pump your breaks.

most people can remember a point in their lives where they left their childhood behind, no turning back. innocence was a recent memory and somehow unappealing because you're eager to explore what you had yet to be exposed to all those years. we're all in a hurry to grow up, to not be treated as a child and know everything there is to know about the world.

it happens all at once, so while you're leaving everything for everything, the transition is altogether exhilarating. in fact you don't really notice there was one until look back. ah, the power of self-reflection. you forget your childhood dreams as the expectations set in. your dreams are suddenly implausible, and you scramble to find society's highest regarded profession.

i didn't have time to dream. reality stuck them somewhere in the back of my mind.

i've always prided myself in having always been imaginative, creative, artistic, athletic, as well as the countless other things your parents simply marvel about. and somehow i'm afraid that my dreams were dictated by them. i can tell you right now i've always wanted to be gorgeous- a model actually. that's how the photoshoots began. i would have killed to be popular, and in high school it happened, sure enough. i wanted to be mia hamm, although i would have been thrilled with any professional athlete. to this day whenever i put headphones in and listen to music that can be remotely classified as "motivational", i picture myself in a sports movie, usually soccer. i've dreamt of being famous since i can remember. if modelling or professional sports didn't work out, i'd write my own autobiography. not so much for the money, but because i love the sound [not literally, i'm rather annoyed by it] of my own voice. things i've kept either hidden or only a select people know about me would finally be out on the open, and to the entire world at that. i'd rather have you know and judge me than for you to think i'm someone i'm not or to not understand why i am the way i am. most people who would read it wouldn't even know me, but after, they would. i would have loved to be a mermaid if i could have been anything in the world. they're beautiful [well, i would have been had i gotten my way], can breathe underwater, swim really fast, have long flowing hair... unfortunately i have just defined myself as a victim of fantasy.

i lived in one among the comforts of my imagination and backyard until my sophomore year of high school, a few months before i started driving. when my focus drifted to my social life, my imagination left me. no longer was it socially acceptable to "play make believe" anymore for hours with your younger siblings, although i could play for hours on end with mine. i was thrusted into the mature world where becoming popular- no, even acknowledged by a guy- became an obsession. my best friend moved back to australia and a new one would be my roommate in college. my relationship faded with my sisters more quickly than i could realize, and i stopped at nothing to get what, or who, i wanted. i taught myself not to feel anything i didn't want to, so my parents' anguish in my declining moral state was disregarded as a petty annoyance, my sisters, unnoticed, and guys who hooked up with me and then someone else, simply part of the game, and with a smile on my face the entire time. people come and go without a second glance, and i had no intention of pursuing one unsolicited.

i was the definition of a badass. my dream morphed from being famous to invincible. i know it's still in there somewhere, that little speck of vulnerability. i wouldn't be writing at all if there wasn't. now if someone could please take me back to my backyard and give me a soccer ball and jersey with the number 9 on it and some headphones, that'd be sweet, thanks.

thank you, king midas.

i've never been particularly skilled in the sleeping arena. my mind races as soon as my head hits the pillow, usually about when the reverberations of my actions will hit me and how pleasant that moment in life will be. who i will still be friends with after graduation and how i can count them on one hand, my obsession with diving into the career world head first and never looking back. you know, the fun stuff.

i want to read more. i'm on spring break right now and i'm on my second 700 page book by john grisham. law subjects and other legal matters have always intrigued me for some reason, and i read ridiculously fast, so it's worked out well thus far. working out is also something that has plummeted dramatically on my priority list. my greed and insatiable need to be busy keep working nearly full-time at number one, school at a close second, my brief social encounters at third and anything i can justify as a priority fills every spot above working out somehow. as someone who thrives on motivation through fear of failing, you'd think i'd get it together. people who have time to get it together aren't busy enough.

i'm beyond tired of the northwest. i finally got to leave the city of seattle for the first time in 3 months when my roommate whitney and i drove down to portland to fly down to hermosa beach to get away. i hate not having a car to hop into whenever i need space and just go. instead i sit cooped up in an apartment i loathe or in the stark white, windowless room that is the computer lab at the art center and just listen to music. my schedule this quarter will be busier than last quarter though, so i'll have plenty of time to continue my streak of bad sleeping and eating habits, avoid home, and simply make money.

"life isn't just about money."

tell that to someone who doesn't have it, or isn't generous, and you'll suddenly realize that you have no work ethic, have never had to worry about money because it's there, or simply have not begun to fathom the future of their independent financial status- if it will even be independent. i'm not really sure why that phrase just rubs me the wrong way, but it does. obviously money can't literally buy happiness: a car, plane, boat, mansion.. but if i'm in my 30's and someone in my family or whoever is completely broke, i will be able to help them out, and that will make me happy. my grandpa didn't pay 30 grand a year for me to not amount to anything because i simply don't believe in money. money is not unethical, it's a product of ethics actually. not the root of all evil, evil can grow from nothing and as a result of a lack of money. i'm going to be doing something i want to do, and in excess. enough of the partying like i'm a sophomore in high school, i'm getting more and more over it the more that i go to, and as i should be, in my opinion. 

save money, reach goals. it doesn't take a self-help book to figure it out. get more internships to gain experience and contacts, work your ass off so you can say you actually earned something in life.

don't get me wrong, i can be the laziest person ever- ask the people i suggest working out with. and say i got fat. i mean huge. but i was happy because i wasn't stressing over looking like a model or the people on the cover of cosmo. i ate what i wanted and damnit, i didn't need some anorexic introducing me to the endless flavor of celery sticks. well guess what, eventually the youthful metabolism shuts off completely and eventually the fact that i'm fat and happy really doesn't matter because guess what, i can't lift my arm to pick up my tri-daily milkshake. welcome back to the real world, where as you're 'happy', you're completely useless. because you lack the resources- besides your amiable demeanor and fuzzy warm heart- to effectively help someone close to you. why? because happiness doesn't usually cover a new car engine, a new washer and dryer, or unexpected debt. money does. and prayer, but i firmly believe that God helps those who help themselves. 

a long-winded and rather choppy metaphor, i know, but isn't everything on here?

empty swing in manitou park, pt. II.

i would give anything to go back to that day, two summers ago and sit on that very swing at manitou park. for i sat down with every intention of getting back up the same person- with my head held high and a smile across my face, no matter how it got there. i felt a tug on my shirt and turned to see a little girl, not more than three staring up at me the biggest eyes i'd ever seen.

my whole life, i have always gotten along beautifully with children. i've been able to play with them, discipline them, and especially love them. i first started babysitting when i was 12, watching kids as little as 3 and as old as 8. as i grew older, my so did my responsibilities. soon i was one of three people in charge of 150 kids for 8 hours a day. i was 15. when basketball season started my sophomore year in high school, one of my coaches brought her daughter, yasmeen, to practice every day who had just turned 2 years old. one day i asked her if she wanted to play basketball with me. by the time we had our first game, she told her mom that i was her best friend, and would ask me every day if she could 'come at my house', and every day, she did. when the basketball guys would come and get me in a headlock or the random even that i would date someone occured, she hated them. when they touched me she would scream that i was her best friend, and she could ask them if they could hold my hand or hug me. yasmeen would try and follow me out on the court when the game would start, and she came to every one. i almost trampled her several times on a fast break. she was 2 back then. we still talk on the phone to this day.

fast forward to august 2007.

"c'you poosh me?"

how could i not? i stood up, and lifted her up and onto the baby swing next to me and began to gently push her back and forth. she squealed, hardly unable to breathe besides telling me to go higher and higher. she leaned forward as far as she could without tumbling forward, reaching for the ground racing beneath her. i walked around so i was standing in front of her so i could watch her. she looked exactly like yasmeen, and she acted a little like her too. some of the other kids wanted to be pushed, and when i would alternate, she would glare at them, only to look back at me and say "i fought you poosh me?" i smiled, continuing to push her.

i talked to her, asking her her name. it was kayvon. i asked her how old she was. she forcefully held up three fingers and yelled "free!", and as i began to look around, i began to wonder who she was with. i had thought it rather odd that she just randomly walked up to me in the first place, but that was almost an hour ago. i slowed her wing down and asked her where her mommy was. she smiled and asked me to go higher. "mommy's in hostipal. her foot broke."

"who are you here with baby girl?"

"auntie. and gamma."

"where are they?"

she looked around for a second, her eyes scanning the park. my heart was racing.
"oh no," she sighed dramatically heavily. "they left me again."

my heart still raced, but this time with fury. i told her to hold on as i walked 20 feet over to my aunt, telling her that this beautiful little girl everyone had noticed i was bonding with was actually left here, completely alone. i began to get frantic the more i told her, but i never took my eyes off of her, staring back at me in confusion the whole time.

my aunt walked over with me as did several other people who overheard me, clearly not okay, express serious concern. i walked up to her first, and kayvin just looked at me. then she noticed the other people walking up too, and when she swayed towards me, she reached out and grabbed my hand, clutching onto it for dear life it seemed. my heart was breaking.

i knelt down, trying to keep all the rage inside of me towards whoever left her at a park where there had been 2 shootings only months before, and not only that, but who hadn't noticed by now. "kayvon, honey, what's your auntie's name?" she tugged on my hand, reminding me she was still in a swing and, in case i forgot, that meant for me to push her. my aunt tried, then someone else. she squeezed my hand and pulled her swing closer to me and started to whine, reaching out with her other hand to be picked up. i took her into my arms and she buried her face in my shoulder, and sobbed.

people crowded around her as i begged for them to leave. she was now the 'lost girl' and everyone had to have their crack at her. as if i wasn't infuriated enough, trying to keep it together telling people nicely to please get the fuck away was torture. i walked off by myself, only allowing my aunt to come with me. she called the police as i tried to get any information out of her as i could. i held her against my chest for 2 hours, trying to be something she could depend on to be there, someone who just loved her. and i did.

the police finally came. he got out of his car, walked straight up to me and reached out for her. she screamed. i stepped back, "what are you doing? she's terrified and doesn't know you." i wanted to lunge at him. he paused, stared at me, probably thought i was crazy as my aunt interjected, telling him the story. he didn't stop looking at me for a while until finally it was just awkward to not make eye contact with my aunt since she was talking to him anyway. when she finished, he asked me what i knew. hesitantly, i gave him the information i had managed to get from kayvon, who surprisingly knew her aunt's full name.

another hour passed as he tried to get a hold of her aunt and grandma. he finally did. her mother had been in a car accident the night before, pushing kayvon in a stroller across tacoma avenue on her way to pik up heroin. the car had missed the stroller by a foot. custody was transferred to her grandma that night. her aunt and cousin had met the two of them at the park earlier that day, communication got messed up and both left assuming the other party had her. the officer asked her grandma if she had noticed she was gone, or even called her aunt to chekc on her. she hadn't.

the cop walked slowly over to me, cautiously as to not scare her, and pulled a dora the explorer sticker from his pocket and showed it to kayvon. she wiped her nose with her entire arm, reached out and took it. she handed it to me with a huge smile and pointed to her chest. i slowly peeled it off and stuck it on her little pink shirt. kayvon beamed at me proudly.

the cop touched her elbow and said it was time to go and she needed to go with him, that he was going to take her to grandma's house. i froze, staring in disbelief at him. he was going to take her right back to the crazy old hag who left her here in the first place. my eyes darted over to my aunt, insisting that she tell him off. she shook her head no in warning. i made kayvon look me in the eye and told her she needed to go with the sticker man and he was going to take her back to grandma's house.

"c'you come wif me?" i died a little bit.

"no baby, i have to stay here."

she stopped, looking at her sticker. "okay."

the cop reach out and took her, setting her down in the front seat and buckling her in. no car seat, nothing. this cop was an idiot. he pulled away and i could see her strain her neck up so she could watch as they drove away. i waved until i couldn't see her anymore. when they pulled out, i turned around silently, and began to walk away. my aunt caught up with me.
"mames, how you doin baby love?" her hand rested on my shoulder.

i collapsed to the ground, convulsing as i cried the hardest i can remember. she knelt down and held me clsoe to her, telling me how proud she was of me and that God put me here so she could find me, not just anyone. me. all i remember saying repeatedly was that i couldn't fathom how that happens, how someone could leave a CHILD. fuck with anyone dude, seriously, but kids? that's what gets me absolutely irate. they're completely helpless, especially at 3 years old? my heart completely broke that day, for the first time, and it hasn't broke since. that day, in manitou park, for a child.

what i would give to be able to break like that again.

eye of the storm.

icy wind beat against my thin sweatshirt that was two sizes too small. my legs, having long given up trying to fit inside, were tucked right up against my chest as i hugged them as tightly as i could. i buried my face in the crook of my arm, and sobbed.

i have not slept at all in 28 hours, and only 8 hours in the past 3 days. i don't know why i cried, or why i did so hard. day old mascara covers my sleeves, and the whites of my eyes look the same tint of blood red that they did the day i came home from surgery, and my chest feels as if it's going to cave in. the cashier from 7eleven recommended that i upgrade from a starbucks double shot to a 5 hour energy shot. i regretfully declined.

it's time for me to rest. to REALLY rest. i just don't know if i know how. so close to the edge,

'but good times gonna come. it's gonna be, a bright, beautiful day. good times gonna come.'

leather interior.

i'm not really sure why i sit for hours on end in this stark white room, staring blankly at a screen with whatever music playing in the background to help make the experience more enjoyable. i really just want to drive. i want an adrenaline rush even though it's been weeks since i've slept more than 6 hours in one night. i want to sit in the drivers' seat, press the accelerator as far down as i can with the windows down and the sunroof pulled back. i want my hair to blow in every possible direction so when i finally run out of gas it looks like i've gone to the beach daily without showering for weeks. over-sized sunglasses prevent my eyes from watering, as my heart continues to beat to the rhythm of the bass surging from the speakers. i want to just ride in silence- in a constant state of contradiction, with so much going on around me as i sit peacefully, uninterrupted and perfectly content in my state of horizontal free fall.

anticipation. i wish i knew to when anticipate; i simply expect.

i am contradiction defined. i want to work my life away, 70+ hours a week, without another peer pressure to touch me. i never want my friends to leave my side, or to not include me. i view my life from a 3rd person perspective , because then 1st person me never feels the emotional repercussions i would bring upon myself. they're somehow blocked out by logic before it even has a chance to hit me; yet i still manage to touch it. i can grasp it, but it doesn't get through. i just continue on in a free fall.

eventually the ground will come to a sudden end as i press the pedal down an extra centimeter, just for that last push. the wheels continue to accelerate even though there is nothing beneath them. you will tell me over and over again that they're not doing anything, to just take my foot off of the damn pedal. i will, as i continue forward and the car begins to fall downward, lifting me up off of the seat, my hands meeting the roof of the car, eyes closed. no anticipating the impact, simply expecting the free fall to end at some point. there are always forks in the road. mine simply don't connect my paths. i'm jolted back into grabbing the wheel. the car drives differently on each road, it's just a matter of adjusting each time.