Bullying and Substances are Stealing Lives

I was recently contemplating about the endlessly growing number of people around the world who terminate their lives before their talents and gifts flourish into the arms of humanity.  I’ve always been told I can be a bit emotional at times since I truly wear my heart upon my sleeves.  But hey… that’s just me.  What can I say?  We all have our weaknesses but I’ve learned to treat my weakness as something beautiful.  My softness and sorrow toward others who need help gives me this sort of fulfillment which only my writing has had an ability to do.  It’s freeing.  And if I can share a story, tale or experience of my own to help shape or shift someone else’s journey, then I’m all in; 110 percent.

When I was young, I was severely bullied.  If you asked me why, I really couldn’t tell you... other than kids can be cruel and if they don’t understand you or are jealous of your talents, they have no other means of showing their envy then by the use of bullying.  I was tall, very thin, had clunky braces and glasses before contacts and more modern means of straightening your teeth were available.  I worked hard and always received straight A’s on my report cards.  My love for academics helped me to graduate in the top 10 of my class; among 360 other students. 

 

And still; I was the subject of harassment and endless torture throughout my elementary and junior high school years.  My passion for the written word, science and history equated to an eternity of pain and suffering.  Back then, those seven hours of school felt like an infiniteness of dodging hurtful whispers, loathsome mockeries, and unwanted confrontations. 

I remember being in 8^th grade and being segregated from a table where I had some friends who had split lunches with their choir practice.  When they would leave for Chorus (this is what the class was referred to as), I was left there, utterly alone, only to be mocked, made fun of and had things thrown at me.  Is she serious you ask?  I wish I wasn’t.  Many of my days were just scenes out of that Patrick Dempsey movie,Can’t Buy Me Love, or even Diary of a Wimpy Kid and Mean Girls.  But these girls were much crueler toward me.  I eventually joined the choir, although my voice sounded more Phoebe when she would sing about “Smelly Cat” on the hit television show, Friends.  I ran away instead of confronting them because I had no one to back me up.  My friends at the time were too scared to be shunned as well. 

 

It was only until Mr. Finallo's History class, where I was assigned to sit next to a girl, (we will call her Savior) who hated me for no apparent reason my freshman year of high school.  I believe her inconceivable hatred toward me was over a strikingly handsome, young boy who lived next door to my house.  He looked like Christian Slater so you could see how one would be jealous of another girl's kinship with such a gorgeous fellow.  One of her friends adored him which afforded her the desire to make my life a living hell. 

 

This boy would walk me home from school every day which made the girls cringe at my high school.  But after I was designated a seat next to this girl for the entire year, we had no choice but to work together on group projects.  It took less than a week for us to become good friends.  Can you believe it?  She was very popular and since she befriended me, I then, became part of the “in-crowd.” 

My next four years of school would be pretty much smooth sailing and no one ever really bothered me again.  I still struggled with some girls who just couldn’t understand why teachers gravitated toward me.  To tell you the truth; either did I… other than I was an over-achiever who really enjoyed excelling to further the future of my education.  My parents were less than middle class so I knew I had to do well to be awarded some, if not all, scholarships and grants for college.

Sadly, there are so many kids in this country who are bullied every single day of their lives.  They are taunted and become the products of cruel jokes and deceptions because of their uniqueness and susceptibility of being pushed around.  Since I know how it feels, I understand the fear which plants them in their shielded comfort zones.  They would rather skip class or not go to school at all because they are afraid of what lies within those small and overbearingly suffocating brick walls.
 

 

As I mentioned before, once Savior befriended me, everything changed.  The girls who at one time, made fun of me, now wanted to sit with me at lunch and always come over to my house after school.  I was invited to sleepovers and nights out at the skating rink.  I was asked out by guys who before, always looked at me and smiled, but never acted out on their curiosity about me from fear of what the popular kids would think about their actions.  Then, when I started dating a guy in college, this sent my status over the moon!  He drove one of the hottest cars around town and was super dreamy.  I never really had to worry about being bullied again and tried to help others who were in the same predicament I once was in.

You might think I copped out of my situation by accepting Savior's invitation to become her friend but at the end of the day, we actually had a lot in common; other than our grades.  We remained close friends until I left for college.  After I arrived at college, I never looked back on those people again and managed to build true, life-long friendships with some of the most kindest and sincere people.  I am grateful to have some of these people in my life today.  I'm sure some of the decisions I made in college were the end-product of my experiences in high school.  Although the bullying had stopped, there would be scars leftover internally which lead me to make some bad decisions.  I'm happy to say those scars are just murmurs echoing in the wind and reminders of how strong and significant I really am.

(Old Queens Campus at Rutgers University... beautiful, isn't it?)

The point of my ramblings about my past struggles and suffering from bullying is that people are ignorant towards one another.  They have “ideas” which tend to develop into ugly assumptions about beautifully strange, yet, magnificent people.  What is so wrong about someone who wants to do well in his or her class?  Or about someone whose parents can’t afford the same clothes or shoes as their friends?  Or children who might seem different, but in actuality, their personalities are far more epic and unique than imaginable?  If we could just instill better values and morals within our children’s acceptance and gentility towards others feelings, this world would be a better place.  My mother always taught me to be kind and respectful; something I see more of our upcoming generation lacking. 

Devices like video game systems and social media outlets such as Facebook tend to numb our youth’s ability to focus on the importance of communication with one another.  I’ve observed how a long day of playing video games affects one of the teens I currently care for.  He becomes a lot more agitated and aggressive; cursing and throwing the paddles at the television.  I hear other teens through the headphones they use nowadays; cursing and using vulgar language while shooting at soldiers or even civilians on the TV screen.  We need to encourage our beloved children that there is a whole world beyond social media and video games.  We need to fight for our right to the irreplaceable bonds which hold humanity together.  This involves communicating more, interacting with each other, and dare I say… playing and getting involved with outdoor activities!  Yes, we played jail break even into the college years!

We didn’t have Facebook and texting back when I was in high school and college so I can’t imagine how teens have to deal with the horrid affects of bullying through means of social media.  We used to have a neighbor who was a girl and attended school at a prestigious private establishment.  Her boyfriend took provocative photos of her when they were alone and decided to post them onto the internet.  Can you believe it?  Her own boyfriend.  She was bullied severely by other prep girls and it became so bad, her mother had to take her out of that school and place her into another.  When this didn’t help, the family moved to an entirely different town.  All because some clueless moron with no values decided to post pictures of her on the internet.   

Whenever I hear about a small child taking his/her life because they have been driven by bullies to do so, it breaks my heart.  And whenever I learn about someone who can’t live with their current situations and instead of using their talents to fix them, they drown themselves in alcohol instead… this shakes my soul.  I know how it feels to both be bullied or become a product of what other people and our darker, inner demons do to us.  But I also know that we are capable of CHANGING these situations.  There are lights inside of us which are begging to be turned on.  And no one or substance should ever have the permission to shut that light off for us.  We are in control of the destiny of our light and where its tendrils may reach out toward. 

 

There is a whole vast and epic world out there beyond the limitations of school walls.  We need to remind our children that those few years of adolescent schooling are just a small part of the rest of their lives.  After graduation, they become free birds... able to spread their fascinating wings and gravitate toward higher heights because of their individuality and talents.  We need to talk to our kids more and encourage them to be nice and accepting of others no matter how different they may seem.  This only takes a few moments our of our busy schedules and is well worth the long-lasting affects our wisdom will have on them. 

Have you ever been bullied before?  Do you know anyone who has been pushed around?  Was there ever a time when you used a substance and as a result, your talents and journey became limited?

To Each His or Her Own Pace

Today is Palm Sunday for the Catholic Church.  I attended mass this morning to honor this emotionally trying, yet, inspiring day.  For many who share in the same beliefs, Palm Sunday is a day to truly recall upon the sacrifices Jesus made for us to be forgiven in this world.  It is a day to remember how he was beaten, bullied, mocked and nailed to the cross for the love and compassion He had for His Father’s Children. 

 

I felt an erosion of feelings submerging my thoughts like a cumbersome stream of magma churning within my stomach.  There was an emptiness eating away at the core which was being drowned by this waterfall of heated exhaustion… an exhaustion consisting of sadness, agony, resentment, sorrow, and most of all, loneliness.

There I sat in my phew as rivers unfolded from the center of my soul and wept from my weary eyes.  There was an endless amount of pain I had covered over the past several years and kept buried deep within; however, they were now trying to resurface once again.  I thought that by staying on the straight and narrow while continuing to contribute my part in ending self-destruction in others through volunteering and spending time with children who need mentors, or by sharing my mother’s illness and struggle, I would be fulfilled and come to full circle within my endeavors. 

 

Sadly, I was wrong.  Or at least, at that moment in church, as I sat and gazed at the cross and glorious statues and fixtures on the old, wooden walls… I felt completely and utterly alone.  I began to remember my childhood and how I spent many Sundays within those walls with my parents and sisters before our family fell apart.  Before the divorces, alcohol, fights, sickness, murder and dying of best friends and family members… before all of these circumstances which none of us could have predicted or prevented… it felt like time had been perfect.  And those memories would always be frozen and packed away in the corners of my strange, yet familiar mind.

My tears managed to fuse into subtle reminders that God was indeed, still with me and watching and hadn’t left me behind.  I was quickly reminded about a rendezvous I had in the city yesterday with an old friend who told me I was an inspiration to her.  Sometimes, when we are at our weakest, God has a way of lifting us up.  He manages to remind us about our missions and to never give up on our passions no matter how alone or afraid we might feel. 

 

My friend sat across from me during dinner yesterday, and was in absolute awe by the work I do when I volunteer with organizations that help to encourage and educate our children.  She told me to never give up on my ventures and to always keep my heart at the forefront because some day, God will reward all of the positive energy I put out into the universe. 

There are always going to be ups and downs in our days and the journey is never easy.  If it was, there would be no room for growth and change and no place for our hearts and minds to truly be nurtured and fed.  We live out our days by the stages of our achievements and commitments which we make not only for ourselves, but for each other.  Sometimes, those engagements change but the journey remains the same.  I might have felt alone today while I sat and admired the work of the Creator, but after I thought about everything, I knew physically, loneliness was just a feeling; not a state of being.  Because every single human being is never alone when you have Him to walk beside you.  You just have to open your heart and your eyes and truly see the miracles around you. 

 

If you are like me and sometimes get down on your slow growth or current state of being, just think about all of the amazing things you have done with your life so far.  Count all of your blessings and the wonderful people who are actually still here with you.  Embrace your family, love your neighbor, put your phones and Ipads down and talk to your loved ones and friends.  Sit in a quiet place and meditate on your thoughts.  Read a good book or snuggle up to an old movie.  Call someone who you haven’t spoken to in a long time.  Go for a run.  But don’t loath in the lethargic strides of your journey.  It's the destination which matters the most. 

Today, after church, I went on a long run through a beautiful trail not far from our home.  On the drive back, I stuck my arms out of the window and felt the wind pounding against my skin.  It felt invigorating.  There is beauty and magic in the world around us in every single moment of every single day.  Whether it’s a smile from a stranger or laughter echoing from children playing outside… whether it’s the sound of birds chirping and frolicking around in the puddles outside of your window… whether it’s a simple gesture but the kindest in it’s simplicity… there is admiration everywhere.  So if you ever get down on the pace of your journey, think about the positives instead of lingering on the negatives.  You will get moving.  Life isn’t easy but it sure is magnificent.  A true gift, life is.

 

There is a reason for everything and we all have a purpose.  I might not have found mine yet, but I will continue to pour joy and happiness in my heart whenever it is thirsty.  And my friends… my heart will always be thirsty.  We can never give too much or too little.  But as long as we are giving, then we are fulfilling the desire to be better people and leaders not  just for ourselves, but for those around us who need inspiration and encouragement the most.  Happy Palm Sunday!

Are you ever hard on yourself for reasons which are out of your hands?  How do you cope with bumps in the road? 

 

Writing Captured by Life's Experiences

Today, while I was wrapping up one of the last chapters of my novel, I burst into tears.  It was the first time I had ever cried during a scene.  I saw one of my main characters as clear as day and felt his pain go straight through my own heart.  It was a pivotal and captivating moment for me; to say the least. 

As we grow within our writing and extend our fingers way past the comfort zones and strides of the keyboard, there is something spiritual which happens deep within our souls.  It’s almost as if we become frozen in time.  We melt away with all of the emotions we have created not only for our characters, but which have been flourishing from the valleys rooted beneath the surface.  Our writing forces us to venture to places where we never thought even existed within ourselves. 

 

A friend of mine passed away four years ago.  His 37th birthday would have been last February.  He had brain aneurism which suddenly burst out of nowhere, and he instantly fell into a coma.  His mother found him on the floor of the kitchen, soaking in his own vomit.  I wanted to be there for him as soon as he was admitted into the hospital, but my boss needed me that week and I couldn’t commute four hours each day for work.  As soon as the weekend arrived, I hopped in my car and went straight to pick up my sister and headed to the hospital.  I gave my friend, G, my favorite rosary which his mother left in his hands until he finally left our world for good later that evening. 

Can you believe it?  It was almost as if he had waited for me to get there so I could hold his hand one final time and speak to him before he passed on.  The monitor in the ICU kept making sounds whenever I got close to him and spoke.  I asked the nurse if this was normal and she said, “No,” and she believed he could hear us.  But truth be told, the doctors said he was brain dead and would never recover.  He died a few hours later; after my visit.

That moment right there; knowing I would never see my friend again nor have a second chance at continuing our love which was started when we were teenagers… that moment was engraved in a special part of my heart and will never disperse.  It has a certain rapture on my most kindred memories of the two of us together.  This doesn't necessarily mean I still love him the way I did when I was 16, 17 and 18 years old.  But it does mean I will always love the time we spent together and a rare companionship which lasted until the day he died. 

Why am I mentioning my first love, who was also a lifelong friend, and what does it have to do with my writing?  Everything. 

 

Letting my friend go was one of the hardest things I ever had to do in my life after I buried my Daddy C.  They were two people who loved and adored me; truly and unconditionally.  So when I had to say goodbye to someone in my novel, I felt those emotions rumbling in the depths of the deepest canyons of my soul.  I cried so much that I had to close the computer and run to Church.  I’ve learned the silence in prayer or the solace of an early morning on the beach can both help to sooth even my most dismal, sad and darkest thoughts. 

My friend would have been proud of the writer I’ve become and author I’m still aspiring to be.  I know he and my late father are looking down on me, weightlessly catching my tears as they stream down my curiously sad face.  But that is the thing we must always remember as creators, thinkers, mentors, writers, authors, etc.  We are still here, living and breathing and most importantly, curious… That waters may be shallow at times but on the other hand, they might also be ten thousand feet deep.  We have the opportunity to create the most epic and astounding reasoning; decorating this world with our imagination and endless thoughts. 

Sadly, some of our loved ones are no longer able to paint the world with us.  So now, when I get lost in a scene or drive my inner voice mad, angry or sullenly distraught, I tell myself that it is okay and I’m making something so beautiful, my Daddy C and my first love, G, are going to be proud of me today. 

Here’s looking at all of you, my fellow writers, family and friends, and wishing you an astounding week succumbed by a driving force so passionate, the keys on your laptop won’t know what hit them!

What has been the driving force or fuel in your life, blogs, writing and/or scenes? 

Your Soul Screams for Purpose

Last night, I had a dream and couldn't wait to blog about it.  My dream represented so many things going on in my life right now.  After some much needed reflection, I've decided to share my thoughts.  I apologize for dropping off the face of the planet, but I’ve been working on my novel which is in the final stages of the first draft.  Ahh… alas! I can breathe.

I have a dream journal which has been lacking entries since my work with children has picked up as well as my novel.  Honestly, my alarm goes off at 5am so instead of running toward my journal, I’m usually forcing myself to slowly rise from my bed and make my way toward the coffee pot like a groggily zombie.  Just so I have enough time to write or visit kids before the work day begins.   

Back to my dream.  It had to do with three of my favorite things; writing, fashion and religion.  Yep, all packaged and presented to me in one big fantasy.  There was me, as Carrie Bradshaw (of course), the actual “Mr. Big”, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte.  I was also being recruited amongst Maggie from the Walking Dead, my ex-boyfriend from college who was posing as Glenn (yes, my ex was, too, Korean) and we were all in this big building with many stairs leading up to some higher power.  The strange thing was that certain people had the capability of floating or flying up instead of using the stairs.  I was one of them.  Mostly everyone else, including my ex, had to use the stairs.  When I was asked how I was able to fly, my reply was simple... or simple to the version of “me” in my dream.  “The happier and more awakened your spirit it, the more inclined will be to fly.” 

 

Simple enough and back to real life.  I took this theme to be as we are all humans having three power cords within us; our mind, our heart, and low and behind, our soul.  It’s obvious what we do to feed our minds and heart.  But the question is… How do we feed our soul?  Mmm.

There was also a part where I (Carrie) was pissed off at Big for standing me up at an elegant ball which I was dressed impeccably for.  I had a scarlet pink dress on which was blazing with fiery dowry.  My long, silken and wavy hair fell down to both my neck and breast and was laced in golden and brown locks.  Beauty and perfection all wrapped into one.  Well, after the ball ended and I was standing there utterly alone, I decided to run through the dark, heightened cold streets of Manhattan in my Manolo BIahnik six inch heels, searching for Big.  When I finally found him walking with some of his business partners, I asked, “What kind of man stands someone up at a ballroom?”  His answer was simple enough; “I forgot.”  Then, in true Carrie and Big fasion, he wisped me away with his handsome demeanor and infectious charm. 

All of the sudden, on our walk home together, Pope Francis was walking by accompanied by his six priestly body guards.  I asked Big to stop them so I could ask the Pope for his blessing.  Big stood there in awe and couldn’t mustard up the courage to approach him so I did.  When his gang let their guard down, he approached me and put his hand upon my head and then over my heart.  He told me I was being blessed and I should keep moving forward with my journey.  I was as happy as the morning sun returning from her glorious adventures while we lay lost in our dreams.

 

I took this as two separate entities... One; my connection to New York City was still trying to make its way back into my writing.  (My second novel will be based out of Manhattan) and two; our spirit needs to be spoiled with endless inspiration and higher knowledge in order to grow closer toward the destiny of where our paths will eventually lead us.  And I’m not just saying this for shits and giggles.  I believe in dreams because they have the power to connect us with our psyches as well as the energy of other human beings and passed loved ones. 

And what was even more astounding was that on this very day, I was supposed to have been at a Pagan shop looking for vitality to feed my soul with one of my besties.  She’s been there for me through thick and thin and during my socialite climbing and crumbling years as a teenager and college attendee in New York City. 

Well, we had agreed to go to this Wiccan store to look for some books, candles and anything else which would awaken the positive energy we knew needed some jerking around deep within.  Can you believe this?  I was so psyched to go to this store and then low and behind, the Pope who lives halfway across the planet, decides to visit me in my dream and tell me “I am blessed and my journey will find its own path.”  I don’t know about you, but I read this whole experience as, “Girl, sit your Godly butt behind and mediate with your higher power if its guidance and energy you seek.  But leave that Wiccan store alone.”

Not to judge or say there is anything wrong with Wiccan ways.  I will probably still go someday with my friend just to check it out because I love learning about other religions and spiritual reflections.  But for now, it is simply not my thing.  Pope Francis flooded me with assurance as I have been tossing and turning in woe and worry; trying to swim my way through a boundless sea of “what ifs” and “where do I go from heres.”   

We all have a purpose here and sadly for most, they never reach that purpose.  A few weeks ago, I had been working with elementary kids at a very low-income school in one of the poorest cities in New Jersey.  My aunt is a teacher there; not because she needs the job, but because she loves the children who attend this school. 

From the outside, there are tall fences guarding the kids as they play on the small, worn down playground.  Walking into the school, my heart sunk to my shoes as I read a huge banner which said, “Reading is Better Than Being in a Gang.”  The decrepit and dilapidated walls are decorated with paintings, artwork, and stories the children have produced to hide any of the sadness and pain which resides in the city surrounding them.  I have to admit; I was afraid and nervous about meeting these students.  But from the moment I observed my aunt speaking with them, I felt an incredibly warm toughness collide and conquer the aching pain slowly protruding from my soul.

After one day of working with these unbelievably talented and sweet kids, I understood why she chose to work there.  Whether or not she understood that this was her purpose and a place where her soul felt inclined to be… well that was up to her.  But standing there, behind my aunt, as the kids rushed up with excitement and stories, I stood there as another spirit, observing the POWER of finding one’s PURPOSE. 

Sadly, my aunt is very sick.  She was recently diagnosed with bone cancer and has already battled breast cancer eight years ago.  My aunt is a fighter which is why she is still working now with those kids who desperately need someone like her to look up to for hope, knowledge and kinship.  When I saw her at the school, I saw how frail and delicate her illness had progressed to.  I couldn’t even recognize her at first because she blended in with the rest of the elementary kids; like she had shrunk down to this flower which was slowing fading away amongst the others who were now growing taller than her.  It broke my heart as my tears shattered against my face.  She kept this hidden from me up until the day of my visit so I was able to concentrate and give good presentations.  My aunt defines purpose and her legacy will be something for everyone to live up to.

When purpose meets the soul, the outcome can be contagious.  I’ve seen this with my mother when she finally met death and consequently, instead of taking her life, it breathed a new one into her empty soul.  She was given a purpose on her deathbed and now she is able to help others who are struggling to stay sober or waiting for liver transplants.  My aunt’s purpose is to give those kids hope every single day they walk through those heavy, dismal school doors.  And my purpose… well, it’s in my hands now but I think I’m heading down the right path.  My soul is constantly craving its final destination but now I know, with the help and assurance of my higher power, it will find its home.

If you haven’t already done so, find a purpose.  And make it so big and infectious that everyone will look up to you in respect, guidance and awe.  Become someone’s hero or make another person’s day and keep paying it forward.  Every time a child tells me how much they have enjoyed my stories or presence, it truly tickles my soul.  And each morning when I wake up, fresh and clear minded, I know my day will have meaning.  I might not always have good days, but any day is better than waking up, knowing death is not knocking on my door.  I can’t imagine how my aunt must feel or how my own mother felt when she was desperately ill.  But they are two of the strongest women I’ve known.  And honestly, their legacy will always give my soul the drive to keep attaining its final purpose and destination. 

Do you feel like you have found your purpose in life?  Or have you ever gone through an experience or experiences which have helped you realize what you are truly passionate about?

 

 

Memories Upon Musings Help Sharpen the Soul

Have you ever touched upon a memory but no longer felt the same way you did when you first created it?  It’s like walking into an ambush of previously conceived thoughts as they erode above the mind and pour over into the summits of your heart; sort of how Mount Vesuvius's wrath wiped out the cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum.

 

After you shake hands with your memory and begin to embrace the familiarity of the notions which beam off of it, you are more disposed to get to know it all over again.  Only this time, things are much different because either you have changed, the memory has faded away a bit, or the memory itself has changed.  At least, this is what happened to me on a recent trip I took which left me bumping into some friends from my past. 

It had been a couple years since we all last collided but at one time in our lives, my mother and I were very close to these people.  I mean, as close as you can possibly get with waitresses, chefs, hosts, hostesses, etc. who have grown to appreciate and look forward to your company.  For most people, they don’t really strike up the desire or need to befriend those who are providing them with services.  However, my mother and I are far from being like most people.  We enjoy conversations and reaching out toward others.  Lately, it’s been a lot of reaching out.

 

But there used to be circumstances where we depended on the livelihood and vitality we surrendered to when it came to talking to people and drinking those all too familiar alcoholic beverages.  Gina; meet Dirty martini.  Dirty martini; meet Gina.  The two infuse to produce… BANG!  Illicit conversations, ego-boosting attempts at being the life of the party and a generosity which would only leave both my wallet and dignity empty by the end of the night.

This place we found our souls getting lost in as well our self-respect becoming buried knee deep in drunken stupors and going as far as those wooden paddle balls is known as Atlantic City.  It was our second home for over a decade; a free abode by the sea if you will.  This home was free in the sense that we threw thousands of dollars away each year in slot machines and roulette tables to keep our beach house afloat.   

 

However, now that my mother and I have been sober for two years, visiting Atlantic City was a whole different ball game.  One of the main reasons is... ding, ding, ding, ding, ding! You nailed it!  We no longer drink.  And when you don’t drink, there is hardly anything else to do unless you venture down toward the beach.  Obviously, this gal isn’t ready for beach combing season just yet since we are only smack dab in the middle of old man Winter. 

My mother and I wanted to see some of the old “crew” we used to sit and waste away countless hours of mindless talks with.  Don't get me wrong; at the time, we probably thought we were embarking on some legit ideas... like hover ground sneakers or opening up a half Columbian and half Chinese restaurant; no joke.  As we walked through the golden gates... I mean doors, to the good old diamond club (this is an elite membership which entitles you to eat and drink as much as you want for free as long as you spend at least 12Gs a year) my memories felt so familiar and yet, completely strange; all at the same time.

One of our favorite waitresses who I will refer to as Blondie walked past my mother and me twice without even recognizing us.  Now, we haven’t visited the club in over two years, but her not being able to tell who we were at first sent chills up and down my spine.  Were my mother and I really this unrecognizable now?  Had our image changed that much since Blondie last saw us? 

 

I couldn’t believe it either.

After we had explained everything my mother had been through before and after her liver transplant, Blondie confided in us how her daughter, who is only 21 years old, is currently suffering from liver damage due to alcohol and drug abuse.  She said her daughter is so far gone that she now has custody of her daughter’s four year old son.  Blondie further went on to tell us how she lost her ex-husband from alcoholic cirrhosis eight years ago.  My mother and I couldn’t believe the news she had unfolded for us that day.  The thing which blew me away the most was that after all this time, almost a decade to be exact, of knowing Blondie, not once did we ever hear about how sick her husband or daughter had been.  We also didn’t know that Blondie was a struggling alcoholic herself who has been sober for 10 years.

Were we really this loud before?  Had alcohol numbed our ability to cope and understand what was going on in the real world?  You bet your ass it did.  That is the thing about alcohol.  It looks all fancy when it’s dressed up in sparkly round wine glasses and most thirst quenching in those tall and frosted pints and beer mugs.  But they don’t advertise the adverse effects of alcohol; now do they?  Nope.  And even worse, we have people like Hoda and Kathie Lee glorifying it every single morning as we tune into their 10am talk show. 

 

After rekindling the lost memories and making some new sober ones with our old friends, I decided to go for a run overlooking the bay of the casino.  I had a beautiful view and even though it looked the same, it couldn’t have been more different than anything I had seen or experienced before.  There was no drunken sweat running down from my forehead and seeping toward my drenched, wet and rancid chest.  There was no feeling of numbing thoughts bouncing from the waves of my stride only to go as far as the statute of limitations alcohol once limited everything to.  It was different in a way which left me completely and utterly wide awake.  The alertness scared me because I was ashamed of all of the wasted time I had once spent thinking I knew everything when clearly, I didn’t have a clue. 

I’m sure by now, you have all heard that Philip Seymour Hoffman passed away this past Saturday from a drug overdose.  He was only 46 years old and sadly, another human being whose imprint on this world was stolen away by the effects of addiction.  I’m not here to preach; however, if I can teach someone something by showing from example, the battle is half won.  I might not be able to change the world but if one person gets it, then my musings are never wasted.  And I can thank my own current state of being for all of the writing I have returned to which I left shortly after I graduated college. 

 

I currently rely on my memories to keep me straight and aloft as I continue to grow not only as a writer, but as a human being.  I’m concentrating on my children’s work, a novel, and most importantly, trying to remind those who are struggling we don’t have to let our past define us by allowing our memories to become permanent handicaps.  When we are awake, everything is anew.  The world is filled with endless opportunities so make this day and every day yours.  Own it like you do all of those memories; the good and the bad.  Bad memories can often turn into something good because they become the soul-purpose for us to want to be better people; not just for ourselves but for others to watch, observe, and strive to be like.

And remember; just because something is advertised doesn’t make it right.  So less drinking wine with Kathie Lee and Hoda while ironing and more focusing on why you are here and how you can contribute to becoming a part of this once in a lifetime chance to actually be ALIVE. 

 

Fruit Stands, Cheese Steaks, and Snow Crystals

When I was a child, my Daddy C owned a fruit stand on one of the busier, main roads in South Philly.  It was just steps away from where the famous shots of Rocky Balboa would run through the streets… inspiring bystanders by his perseverance and dedication to become a machine.  A machine that would train so hard he could knock almost any man off of his ostensibly righteous feet; fighting for the one big title that would set him apart from all of the rest. 

 

Daddy C didn’t like to fight and he surely didn’t look kindly upon us arguing or making a big fuss as kids.  And what parent does, right?  To keep a close eye out on us, he would bring my sister and me to work with him.  I remember working at his fruit stand, right off of Broadway and across from my Uncle Nikki’s cheese steak shop and restaurant.  As a ten year old girl, I’d much rather had been sitting on one of those circular, metal stools, spinning round and round, listening to my Uncle Nikki’s seemingly interesting and entertaining whales of stories than working the fruit stand.  As much as I loved my Daddy C, I’d take the smell of cheese steaks and meatball parmesan sandwiches over the fragrances of old ladies and men who took their time looking over the fruit at my father’s stand. 

 

I remember how exceedingly long it would take Dad’s customers to pick out their own fruit; how each person would grab an apple or pick up a pear and make sure there were no signs of rotting or unnecessary scratches on them.  I would just stand there, staring off into the places beyond the fruit stand, trying to imagine a life or a story beyond the streets of Philadelphia.  As my mind would begin to wonder off, the smells of the city folk, smoke and loud unforgettable shouts between my father and the construction workers or pizza shop owners and police would quickly remind me where I was.  At that time, I didn’t care much at all for the fruit stand.  My, how your heart changes with the delicacy and fondness of your memories as they grow and transform with you. 

 

During the winter time, it was a bit too harsh outside for us to be working all day with my dad.  Since my mother was divorced from him at the time and living with my step-father in Jersey, Daddy C would have to watch us on his own while we visited.  My Uncle Nikki’s cheese steak and sub shop was located right across the street from the fruit stand.  I recall some of my most kindred memories as a child there was being watched and cared for by my Aunt Roe.  Her real name was Aunt Rose but Aunt Roe suited her personality and loud and wild character.   

My Aunt Roe had an alluring way about her with her charming but vicious personality and hard yet strikingly beautiful face.  She had struggled with drugs and alcohol since she was a teenager but those demons never separated her from the love she was capable of giving to us and her own children.   My Aunt Roe never have much, money wise, and had lots of mouths to feed.  She was the mother of four at the time and three more would come later, after my days with Daddy C would soon end. 

My father was her little brother and favorite at that.  When he died, I can’t tell you how much his death affected her.  She was never the same without him in her life and to this day, she still isn’t.  My sister and I were always Aunt Roe’s pride and joy because her brother was irreplaceable to her.  It’s almost as if we still resemble the remains of him which she would never get back because of his death.

 

On days where the cold was just too severe for us to be outside with Daddy C, Aunt Roe would bring one of her many jugs of change over to Uncle Nikki’s restaurant.  The three of us would sit there on the cold, silver restaurant stools and count my Aunt Roe’s change on the long counter located in front of his sub shop.  There was no television by the counter or stereo so this was the perfect excuse for my Uncle Nikki to go on about the history of the world or the legacy built behind the stars in the sky. 

I remember thinking how smart my Uncle Nikki was… like he should have been a history professor or some museum tour guide instead of an Italian cheese steak and sub shop owner.  He always had this laugh and jolliness about him.  And he told his stories with his hands like many Italians do.  I can still see him, standing behind the counter in his white t-shirt and jeans, shaking his hands around, helping out the other customers sitting at the counter while telling his nieces these epic tales of discovery and history; taking us back in time and to far off places other than the cold, winter streets of Philadelphia.

 

As my Uncle Nikki would tell us his tales, we would count the change my Aunt Roe carried around with her in her jug.  My Aunt Roe may have been a struggling addict but she respected her brother enough to pay for our meals whenever she would babysit us.  So there we were, sitting up on the restaurant stools, counting change to pay for our cheese steaks or meatball subs, and listening to Uncle Nikki go on about how snow crystals form or how General Sir William Howe was successful in driving General George Washington out of New York City throughout the winter months of 1777 during the American Revolutionary War.

Aloft in the clouds, water vapor chills enough that its molecules cling together in tight order to form crystals.  Differences in humidity and temperature cause crystals to diversify into fantastically branched stars, divided prisms, needles and other forms.  At just below freezing, the sides of a crystal expand faster than the top and bottom, promoting flat plate shapes. At lower temperatures, between 14 and 27 degrees, crystals tend to stretch into needles or solid prism shapes. Increasing humidity leads to more branching. The growth mode can switch back and forth as temperature and humidity change, shifting the shape at every step… quite magnificent, no?

 

Just like these intricately woven snow crystals, we as human beings, are elaborately pieced together by the biological bonds and formulas in science from the inside and out.  Not only do our bodies change or conform to what we choose to put inside of them but our growth, both intellectually and spiritually, is affected by either a learned homeostasis or an eruption in the our behavioral pattern caused by bad choices such as the wrong diet, excess drinking, not exercising, too much tanning, overmedicating, etc.  We have the choices and capabilities to take what God has created, just like the snow crystals, and allow them to branch out toward things like our health, dreams and goals or falter like withering flowers and the melting snow.

A few months ago, I told you how my mother’s new liver would eventually fail on her due to complications in the flow of blood from the ducts in the liver to the rest of her organs.  These ducts would continuously get clogged, forming abscesses on the new liver.  She knew this and even though this news was handed down to her, her will to get better and persevere presented new conditions surrounding her blood flow and body.  This past Friday, when she left the doctor’s office for a routine exam, she called me to deliver some incredible and what had once seemed to be, impossible news.  Her liver had formed brand new ducts on its own so the blood flow could create a level of homeostasis in her body.  We had again, witnessed another miracle. 

The body, like those same snow crystals my Uncle Nikki once told us about, can either melt or fade away because of the affects of outside changes… or it can branch out and flourish by the surroundings and positive attitudes we choose to create for ourselves.  Our bodies are accompanied by all of the organs and millions of tiny, immaculate parts; therefore creating these snow crystals of feelings, emotions, memories, good and bad health, sense of being and belonging…everything.  We are all of this and more, and the mind and heart are capable of making endless changes.  The only limits we have are the ones we set for ourselves. 

So please… never give up on anything without a positive mindset and willingness to fight for what is rightfully yours:  good heath, happiness, understanding and knowledge, and most importantly, the gift of forming your own masterfully constructed snow crystals.