Primary Objective

When an individual fasts he/she refrains from consuming any sorts of foods and/or drinks for a period of time, about 16 hours. Hunger is the greatest obstruction for a Saa’em (Arabic for, a person who fasts).  When an individual overcomes his/her hunger he/she promotes a greater discipline for themselves. Hunger is a powerful tool, it is utilized by protestors to arouse guilt in others and it is exercised by religious populations in return for God’s love.

There were 6 seats total at the 6 person rectangle dinner table and all except 1 was occupied. The quiet atmosphere at the dinner table portrayed the unhappy faces of each person. I was fortunate to see that the best seat at the dinner table was unoccupied; therefore, I claimed the middle seat. The middle seat was a quiet space which allowed a cross-table diagonal conversation. Observing the dinner table, the entertainment laid on what was on the table itself and not the seats. In the middle of the table was an oven roasted chicken and around the chicken laid an abundance of food. The table was similar to a traditional Thanksgiving dinner table but without the turkey. A loud malicious growl! Noise aroused and was heard by the other members of the dinner table. The noise became unbearable, the growl noise continued to repeat in a pattern just like an ostinato in music.

Every time the growl noise evoked a burning sensation befell. The burning was produced by the Hydrochloric acid hitting the stomach wall in a fierce manner just like fierce waves hitting the shore. It was obvious that the acid was looking for a prey. Every time the acid hit the stomach wall, the growl noise echoed to the esophagus in which the noise became louder and more painful. No one at the dinner table was disturbed by the unbearable noises because they too had the same issue and were focused on something much more important, the clock. Tick tock, as 1 minute passed, one person stood up from the dinner table and shouted, “Everyone the time has come to break our fast! The 1^st day of Ramadan is fulfilled.” The person who shouted quickly sat down then swiftly began stuffing his face on the food on his plate. He ate so fast that he looked like he would eventually choke.

The man continued to eat so fast and so much that he demonstrated that his fast was valid, even though no one asked him to validate it. No one spoke at the dinner table; the people all seemed like strangers even though they were close family members. All that could be heard was munching noises. The growling noises dissolved as the food entered their empty stomachs. The people at the dinner table became full within a matter of 5 minutes. They seemed awkward about how a person can become full within 5 minutes after not eating for 16 hours. They enjoyed their time by drinking tea and conversing with each other. One traditional individual looked at me and stated, “Hey, do you know the story of the Turkish tea?” I looked at him and replied, “Not really, I just like to drink it everyday.” He scrunched his eyebrows together and asked, “You drink the tea everyday but you don’t know its importance?” I felt my cheeks getting hotter and hotter, I replied, “Please explain.” He stated, “The teacup is the household, the tea leaves are the parents and the liquid of the tea is love. The sugars are the children, when you mix the elements you get a good taste of peace, which every men desire.” The man revealed to me that everything has a meaning in life. After he finished explaining the story of the tea, an old man with a hunch over from years of gravity pushing down on his spine interrupted him and carried him into a conversation about his time in the military in which the wise man turned to him and listened carefully, removing me from their space.

There was a positive atmosphere at the dinner table; everybody felt relieved after getting their most important desire to be fulfilled, the desire of eating food. Each person understood the importance of discipline and the importance of food. The people at the dinner table spoke highly about giving food to the poor as they felt in their position for a moment of time. Ramadan is the month of observance. Muslims who fast during the month of Ramadan not only become closer to Allah but, also become more aware of their environment. The people at the dinner table were blessed to have food in front of them as it was a type of luxury for them for a moment. The house became like a teacup filled with tea, everybody was at peace until sunrise.

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD!

Television shows are a tricky matter to deal with. You have to be able to attend to the needs and pleasures of your audience in order to keep the show going strong. Although not all shows can be proven a success story and last as long as ‘Seinfeld’ or ‘Friends,’ but they all have their own opportunity to leave the fans with a feeling of satisfaction and gratitude.

Having a certain time frame for a shows run allows the producers and the writers a chance to flesh out the stories and tie any loose ends that the show has created. When knowing ahead of time that a show will end, it can either be a good thing, like ‘Breaking Bad,’ in which most aficionados thought was really good and it tied up loose ends very nicely, or a not so good thing, like ‘Heroes,’ a show that had so much potential in the beginning and immediately flat lined.

Most recently, another hit TV show just went off the air, ShowTime’s ‘Dexter,’ a drama series about a blood spatter analyst for the Miami Dade Police Department that lived a secret life as a serial killer. He was taught a morality system that was referred to as “The Code,” a set of rules that his deceased father created that allows him to suppress his thirst to kill by killing people that deserve to die, such as criminals and murderers.

The eighth and final season had the tagline of “The End Begins” in all of the ads that were created. But did the final episode prove worthy enough to be in the ranks of other great shows? The problem was that one does not want to see a vigilante like Dexter have a happy ending. Even though he had a difficult life growing up, being adopted and his mother being murdered in front of him, he was still considered a villain of some sorts. This isn’t like in Bryan Singer’s ‘The Usual Suspects,’ where Kevin Spacey’s character was the mastermind behind all the deaths and robberies, and his lying and manipulation allowed him to work around the feds and escape without them even having a clue. A twist like this was possible because it was done in a way to give the audience mystery and suspense, something that no one saw coming. Dexter lived by the code, but the fact still remained that he was still a serial killer. Albeit he was doing it for the right reasons, it can be considered immoral and unethical.

Although the show had a troubling season, by introducing characters that we thought we should have cared for but were killed off an episode or two later and bringing up past characters whose story arc ended just fine. It was starting to close every part of the show, up until the final scene. After a very gratifying ending that left Dexter running head on to an upcoming tropical storm, giving the allusion that Dexter was done for and dead. They decided to pull a bait and switch and have him fake his death so that his son can live a normal life, something that he was afraid he wasn’t able to provide for him. Even though he left his son, Harrison, under the care of a wanted fugitive, Hannah McKay. Not one of his brightest moves.

One of the smartest things that the writers did with this show was how they handled the death of Dexters adoptive sister, Deb. She was also a part of the police department, first as a homicide detective then, as the show progressed, the police lieutenant. She eventually found out about her brothers secret life and that was the beginning of the downward spiral that was her life, especially since she realized that she was in love with him. She was finally starting to make amends with herself as a person, but then ultimately she was shot and taken to the hospital in critical conditions. The doctors told Dexter that her vitals looked promising but unfortunately, moments later, she was induced into a coma. All signs during the episodes leading up to the finale looked promising for the conclusion of her character, but that sudden twist was a strong emotional connection that reached out to the audience.

The final season of Dexter was a roller coaster of highs and lows, especially with an ending that left the viewers thinking to themselves “what the heck?” It had a beautiful conclusion with Dexter holding his beloved sister in his arms and then throwing her into the water, as he did with all his other “victims,” this in a way brought the show full circle. Disregarding the final scene and how they let Dexter live, he shouldn’t have deserved a happy ending, arguably enough since he put himself in a state of isolation that proved to be questionable.

I would consider myself a prune because I would always organize everything in my life. I would never do anything that was not on my list or in my planner. My friends and family would ask me to do things but I will always say no. My friends would ask me randomly if I would like to go out with them to dinner or something that they planned spontaneously. That day was no exception to them. It was December 15

My response would always be the same. “I can’t I have home work to do tonight.”

Melissa, My best friend: “ alicia come on its only one day.”

Me: “Melissa you know I can’t, I planned to read the Five chapters of Dorian

grey for hw”

Melissa: “just move things in your schedule”

Me: “I cant, I am sorry”

Melissa: “okay, bye”

This would be one of the many incidents that happened with my friends and Elizur, my Fiancé, was no exception. He called me not long after. I was frustrated because people didn’t understand my predicament. If something was to be moved from my schedule to another day I would have an overload of homework.

Me: “I have homework, tonight”

Elizur: “you always have homework, you can’t just do it another day”

Me: “ely you know that I can’t do it, if I do I will have too much homework. I

am not like you that does not get a lot of homework”

Elizur: “you can’t make an exception with me. Lets go out to dinner, or out

clubbing.”

Me: “no means no, if you want I can check my schedule and make some time

for you.”

Elizur: “I hate when you do that. You are always planning things.”

Me: “I can’t help it. I have room for you next week on Saturday.”

This would be our typical argument. Especially the topic of the future, he would ask me when would we get married or when would we have children or move in together. I am not afraid of commitment I just have to be prepared ahead of time. I don’t like surprises.

Elizur: “ when should we set the date? To send out the save the date.”

Me: “ ely setting the date now is too early.”

Elizur: “if its too early to do that, tell me when would you like to get

married?”

Me: “ maybe 2015”

Ely: “ that is too far from now”

Me: “it will be enough time to plan, okay.”

Elizur: “I thought being together for six years would be enough time. What about having children?”

Me: “ely I have told you many times, I am not ready”

Elizur: “ali no one is ready to have children, people take it as it comes.”

Me: “no means no, I am busy. Bye.”

Those were the conversation I would usually have with people. My mentality would not change; I would not allow anyone to change my schedule. I like to have a routine, to be consistent. I would consider myself a prune because I would never make any exceptions in my schedule, I would constantly plan something in order not to have any surprises.  I always had a plan. Until later that day Nancy, my sister, called me. She called me on December 15, 2012 at 8:00pm. I remember the exact moment because that is the time I turn on the tv to watch the big bang theory.

Nancy: “hey alicia, what are you doing?”

Me: “ just turned on the tv, watching the big bang theory. What about you?”

Nancy: “ I wanted to ask you, what are you going to do tomorrow?”

Me: “why”

Nancy: “for no reason just asking.”

Me: “Nancy there is a reason for every question, if there was no reason you

wouldn’t be asking a question in the first place.”

Nancy: “ come on, just tell me do you work tomorrow?”

Me:” yeah I do. Why?”

Nancy: “okay, forget it bye”

I was confused as to why she would call me to ask me a question and then hung up the phone. In that moment my mother called me.

Me: “ hello, mom what’s going on why did Nancy call me like that and just

hung up on me.”

Mom: “Alicia she didn’t want to bother you, but it’s time”

I was surprised of the news my mother had told me. While I was getting ready to go pick up my sister to take her to the hospital, I was overwhelmed with feelings. Deep inside of me I didn’t want to go. I kept thinking this was not plan. I have a set schedule. I had to drag myself in to doing something I was not used to. I felt my body shaking while I was getting dressed. I felt as if I was out of breath. I felt that way on my way to pick her up and on the way to the hospital. At the same time I felt uncomfortable because what I was experiencing at that moment was not normal to me. I felt as if I was in a movie theater watching a movie, everything was moving too fast.

Who would have imagined that labor could last 12 hours? I heard about it, but never thought I would actually experience that. The entire time I was with Nancy and Rafa, her boyfriend, I kept looking at the time. The time on the big round clock on the white wall, time moved so slow. I grew impatient to find out what the baby would be. But the baby was not ready to be greeted. I kept looking at that clock every moment to know the time.

Until it was morning at 9:00am I was impatient, tired, and frustrated because I stood awake the whole night waiting to greet the baby. I was frustrated because I had to leave by 9:40am to go to work. I tend to plan any moment in my life, this moment was something I did not have any control. I was sad because I was going to leave soon, not being there for Nancy to support her. The doctor came in the room, greeted everyone and walked towards Nancy to speak to her about the baby. The doctor look so calm, I wonder how can she do her job and still smile. Even though all the labors that she has experience that could last up to 12 hours or more and deal with the frustrating mothers. I admire the patience that she must have in order to deal with the screaming mothers in labor. She told my sister it was time that the baby had to be delivered now or she would have to start doing a c section. Something my sister did not want, she planned to have a natural labor. When I heard that the baby would come, I became overwhelmed with feelings because I would be there to see the baby.

The moment when the doctor told Nancy that she would have to breath in and push that way they baby could come out. I saw Nancy’s face, she looked exhausted and tired, but she looked determined. At first I believed I was strong enough to see my sister give birth until she started pushing and then I started to feel uncomfortable. And then pushed back to not see how the baby would be born. Until one of the nurses saw me and said where are you going? Just grab her leg and assist us. I did as the nurse asked and I tried not to look. But while I tried not to look I guess I was not holding her leg right because the nurse said “look at me and keep her leg in this place.” I moved the leg, but when I did I could not look away, but just look at my sister and when I did, that is when it happen. My sister was pushing and I saw the baby’s head come out and then the body. The labor that people see on television is nothing compared to a real life situation. I can admit I was traumatized, disgusted, and happy. The baby cried and was filled with mucus and blood. The time she was born was 9:29am. I was making sure I had the correct time. The nurse took the baby away to get her clean and ready. When the nurse was done she brought back the baby and gave the baby to Nancy she carried her for 10 min after that Rafa was holding the baby for 10 minutes.  My turn came up; I was so scared because she was so small and vulnerable. I was holding her for one minute or less and then I felt in love. Not only that but I felt a warm feeling in my chest and then my legs. I was not sure what I was feeling, I then touched my legs and guess what? She greeted me by peeing on me. We all laugh that the baby peed on me!  I was holding her for less than 5 minutes and then the nurse said it was time for them to take her away to get a checkup and shots. I was saddened because I wanted to keep holding her. While I was carrying her I was filled with emotions I never felt before. I felt in love, I wanted to be with her and protect her.  At that moment I check the time and I had to leave to go to work, I was late.

The time I left was 10:00am I said bye to everyone and left. At that moment on the ride to work I thought about what had happened earlier. I was tired and happy. When I was holding the baby I was filled with beautiful emotions. I wanted to stay with her. I now understand why my sister decided to keep such a precious gift.  She was willing to accept the baby without a plan, something opposite from my mentality. She was willing to accept what came to her in life.  This is when I stop trying to plan every single moment in my life. Because of her, I now make exceptions.

Verse One:

This song is dedicated to all the happy people
All the happy people who have real nice lives
And who have no idea whats it like to be broke as fuck
I feel like I’m walking a tight rope, without a circus net
I’m popping percocets, I’m a nervous wreck
I deserve respect; but I work a sweat for this worthless check
Bout to burst this tech, at somebody to reverse this debt
Minimum wage got my adrenaline caged
Full of venom and rage
Especially when I’m engaged
And my daughter’s down to her last diaper
–Eminem

Verse Two:

I wanted to start this with some fancy line that lives up to ‘the preceding paragraph’ – but I couldn’t. My grandmother doesn’t like rap. In fact she despises it.
“I’m going to cut off MTV and VH1 and BET! I can’t believe they show such foolishness on TV!”
I’m sure her opinion is a popular one. If I asked you to describe rap, what words would you use? It’s a popular misconception that all rappers do is talk about money, sex and drugs. However, even if this were true, wouldn’t you look deeper into it and wonder why?

As I was utilizing dictionary.com, I clicked on rap music: a style of popular music, developed by disc jockeys and urban blacks in the late 1970s, in which an insistent, recurring beat pattern provides the background and counterpoint for rapid, slangy, and often boastful rhyming pattern glibly intoned by a vocalist or vocalists. (I apologize for this side note, but the definition of glibly is ‘readily fluent, often thoughtlessly, superficially, or insincerely so.’ I wonder why this adjective was chosen. Aside from other problems I have with this definition, why should one conclude that rap is done in a ‘boastful’ and ‘thoughtless’ manner? The generalization seems almost detrimental to the words reputation.) After I looked up rap, I looked up slang which was defined as: very informal usage in vocabulary and idiom that is characteristically more metaphorical, playful, elliptical, vivid, and ephemeral than ordinary language. I don’t know about you, but I think those two words just contradicted each other. How can something be thoughtless and metaphorical? I don’t think it’s thoughtless, I think it’s brilliance that’s incapable of being measured. It’s an innate brilliance that a chosen few posses. I think I’ve made my point… but hey, that’s what happens when you try to define indefinable words… Anyway, that’s the story of how I looked up hip-hop and ended on elliptical. “Pretty accurate, huh?”

If I were to define the concept of rap by comparing it another form of art, I would compare it to Virginia Wolf’s stream of consciousness. When you hear a person speak slang, do you think of how intelligent they are? ‘Obviously, not’. When someone speaks slang, we all make an assumption that the person is uneducated, or doesn’t know any better. Is this true? If a person chooses to switch between two different “language codes”, is it wrong? Are teenagers who speak slang communicating in a dialect, or are they simply a group of ignorant people consistently making grammatical errors (according to the ‘standard language’, of course).

Rap music breaks convention, and this is what makes people scared. What happens when a minority group actually creates a form of art? What happens when this art form happens to be beautiful because it encompasses the pain and sweat brought upon its’ creators by oppression? What happens when people listen? What happens when the minorities influence popular culture?

Eminem is not only a rap artist, but he’s a person with a story. He grew up in poverty and in his raps, he often tells the story of a person who has been oppressed by society. The above Eminem verse comes from a song called “Rockbottom” from his first released album. When some people hear this song, they only hear the violence, the drugs, and the curses instead of the ‘ugly picture of reality’ it paints. I hope I helped to place this paintbrush on the canvas…The person in “Rockbottom” doesn’t have anything of his own. He works endless hours to earn a paycheck that isn’t enough money to support him. All of his life, he has been chasing success- but he never quite gets there. His child is born and he can barely afford diapers. Sometimes, he has to sacrifice his own meals so that his baby can eat. Rap music is the voice of the minority, and it needs to be heard.

Verse Three:

It would be disrespectful of me to the hip-hop community not to mention that Biggie and Tupac were two of the greatest hip-hop legends of all time.

 Ironically they were both shot and killed.

-Krystal Temple

“One, two, three, four..”  “Make sure you have 18 altogether Nani”, my mother interrupts my thoughts as I exasperatedly drop my pills into my medicine holder.  “It’s important that you take these meds Nan.  You don’t want to end up needing a kidney transplant like Kereece.”  Kereece is some really angry adult in my church–who I think probably, hates anyone who’s happy–who has a kidney problem just like me.  She kind of reminds me of the crazy scientist villain from The Incredibles. She’s the woman you wouldn’t allow even your worst enemy to have the “pleasure” of meeting.  I shun the thought of needing a transplant–and the blunt affirmation of how sick I can become–and decide to lie down.  Maybe it will help with this arbitrary dizziness I’m feeling…

When I wake up I’m told I had a stroke.  Huh?  I mean last time I checked I was barely eleven.  I think back to the salty Ramen I remember eating the night before.  Great.  Thanks Ramen noodle I nearly died.  I try to speak but they’re tubes everywhere: an oral, a naso-gastric, a urine catheter and a ventilator.  I’m talking places I didn’t even know tubes could go in.  I’m told that I had been in a coma for almost two days.  Jesus Christ, I think in my head, Ramen can do this to people?  It wasn’t until 10 days later was I discharged from the hospital.

Ok so maybe the Ramen was an exaggeration.  A turn out Ramen makes killer salty noodles, but they are free of charge when it comes to what sent me to the hospital…

In July 2004, the start of my middle school year, I was diagnosed with a disease called Membranoproliferative glomerulonephritis (MPGN).  Yea I know right.what?? The fuck is that?  Believe you me, to this day, I still can’t pronounce it let alone explain it’s horrendous role in my body.  From my doctors (and a little WebMD) I’ve conjured up the most watered down version of my crappy disease.  I have a kidney disorder where the cells in the kidney become inflamed and allow blood and protein molecules to pass through into the urine instead of being retained in the body for use.  I was put on medication after medication, which challenged me physically, emotionally, academically, and most important religiously.

At the onset, I was taking 18 tablets per day.  The medicines made me listless and the steroids in particular caused me to gain weight.  I’m talking swelling of my limbs, tightness of my skin and a weight gain of 15 pounds kind of weight.  Emotionally, it wreaked havoc on my self-esteem.  For months I only wore loose fitting clothes to hide the giant I was slowly becoming because of the steroids.  The disease impacted my education because monthly (or anytime I felt dizzy), I had to miss classes for doctor’s appointments or even hospitalization.

I guess I can say High school proved productive and rewarding.  I joined the cross-country and track teams that helped me to shed the excess pounds and to gain control over my weight.  To this day I cherish running any chance I get, just to ensure I don’t slip into the blimp figure I once was.

I could say that my life is normal and that MPGN is no longer a factor.  I could say life is great and enjoyable but it would be untrue.  I am reminded of it by the now, nine pills that I take every day.  If I bend or stand too quickly, I feel light-headed and must take a few minutes to recover.   Oh and the worst, you know those salt and vinegar chips?  Yes I know you know, the UTZ flavored bags of joy?  Yea I can’t eat those.  So much for those killer Ramen huh?  Actually, I can’t eat staple kid’s foods like chips, French fries, cold cuts or anything with high sodium.  The salt will cause me to retain water and to increase my blood pressure, which is already elevated due to that long M-word disease.

Now I could babble and ramble on how screwed up I am and how much I wish I could start over, a new slate, new body, new life, the works.  But it wouldn’t change a thing.  You know what they say, if “wishes were horses, beggars would surely ride…” What has really been on my mind is the role religion has played in my life after I found out about my disease.

See I grew up in Church.  I mean eat, spit, write and read kind of Church.  My dad—oh you’ll love this—is a pastor.  Yea so parties, those cute sweet sixteens in High School, boyfriends, a life?  Um, yea no.  Completely non-existent in my house until your at least of age.  Yet no matter how many times I’ve gone over the answer in my head, I’m still dissatisfied.  When I was in the hospital, with a tube escaping every opening…I asked him, “Daddy, why does God want me to die?  Can’t he just tell me why he hates me so much?”  His answer was a typical Tyler Perry cliché, “God is not trying to kill you.  And remember, he would never put you through anything you can’t handle”.

But see this is my problem.  Because guess what… this, this I can’t handle.  I could handle the accident you put my mom and I in, 2003, I could handle breaking my arm, I even handled my grandmother’s death—quite well if I can add–.  But this, is too hard.  Every morning when I shove four pills in my mouth (for blood pressure, protein calcium and who knows what else) I talk to him.

Now I’m not going to deny the presence of a higher being.  I surely believe in God.  I’m just so lost on his reasons for picking me.  The Christian God is said to be “omnipotent, omniscient and wholly good”.  But from the day we learn to read and write, we are able to distinguish good from evil.  More importantly, we are able to realize that the amounts of evil in the world hold a stronger presence than the amounts of good.  Things like Haiti’s earthquake in 2010 or even New Orleans’ disastrous hurricane in 2005 cause me to question my own faith.  MPGN is a chronic disease with no known cure.  It is not hereditary or caused by anything specific.  It just appeared, out of nowhere, that summer before I started middle school.  I can either outgrow it, or in its degenerative state, I will need kidney dialysis or a kidney transplant.  This means I have no timeline of what my life will entail.  I just long for a little more information.  I am well aware of the delicacy of life but many times I simply wonder if God is on vacation in the Caymans somewhere when certain events occur.  People like my dad would like to clench on the Soul-making defense that God has good rewards for us in a distinctive afterlife.  Now if this is true, why torture us so much on Earth?  To the starvation in third-world countries to the newborn baby born into the world with Down syndrome to even murders that happen everyday.  If this is what I have to experience on Earth, then quite frankly, I’m not too sure I want to go to Heaven.  I know any individual can easily identify a time period in their life where they lost hope, confidence and faith in what people call God.  If God were truly trying to show his creation that they are enduring pain to experience joy in the afterlife, there is no reason for the pain to be so vast.

MPGN has ignited my rising doubts in my religion.  It’s made me asked many “why” questions now that I’ve grown older.  Church and religion were things that I accepted to past time on Sundays.  But now, that I’m older, and an evil has hit me personally, my faith, sad to say, slowly dwindles.  When I greet Kereece with a crooked smile every Sunday, I can finally understand her anger.  She’s already had her kidney transplant but her daily life is almost worst than when she had her own kidney.  Her questions in Church, to my father spark questions in my own mind.  If God is such a good God, there is quite a lot of fixing that need to be done in his world.

I am ever mindful that life is subject to change without notice so every day is precious to me.  I live my life to the fullest by participating in as many activities as I can and generating smiles anywhere I go.  I surely don’t want to become a spit-image clone of Kereece in the latter years of my life.  But forthrightly, I can now understand her.  Through this condition, I have become even more positive and determined.  But when it comes to religion and God’s hand on my life…boy do I have a few questions.  Matter fact I’m sure, me Kereece and the rest of the world have a few questions.

It is all over the news! “They can merely not be held responsible for something they don’t understand”, was one statement said by an old lady at my office. A father was struck by a truck while crossing the country in memory of his son, who committed suicide because he was bullied in school.

Being different is sometimes a very cool and popular thing, while some are just born with it others chose that path of life style. However being different can be seen as something that is not acceptable by the norm. Growing up, the word cool was something I remember as the four golden letters because everyone I knew was trying to be cool and be seen by so many. Wearing the latest designer clothes and riding a cross bicycle to school was seen as something very cool and automatically put you in the center of coolness. Not only did I not wear the latest designer clothes but I did not have a bike because my parents couldn’t afford it. On top of that I was different for just being the only black girl in school.

I made it through the first day of school, and as expected Michelle, Sandra and Jenny were all dressed up looking like the model girls from the cover of H&M’s catalog collection. Being a little over a decade old my mama would pick out my outfit for school, although my brothers were given the liberty to choose their own outfits. They say that a boy will always be mommy’s little boy while a girl will be daddy’s little girl. That saying pretty much summarized my relationship with my mama. She always told me that girls at my age back in Eritrea cook and clean for the entire family. In other words if she was ever to take me with her to visit it would be an embarrassment. Living in Scandinavia and being around Scandinavian children is the main reason to why I am not the perfect daughter, according to her. Her focus and attention always went to my brothers, it seemed as if I was just a burden.

I could possible not know what Emma was feeling other than that she wanted to feel wanted and popular too. She always came dressed nice and neat like she was going to church. At recess she would try and tag along with us to the playground, although I knew the other girls were not so fond of her. I tried to figure out what she was lacking other than her taste in clothing. Maybe her mother also picked her outfits out or maybe she just liked to wear church clothes. She looked like a typical Swedish girl; tall, skinny, blue eyes, slightly tanned skin and golden blonde hair. Yet the other girls didn’t find her cool; at least not cool enough to hang out with. During recess Emma agreed to play the tagger all the time, I couldn’t imagine how exhausting that must have been for her. However, she managed to get the attention of the other girls.

One day, Emma didn’t show up to school, and I was asked by the girls to be the tagger. I hesitated when I was asked but agreed at the end. Ten minutes later I was exhausted and didn’t feel like running around like a headless chicken at the playground anymore.

Me; Hey guys, I don’t feel like being the tagger no more.

Michelle; Why not?

Me; Because I feel exhausted, why can’t one of you be the tagger?

All of a sudden the other girls didn’t feel like playing tag no more and said;

“It’s getting too cold outside, lets just go inside and wait till class start”, said Michelle.

Michelle was the only child in her family. She had her mother, step-father, grandmother and grandfather’s full attention every day. Every morning her mother, grandmother and her two dogs would walk her to school. I would watch her as she waved them good-bye and gave her dogs kisses. She could have just walked to school by herself, since she only lived 5 blocks away. It seemed like she requested a whole entourage to take her to her own playground.

Math class was the only class time I could sit and daydream about what I would do if I had enough money to buy cool things, like a new freestyle, or a portable cd player. There was no point of paying attention in math class because my baba told my brothers and I how people in our bloodline are horrible with numbers. Therefore I didn’t see the point of even trying to learn more than being able to count my future money. Class ended a lit bit earlier this time, Mr. Kent asked me to stay after class. At that point my palms were all wet from sweat because I had no idea what I have done wrong. The only time you are in trouble is if you are asked to stay inside while your classmates were in recess.

Mr. Kent gently said; Please have a seat right here Ruket,

I was trying to look him in the face without being too obvious but I found myself starring down the floor as I slowly walked over to the chair right next to his desk. He gently closed the math books and the note book he had in front of him and pulled out a yellow folder. He looked up and smiled. The smile felt like it was an indication of “its okay you are not in trouble” but I couldn’t hold myself to keep my mouth shut out of respect, I asked him;

Me; Mr. Kent did I do something bad.

Mr. Kent; No Ruket you are not in trouble.

Before he could continue Ms. Jessica walked in the room. Ms. Jessica was Mr. Kent’s teaching assistant, she was a hip and cool lady but she had her days. There was a rumor that was going around that Mr. Kent was going to propose to her but it wouldn’t be so cool because he was twice her age. Ms. Jessica walked in and took a seat right next to me. I couldn’t help but drying my hands on my sweat pants because I didn’t want them to notice how nervous I was. In the back of my head I was thinking of all the possible things I have done in order for me to be sitting inside while my friends are out being cool.

Mr. Kent; How are you liking school?

Me; It is okay, I really like recess.

As I smiled and looked out the window to see my friends play while I was stuck inside.

Mr. Kent; Well the reason we asked you to stay in is because we have some concerns over a classmate of yours. Emma’s parents has reached out to us both and informed us that Emma has been coming home crying every day since school started this fall.

Me; Why would she cry? Emma is nice to me.

Mr. Kent; She feels as if some students are being mean to her and tease her for no reason.

My first thought was; how on earth did I miss this, why was I not part of the teasing? Was I not so cool enough to be part of the teasing group?

Mr. Kent; We would like to put a stop to this and we would like you to help us identify the students who are part of putting Emma down.

All of a sudden I became speechless. Not so much to Emma being picked on, but to why I was called in to the teacher’s office and inform him as if I was a spy. Spies are cool but not cool enough. This means that I was not seen as part of the group, just an outsider. My efforts to melt in the center of coolness has failed, I had failed.

I’m back. The guy with the boner; the man who can’t tell one head from the other sometimes. Okay I can, but why bother sometimes?

I got my new meds, and boy do they keep me down for the count. I suppose the opposite of anxiety is restfulness. Can’t even remember what I dream about.

Do I feel like going to class today? No.

Should I go? Maybe. I love the class. I love the discussions, but this past week and a half has been a drag like you wouldn’t believe, and I cannot properly express experiencing pain without pain; that I do not feel well at all in a particular way.

It is my belief that we as human beings have two types of energy. One is mental, and the other is physical. Each one influences the other. Ever hear the phrase “Get your mind in gear and your ass will follow?” That’s using your mental energy to influence the body, and I think you can do the same with the body (influencing the mind). Studies show forcing a smile changes hormonal levels and produces a more positive outlook. Exercise has tons of benefits for instance in positive thinking as well.

Sometimes we reach a point, when this energy is depleted, and that manifests in multiple ways, such as a nervous breakdown or just collapsing for a day. Mine was the latter. When you’ve hit this point, you don’t feel well at all, and if you do, you’re lying to yourself. Sometimes, we have to take a day for ourselves. I believe for this reason religions came up with the Sabbath. Back in simpler times it was easier to manipulate people, or so I think, so if a deity everyone is told to believe in says something, then they’d better do it or else they’ll go to hell; take a nap kids.

Speaking of hell, being drained is more of a temporary Purgatory we go to. Your body feels somewhere between a pile of rocks and what I imagine it would feel like to have every inside except bones. Your mind is aware; you’d kind of like to get up and do something and know that you probably should, yet a wiser part of you kicks in and says “you need this day.”

For me, this day kind of turned into a few days. I missed classes and probably fell behind, but held up other obligations. Ironically, it was also a chance to catch up on school work. What’s the point of going anywhere when you’re half dead? What good are you? Plus with everyone around me getting sick, I wanted to make sure I didn’t follow suit. I didn’t want to show up with purple pokadots all over my face while wheezing at every step and say “Hey everybody” then keel over.

Fuck it. I know the consequences and part of being an adult is living with consequences, even if they will be bad. You can’t prevent everything; you’re not superman, and boy does that fact make me angry, because it feels like some days, I need to be. It’s unjust I tell you.

The thing about being human is we have all kinds of kryptonites; sex, power, drugs, etc.  You name it, and it can be a weakness for us. Fighting these temptations and beating ourselves up after we give in, takes energy from us. We will falter eventually, unless you’re that one guy who can run four 48 hours straight because his body has less lactic acid in it when he runs then when he’s not running. Ridiculous, but then again, even he’s got to take a break. Still, I’m jealous, aren’t you?

What makes things worse, is all the things that fucked us up along the way to becoming adults. Our eating disorders, self-esteem, anxiety, all of it; it’s enough to make me believe in God just to hate him. These things are the permanent drains. Sure, we develop coping mechanisms to deal with them, almost like our psyches are involved in the whole conservation of energy thing; we reduce the energy required to maintain these issues. The irony here though, is that it takes a ton of energy to grow out of them, and just to admit we have them in the first place. I can’t blame addicts really. I’m still mad when they abandon or mistreat their children because they’re just perpetuating a really sick cycle, but when they’re doing it to themselves, I kind of understand. It’s like when I’m biting my nails or something. These things just take more and more energy from us.

Why do I bring up the topic of energy? Well, the lack of it is my reason for being out obviously, but there’s more to it than that. See, this whole conversation was just an excuse for me to vent. I’ve been cooking, cleaning, sorting, organizing, for days in a row, while having to help someone build a costume or else deal with them being really pissed at me. Furthermore I have school, work, and then dealing with an old man, my friend’s father who is selfish and senile. If it wasn’t for the meds, which are not sleep pills, I may not have caught up on sleep at all. See, I would be happy to help my friend despite the way they’ve been “asking,” but the way they ask comes from their own desperation; they NEED this costume for the convention because it means something to them. It’s going to restore some energy to them. I get it, but don’t wait to the last fucking minute to build it and to ask for people to help. I’m not a tool to be used at their whim… Fuck it, I have to talk to them about this; just another thing to take up energy, and thus, the cycle of life continues.