Issue 1

They say what holiday do you enjoy most?

I say winter

Winter because night comes faster

The time of the day I look forward to

Winter because it's less of a disaster

It’s merely silent and peace is what I adhere to

Winter because it's dark and cozy and of the night I’m my own master

No arrogance or people around, calmness is what I'm attracted to

The winter is what I look forward to

For peace again needs to be acquired

And the moon and stars deeply admired

It started off so great

By far I knew this was the best mate

One so real he made me gain weight

Carrying all these butterflies

Heart pumping at high rates

While I await for his touch

I believe this was my soulmate

Whenever he was around the brightest smiles on my cheek

His smile melts my heart

Everything about him is unique

Being around him makes me think is he too strong or am I just weak?

Weak to his touch, smile, his physique?

It started off so fresh and meek

But ended up wild and unsteady

Was this another wasted time already?

So when you ask why I'm single

That is because I'm not ready to mingle

With someone who is not willing to make our fire rekindle

When will this ever stop?

The accusation and killing because of his color

The judging and word spitting because of her color

The unacceptance and discrimination towards our skin color

Being prejudiced and racist towards black culture

You don’t like me because I’m blacker than you?

But you like the black dog you see at the zoo

And the dark color clothes you wear too

Wasn’t your leader a black man boo?

So what is it about black on us humans without the eye color blue?

Do y’all racists think about what we go through?

No, screw you!

We are fighting back

Fighting because it’s been a long time since we’re numb

Protesting from the rising of the sun till its pitch black

Fighting until our people is in equilibrium

We won’t drawback

Fighting until racism is overcome

This is our payback

George Floyd, Bettie James, Keith children’s, Kevin Matthews, Micheal novel, Micheal lee Marshall

Died for being black

We won’t stop

"I bet I can guess your favorite color."

Those were the first words you had uttered to me.

You looked at me with a fiery determination that intrigued me.

How could it not?

There you stood, skin the color of your eyes

your hair dancing in the wind-- beckoning me to you.

To your voice, I wondered how someone seemingly so delicate could be so intense, so bright.

"Yellow," you smiled, "your favorite color is yellow."

Had anyone ever told you your smile is that of a thousand suns?

That is washed away my fears, my doubts? Has anyone ever tried to bask in your glory, soak up the strength that you so readily radiate?

I was so ensorcelled by your radiance, the feelings that you invoked by just a sentence and a simple six-letter word, yellow.

Truth be told, you were neither wrong nor right.

I didn't have a favorite color, I was a fan of orange, maybe a vermilion, but I never gave much thought to yellow.

"What are you, a mind reader?" I laughed.

I couldn't tell you that you were wrong because you weren't.

I didn't have a favorite color, at least not until we parted ways.

I often ponder on yellow, the complexities of the seemingly basic color. I started to look for the yellow in my life, the flowers my mother grew in her garden, the yellow suit I have tucked away in my closet, the yellow of my bathing suit, the silly egg yolk in my breakfast, I mean I knew yellow existed, but not in the sense that you are.

I've never quite looked at the color the same, it's in the way a yellow-painted room could irritate me, it's in the way a yellow-painted house makes me laugh. It's in the way that it invokes my desire to know, my spurts of creativity.

Yellow became our love, our love was yellow. It made me anxious, it was fast-moving. When our fears got the better of us, yellow made us loud, and irrational, and fragile.

Yellow became my life

it was the color of your favorite flowers.

Which produced the color

of the sweet nectar which the yellow bees drank from. Those same yellow flowers and that adorn the tombstone of your yellow life.

I live in yellow, it's in everything. It's my favorite color because it's everything you were, bold, and cheerful, and overly opinionated. I needed yellow, it saved me from sinking in my own darkness, it was a light that guided me and my vessel to hope, and new beginnings. I love yellow because it's what you're made of, what lies beneath your skin, you're no mortal man that's a concoction of bone and muscle, you're made of the fires of the sun and the eternal stardust in the sky.

And though I live in yellow

though I tasted it in the sweet honey of your skin

and the sweetness of the summer mangoes.

Now I taste yellow in my coffee

I see it in my stained teeth from my tobacco sticks. The sweetness of yellow slowly dissipated

I now live in lemon.

Lemon yellow--the bitterness of life without the best yellow, without the sun

without you.

I no longer see the color yellow

only you.

I've grown fond of orange

it bleeds into you.

The blend of the sunsets.

The wings of the butterfly that visits me every morning.

The zest that I feel when I'm reminded of you.

As I grew to love you

I grew to love yellow

As you're away from me I experience yellow rather than seeing it.

It's the summertime, it's the blushing flowers, it's the sun, it all belongs to you, it is you.

I've never had a favorite color because yellow

I've experienced, is much more than color

it's just, you.

Salem oh Salem so faithful and true. My days and nights have just turned blue.

How I wish you were here. How I long to have you near my dear sweet friend. Oh how My heart still beats weeps and aches for thee ! While Asking the lord to please help me ! I pray. Oh how I yearn to kiss your darling face how quiet it seems in this dark place without the sound of your footsteps walking around I can no longer hear a single sound. For there is no one to greet me at the door as before tis forevermore. I thank you for being there in my time of grief when I needed you most so why is it that I feel so empty and lost ? Without your presence nor company to share. This is a feeling I cannot bare. You were constant and at my side to follow to answer at my every beckoned call. For I would be there to catch you and never let you fall. I miss you I love you for you will always be my guardian. Rest In Peace for your soul is now at ease. You shall always be remembered. For you were my one and only treasure and the greatest pleasure! To have in my life. for you will never be forgotten ! Xo

The spirit of my father is always with me wherever I go. It is without doubt and much certainty that I can feel his presence. From the daily hustle and bustle of the busy morning light to the empty darkened and lonely streets of the night he is there. He is constantly with me to guide watch over and protect me. I can hear his voice clear and vivid as ever before. Giving me advice and useful knowledge preparing me for all I may encounter on my journey. And reciting the poem Of Invictus as we both enjoyed. I can also smell his fragrant cologne from time to time. Sometimes I may also get a quick whiff of his cigarette smoke which can be frustrating yet comforting all at once. It never angers me because I know he is beside me on the subway or on the bus ride helping me commute safely to my destination. It serves as a healthy reminder that he has never left me. He has been by my side this entire time. I will never forget his kind soul. His uplifting words of wisdom and his good nature. He is and will continue to remain the better part of me.

I can't wait for tomorrow. Though it's not something we are promised or guaranteed in life it is something to never take for granted pray for and should be grateful to have! For tomorrow is always another day to start fresh and new. You can wake up with a different outlook on life.

Tomorrow

Won't ever be like yesterday. For yesterday has come and gone.

Tomorrow is bright and something to look forward to! Tomorrow always comes whether one is ready for it or not! Tomorrow will always be better than yesterday and today won't ever be the same.

It all began on a dark night when a nightingale visited my dreams.

I couldn’t believe the horror that flashed before my eyes.

Bright flashes of purple and blue that made my head spin.

And then I heard it;

The powerful call of the nightingale.

My brain absorbed the song like a sponge.

I know it seems a bit zany

To think about Keats’ ode, in this midnight terror.

Except it was the epiphany I needed

To be set free from the confines of my anxious mind.

Depression

It’s juSt a feeling they say

It’ll soon go away...

But that doesn’t seem to be the case

A week’s past laundry scattered about my place. Uncontrollable tears running down my face. It’s just a feeling they say, it’ll soon go away. But I wished I knew the duration so that I can track the process; no one should have to suffer through days of sadness let’s just skipped to the part where there’s gladness.

I tried to remain hopeful as I head to the nearby Costco.

Motivated to eat healthy but it’s costing me. Just a college student with a minimum wage.

Just another unfortunate situation to add to my current rage.

And you wonder why I’m depressed; this system is a mess.

Some of us has gotten the beautiful end of the stick

While some of us have to persevere for everything single thing.

Unaddressed trauma clouds your mind,

Anxiety always floods in at the wrong time

But everyone tells you it will be fine.

Depression is just a feeling they say, it’ll soon go away.

You’re stunned in confusion because it’s not just a feeling as they say.

You go days without eating,

Twist and turn while sleeping

Reminding yourself in the mirror why you even need to shower

Putting your gadgets on do not disturb every single hour.

You try to let it all out but what’s the point

It’s just a feeling they say

No one wants to be a victim of this stigma

But it’s just as bad as asthma. Except that you’re not gasping for air; but you’re fighting to make it through every day mentally sane.

Can’t catch a break Cz the world keeps moving; work, school, relationships.

So much responsibilities without mentorship.

But I’m here to say

Depression is not just a feeling as they say;

And it won’t soon go away like a typical headache.

You need to accept it

Address it

Fight it

Defeat it

Overcome it

Conquer it

Treat it just as urgent as a chronic illness

Understand that it’s an unexplainable emptiness.

Ignore the stigma and let it all out

Cry a river but don’t remain in your tears

Get up and go again.

I fixed my purse on my shoulders as I exit the bus

Trying not to make a fuss

This was one of the most annoying ride I’ve ever experienced.

The heavy traffic from the thanksgiving weekend

Now I’ve arrived home late

Not to mention It’s been six hours and I haven’t ate.

My neighborhood was not the best

Ever since the new elected government it has been a mess.

No street lights

No security

High crime rate and every other misery.

Clinched my purse a little tighter

Tilt my head at every corner a bit slighter

As I approached my front porch I turned my back against the door.

Slid my feet upon the floor.

In this family, we stand on traditions

We see it as divine protection

Entering the house from our backs late at night as they say

To prevent evil spirits from entering they say

This was meant to keep you safe as they say.

One of the greatest myths

And whether we believe it or not some of us committed to it.

I stood there cackling at the jester’s jokes

As he juggles back and forth

He played the kazoo so beautifully

I wish I had paid attention in my music class truthfully

The loud booms from the firecrackers surely annoyed me

But then I had a epiphany

That life is not a curse like we’ve made it out to be

It’s not just about working the 9-5

Or bickering at each other with automatic rifle 95

Or preserving our health to reach age 99.

Driving your expensive Cadillac

Wearing luxurious fenty or traditional products representing MAC. Life is about celebrating every moment.

Laugh a little, act silly, and always do what makes you happy!

In Memory of Kevin Yearwood (04/24/1995 – 03/18/2022)

You were taken from this world before your time.

It was just the other day that I was greeted by your shining face, with a smile as bright as the sun. Your clock was unfairly sped up, and now ours feels like it has completely stopped.

Because not only was your world ended, but so was ours.

Finding answers in the void feels impossible.

No chance for a final goodbye, but yet we are left with an abundance of memories.

Our days feel a little emptier without you in it, but we know that you would want us to keep on going.

Living each day to its fullest, and spreading laughter and joy throughout our worlds as you once did for us.

You will be missed more than you may ever know, but in your memory we will carry on.

My grades don’t reflect the fact my hand was raised was during every conversation, that I wrote paragraphs rather sentences in my discussion boards, or that I poured my soul into every part of my presentations from the graphics to the content.

My grades are a subjective letter that sits on my transcript to mock me for my fuck ups. But it neglects to show the things I could only learn from experiences and the effort I put into everything I did.

My grades only tell a fraction of the story, but my words can express the rest. So, don’t determine my worth based on a measly grade, look at what I have done and then make your decision.

Every New Yorker is familiar with the subway side-eye, the little glance we give and receive as we pass by our fellow commuters at the station. That concern and worry about if we will end up being the next headline of a New York 1 story the next day. A look that serves as both a warning and a threat, screaming please don’t hurt me and I’ll knock you the fuck out all at the same time.

We live in a constant state of fear, as we climb the steps of the very thing that both provides life and could

kill us. Dependent on this means of transportation that holds our lives in the palms of its hands. We gamble our lives away with each swipe of our MetroCard, like a game of Russian roulette.

Here’s to hoping that this time we’ll make it home safe.

Those brief moments of solitude.

Just me, myself and I.

The silent, but deadly, walk from the train to my house.

The only moment in my day where I am truly be myself.

The only other people in sight are the drunks stumbling along, the Halal guy who feeds me on some of these late nights and my fellow night owls also returning home after a hard day’s work.

But despite the looming concern of being mugged or raped is this pleasant sense of relief that for just 10 minutes in my day I can reflect on anything I’d like.

Perhaps the amount of work I still need to get done, or maybe what I’d like to eat that night. Maybe what

I’ll watch as I snack on a bag of chips. Or even the trajectory in which my life is heading.

Those brief 10 minutes can either feel like an eternity or like they have been taken from me in the blink of an eye.

But regardless of the time that passes by, those brief 10 minutes are for me, myself and I.

Those of us with long and unique names often times have our nicknames handed to us by default. AnnaMaria becomes Anna, and it sticks with us. Without a say we now are Anna.

Our long names are too complicated.

Our long names are to tiring.

Our long names are too much of a hassle.

So, we are forced upon with these nicknames.

Soon these nicknames become our identities.

And at some point you stop correcting all the mispronunciations, Annie, Marie, AnneMarie. All the misspellings, they become your identity.

You give up trying to explain the true pronunciation, the true spelling.

Because why bother, they will mispronounce it anyway.

You are given these names without any discussion.

Of course, you are asked, do you mind if I call you Anna.

But at what point do you say to them, “yes, I do.”

You don’t want to offend them, you just want to fit in.

So, these nicknames become your name.

Tired of correcting people.

Tired of having to take on this new identity, separate of your own.

Our names have so much meaning, and yet we allow people to disgrace them.

We become embarrassed of our long names and the burden they put on everyone else.

So we become our shortened names.

We start introducing ourselves by this name

We start identifying by this name.

Until we catch ourselves, and sometimes we don’t.

And at that point we try to reverse the damage, but the damage is done.

AnnaMaria has become Anna, has become Annie, has become Marie, has become whatever they are comfortable calling me.

Written for the 2021-2022 Terrier Tuesday Celebration

Over a year and a half ago we fled your steps as the world faced something we couldn’t quite understand at the moment.

We carried with us our necessities as we prepared for circumstances we weren’t quite sure of.

Finding sanctuary and safety in the confines of our own homes.

But little did we know that a few days would turn into weeks, months and eventually a year.

With time our sanctuaries no longer felt safe, but rather like prison cells hiding us from our former lives.

Our only connection to the outside world was through our computer screens as we all became masters of program we had never heard of until the world shut down.

But now as time has passed, we return to you. As you welcome us with open arms to the place we once called home.

Joined here together at our family reunion right on Remsen Street after what feels like eternity. We survived the unthinkable and are coming back stronger than ever.

Willing to make connections and live life to the fullest after having lost so much time away everything we once took for granted.

And if we listen closely to the laughter and cries of joy we can hear your voice saying “Welcome home.”

The blue sky looks colder every night

As my mind races through all the times you bid me goodbye

The white lace lays lonely by the bedside

Futilely waiting for you to arrive

The ring that you promised is still overseas

And the love we once shared evades me

Yet I keep imagining going down the aisle

Awaiting me is you and your smile

But now I lay oceans apart

With clouded judgment as I’m left alone in the dark

Desperate to ignore, like the floral bouquet 

It’s sight a reminder, which I simply threw away

Even the veil in an unopened box

Like my heart, remains eternally lost

Yet I still envision you in a tailored suit

Bringing me into a kiss like you always do

We’d dance outside underneath the warm sky

Wrapped in your embrace, forever holding me tight

Reposing just isn’t what it used to be

Life’s closing further up on top of me

Just to keep my sanity

I forgo my self-esteem

Further in my heart just sinks

Goes to show I’m much too weak

Talk for hours, but your words still evade me

You’re louder, yet I still don’t hear a thing

I’d bid goodbye and wish you well

But I’m not one to kiss and tell

Hope you still feel satisfied

As I consume all of your lies

So desperate, held off but I can’t have it

Need respite, but your ways are just so classic

Promise myself I’ll take a break

But it never seems to stay that way

Can’t even part ways for a week

Catch myself right on the brink

The credit goes to you for trying so hard

I let it, but you never once showed your cards

Only there for your self-needs

Don’t even give me time to breath

My mind’s on fire, so exhausted

Then I’m back to being accosted

Unnoticed is that you always get what you desire

In focus, I’m stuck deeper in a mire

A fabrication of the heart

That always seems to fall apart

Don’t have much to hold on to

Yet I keep on falling into you

Your talents work against me like a charm

Off balance, but never ringing the alarm

No excuses to be made

The consequences heavily weighed

Filled up with intense regret

Left with a broken heart to mend

Your hubris complements my lack of pride

I’m clueless, you’re not even wearing a disguise

Yet you evoke much sympathy

That comes right in to attack me

Still so young but I should’ve known

That all this comes when you’re full-grown

You’re spiting, yet somehow we’re so inseparable

Keep lying saying your love’s immeasurable

Your attention’s just so rare

And your vanity much too unfair

All your affection’s so cutthroat

Gotten restless of just how much you boast

Dramatic but forever in denial

I panic as you always go the extra mile

Take my mind out for a spin

But I can’t seem to hold it in

Not one I wish to confront

Since you’re so used to being blunt

Lonely girl of only 24

She has her mother’s eyes and more

Her past mistakes

The mess that she’s made

The man that she’ll never meet

Lowly boy with a silent voice

Moves in silence through the noise

His past regrets

The road he treads

The girl that he longs to see

The diamond rock left unopened in a box

Like her heart, it’s eternally locked

Broken promises

All that he said

The truth she could never face

Sleepless nights in the city lights

Across the ocean is his bride

The time spent away

Awaiting the day

So he leaves in disgrace

His heart yearns as her continues to burn

For a love they hope to earn 

A girl drowning in tears

And boy plagued with fear

Yet neither one will ever know

The flames of burning desire

Succumb, finally extinguished

Relentless pain and suffering

Irrational decisions are my weakness

Drowning is despair without care

Nothing seems to hurt since I’ve questioned my very worth

Tears flowing down to the ground

I try to get a grip as I feel my mind start to slip

Mistakes or misfortune

Consumed with infinite regret

Deceived by my own mind

The memories I can never forget

Infinite possibilities of what could’ve been

Thoughts of the past always torturing within

Took so long to realize I’m my own greatest enemy

Unknown to me before, but now so easy to see

Blinded by ignorance, escaping common sense

The fate that I meet makes it harder to breathe

The walls caving in, this isn’t a life I’m going to win

As I’m forced awake with every mistake that I make

One heartbreak away from going insane

I try to make peace, but it’s just out of reach

Nothing compares to these trials of terror

If I could only go back to the ways of the past

All I want is your loving

To push me through

Without you I have nothing

Don’t know what I’d do

Your eyes, so bright

I’d lie saying they don’t blind me

Your hand in mine

I try to hold on tightly

But I can’t stand the pain

That strikes at my core

Like the downpour of rain

There’s always much more

I look into those eyes

For desperate answers

Yet I receive no reply

We're not what we once were

The hand I tightly gripped

Becomes more colder

Soon, it starts to slip

As time grows older

The ocean’s where I’ll be

My tears washed away

Peace doesn't come easily

As I’m waiting all day

I could climb the highest peaks

To go where you go

You’d see me underneath

To see you looking below

That smile I once treasured

Fades like ink on paper

Feelings of pain to pleasure

Will never return later

My one, my all

Everything I always dreamed of

I’d take your every fall

Give you every ounce of my love

All along I guess I was wrong

Thinking I was all you needed

It’s so hard to go on

Knowing you didn’t mean it

I yearn to fly like the white dove

Finally, at peace with myself

Still I desire your love

And wish for nobody else

In your embrace, the place

Where you tightly hold me

I feel so safe

With my one and only

Your hand in mine

Never letting go

Those perfect times

That only we know

Even when you’re near

We’re so distant

My single, greatest fear

When you don’t listen

So far away yet close

Reaching out is futile

You’re what I miss the most

I wish you’d stay a while

In tune with each other

Once in perfect harmony

My friend, my lover

Our bittersweet symphony

There is no clear definition of perfection, so “what is perfection?”

Allow me to give you my answer to that question

Perfection coincides with imperfection

A car with a used tire is still perfect as a car with new tires

Not one picture or phrase can be used to show something perfect

It is a word that can be used in many forms

The problem we face today is that we try our best to become perfect

Just be careful, that it could lead to something tragic

It does not matter if the goal is not achieved

It is okay if we do not succeed

It should be perfect if you get the result you want

Just remember that perfection is anything you want it to be!

How can I explain this feeling inside?

When I saw you I was scared to give in and I let this feeling hide

Scared that I looked away in hopes of something else

Scared to fall in love again, so I’d go sit down and jot these words in my house

Trying not to think about you, when thinking about you makes it easy for me to get distracted

Trust me it is easy when I see your eyes at night when it’s shining

It’s so hard to trust this moment and not get attracted

Car window rolled down and your hair in the air with the summer wind blowing

Late night drives in the city and say goodnight when we are leaving

I thought I would not fall again

If it’s with you I would not have to worry

I know that it’ll make quite a story!

Have you ever heard about mermaids

The ones that get betrayed

That’s me however instead of getting slayed I get bad grades Hiding behind a facade

lives a innocent mermaid

Wanting to play but wasting away behind a coffee tray

Some wait for decades just to get stabbed by a blade

Betrayed by the flawed fairy tail

Waiting...yearning for Prince Charming

Don’t worry darling

There will be no happily ever after

Only a classroom filled with laughter

The laughter ends after I walk through that coffee store

A shop filled with dust all over the floor

With no one entering the door

The little coffee store beautiful on the outside

Hides the musk on the inside

Just like a comet I leave nothing but dusty debris stream as I make my way throughout the day What would I give to play

Never to stay

instead melting away

Today....everyday I am at Perihelion

I’d give a million to be in the bathroom of my dorm where the water is warm

It’s every human being kryptonite

We have different fears but those who have conquered fear are the masters of conquering thy self.

Those master hold profound knowledge which all humans wish to behold.

To be whole in every aspect.

To walk in power without doubt hanging over your shoulder like an intruder lurking in the dark.

Fear won’t keep me down because I’m on the journey to freedom and to master myself.

But if fear is attacking you fight back or else fear will consume you til all the life in you is gone.

Live in peace not in pieces. Nothing is impossible so fear nothing the sky is the limit .. but even man has found a way to surpass the sky so the only limit is you.

The doors open and she feels free

And yet something holds her back

Although the door is open

It just feels merely cracked

She tries to look out into it’s depths

Yet she still can’t see

She tries to jump through yet thinks

Why is something stopping me ?

She questions if she can go

Is it something she deserves?

She thinks of all she did

She tries to stop and observe

She realizes that she is questioning

She continues to digress

She knows the door is open

Yet why does she feel stress?

She is the one closing the door

Cause she questions who she is

In life she sees it as a test

Or even some sort of quiz

She shouldn’t have a grade for being human

Or have to list all she’s done

She shouldn’t have to question if she is deserving

Or always feel as if she hasn’t won

Even though into the unknown she has no clue

the door is open, so proudly she walks through

The day just started

Check that schedule

Filled with worry

You run that light

You shuffle those shoes

Always in a hurry

You board that train

Doors open

You fly through

Cut off all in the metro line

You scan

Then you are through

You board that boat

You sit down

To do lists fill your mind

You sit and you think

Now you wish you could go back in time

Always in a rush

Feet barley touching ground

Did you stop to notice, all that was around?

Running around

Not taking time to sit and talk

Running around

When sometimes you should walk

Planning your future

Scheduling every hour

Not taking time to watch the sunrise

Not stopping to smell the flowers

Being in a rush

Not realizing the truth

When told to run

Let’s walk

Beauty is in youth

She saw that people had powers and yet she felt okay

She saw people doing wonderful things where she found pride in making it through the day

She felt the hardship in the world as much as she tried her best

Could someone like her make it to success?

She walked past the empty stores ,past the struggling coffee shop

She walked beside the thriving Starbucks and all she could do was stop

Was she like the store so well known by design

Or was she like the other store, something you couldn’t really find?

Was life happy, fun, filled with meanness or wrath?

Was her life like a comet destroying everything in its path?

She walked past day by day until she was no longer jealous of the mermaid store

She realized that in a world where things were expected she wanted to be more

The struggling coffee shop might have struggled more day by day

But the same shop was creative and different , unique in every way.

She saw that people had powers and she felt okay

But she realized she measured her worth by what others write, or show, or say.

In a world where you could be the Starbucks or the other coffee chain

She realized her truth, which became her refrain

In the world you should define yourself as the rundown shop

Because before you know it… you will be right up at the top

Everything didn’t go smooth or kinda slow

Well I guess that leaves tomorrow

I made a mistake or I got knocked down

Tomorrow can turn all that around

I feel bad sometimes but shouldn’t feel sorrow

Because after all there is tomorrow

Sometimes time feels like it’s fleeting and I miss a lot of beats

Unless I make a mistake, and that often plays on repeat

Yet I realized that not all things last

So when it comes to mistakes leave it all in the past

The most I can do is grow day by day

And know that from each mistake one less will come my way

Because although I may harp on the bad or think of the past problems, mistakes, and my appearance

Those troubles will get filed away merely as experience

EQUALITY? WEBSTERS SAYS THAT’S EQUAL

IMPOSSIBLE 4 ME WHEN I CRY #ME2

JUST? A FOREIGN LANGUAGE – SPOKEN WITH A FORKED TONGUE

MY DEBT 2 SOCIETY IS PAID…

BUT NO IM NOT DONE..

THE COLOR OF MY SKIN?

JUST A SPLATTER OF MELANIN

BLACK LIVES MATTER??

WHY MUST I SHOUT? PROTEST? RANT…

MARCH ABOUT?

LET ME BE….LET ME LIVE

LET ME CLAIM MY HUMANITY

IT SHOULD NOT BE A RARITY

LET ME ACHIEVE EDUCATION

LET ME ERASE JUSTICE-IMPACED

REDACTED – NEVER TO BE SEEN AGAIN

ERASED…REMOVED…X’ED OUT

LET ME SHOUT NOT WHISPER..

JUSTICE SHOULD INCLUDE JUST-US

BUT WHEN WILL THAT BE FOR US??

SECOND CHANCES? YEAH I DESERVE THAT- LET ME CATCH THAT – BE THAT- LIVE THAT

I AM A SWATCH OF THE BEAUTIFUL FABRIC OF HUMANITY – NOT A RARITY…

UNAPOLOGETICALLY ME….

ERASING JUSTICE-IMPACTED

THE WORD…THE MEANING…

NEW ADDITION TO WEBSTERS…THIS TACTIC..

JUSTICE AKA ME – ENACTED!!!!

I will always love him, but he’s not mine anymore.

Yes he hurt me but the pain he caused can’t control me.

I can be myself without having him define who I am.

He was my past! I live in the present!

He was worth my time for a month nothing more.

He is not worth my time in the future.

He is no longer what I picture my future to be like.

I want someone who makes me laugh and cares about me.

Someone who is proud to be with me and understands my boundaries.

I know it’s hard to find someone but someone is out there for everyone.

Love is real! Love is not a dream where everything is great all the time. There are ups and downs but in the end you never stop loving the person you are meant to be with.

Love can be painful, sure. But love should never manipulate, control, destroy, harm, hurt, break, or deceive you. Love should let you grow, be yourself, thrive, accept, appreciate, and blossom.

You know you love someone when you would take a bullet for them.

Love is not easy, but nothing in life is easy.

Love takes time and love takes patience.

But most of all, loving someone when they love you back is the best feeling in the world!

When you come to New York City, Times Square, Empire State and Brooklyn Bridge are among the first places you want to visit, but there is an interesting system of transportation that deserves equal attention from a newcomer. It is as popular as the other well-known landmarks in New York, but not as impressive at first sight. I am talking about the New York City transit system, particularly the subways. Some New Yorkers love the subway system for how quick and easy it is. However, there are some New Yorkers that hate the subway for the dangers (drug-addicted people, beggars, or criminals) on some stations, or for the common delays during rush hours. Many New Yorkers would want tourists, even locals, to visit all these famous places in NYC, and for that purpose, one would most likely need to use the subway system to get to places. Although there are cars and buses to commute to different places, the subway is the cheapest and usually the most efficient alternative. If New Yorkers are the reason to keep the city going, the NYC subway is the most important artery that pumps blood (people) to different corners of the city.

Every organ, every part of the human body has significance in the well-being of a human being, and the body is the unity of all these parts. Just as the veins and arteries function in the human body, the subway lines transport thousands of New Yorkers daily, all over the city. The human body suffers when one organ is affected, and the entire subway system suffers when something happens on one train. Unfortunately, this happens quite frequently, mostly because of a sick passenger, or sometimes because of the violence in the city. Even though this has affected the numbers of passengers and their attitudes towards the trains, the subways continue to function, as they are central to the lives of every citizen, including those who don’t need them regularly.

The subways do not give a good impression to many tourists, even New Yorkers keep complaining. However, the commuters have only seen the “cover” and read the book blurb. Perhaps, I still have the passion of a first time New Yorker’s experiences, but I can think of sweet, hilarious, and entertaining stories since the first day I used a subway. To be honest, the first time is confusing, stressful, and, if it is summer, very hot. Though there are good directions in every station to follow, it can truly feel impossible to navigate sometimes, passing thousands of fast walking, multicultural people, talking in different languages. It may feel impossible to ask anyone for help or simple clarifications about one’s directions. NYC Straphangers, as the regular riders are called, are mostly unreachable. Some of them are reading; others are on their phones/electronic devices while on the train or a station. New Yorkers are so busy and stressed out in their daily lives that they may even look angry. Sometimes, they forget to take a break to hold a conversation or to smile. That attitude serves as a shield to protect their privacy and their time. However, there are still people who will stop and help a nervous tourist. So, one need not be embarrassed, to ask others for directions, and perhaps, a kind New Yorker will be more than happy to help and guide.

I remember the first time I got lost in a subway station. I was on my way to school and was getting late because I got off the train at the wrong station. However, I saw an MTA official, who helped me get to the right train and even gave me his subway map so that “I would never be lost again.” While I was waiting for my train, we started to talk, and he noticed that I was not from New York, because of my accent. He asked me about my country of origin. We talked about New Yorkers who are from all over the world, and his and my experiences in the City. I still remember his kind face.

The more you ride the subway, the more you understand about the tricks used by the subway passengers. For instance, if you are waiting for a train on one of the most crowded stations, you should stay in the middle of the platform. When the train approaches the platform, you can quickly see if you need to move up or down the platform to enter a car that is not so crowded. That way, you may find a seat if you are lucky. There are also times when riding the subway becomes as scary as a Stephen King novel, especially when there is a violent or an unstable person in your car. It is not a pleasant experience if the train stops at a station that is deserted and can make an ideal location for a horror movie. The best trick I have learned from New Yorkers is to get out of the station together with the crowd (if there is one), or to change the train you are in, if you feel threatened.

And then, there are moments that can make you smile. For example, there could be a clown telling jokes, a musician playing an instrument, or young dancers displaying their skills in a moving train. The dancers perform, as if they were auditioning for a spiderman movie, the musicians sing and play the guitar or a harmonica in exchange for a few coins or food. When these entertainers start their act, people generally look at them from the corner of their eyes, trying not to show any interest. If the performance is good, everyone starts recording for social media, and gives the performers a few bills. There are sellers who become comedians when they are making their pitch for their products, from necklaces to deodorants. This reminds me of my country because street merchants take advantage of public transportation to earn money and perhaps to entertain people.

As I mentioned, one also encounters people who are lost in their own world of electronic devices or books on the train. They suddenly emerge from those worlds when the train enters their station, or they most likely miss their station. For New Yorkers, time is very valuable, and they spend every minute completing their tasks. This is one of the reasons people are on their phones, laptops, or tablets doing homework, responding to emails, or reading the news. They are so engrossed in these activities that sometimes they forget their station is coming up. This happened once to a man so focus on his laptop with papers all over his lap. When the train stopped at his station, he screamed at other passengers to hold the doors for him, and he took his belongings in a rush to get out of the car. It was a funny situation.

Two of my favorite stations are Grand Central- 42nd Street and Union Square-14th Street. There are always musicians playing beautiful music of all genres, and painters and other artists doing their own things. On 14th Street, there is a young boy who does some percussion with plastic containers. He is quite good, and he performs the most famous songs and other rhythms that I believe are of his own invention. Other forms of visual arts also decorate different subway stations. One also needs to pay close attention to the creative works right above the windows of the train. These are temporary works, sponsored by MTA Art. The advertisements and the walls of every station showcase some pieces of art that may have significance for the station. Sometimes you will find painters who move from place to place. Taking pictures or recording these artists is the best way to remember them while creating stories to last forever in our minds. It is like you talked to a stranger who you will never see again but will remember that experience.

I consider myself a social person, who enjoys meeting new people. However, when I see commuters using their shields, it becomes an etiquette to be on the train to “mind mine own business.” Not every person is friendly and talkative, but I have had some good and quick conversations with strangers. Once, an elderly woman gave my little niece a set of Winnie the Pooh characters, and she started to talk with us about her grandchildren, and how cute the babies are. A good conversation is simple to start; we just need a common topic to listen to each other and smile. To better use the time on the subway, I crochet, and when I see another crocheter, we start to comment, compliment, and share photos of our creations, the patterns we love, and more, always ending our conversation with a smile and “have a safe trip” as we say our goodbyes.

The subway is a cherished and much-needed service for New Yorkers, and maintaining its safety is essential for every citizen. Safety requires less crime, but also good maintenance of the trains and stations. The subway acts as the cross-section of the entire population in New York City for its diversity in language, religious beliefs (you will see some people praying), smiles among strangers and the creation of mini communities through small conversations on every ride. These commutes create our unique subway experiences as New Yorkers, regardless of the time we have lived in the city.

Once upon a time, I found myself visualizing the type of man I imagine a future with. The qualities I envision the man of my dreams to have seem to be non-existent. For his presence only becomes known in romance novels films and is only brought to life through the world of “Disney”. He is not just a dear friend but the one I choose to grow gray and old with if and when he should propose. The individual I would vow to honor, cherish, respect, comfort and remain faithfully devoted to in sickness and health for richer or poorer better or worse until parted only by death. While I’m aware “Prince Charmings” are fictitious, there is a part of me that wants to believe in happily ever afters. But if and only “if” he is in it for the long haul. It is tough to find marriage material in this era. I have had no luck and am starting to think I might be cursed. Finding a man who can live up to a particular standard is next to impossible. Being courted has always been important to me.

Dating is always fun, new, fresh and exciting-- until it is not anymore. I am at a place in my life where I want to do it the right way. I do not want to be with someone just for the sake of it. I want to go about things differently than I did before and take a new approach. I am tired of the same old song and dance and repeating patterns. I have yet to see a change in results. It would be lovely to meet a man I felt confident and secure about bringing home to meet my loved ones. It is hard to come across a like-minded individual who wants and is ready for a commitment! I was raised with morals and values, so I still believe in old fashioned ideas and customs that are not practiced much today. Yes! I do feel that men should be opening doors pulling out chairs and seeing a lady to her door at the end of an evening out without expecting a “reward” in return. I notice many men will say one thing while doing the exact opposite. I could never grasp or be able to comprehend that nonsense. It is usually done in order to get whatever it is they want. And once they have had their share and decide they are satisfied they have already moved onto the next poor soul.

I cannot and will not ever fully believe the crap that comes out of one’s mouth. A person’s actions will always prove the truth about who they really are. No matter the status of their words. How a man treats me holds a lot more significance than what he says. Kindness, consistency, honesty, respect, understanding, psychological connection and communication also mean the world. I must be able to trust and feel safe with him. He must be equally invested, emotionally available, handsome, non-smoker, employed, neat, educated, well groomed, healthy, and sanitary. Remembering to put down the toilet seat is definitely a huge deal. It would be great if he loved cats and seafood just as much as I do. If he were a good cook, could help with the dishes, laundry, house cleaning, as well as be financially stable.

My ideal man does not run off in difficult situations, admits to and apologizes for his wrong doings. He’s supportive, reliable, responsible, motivated, mature, and has patience. He would not pressure me to do anything that makes me feel uncomfortable and would appreciate my decision to practice abstinence until a ring is put on my finger! I’d rather be alone and content instead of being unfulfilled unhappy and unsatisfied. I can be miserable all on my own. Though the physical aspect is necessary to a degree, it certainly is not everything. Looks will and do eventually fade. I want a relationship based on more than the external. He has to be entirely and completely accepting of me and stick by me through the dark days. He sees me as beautiful whether I have extensions in or am stuck with a scarf on my head. This man would be more interested in what is in my heart, mind, and soul and could care less about what is underneath my clothes. He has more to offer than the materialistic and brings something to the table. He prefers a phone call over a text message, does not have any children and is fine with me not wanting to become a mother. He does not hold a criminal record, has a license, manners and knows how to properly conduct himself. He is never boring, rude, inconsistent, inconsiderate, violent, abusive, sloppy or untidy. He is aware of and respects my boundaries. We share matching interests.

He must be able to make me laugh. It is not easy for most people to get me to smile. He is worthy of me my time and my love. He makes me feel valued, wanted and takes me seriously. He puts in the effort, work and energy required to keep the relationship going. He knows it takes two and we are simply a team. We will get through our hardships, trials and tribulations together while functioning as a couple to achieve our goals. He rarely complains or argues. We peacefully and rationally come to reasonable conclusions instead of fighting or yelling. We don’t talk down to each other or point fingers. We listen talk and figure out a way to get past our disagreements. We would never go to sleep angry with one another. He follows the 10 commandments. He without hesitation gives his seat to the pregnant or elderly and has his priorities in check.

Since childhood, I have longed to have a love that lasts a lifetime. He would be sensitive to my feelings and puts me first, uplifts my spirits rather than tearing me down. He is a protector, provider and professes and expresses his undying affection toward me. When staking his claim, he has given me a title. He shares my moments of joy and pain. We laugh and cry together. He is someone I am not shy around and can be my true self with. He is generous, kind, and gentle. A romantic, old soul who showers me with soft kisses and hugs. We share a similar sense of mentality. Regardless of the situation at hand, he is always the bigger person handling conflict with dignity and grace. He is not jealous or negative thinking. He knows my likes and dislikes. I am reminded often of why we fell in love and the reason I chose him to be my partner.

He is not threatened by my strengths nor scared off by my weaknesses. He does not want to see me fail but encourages and inspires me to progress. He is calm, non-judgmental, keeps an open mind and knows a relationship is about both parties making sacrifices. One person is not always the receiver. One person is not always the giver. There must be a balance between the two.

He finishes my sentences as I do his. He brings the best out of me making me want to become better. His love is unconditional. Life is only worth living with him at my side. He has my back and stands by me. He is willing and ready to lend a helping hand and has the ability to extend an olive branch when needed. I never have to question, second guess or doubt his love because it is witnessed and perfectly displayed through his behavior. We have the support of both our families.

It is funny how most dudes would swear I am asking for Mount Everest. When I am not being unreasonable or over the top at all. My standards are too high, so I’ve been told; I beg to differ. The love of my life would share similar characteristics to my father, would have my mother’s approval and ask for their blessing before seeking my hand. Like the penguins, swans, and seahorses he’s my mate for life! My rock, My forever & My love for all eternity! Human beings should be more like these precious animals in that regard. In Les Misérables, Victor Hugo quotes “to love another person is to see the face of G-D?”! One thing’s for sure: I will not settle for anything less than I deserve. The sad thing is I am prepared to be without a companion even if it means I will never meet the type of man I yearn and ache for.

THE END!!

Everyone has their signature color. In middle school almost everyone around me had a favorite color; I never knew how to respond whenever my girls group asked me what mine was. I would always tell them it was pink; i figured that was the appropriate answer since it was always associated with a female. Of course, because I had now claimed the color pink I had to own it; and that’s when I realize I actually did like it, but it wasn’t totally me. From there onwards I’d always receive presents in pink. It never really bothered me to be honest; I wasn’t big on colors like most people was and I really never understood why. I’d like to consider myself a simple person.

It was until I had gotten older, I began to learn more about myself intentionally. So, Iets try this again; my favorite color is black, And I’d wear it every single day if I could. Most times I got blank stares whenever I told someone my favorite color. Was black or they never fail to point out that black isn’t a color but rather it is a “shade”. I always giggle at that comment because I no longer take offense to it but rather I welcome the knowledge. I love black because I’m a introvert; I don’t like being the center of attention. BlCk allows me to hide; keeping it toned down. It is a powerful color or shade; whichever you prefer. It can be wore with absolutely anything, who’d refuse that. Black comes rushing in to save the day when your outfits don’t seem to match. Black is a final statement; we wear it to mourn our love ones. Black is serious; we’re down to business in the courtroom. Lawyers and judges makes a bold statement in BLACK. But most of all black loves me just as much as I love it; it suites my complexion perfectly. It highlights my skin for whatever reason dark colors have always been the win.

Black is my main color, black represents me, black speaks for me. But on the days I want to stand out and show out pink is my highlighter. Pink is bright; pink is authentic, pink is innocent. Pink would’ve probably been my best friend had I been an extrovert. But when my social battery runs out, black saves me. When I’m in a room filled with people who may drain me from

Social interaction, black hides me. I love you black and I love you pink, thank you for being a part of me.

There’s volume in the words “identity” and “values”. They both facilitate each other. We often times struggle with our identity but I personally believe we discover our identity from identifying our values. Our values tells us what we believe in, where our morals lie, what we represent and what is considered important to us. Our values shapes our identity.

My values were shaped from the core upbringing in a West Indian household. Greet your elders, respect your peers, and be a productive citizen were some of the grandparent’s mantra. So here lies my identity; I identify with respect, dignity, integrity, being a goal getter.

I value family, I value the elderly, I value financial literacy, I value education, I value culture and I value peace of mind.

Heart-beat. In a crowded restaurant, a waiter serves a slice of pizza. He has known me since I was born, but would never guess the inner turmoil I was about to face, so he smiles at me and leaves. I was fourteen, a disastrous age to start feeling things that most people start feeling in their thirties. My heart pounds once more as I stare into my plate. Why am I feeling those things? People talk around the saloon, I have always hated the sound of silvery touching plates, and for some reason, those noises became louder, like heavy drums in my ears that made my spine shiver and my legs tremble. It was not a simple misophonia episode because I could not control it, I was already hyperventilating. Someone, please, make it stop. I shed tears and the last thing I remember was laying in a bathroom cabin and crying.

“Why did that happen?” You may wonder. I had just argued with my friends because of a fight I had with a former lover. Quite dull if you consider that there were better things for me to think about at the time, such as eating my pizza. The fact is that they were blaming me for breaking the poor boy’s heart, which I did not, at least not in my conception. However, blaming me seemed the best way to calm things down. I guess they have forgotten that I still had feelings. Puberty made it worse, since I had the constant idea that I had to fit in and have many friends. I am sorry, Bernardo, I could not love you. Because of that, I became a heartbreaker, crying at a restaurant.

Then, there were three: Marina, Alice, and Sunny. The first dissociation episode is unforgettable, like that Nat King Cole song: “Unforgettable in every way, and forevermore, that's how you'll stay. That's why, darling, it's incredible that someone so unforgettable thinks that I am unforgettable too.” You ask me: “What Is Dissociation?” Then, I answer: Dissociation is a disconnection between a person's sensory experience, thoughts, sense of self, or personal history. People may feel a sense of unreality and lose their connection to time, place, and identity. It disrupts four areas of personal functioning that usually operate together smoothly, automatically, and with few or no problems: Consciousness, identity, memory, self-awareness, and awareness of surroundings. Breaks in this system of automatic functions cause the symptoms. Dissociation can range from a mild sense of detachment to a more severe disconnection from reality.

No one knew about them, and to this day, only a few people know. I decided to be secretive about my other personalities as a way to secure myself from possible trauma, it is not common to have a single person attending by different names each time. This is why, if you ask me my name, I will probably answer: “Sophia, but you can call me Sunny, I prefer that.” Sunny Marino is the mask I wear every day, the best version of me. Although this can be biased among the other two, it is true, she is responsible for me and the original author of this story. I love her for that, she is the most courageous lady I have ever met.

Before peace was a normal theme among us, the three women would fight for a spot in my mind, arguing who would be in charge of the system. Marina was always a ferocious leader, desiring the best for me in ambitious ways, even if it took losing friends and mangling my mind even more. Imagine her as a beautiful woman in her thirties, whose features resemble Bettie Page and Sophia Loren in the 1950s, a traditional femme fatale with Mae West’s sense of humor. I like to say that her beauty took us to the strangest yet most epic places, in a way I could develop a whole story about our adventures.

Marina took care of us from the age of fourteen to sixteen, we would put on full eyeliner and tight black clothes to go to school. She (until today) loved to flirt with people and protect her loved ones, even though she was quite tenacious sometimes. Still, my problem with her was always related to her temper, since she was a deviant figure, who used to put on fights with people, listen to loud music on the record player, which normally would be Pink Floyd’s The Wall or Led Zeppelin’s The Song Remains the Same.

In a way I believe that if she had to be a song, it would be the 1973 live version of Since I’ve Been Loving You by Led Zeppelin: “Working from seven to eleven every night makes life a drag, I don't think that's right, I've been the best, the best of fools, I did what I could, yeah. 'Cause I love you, baby, how I love you, darling, how I love you, baby, my beloved little girl”. It was hard to imagine that she was thirty. I have only a few genuine good memories of this time, mostly daredevil ones.

Alice took Marina’s place when I was sixteen. Imagine them as sisters (because they are), but Alice is the youngest. With bright orange curls and graphic make-up, she became our guardian as she worked her way to the top at the age of twenty-one. I like to compare her to Pattie Boyd and Pamela Des Barres in the 1960s, the type of girl next door who would have been a Frank Zappa/King Crimson groupie if she had the opportunity. It was always mesmerizing the way she spoke about art and psychedelia, and in her words, “My name is Alice for a reason”, that is Lewis Caroll’s book Alice in Wonderland.

Different from her oldest sister, she was a curious figure to work with, always peaceful and generous, with a good eye for fine arts. I believe that because of her, I became more compassionate with people, something that Marina has always hated (as the stubborn beetle-head she is). Dressed in flares and band t-shirts, we would go to rock concerts, fangirl over seventy-year-old rock stars, and drink liquor every day. She is Frank Zappa’s Motherly Love: “Motherly love, forget about the brotherly and other-ly love. Motherly love is just the thing for you, you know your Mothers' gonna love ya till ya don't know what to do”.

Although Alice’s compassion gave me great interpersonal skills, her drinking habits became a problem among us and my physical health. It is ironic that the kindest soul alive was addicted to alcohol, while the “twisted sister” only had temperamental issues. Sure, it is not okay to put up fights with people, but Marina always did her best to maintain us in a clear state when it came to our bodies. The addiction issue is that you only realize you are in danger after making it a habit. This is when Sunny comes into the room. To be honest, I do not know why she took such a long time to make her entrance, I prefer to think she was getting ready to fight two other girls more diplomatically.

I was seventeen when she started getting in charge of the system. But, before we come into her part of the story, I think it is important to mention the role of literature. I am not the biggest reader you could ever meet, which is a problem for a young writer like me. However, I do not know if it was due to a lack of patience or just boredom, but I would always read the final pages of a book before the beginning, so I would know where the story was heading. My teachers used to tell me that this was an unhealthy practice led by anxiety and that I should read more in addition to developing a richer vocabulary. Besides feeling guilty, I used to think to myself: I hate contemporary literature. Do my professors think I will spend my time reading Percy Jackson and The Fault in Our Stars? Of course not.

Heart-beat. In an empty classroom, my History teacher hands me a book, her name is Lúcia, she is one of my role models for life. I was fourteen. She was the first adult who knew about my dissociation episode after reading a soliloquy I wrote about it. The woman loved it and said I had major potential for writing. The book in question was Sophie’s World by Jostein Gaarder, and before giving it to me, she told the story of her deceased sister, who was the original owner of the book. I remember being timid during the story, still, I honored its owner as if she was my relative. I read the full story in a week, not because it was easy, but actually because I was intrigued. Philosophy books had always grabbed my attention, I believe it was the way that I found to look for clearer explanations for the things happening in my mind. It did not work, but the reading was soothing.

After my philosophical adventures with my best friends Plato, Aristotle, Dostoevsky, and Nietzsche, literature became dull to me in an almost nonsensical way. During the transition from Marina to Alice, I somehow became attracted to the abyss, as if my life suddenly became a path crossing the knife-edge every once in a while. I think this is the problem of studying existentialism at a young age, you become indifferent to the frivolous things teenagers love. Yes, I was the girl who would say “I am not like other girls”, and the thing is, it was true amongst the ones in my classroom.

In the center of boredom, I found the answer to my laments and sorrows in an emerging subject during my literature classes, Romanticism. If I had to summarize my passion for that artistic period in a song, it would be Into My Arms by Nick Cave, because to me that is a definition of the poems, novels, and paintings of the time: “I don't believe in an interventionist God, but I know, darling, that you do. But if I did, I would kneel and ask Him not to intervene when it came to you. Not to touch a hair on your head, to leave you as you are, and if He felt He had to direct you, then direct you into my arms.”

The emphasison of love and feelings at the time made me realize that not only was Lord Byron a genius ahead of his time, but also that it was okay to indulge your emotions and sympathize with the abyss. In Byron’s words: “Yes, love is indeed a light from heaven. A spark of that immortal fire with angels shared, by Allah, given to lift from earth our low desire.” Dark stories about death and passion-fueled me to continue studying and eventually reading, since it did not feel shallow like Percy Jackson and The Fault in Our Stars. Although I might sound pretentious, this is the way I saw things at that age.

This is where Sunny’s story comes in. After I developed an interesting repertoire of existentialism and hyper romanticism, I felt like there was no other way for me to go but starting to write my feelings, as I did in my philosophical soliloquy back in the day. I have always loved to write and tell stories. During my youth, my imagination would take me to the strangest places a child could ever imagine. So I attribute my writing gifts to that period, since I would spend my time creating stories about time-traveling, betrayal, and divorce at the age of five. Call me young Kubrick.

Sunny believes that writing has the power to change people’s realities by showing the world different viewpoints and arguments, as an act of activism that is not necessarily called activism, because there is no need for labels in texts. She realized that the only way to achieve peace among the other girls was by narrating their stories, as if they were real people walking in this world, not personalities my mind created to fit in.

Imagine her as the old soul she is, the wisest among us. As a deity, she is ageless, we do not know when she was born or how long she has been here, but I feel that Sunny has known me since birth. She is the good side of me I have hidden all my life, the mask that I wear every day to live my best life. Life, death, and transformation, the flame that burns inside my body which claims for purity. I can not put a face to a shape-shifter, but I believe that, if she was to be defined by a woman, she would be us, a mixture of the three. An orange hair, big eyes, and beautiful lips, a colorful version of Sophia Loren.

Click. The needle of the record player starts spinning. I was always a huge The Who fan. My 1970s groupie dream would be to hang out with Roger Daltrey for a couple of hours, even though his temperament made him famous for fighting people. Although Tommy is my favorite album, Who’s Next takes part of the story because of a song: “No one knows what it's like to be the bad man, to be the sad man behind blue eyes. No one knows what it's like to be hated, to be fated, to tell only lies, but my dreams aren't as empty as my conscience seems to be. I have hours, only lonely, my love is vengeance that's never free.”

There is not a big story on how I decided to write my feelings, despite the need to vent the things poisoning me from inside out. Behind Blue Eyes became my mantra, and because of that Sunny decided to start writing our story, also entitled Behind Blue Eyes. Nevertheless, the years I stet on writing the book became the most important ones in my personal story. Not only because I felt like I have grown up as a person, but also because that managed to create the desired peace we all looked and hoped for. However, we sure have a story on why Sunny decided to write. We are a unity, after all, different people trapped inside a single body. Sometimes we just need the right reason and purpose to change the reality that dwells within us.

It was a calm Halloween evening; the air was cool, and it was just about the time when children go out to trick or treat. Within minutes the streets were flooded by ghosts, goblins, clowns, superheroes, princesses, pirates, zombies, aliens, witches, and just about everything else that could be a costume. Eager to join in the fun was Rebecca Ryder going as Little Red Riding Hood. This year’s Halloween was going to be very special as it’s the first time Rebecca’s parents are letting her go on her own, all they asked of her was to get home before the moon rises. After promising her parents she would Rebecca grabbed her candy bag and walked out the door. Waiting by her house were some of her friends and they all went as a group. Rebecca was having the time of her life; her bag being filled with all sorts of sweets. Though it wasn’t a completely peachy night as sometimes going by a house with a dog they’d bark at her defensively.

As is so often when having fun time seemed to fly by. Before Rebecca knew it, it was almost sundown. Remembering what she promised her parents Rebecca sadly bid her friends farewell and started walking home. Home was halfway across town, and time was not on Rebecca’s side. The sun began to dip, what was once a sky dyed with shades of yellow, red, and orange turned black. The streetlamps lit up one by one and the wind howled with a chill. Growing desperate Rebecca turned into an alley, hoping it would be a shortcut. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a dead end, Rebecca was about to turn around and go back to main street when she came face to face with a man in a white. Although a bit unnerved by the mask Rebecca though maybe he was going to help her, and so she asked if he knew a quick way back to her street… but the man said nothing. Rebecca tries to get any response out of him, but to no avail, all he does is stare directly at her… When suddenly without warning he attacks! The sound of the struggle fails to reach anyone as this masked maniac continues with his dark deed. As the moon rises a monstrous growl pierces the night followed by the scream of death…

Later at Rebecca’s house her mom is pacing back and forth with worry while her dad calls her friend’s parents to see if they know anything about her whereabouts. They then hear a knock on the door and Mrs. Ryder goes to answer. Upon opening the door she is greeted by the sight of a large wolf, muzzle caked in blood, wearing the torn remains of a child’s costume, with the ruined mask of the stranger in its mouth. Mrs. Ryder gasps at the sight and shouts, “Rebecca! Where have you been?!”

THE END