“The Entire British Museum Is An Active Crime Scene” - John Oliver

The Void is watching.

“Sorry I’m late guys, a black cat crossed my path so I had to go the long way.”

— Hatake Kakashi

During the most poor and homeless period of my life, I had a lot of people get angry with me because I spent $25 on Bath and Body Works candles during a sale. They couldn’t comprehend why the hell I would do that when I had been fighting for months to try and get us on our feet, afford food, and have an apartment to live in.

Those candles were placed beside wherever I slept that night. In the morning, I would move them and set them wherever I’d have to hang out. At one point I carried one around in my purse - one of those big honking 3-wick candles. I never lit them, but I’d open them and smell them a lot.

I credit that purchase with a lot of my drive that got me to where I am today. I had been working tirelessly, 15+ hour days with barely any reward, constantly on the phone or trying to deal with organizations and associations to “get help at”. It’d gone on for almost a year by the end of it, and I was so burnt out, to the point that I would shake 24/7. But I could get a bit of relief from my 3-wick “upper middle class lifestyle” candles. They represented my future goals, my home I wanted to decorate, and how I would one day not be in this mess anymore.

When we moved into the apartment, and our financial status improved, I burned those candles every single day. When they were empty, I cleaned them out, stuck labels on them, and they became the starting point of my really cute organization system I had ALWAYS planned to have.

So whenever I hear about someone very poor getting themselves a treat - maybe it’s Starbucks, maybe it’s a home deco item, maybe it’s a video game… I don’t judge them. I get it. I get that you can’t go without anything for that long without it making you go crazy. You need to pull some joy, inspiration, and motivation from somewhere.

That feeling when you just wanna read a story that hasn't been written.

Like I know I gotta write it, but I just wanna read it, you know? I have the energy to envision it every waking moment of my day, but sitting down and actually writing it?

No thank you.

advice from dad

So, my Dad is a 73-year-old Mexican man who has lived here since he was 16. He was in Watts during the riots in 1965; in 1992, when I was in LA, as soon as the Rodney King verdict was announced, he called me, told me what was coming, told me how to stay safe. He has survived horrible living conditions, being kidnapped, physical abuse, prejudice, discrimination. He learned English, got his green card, pays his taxes, works hard, and has three daughters. 

I thought he would be devastated today.

But he wasn’t.

He saw that I was sad and angry, and he asked me why, pretending he had no idea. I almost started crying. And then he said, “no se me chicopale.” 

It means, don’t lose heart. Don’t give in to despair.

I asked him why he wasn’t upset.

He said, basically, “The world has always been this way. There are always people who are afraid, who are racist, who are awful. This is not new. And it will never go away. He won. We can’t do anything about that. All we can do is what we can do. Fight for what matters to us. Take care of each other. And don’t lose heart. And here, I got these unsalted cashews for you and a bag of jamaica drink mix and can you show me how to use the new washing machine because it’s not working.”

And, for reasons I can’t articulate, I feel a little better. 

ARE YOU TODAY’S DATE?

BECAUSE YOURE 10/10

Jason Todd and his parents that failed him.