than Big. And he never missed an opportunity to shout out the streets that raised him. Biggie was Brooklyn. Head to toe and to the core. He was so loved. Which brings me to an image I will never get out of my head. The New York Daily News covered his funeral and ran the photo below. When I saw it, I didn't see two affiliates he collaborated with musically. Nor did I see a rough, vulgar mouthed rap mistress with an R&B queen. I saw a brokenhearted woman who never looked so beautiful as she did in her raw emotion for the man she loved- and a dear friend holding her up (or down, so to speak).

"Damn Ma, I love you like the lah. The ganja..."

I realized then that Hip Hop had lost a jewel. If I'm honest with myself and all who see this, I can say that I was starting to lose faith a little bit. The grit and grime had given way to flossing and fanciness I didn't totally relate to. But I saw Puff's hand in that way before I could ever blame Biggie for turning the tides of an entire culture. I would never blame him for that. Not when I understood what it must have taken to beat the odds and make it. Really make it. Only to be cut down in his prime after being blamed for a foolishly epic feud of coasts. It broke my heart. There's an ironic truth to Big's lament; "You're nobody 'til somebody kills you." But the outpouring of love and respect he continues to receive could only be showered upon one who was already somebody. Somebody special. Somebody who was a wonder to watch when he did his thing. With a mic in his hand, the only thing missing was a crown on his head because he was truly a King when he rocked it.

"And if you don't know- Now you know, N*gga..."

This is dedicated to the Black Frank White. The Notorious B.I.G. Big Poppa. The one who reminded me to only make moves when my heart's in it. And that's just what I'm doing today in celebrating his life and legacy. Love is Love.

Now...Brooklyn Stand Up!

For the Swimmer on a Day like None Other

"This may come off like a declaration of love, but truly it's just a wish...for a fish." -Calmnia

I'll never know exactly why that you swam by and heard my sigh. The ice was broken and I was in my element. I had no idea it was yours as well. That water felt like Heaven swelled and spilled down to the thirsty Earth. It drenched my senses, soaked my self worth. There was nothing that I couldn't do. And what was the use- if not with you? The beautiful dreamer. The warrior's wend. The sensual lover. The genuine friend. A soldier of love whom I had the honor of serving with proudly side by side. All in all- one fantastic ride. A journey to a star was never too far, not with you. And know that all these things are true. .

I wish for you a healthy body and sound mind. A heart full of courage and goblet of Life's wine. I wish for you to drink it slow and taste in it all you love so. I wish for you a day of song, of sun and light and spirit strong. When twilight breaks upon your locks- I pray your time exceeds the clocks. For today and always, it's more than a lifetime can express.

I suppose it sounds like I'm confessing- but really it's your Birthday blessing.

Water Song

Yesterday, I made a concerted effort not to draw attention to the obvious.  It was Sunday.  The day after Christmas.  Boxing Day.  It means little to some- but to my father? Everything.  43 years they would have been married.  When I spoke to him on the phone I made it a point not to mention their anniversary.   For the better part of five years I wore her solid gold band on my left ring finger.  Engraved inside are their initials and the date he first slipped that ring onto her finger. 26-12-67  She was a gorgeous bride- all ninety-nine pounds of her.  She had a smile that was beckoning and all knowing.  A smile that invited you to her mystique if you dared- but she never told her secrets.  Her nails were always prettily manicured.  Her attire and accessories looked as though they'd been handpicked by Anna Wintour. And when she first married my father she could only bake banana bread flawlessly.  By the time she left, she was a better cook than he was.  I was thirteen when she waded on to other waters.  A part of me always knew we only had her for a time.  She was so otherworldly. Always aware that there was an invisible world. She belonged somewhere between this world and that.  A Pisces in the true sense.  Wistful. A dreamer.  Full of charm. A showstopper devoid of conceit. She was supportive and content to let others shine while she floated somewhere in the background. That was her glow.  I was 10 years younger than her final year when I gave that ring back to my father to wear around his neck.  It never seemed right for me to wear it.  Not because my own marriage dissolved but because it wasn't placed on my hand with a fraction of the love that placed it on hers. Theirs is a timeless love.  This is for my mother- who no longer swims in earthly waters but I feel her just the same. This is for my father.  I peer through time portals and see a banner that reads: His wife was a mermaid. He is inconsolable. This is for Lady T.  So ironic that on the anniversary of something so great, something that brought forth my very existence; another Pisces went swimming through heavenly waters.  She was born one day before my beautiful mother and sang with a duality I know now is essentially theirs.  Wild and Peaceful. This is for my own water sign love who just last night,  gave me this song.  Because of them I am ever grateful.  Ever knowing.  Ever loving. Thank God.

blessed, alive, thankful...in that order

"Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?"-The Shadow

To say that my Thanksgiving morning started out like any other would be far from the truth.  In fact, it would be an outright lie.  I awoke to a day that was mixed with turmoil, stirred by animosity and bubbling with potential violence.  Needless to say, I tried my best to carry on with the day as though none of these factors bore any weight.  So foolish of me to ignore the omens.

I was up before the sun and made my way to the basement laundry room of my building. My thought was- it's a holiday and not yet 6 a.m. so no one should be down there.  I'll be in and out in no time.  I opted for the closeness of my building rather than lug three heavy bags across the courtyard to my car and a nearby laundromat.  When I got there- it was dead silent. An eerie, early morning quiet that makes you feel you're the only one in the world who's up and about.  No machines going. No dryers tumbling.  Deserted.

Then I saw him. Scruffy and unshaven.  A nest of matted dirty blond hair topped his head.  His hands looked meaty and swollen.  He said, "Hey. How's it going?"  I reply, "Good Morning."  I began loading the machines when it struck me that he was down there but  not using the laundry facilities.  I engage him.  "Are you waiting for the machines?"  He looked skittish.  "No, I'm waiting for him to pick me up for work. It's cold out there, you know?" Immediately I analyze his words.  Why would he say 'him' like I'm supposed to know who he's talking about?  And if he lived in the building, there would be no need for him to wait outside in the cold.  I nod. I didn't want to be rude.  Just because someone looks unkempt doesn't necessarily mean they're up to no good.  He asks me for a light. I don't usually carry matches but I had them.  I don't usually carry a screwdriver either, but I had one that morning. I hand him the book of matches. He lights up under the No Smoking sign.  As bold as I am, it's something I've never done in that basement.  It rubs me the wrong way. I leave. 

Forty minutes after the wash cycle, I make my way back downstairs.  Thankfully, the sun is up.  At first glance, it feels like I'm alone.  As I step in a little further, I see a figure crouching behind the huge dryer closest to the wall. He peeks out at me then walks out into the open.  Asks me for another light.  Says he can't believe he lost the one I gave him.  At this point, all friendliness is out the window. I tell him no.  Sternly.  All the while I'm wondering what the hell he was doing hiding behind the dryer, but I say nothing.  He leaves through a back door that locks automatically once closed.  As I'm pulling clothes from the washing machine I hear a knock at the same door two minutes later.  I ignore it because anyone who's allowed to come through there- more than likely has a key.  Deep down, I know it's him again.  I pretend not to hear the knocking but he walks to the window across from where I'm standing and points to the door. 

I hold up one finger as if to say 'Gimme a second'.  He saunters back over to the door.  I take the screwdriver from my bag and slide it into the back pocket of my jeans.  Against my better judgment I walk over and crack the door slightly with my left hand; my right hand firmly gripping the handle of the Philips behind me.  Oddly enough, I'm cool as a water fountain but ready to jab seven inches of metal repeatedly through his neck at the first sign of foul play.  He starts out by saying that he's staying with his mother right now.  (In my mind I'm saying God bless him if a man this beat up still has a living mother somewhere) Then he proceeds to hold a wallet out towards me.  He claims that I'm welcome to hold on to it to ensure he returns- if I can help him out with seven dollars.  Again, I internally dissect his words.  He didn't ask for $1.  He didn't ask for $5. Such a peculiar and specific dollar amount.  Drugs perhaps? Now, it's been said that I got most of my education by watching movies.  And I've always playfully disputed that.  But, if not for Catch Me If You Can with Leonardo DiCaprio, I might have fallen for this wallet trick that is supposed to instantly gain your trust.  I mean, who's going to leave their wallet with you and not come back, right?  Wrong.  That can be anyone's wallet.  A dead man's wallet for all I know. "I have no cash." I say it brusquely while closing the door on his face.

Through the window, I watch him walk by to the front of the building.  I can only see from his torso to just below his knees.  He does something strange.  He splays his fingers wide apart and then clenches them into a fist. Repeating the move until he's out of my sight.  I find the entire episode unnerving but I'm not shaken for some reason.  When I'm sure that he's gone, I return to loading my wet clothes into the two dryers. I load up the second one, the one I saw him stooping behind and shut the huge circular door.  With it comes the loudest clamour. It's heart-stopping and for the first time that morning, I'm startled.

I look to the right of the dryer where the noise came from and see the biggest pipe wrench I've ever seen in my life.  Over 18 inches long.  I pick it up and it seems to weigh at least twenty pounds.  I drop it.  Replay the scene in my head as I realize his hands were on that wrench just ten minutes ago.  My hands start to shake at the thoughts of how it could have gone.  My skull split by one blow with his weapon of choice.  Blood. Everywhere. Bludgeoned to death the same way my aunt was in our native Trinidad a few years back.  No one knew I was down there.  No one could have known.  Even though I was ready to fight for my life or even take his if need be, I still shuddered at what could have been.

Right then and there, on that day...I truly gave thanks.  No, not an ordinary Thanksgiving at all.  Not in the least.

The Sea Inside

It's funny. I didn't really plan on getting in the water that day. The sky went gray in patches soon after we got there. When I did decide to walk up and let it wash over my feet, it was freezing. The kind of cold that chills your bones, hurts your nipples and makes you wonder how folks have it in them to frolic in such frigid temperatures. I retreated back to the sand and there I stayed for quite some time. We talked about things the way we usually do; with an easy air of conversation. Then I felt a shift within. My mood began to match the sky. Bright still, but with bits of cloudiness moving in with purpose. The onset of an emotional storm was brewing. By then, I was lying on the beach alone. I watched as he walked out to the shoreline where the icy water seemed to only slightly take him by surprise as it wet the hem of his shorts. He bent down, selected what looked like a heavy stone the size of a lemon and hurled it over the ebb tide. I watched him take in the horizon and wondered what it all looked like through his eyes. Suddenly I felt the need to move. To wash the thoughts and chase the gray out. In an instant I was up and sprinting towards the water. I leapt in as though I had nothing. I leapt in as though I had everything. The cold wasn't so bad after all. It never is once you're in it. I let the water surround my goose-bumped skin. Wash over me in ways I didn't know I needed. Bring me back to life. And then it happened.

We saw the wave at the same time. A high wall of water; huge and daunting. It crashed into us in the most powerful way. A split second before it swirled us then swatted us like lowly creatures. Panic. My feet and arms were useless. It tumbled us both. Drew us in and spat us out harshly. It's the strangest sensation when water fills orifices where air belongs. You go deaf- save for the thick silence that only water in your ears can generate. You go blind- but can still make out fragments of life as you knew it before you were capsized by an angry riptide. You know not to open your mouth because your lungs...and its contents just became the most precious thing you have. The only thing you have. But you taste the salt all the same. All that matters is that moment.

When I stumbled out towards land, I felt small. As you should when you realize the ocean can swallow anything that dares comes near her mouth. I felt insignificant. But grateful when I realized that when it counted- he didn't let go of my arm. Not for a moment. Not until it was over and I was on terra firma. Not until I was safe. It occurred to me that- had I been out there with anyone else, they might have lost their grip. They might have let go even if they didn't want to. The tide was that strong and for a moment, I was that hopeless. But he never let go.

Just keep swimming

I can't say that I understand it fully. In fact, I'm not sure I'm supposed to. All I know is that my mother was one. My brother-from-another is one. And my could-never-love-another is one too, along with countless close friends. We tend to find each other it seems; in deep waters that meet the ocean floor. Dwelling in my crustacean shell and walking waywardly- they swim around me for a spell. We share a love of water and are completely in our element down here. There is a compassion and intuitiveness that is unmatched by others. We see one another. Truly see one another. While I'm content in the comfort of my abode, they are most alive when exploring the vastness of the deep blue. The beauty in that- is they always return with a piece of what they have found in their travels. Smiles, wisdom, jewels or a closely held credo. My most natural Cancerian instinct is to clutch them in my claws. Hold them for all time. But that is not the way to love them.


There is such a dazzling rhythm to their fluid movement- that to even think of capturing it would be an injustice. That type of greatness is as boundless as the dark. With them, life is lush- and the only predictable thing about them is their unpredictability. Natural born dreamers who wade skillfully in and out of any perplexity...I've witnessed it so many times and each time I am awestruck. They are more enamored with the mind and spirit than matters of this physical world. This I love. Because there is so much more to this hermit crab than the earthly shell I possess. I can count on being taken to new places with them while not moving a stitch. I willfully lose myself in undulating pools of soulful eyes, because I cannot drown there. I can only thrive. So this is my thank you to each of them. The fish who so enrich my world simply by being in it. Oh, my Mermaids and Neptunes...I love you all from gills to tail. Swim on.

"Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air."

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

It is real if it's only in your mind

It was a marathon of a conversation and I quickly lost track of time. That's how it is with us sometimes. For what seemed like an hour, I read aloud the zodiac traits and characteristics pertaining to myself...and then to him. Water signs are so peculiar. So alike and so different. We talked about these things. Positive vibes and what we invite. Knowing yourself before attempting to deconstruct others. Warding off negativity despite being surrounded by it. It's what we do; relate and debate. And then a beep. I move the phone away from my ear to glance at the Caller I.D. The name on the tiny lime green screen has become excitingly familiar in just one week. "That's the firm! Lemme call you back." I don't think I waited for a response before tapping the flash button. Her voice was calm with a hint of merriment in it. I assume she was happy the hunt was over. She can safely assume I was happy to be caught. "We narrowed it down...If you're still interested..." Formalities ensue. Where. What time. She signs off with the same whimsical tone. I. Am. Ecstatic. I hit the last number dialed and hear seven notes chirp in rapid succession. I take a deep breath. "Baby. I got it!" And humbly speaking, this one felt like mine from the giddy-up.

' kiss of Fate?

I don't believe in coincidences. Down to the smallest thing. I feel like if I'm in a car, hearing a song for the first time- that was exactly where I was supposed to be when I heard it. With little or no distraction. Well, that happened today. I was on the road this evening when a song that I was supposed to hear came on. I'll be honest. I was feeling downtrodden. I was melancholy. I wanted to be anywhere but where I was, emotionally. And then J to da Muah reminded me of what a jewel I am. Regardless of who may be dazzled by the brilliance and strength or who would bypass me in a fruitless search of a worthier treasure. I can't say that I totally relate to the lyrics; but I won't say that I don't, either. Anyway, I needed to hear this. This song went through me- and by the time I got to my destination, the tears were streaming. Who knew Hip-Hop could do that to you?

I think I'm in love

His name is Jaden. And to be honest, I'm not even sure if that's how his name is spelled. All I know is that every now and then, I am fortunate enough to go along for the ride when he is picked up from Day Care. He is the color of tea with milk and has the most beautiful almond shaped eyes. His smile is like a million birthday cake candles. He is simply gorgeous. No exaggeration there. If it weren't for his rough and tumble ways, boyish clothes and unpierced ears- he would easily be mistaken for a girl. Suddenly, looking over my seat back at him becomes the best part of that particular day. Don't get me started on when he's asked to show anyone what "Karate" is. A tiny foot raises as high as his autonomy can take it and there is the proudest light in his eye as he executes this move. And then he's off. Whisked up by one strong arm, he looks over that shoulder, blinking at me- taking a piece of my heart with him each time. Yeah, I guess they do that sometimes.


Author's Note: The baby pictured above is not the cherub of which I speak. Not everyone is privileged enough to steal a glance at the real object of my affection.

There's Something About Mary

I just don't feel Mary the way I used to. I was discussing this fact the other day and realized that I've felt this way for some time. The last time I saw her perform live- I quietly decided it was the last time I ever needed to. It was much like wordlessly saying goodbye to a friend you can no longer grow with. Rather than tell you how much I cannot relate to her music anymore, I invite you all to take a rather personal walk with me and the Queen of Hip Hop Soul through my life, her music and the ties that bound us together for a time.

What's the 411

I was fifteen. Fresh-faced and invincible. What stands out most to me about this album was how much my sister- pregnant with my first nephew at the time, absolutely hated to hear this tape being played. She claimed it made her nauseous. Along with my Paul Mitchell hairspray which she forced me to apply in the driveway each morning. Did I care? Hell No. You could still hear Changes I've Been Going Through at the highest decibel everyday from my room. That is still the standout track to me. That and Reminisce. There's nothing quite like those innocent make-out sessions in the basement before your parents get home, is there? Ah, the memories. The 411 Remix Album drops and I'm right in step with her. As the needle drags across the original You Remind Me Greg Nice is infatuated and in love...and I think I am too.

My Life
It's my senior year and Mary is telling me that she knows it's hard but we will get by. And not a moment too soon. It was a harrowing year. My first love had abandoned me for the military just when I needed him the most. Shortly thereafter, things unravel with blinding speed. I found my entire family disbanded for a moment. Bills go unpaid. I bounce between staying with friends and my sister and keep mostly to myself. I am living out of suitcases. No one understands but Mary. For the first time in My Life, I visit my father at a modest hotel room which he calls home for roughly a month. It crushes me. I cry nightly, get high daily. I'm Goin' Down. I get called down to the Guidance Office and am told I am not looking at a June graduation. I nearly give up. All I want to do is Be Happy. Things eventually turn around; my family all under one roof again. Months later we drive to my high school graduation- tears in my eyes as I secretly thank Mary for pulling me through.

Share My World

This album finds me three years out of high school and no closer to a plan for success. While most of my friends are off at college- I hang on the hope of a student visa in order to attend. I work. I go home. I work. This pattern becomes so mundane that I take up Tai Chi just to break up the monotony. To hear Mary tell it- Love Is All We Need but I feel enormously removed from that credo. I'm Searching for a deeper purpose. She is asking the same questions I am, but with a smoky-voiced elegance I can only dream of during my shower concerts. (The acoustics are always better in there.) I'm just living the day-to-day and I decide that I'm Not Gon' Cry about all the unfairness that seems to have consumed my young life. There had to be more in store for me.

Mary
The year 2000 brings her self titled album- and with it, my own stroke of independence and self declaration. I feel stronger than I have in years. Time and circumstance has shown me where everyone fits into my life. Much like her album cover, my scars are also visible but I find it beautifully human and strong. I wear it proudly. And even though I was Not Lookin' , I meet someone who adores Ms. Blige in same fashion as I do. He tells me her voice speaks to his soul. That she is the truth and when truth like that exists, it is not only heard but felt. Suddenly, I'm In Love again. "Never felt nothing that so good before- Only you can open the door." All That I Can Say is... loving him is wonderful. And that almost carries me through for a time.

No More Drama

This is where things start to take a turn. Mary sings of letting go of everything that has weighed her down. Over the Young and the Restless piano keys- she tells of freeing herself from the negativity. I feel her on it. I'm just sorta caught up in my own personal stuff a bit too much to wholeheartedly relate. I spend my nights tending bar and skipping songs on the jukebox when this CD is selected. Plus, Ja Rule taking the ride with her on Rainy Dayz turns me off a bit. I miss her collaborating with the likes of CL Smooth and Keith Murray. It was raining for me and it seemed Ms. Blige was stepping into the sunshine. Was I stuck in the past? No. Was I hating? Absolutely not. But I didn't feel moved by the album.

Love And Life

While this album should have been my soundtrack at the time, it was actually just a painted on layer of what I projected. Ooh! finds me singing along to an Ed OG and the Bulldogs beat, promising to cook and clean. And why not? It was damn near Love @ 1st Sight. Below the exterior however, I learn that married life can be a rollercoaster. But I find myself Willing and Waiting for my other half to catch up to my level of commitment. It feels like an uphill battle. Amid that, my closest friend loses four family members in one horrific night. I feel helpless. I experience nightmares. There is no comfort in music, but it is not Mary's fault. I take a good look around and realize that it is no one's fault. There is love. There is life. And some things so tragic in between that not even songs can remedy.

The Breakthrough

Though I never owned the album, I knew that Mary was telling someone I can't Be Without You. I do remember feeling that way once. At about this point is where we unofficially parted ways. We simply weren't seeing eye to eye anymore. I was happy for her new found love and marital bliss, but mine was slowly winding down to discord. Actually it was at this concert tour that I decided there would be no need to get alerts from Ticketmaster when she was in NYC. This night was memorable due to a very specific incident that remains forever bookmarked for me. One thing was true, though. You can't keep a Good Woman Down.


Growing Pains

Time brings inevitable growth. It brings blossoming and withering. By this time, I'm a Grown Woman. Apparently, my girl Mary is doing Just Fine and even makes me do a double take past the mirror and appreciate God's design! How about that? This CD was actually a Christmas gift from the man who I once joked was more than welcome to run off with his honey, Mary- because she...and she alone was woman enough to take him away from me. Things are awkward, but we manage to keep it cordial that holiday- no longer sharing a home or a life for that matter. Only a surname. I continue on my path alone. On my darker days, I too wish that I could Fade Away. "And it feels like joy. And it feels like pain. Feels like sunshine, feels like rain. An excuse for dying. Reason to live. And if you don't know..." that's What Love Is.

A friend hears the song in my heart and sings it to me when my memory fails.-- Anonymous

Mary J. Blige and I have been through the best and the worst of times. Leggings and combat boots. Baseball caps. Classy coats, fly shoes and numerous hairstyles. Lonely holidays and sleepless nights. Quests for love and self discovery. She told me that You Gotta Believe, and I did. Mary is woven throughout my life lessons of friendships and relationships. And like many of those in my life- we walked our path until we could no longer go on together; each knowing that there once was a time when we truly connected. No regrets.

Half Man, Half Amazing

This morning I awoke to a peculiar feeling. Surreal may be a better way to phrase it. It's difficult to describe, because I am astounded at how my entire being manages to encapsulate everything that is swirling within. Awed. Proud. Humbled. Reverent. I count myself fortunate to bear witness to this historic moment. Never has it been more fitting, never has it been more crucial for this country to choose a leader, regardless of race- who represents the promise of a new day. The pundits, the talking heads, the naysayers and the faithless have all been shown what is; and what can be. It seems my near and dear friend, Beau Averee knew it all along. We screamed, we applauded, we embraced...we exhaled. And then we both agreed that the challenges have only just begun.

It's amazing how much panic one honest man can spread among a multitude of Fox News hypocrites. But we also agreed that the right man for the job has been chosen. A person who inspires not only a nation, but the global masses. A man who can evoke such powerful emotion in people worldwide, who may at first glance- have nothing in common. A man who quite honestly, just so happens to look like me. Truly, it was his spirit and his message that I believed in from the start.

There are a handful of noteworthy moments in my lifetime which I will never forget- and I am content to say that November 4, 2008 has joined that list, now and forever. I have never felt such a symmetry of pride and humility; and his momentous victory has filled me with both. I have never been so hopeful and excited about the future as I am right now. With my head and my heart in total alliance- I wish to say thank you to Barack Obama.

Lifelong Learning

Every now and then, if you’re fortunate enough- you cross paths with a remarkable person that makes quite an impact on your life. In some way or another, they make the world a better place by simply being themselves. Over the years there have been a precious few that hold that distinction for me, but this is dedicated to one in particular.

Almost everyone that walked the hallways of Uniondale High School can recall a teacher by the name of Mr. Chu. I say this because there were plenty of students who were not ‘officially’ enrolled in his class that still came away with a sufficient knowledge of Photography. Way before I learned what purpose an aperture served or how to manipulate ambient light- I learned what it was like to be yourself and embrace it. Chu Man, as he was so oft referred to as- was by far the coolest teacher in that institution. Everyone loved him, and I believe it had a lot to do with him just being himself. He possessed such a genuine manner that was never forced. Some teachers are totally removed from the student experience by default. They form quick opinions of whom they perceive as rabble-rousers, make snap judgments and decide that there is nothing they haven’t seen or heard during their tenure. But Mr. Chu was different. He was never so world-weary that he tuned out what was relevant. Trust me. He may have been the only staff member at the time who knew Hip-Hop even had a pulse before it got all “blinged out”. He seemed to understand that teaching was an exchange rather than a one-way street. We learned from him, and he from us.

There are some teachers who immediately want to show you who’s boss. Then there are those who try so hard to be cool it is transparently phony. Neither was his style. He somehow walked a line of his own with dexterity…and made it look effortless. Mr. Chu had an open-door policy. He treated troublemakers and straight-A students with impartiality. (Yours truly fell somewhere in between.) I think he was much more comfortable in the knowledge that droves of kids opted for his class, rather than leave school grounds to find inevitable trouble. I witnessed firsthand what some may classify as the most “unreachable” of pupils take a heartfelt interest in learning something new. And it was all because of Mr. Chu. We were accepted without being molded by an iron fist. He had our respect without ever having to demand it. That in itself was an estimable art form.

I don’t want to sound as if I’m eulogizing someone that is no longer with us. He is still very much alive, and thanks to the great age of online social networking, sharing other aspects of his life with Alums who admire him just as much- if not more than in the bygone days of Photo lab. That photography lab is now defunct. It has been transformed into what I can only call a depressingly modernized box. Four walls, devoid of the spirit that once inhabited that space. And Mac computers everywhere. Copy. Paste. Print. Gone are the days of having your 35mm camera for the weekend. The darkroom, the chemicals and the indescribable fulfillment that came with watching a perfect image materialize from a once watery tray.

The soul of that place is gone. Chu all but took it with him upon retirement. To many of us, he was that studio. But what I hold near and dear are the memories that were constructed in that studio. I have a myriad of black and white photos that capture my youth, my friendships and my peculiar fashion choices from back then. All those seemingly minuscule things that in retrospect; have a great deal to do with the person I am today. I consider myself blessed to have ever been in his class- where he taught us the importance of being true to oneself, by none other than example. The mediocre teacher tells. The good teacher explains. The superior teacher demonstrates. The great teacher inspires. Without realizing it, we learned to develop character along with those negatives. He may never know just where his influence stops. Truly of a different ilk, I tip my hat in reverence to the Chu Man.

There can never be another.