Rings, Rainbows & Mosquitoes

(re-posted from Facebook on June 9th, 2011)

…and as I lay me down to sleep, one of the thoughts going through my head is the rainbow that seemed to have been following us the entire day.

Today, June 9th, 2011 is the day that I decided to make a few changes in my life. Like most changes, this one had been a long time coming. I can’t really pinpoint the exact date, but trust me when I say, it’s been stewing in my brain for quite a while. Thoughts of uncertainty danced with notions of self-doubt. All that jazz.

As it goes, it started out rather normally. I’ve been at the point where I wanted to  just pop the questions already. I went through a number of opportunities too! Man, my thoughts were touching the sky and stretching the walls. In the five days that we have been here in Trinidad, I’ve thought about proposing on maybe seven different occasions. Mountaintops, hilltops, wake-up surprises and radio station shout-outs were a few of the ideas that raced through my mind.

My original plan was to do…something.

Yeah. I didn’t really have much of a plan. I had a whole playlist/mixtape set up, but I didn’t even know when I was going to use it. I was going into this thing with my finger on the safety, waiting for the right moment.

By the way, if you don’t know me, know that I LOVE surprises. Even moreso, I love surprises that are  executed well. So this was rather important for me.

Waking up from a night at the Cara Suites in St. Margaret’s, I had a chat with my dad on the balcony of our room. He had been asking me for the past few days what my plan was. After revealing to him the enjoyable fact that I didn’t really have a plan, he asked me the question that seems to encourage many delayed adolescents into action.

“What are you waiting for?”

Hmm.

Of course I had to ask myself that questions a few different times. What I waiting for, really? Here we were, in a beautiful hotel, in beautiful weather, with a beautiful view, with a beautiful Woman of God, with a beautiful ring…what was I waiting for? Regis Philbin?

(Enter Grown Man Moment #571 of the year)

So. I decided, after praying with my father that I would do it today. Still not sure how, but I knew that we wouldn’t be leaving the hotel as boyfriend and girlfriend again.

After retrieving Brittney from her room down the hall, we went to breakfast (after a quick little prank from my dad), feasting on scrambled eggs, fresh coconut bake, corned beef hash with hot tea and orange juice. We made some small talk at the table, but my mind was racing at a speed that made the Indy 500 look like a neighborhood relay race. And the same question kept popping up, the one that had been echoing for a while now.

God, is this what you want me to do? Father, is this Your plan?

It would seem that he answered, because after we ate, we relocated to the outside pool/patio for a video recap on our vacation thus far. This was the part that I orchestrated with my dad. Then I seized my moment.

And there was a .948594 second window where I conversed with myself. Like, a serious conversation. 

“Nick! Doitnowdoitnowdoitnow…!”

“Wait…should I? This may not be the moment…I don’t want to mess it up!”

“Fair enough. Is she beautiful?”

“Yeah…”

“Does she love you?”

“Yeah.”

“Does she love God more?”

“Yes.”

“Are you ready to keep this thing moving?”

“Yeah, I think so…”

“Doitnowdoitnowdoitnow!”

“But what if…?”

“DO. IT. NOW.”

And I did.
...

There was no selection from the band. Skittles didn’t spill from the sky, and Bob Barker didn’t escort us out of the hotel, although the wonderful (Trini) staff did treat us to some cake.

However, as we continued traveling through the land of my heritage, visiting family and friends from the pages of my family’s past, I felt a comfort. Maybe it was the sapodilla we had yesterday, or the cool breeze that soothed the mosquito bites I had been dealing with since day 1…

Brittney called my attention to the rainbow that cascaded over the Caribbean sky.

Something about everlasting promises, covenants and reminders comes to mind.

…my God is pretty awesome.

Hi. I'm Back.

I guess it would take a near death experience to get me back in the groove of writing again*.

2011 has been a truly interesting year for me so far. A lot has taken place since the last time that I wrote on this blog, something that I’ve told myself time and time again that I wouldn’t allow to happen. I always thought that, as a writer, I would be able to keep up with my life’s pace. I assumed that my real like-writing ratio would always be even. In typical fashion, God totally broke that mentality. He’s funny that way; whenever I try to manipulate what he has granted me with to fit my schedule of inspiration, He hits the button to throw it all in disarray (read: His will).

Note that I haven’t really written anything, like REALLY written anything since November. And a lot has gone down.

Let’s see, where to start?

• I got the chance to meet and hear a living legend, the graceful Nikki Giovanni. She spoke at Randolph College in Lynchburg, VA. After she spoke and I had the opportunity to say something to her…I asked for a hug. DJM.
• I’ve learned a lot about manhood. Now, this doesn’t mean that I know what it’s all about. But I’ve learned a lot. I noticed that there are a lot of boys calling themselves men. There are a lot of hurt women who want to love boys into being men. I’ve learned that boys and men cannot live under the same roof if no one will be honest with themselves and know which they are.
• Music is beyond important to me. It’s vital to my existence. So much so, that I’ve become something like a pseudo-elitist. Everyone may be listening to song/style of the month, an artist may win Grammys and awards and get kudos from self-acclaimed professionals and legends, and I would generally shrug them off. No joke, I cannot for the life of me figure out why Jerimih is more known than Darien Brockington, or what is so appealing about planking (#random). With that being said, here are some artists that I've discovered/grown in appreciation of in the past few months:
• Propaganda and the Humble Beast camp.
• The Foreign Exchange
• Jeanne Jolly
• Zo!
• Phonte was speaking gospel when he said that love is hard. It truly is. I used to want it to be easy, and a part of me still does. And it will get there one day. But as for now, it’s going to take work. A lot of work. And a lot of sacrifice. Note that I put sacrifice in bold letters. More on that later (maybe. I hope). But because love takes work…
• I decided that I want to put in the work. God created so many beautiful things, and I believe that Love is at the top of that list. Because of that, I decided that I want to pursue that. I want to experience a growth in love, an ascension to the heights that it was created for. And I want to experience this with HER. So…as of June 9^th, 2011, I proposed to my love and future wife. Fear – 0, Love – 1.
• I probably should have thrown this further up the list, but I love my culture. My entire family is from the beautiful isle of Trinidad; I am the first of my bloodline to be born in the United States, a fact that I am slightly ashamed of. Slightly. I love where I’m from, and I was fortunate enough to spend two weeks there this year. Man. I ended up with a pretty bad allergic reaction to some fruit down there, but I also ended up with a fiancé (or is that fiancée? I can’t remember.).
• In the past three years, I’ve lived in three different situations, all with roommates. Each situation was different from the last, but this past year has shown me many things about myself, and not many of them were positive. With that being said, I shall be finally moving into my own apartment in a few days. MY OWN apartment. As in Mine. As in no one else living there but me. As in my own dishes, my own drawls, my own stank, MINE. Praise baby Jesus.
• A few weeks ago, I stood a few feet away from my best friend as he crossed the Great Divide from boy to man and got married. Disclosure: I almost cried. I really did. Between the two of us, I believe that I am probably the more emotional one, but it was incredibly significant to me. I’ve pretty much grown up with this man, and we have shared a lot together. From our church’s VBS to the discovery of Terry Tate and Chappelle’s Show, he’s been around for a lot of it. I couldn’t deny a feeling of a bittersweet joy. As we (him, his new wife, the bridal party and friends and family) danced to Rob Base’s classic party jam, I realized that things would never be the same. He was her husband, a role that was righteously more important than our friendship. I wasn’t sad; changes may come, but he was and is my man, one hunnid grand. But it cemented a fact that I wanted to run from for a few years now; we were growing up, miles away from where we were. And in a few months, I’ll be making that same move.
• I am almost 24-hours fresh off the plane from Nicaragua. My very first missions trip to the Central American country with Third Option Men, Beautiful Feet and Adventures in Missions has taken me into places that I never would have imagined I would have been. From literal mountain tops to literalvalleys to literal waterfalls to literal near-death experiences, this has made the Summer of 2011 one of, if not the best summer of my life. A post to truly talk about it in depth shall come very soon, because it’s that serious.
• My master’s degree cannot come soon enough. Ironically, it also cannot come without any stress. Be that as it may, I’m ready to be done with sitting behind desk and putting the past few years to work in a relevant way.

So here’s to hoping that I don’t lose my steam. I need to write. Like I told a fellow writer in Nicaragua, the feeling I have now is similar to when you have to use the bathroom really, really, really bad, and finally being able to find a restroom.

Ah, sweet release.

*I was serious about that near-death experience thing. I'll write more about that later.

The Love Experience [Part 3]: Who?

I think that it's really easy to get desensitized from a lot of things. Even if I tried to make sense of it, it would still come across rather stifled and confusing. My attempts at putting it into words may fall short...

Some of us truly think that there isn't anything severely wrong with the world that we live in. Outside of our neat little boxes, our thought processes aren't adventurous enough to ask those questions, or take a serious look at some of those things. Either we really don't think its that serious, or we'd rather not immerse ourselves in the just-plain-suckyness of the situation at large.

I am beyond guilty for all of this.

Today, I awoke to the sound of my $250-$300 iPod Touch and my $200 Samsung-Android Powered phone, both the latest in their respective technologies. I rolled out of my plush full sized mattress, past my $600 laptop, with thousands of dollars worth of software, updates, files, photos and music. I shivered, because I was standing directly under the vent, where my air conditioning blew cold air on me. I stumbled into my shower, where I adjusted the water to a comfortable warmth, but not before letting a couple quarts flow freely as I used the bathroom (toilet), flushed, brushed my teeth, then showered, all in a brightly lit bathroom.

In the first thirty minutes of my consciousness today, I've already interacted with hundreds, if not thousands of dollars.

And not five minutes after did I complain to myself about how I need to make more money. Or how I don't have enough money.

I didn't even talk about the two Playstation consoles that I own. Or the games that accompany them. Or my camera. Or the car that I drive. Or the three-bedroom apartment that I live in. Or the HDTV sitting in my living room. Or the hundreds of CD's that I own.

We are surrounded by a wealthy contradiction. And maybe my scope on it is skewed. After all, I am a professional college student; after doing it for going-on 6 years, I'm pretty good at it. However, isn't it strange how much we spend, waste, accumulate, all without giving thought or regard to those who are lesser fortunate/blessed?

I won't even venture outside of U.S. borders with this one. Turn on your television at 3am, and you'll have enough conviction there to almost make you cry. No, I'm going to stay inside of our borders.

We have people in our own backyards (almost literally) struggling. People in our church, our schools, our jobs, our families, struggling. They can't eat. They have to decide on whether they use the last $5 in the pocket to for their gas tank, or eating a meal.

There are hearts aching all around us. Some of us are in our comfort zones, tightly so. We have a symphony of peers and friends around us, willing to listen and lend a helping hand. Others struggle with some real stuff (recognize the euphemism). Depression and suicide. Low self-esteem and serious father/mother/parenting issues. Am I good enough mother? Father? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Brother? Friend?

Think about it. Go ahead, I'll wait.

Seriously. Before you continue reading, thinking about it.

How can we really think that love exists in sight of all this un/intentional apathy?

Does love exists? With all our gadgets and friend requests and fantasy leagues and new mixtapes and hot celebrity gossip, does that equate love and beauty? Am I heretic for living in it, but hating it?

I strongly believe that there is a beauty that exists in this life, but that doesn't mean that I don't know it's hard to get to.

In 6 days, the end result was that "it is good". 

And about 2,000 years ago, it got started, because "it (was) finished".

Billions of people on this earth; why should anyone live it alone?  Smiles and laughter and hugs and music and harmony; why should anyone be exempt from this?

What would it take to show that someone cares? What would it take to show that love is real? What would it take to make an impact, leave an impression, touch someone's heart?

More than the mission of various non-profit organizations or charities. Where can this...love come from?

Or...Who?

The Love Experience [Part 2]: Guess Who Loves You More?

I remember that I used to think that no one loved me.

At that point in my life, however, my definition of love was somewhat skewered. I had a weird "Disney-fied" view on love and its associates. The streetrat will always woo the heart of the princess, all the dalmatians will find their way home, and the beauty will always see the golden heart of the beast. And all of these things were hopes and dreams; I wouldn't say that I saw anything that aggressively encouraged these thoughts. I just think that I was what they call a hopeless romantic. Always waiting for that mystical ending. Or beginning.

There were a number of girls that I was interested in. And there were always some circumstances that prevented me from really being able to love someone, always something that I didn't have. A few times, I was told that I was "too good" for their graces. (I still have no idea what that crap means.) While I've grown past those days, I feel that those experiences still haunt me in various ways in my current life.

So, once again, at that stage, with constant rejection, I was more or less left to ponder on things in my own head. I looked around and tried to assess why no one seemed to like me, or why I wasn't an option for these girls. I began to draw comparisons.

Me

• Shorter than your average
• Visually impaired
• No apparent physical ability
• A strange interest in comics and action figures (not dolls)
• Invariably reading books or writing random nothings or doodling

Them

• Tall as, or taller than your average
• 20/20  vision
• Physical dominance in every facet that mattered
• Able to recall each player in the Chicago Bulls' 1996-97 roster
• Somehow able to pass classes without once cracking a textbook

 With that evidence and the lowered self-esteem that usually comes with grade/high school bullying, I had accepted the fact that I would never really be loved as long as these prepubescent deities roamed the playground.

Until I met Ibn. I don't know what an "Ibn" is, but this lil' boy owned his name like a crown. He had captured the wily little heart of one of my many objects of affection, whom we shall call Dee. She was one of the main people who didn't take my affection towards her seriously. I'm assuming that Ibn was more of her type. He was the Alpha Male wherever he was from, and he looked to stake his claim in my world as well.

And it bewildered me that any one would want to stay by his side for any other reason than to beat some sense into him. This kid reminded me of Tupac's character in Juice, hellbent on aggression and dominance. I assume that Dee's 13 year-old loins were tempted by his 'hood demeanor, but the boy could barely form a sentence without some expletives thrown in for good measure. You know, to get his point across, 'knamean?

One event sticks out in my mind. It was at a social gathering of sorts, a few folks from the church got together to celebrate something and everyone brought their kids along. Somehow Ibn ended up in attendance. The grown folks all grouped together while the kids ran around outside, riding on bikes and playing at the nearby park. Dee and Ibn were officially, but unofficially "going with" each other. I, the eternal social nomad, was still the distant friend. Far enough to deny association, but close enough if you needed to borrow a quarter.

I began to notice something in Ibn's behavior, something that seemed to be a continuing trend that only intensified the older I got. Ibn, while young and still very dumb was for all intents and purpose was a verifiable jerk.

He seemed to care nothing for Dee. The main emotion there was a lack of emotion. The way they interacted was more like Ike and Tina. She was scared of him. And I know they were young, with no good sense in their nappy little heads. But I've seen the same sentiment as I've gotten older. Men who, while attached to their women, showed them no respect. They belittled them, disrespected them, displayed utter disregard to their feelings or their womanhood. I've seen men drain the life force from the women they've been blessed to spend time with. Push them to make decisions that only harm them. Encourage them in directions that help no one but themselves. There's no warmth there. There's no care there. There's no love there.

And I've seen women run to them, with arms and hearts wide open. Willing to give just a little bit more of their being. Compromise just a little bit more of their souls. Denying their God-given instinct and trusting a fallen, broken man. Women are incredibly strong creatures, but much of strength, I feel, has been borne from a sense of battle-weariness.

And I've said to myself, what can I do? This is more targeted to the women with whom I have no connection with. These women, I do not know, and they do not know me. That being said, my efforts are more likely to be met with skepticism and caution.

But to the women I do know, and have known? I've had one constant question on my mind. This question initially points at me, but at this current point in my life, I've come to understand what the True Answer is.

"...Guess Who Loves You More?"

The Love Experience [Part 1]

To my family...

• This is where I'm from. I honestly know nothing else, and I am growing to see that I don't want to be any other way. This is where the man I will be started his journey. This is where I got all those butt-whoopings. This is where I learned to play the keyboard. These people have taught me so much about my faith and myself. I can't imagine being any different. I remember the amount of things that we have been through, individually and collectively, and it drives me to do what I can to bring us closer together, because this is no ordinary love. We need each other in ways that we're almost resistant to, but...it's all love.
  

To my first real love...

• All that I know, all that I feel about love started with you. From the first moment you walked into church all those years ago, my heart almost literally bled for you. I've woken up from a summernight's sleep with your name on my lips, and I mean that in the most literal way possible. And yet...while it went nowhere, and while you could never understand in a thousand lifetimes how much I loved you, and while we are at two different places in our lives, and while I've finally moved on to greener pastures, I thank you. You've encouraged me. You've taught me. You've challenged me. What's funny is, you don't even know it. But I thank you. All in the name of love.
  

To "Destiny"...

• My senior year in high school would not have been the same without you. Another lesson in love could not have been had without you. The purpose of friendship was made real with you, because at a point in my life where I needed affirmation, you proved to be elemental. At your own admission, there was a facade, and scars were formed, figuratively and literally. You left me. You went somewhere, and yet...I thank you. Of course, I went through a period of hating the oxygen that allowed you to breathe. But...I thank you. Fortunately, we were able to meet resolution, but I wouldn't have known how to rationalize my emotions without you. I remember all of it, all of us, all of you.
  

To my missed love...

• While I wish that we had our own niche in time to exist independently, you are beyond important. Simply stating that you are a great friend is an understatement, because of where our relationship is. I've done things and made decisions that could have dissolved our friendship, compromised it and turned it into mere repeat of failed relationships of our pasts. But you decided to stay with me and be just that...my friend. What's funny is that prior to our meeting, I had given up hope on love, but you gave me something. You allowed me an arena to be, simply. Maybe God has something different in the cards for you and I, but I am glad that we are where we are.

To my current love...

• Never have I known a love so intense, so complex. And we may have identical interests and passions, but one cannot deny God's penmanship throughout our relationship. I mean it when I say that I can't imagine not having you in my life; 'tis a blessing that we are this close. Once again, me and my foolish tendencies have threatened our relationship, pushing it to unnecessary limits...but here we are. And I meant what I said that one decisive night, oh so long ago: I love you, because outside of myself, beyond myself, I want nothing but your happiness and success - even to the point for you to save yourself from me if you had to. You have taught me how love is to be applicable and intentional, if it is to grow. And I want to continue to grow with you.
  

To my friends...

• I don't need to go back in time and bring up stories of how I was the outcast growing up. I don't need to paint more pictures of woes and complaints about a part of my life that is no longer here. But I will take this chance to re-iterate, or even state for the first time for some of you who may not know - I've come from a very dark place. Yet you all call yourselves my friends. Not the "Chandler-and-Monica" friends, but friends to call me out on my stupidity...with love. Friends who reciprocate the warmth that I try to show to them. Homies, roll dawgs, potnas, peeps, ya'll provide me with a community that makes me feel safe.You challenge my faith and my walk with Christ. You allow me to make mistakes and learn from them. You allow me to stick my foot in my mouth, and then help me to take it out. Simply put, you show me a very basic, but often overlooked form of love. This is the kind of love that I think God meant when he spoke of fellowship, because I am learning that this life was not meant to be lived alone.

"...At least I can say that I have experienced love..."

The Love Experience: Intro

So, I found myself listening to Raheem DeVaughn's debut album, "The Love Experience". In listening to the first song, I realized somethings that I wanted to take advantage of.

My "Love Experiences", according to The Love Experience.

First off, I understand that Love, will never have one sole definition. From Agape to Parental to Unrequited, love is the eternal Bermuda Triangle, an ever-existent Pandora's Box. Common understanding ceases to exist, and everything is made clear.

Looking back, I've learned how much of a part that this love (that no one can explain) has really made me who I am, and who I plan on being. Not to make it sound like the next "Antwone Fisher", but regarding issues of the heart, let me be the first blog you read today to point that I've been through some things with love. Call it a pinprick or gaping war wound, hurt is hurt.

But I feel that these experiences have something to offer you, as well as me.

So, I ask you...are you feeling loved today?

The Shin-Dig Before The Shin-Dig

I attend college at Liberty University.

A lot of people (both attendees and otherwise) have a lot to say about it. Some like it, some love it, some hate it, and some...just want to graduate.

I've noticed lately that there has been a bug going around. I haven't really been bitten by it, but it'd be a lie to say that it hasn't affected me. A few friends of mine have caught it, but at this point in the game, I'm wondering how long I can run from it.

I'm speaking about the Marriage Bug.

Folks are getting engaged and whatnot, right and left. Those people who used to share a table with me at Singles' Cafe have moved on to more committed pastures.

And I'm not going to go into a schpeel about whether I am ready for marriage or not. That kind of conversation needs a can of Red Bull and chicken nuggets.

But in the midst of a conversation with a close friend of mine, I started to think about a particularly interesting aspect of getting hitched. Before the Ball and Chain become fastened to a young man's ankles, he is allowed one night of autonomy, set up from the ground up by some close homies.

This event is known as: The Bachelor Party.

I was encouraged to daydream.

If I could set up my own bachelor party, what would it look like? Would it be riddled with girls that like to get buckked-nekkid? Would I be drowning in a sea of Hennesy and Courvoisier?

I severely doubt it. My style is far from explicit. I try to keep it PG-13. (Note that I said TRY)

After a little thinking and rationalizing, this would be a few of the things I would like to spend my last day of freedom doing.

• Food: Enough of that nachos and salsa crap. I want to be able to eat whatever the heck I want. Meaning, probably a lot of everything. Quesadillas. Meat-Lovers' Pizza. Roti. Jamaican Beef Patties. Pineapple-Pomegranate Smoothies. Fried Chicken. I want it all - nothing is off limits.
• Entertainment: When I'm married and I start having kids, I'll more than likely have to get rid of most/all of my dangerous/illegal activities. With T-minus one night, I'll have to get as many un-couth shenanigans in a 24-hour period as possible. And this includes, but isn't limited to: Skydiving. Fire-breathing. Graffiti. Mooning a crowd. Peeing off of a tall building. Participating in a mosh pit. Dance Battle, turned into an enviable music video. And I want everyone to be sober for the entire affair.
• Music: Since this should be a high-octane event, I want all the bangers. Not club-bangers, mind you. The classics. The stuff that every man in a 10 mile vacinity can sing along to. Live music, if we can afford it. If The Roots can be there, so be it.
• Sports: An impromptu American Gladiator's match. And I shall be the victor.
• Gifts: I want to be callous, and just say, "Show me the money!". However, I will accept these following items: Complete Series of Seinfeld (if I don't have it yet). Every piece of music that Mars iLL has released and otherwise. My own DJ booth. Platinum coated Shell-top Adidas/Air Force Ones. A "Man Plaque" with my name on it. Each and every gaming console since SNES, with the most violent games included.
• ...and a moment of silence for my pinky ring. I don't show it off much. I usually have it in bubble wrap in my sock drawer. At that moment in time, I will be retiring it, since there will be no more room for it in my jewelry cabinet.

I'm kidding. Kinda.

Honestly though, although Marriage is a cup that I am not ready to sip from yet, I do plan on it, and it shall be quite the adventure, in and of itself. Cuz my wife shall be alladat and a bag of Fritos.

The Valentine's Day Post

I’ve never liked Valentine’s Day.

For some people, this may come as a total shock. I call myself a poet, and poets are usually known as the people who live for the one day that being emotional and lovey-dovey is acceptable. Love is generally synymous with Poetry.

Other people remember me as the kid who dressed in a mourner’s black on the 14th, bought a red rose from Wal-Mart…just to light that mother on fire. (It stunk up the dorm quite a bit, too.) I remember deciding that the day’s mission was to ****block all couples in my vicinity.

Don’t get me wrong. I think that Love itself is a beautiful thing. The reason we are saved and have a chance at eternal life is because of An Amazing Love. And why else do we love Luther, Barry, Donny, Marvin, Teddy, The Temptations, etc.?

I think I know where this hatred came from. Psychology would tell me that something horrendous happened in my youth that affected my view on this day. I believe this horrendous occasion is called: Middle School. And I may not be an official Psychologist or Therapist yet, but I figure the blame can be:
• Never getting a valentine in grade school
• Having all my crushes laugh at me in grade school
• Seeing all the jerks/douchebags/losers/weedheads/bums get the girls that they really didn’t deserve
• An amazingly staggering low self-esteem
• …Etc….

But. I’m 21 now. Grown man status. What’s done is done, and therefore water under the bridge.

But I’ve never liked Valentine’s Day.

I used to hate it, with the fury of a thousand hates. I even wrote a poem about it, aptly entitled “Love Sucks”. There was even a part two.

However, I cannot hate it anymore. My bitter/emo stage has passed, and I have experienced love, or understood more of it for real. Not even from a relationship standpoint. I have grown and learned and understood how universal the idea of love really is. With my parents, family and closest friends, I have experienced love.

The idea that February 14th is the official Love day is laughable to me. I see it as a result of commercialism. As a matter of fact, I fear that the same thing is/has been happening to Christmas…(but that’s for another post, another day…)

It would be, and has been wrong of me to hate the day. One of the main things that I’ve learned about love is that there is no such thing as too much love.

It sounds cheesy. It sounds hokey. It sounds corny. But its true.

I’ve never liked Valentine’s Day. I see no real die-hard purpose for it.

But there’s always a reason to love.

What It's Like To Date An R.A.

I didn't see this coming.

I mean, I knew that she wanted to be an RA. Even when she was a prayer leader on Dorm 5-1, she'd talk about going through the application process, which I imagine is the Liberty University version of applying to be on MTV's Real World.

I guess in the back of my mind, I had something different in mind.

"Think about it. Your girlfriend is going to be an R.A.! There are countless selfish ways for this to benefit you! You'd be untouchable. The Liberty Way doesn't apply to you! This is diplomatic immunity redefined!"

Sadly, I was mistaken. Not only did the LUWay still ferociously still apply to me, but there was a greater demand of obeying them. But that wouldn't be a problem, right?

Wrong. Oh, so sadly wrong.

3-second hugs? Reduced to one second.
No kissing policy? Not even those gay little "penguin" kisses.
Rated R? Try racy rated PG-13 movies, starring Ryan Reynolds or Dave Chappelle, which coincidentally only leaves an assortment of Hugh Grant and Kate Hudson movies. (Honestly, "American Dreamz" only made me giggle at best.)

It's not like I had to change my whole set-up. I mean, hugging? Psht. Who needs that crap. Kissing? That stuff is for the kids. Instead, we like simply stare at each other, daydreaming about finally politely kissing on our wedding day (if it's in God's will, that is. After all, He does kinda have final say-so). And rated R movies? I don't even like the stuff. Even if Chappelle's Show is groundbreaking comedy and "300" is a monolith of testosturone.

At least that's what I heard.

However, I do find it funny how the minor things stay the same. Hanging with friends have the same zing it used to.

Friend 1: "Hey, Nick, wanna hang out tonight, possibly do something illegal involving firecrackers and Da Ihopz?"
Friend 2: "Dude, he can't. Britt's an RA, remember?"
Me: "Hey...I can hang out..."
Friend 2: "You can't. Don't worry, it won't be much fun any ways...*snickers, walking away*..."
Me: "Oh. Okay...well...I'll just...watch 'Scrubs' or something...."

See? Still one of the cool off-campus kids. (That Dr.Dorian is such a rascally little devil.)

I used to think I had it bad, but a 12 o'clock curfew is nothing compared to RA Lock-Down.

RA Lock-Down is where the RA's on the hall are allowed no freedom outside of classes, convo and CFAW's. Which will suck when "The Dark Knight" comes to the dollar theater.
_________________________________________________________________

On a more serious note, I knew what I was getting into. To be an RA is the most demanding leadership position a resident student can have on campus, and while I may not be directly playing the part, I see first-hand how much energy and time and prayer goes into it. For personal reasons, I doubt my own ability to be able to be a good RA (emphasis on good), but I think that Brittney handles it with amazing grace and ease. I gladly accept the role of dating an RA, supporting her and praying with and for her and her hall - even if she can't join us to see "Forgetting Sarah Marshall". Because I would never watch that filth.

*uncrosses fingers*

Do Da Homie (no homo)

Who's your homie?

Like, for real. Who is your undeniable, ride-or-die, do anything for, better/worst half?

We all have them, ladies and fellas alike. Homies, peeps, dunnies, potnas, nigs, brothas, comrades, et cetera. That one person that you know you can call at a whim if there is someone 'round the way that needs a beat down. That person who people confuse you with, even though you are both clearly not identical in any facet. That particular individual that your family doesn't particularly favor, but you could swear was a long-lost sibling. Oh, you remember now! Yeah, that person.

What's that person like?

I'm lucky enough to have two. Let's call them...Yellow Cake and Piff.

First up is YC.
I've known this brother since I was in OshKosh B'Gosh, sippin' on Similac. We went to the same church growing up, and I guess he's been the one time-tested friend. A lot of the times, he's been something like my conscience. Me, I guess I'm something like a counselor-in-training. And I don't mind at all. YC's simply a fun loving person, almost always willing to provide laughs. A true homie. Here's a quick story:

On one particular sunny day in one of the summers of our teenage years, we were at yet another cookout. Everything a growing boy would ever want: lemonade, kool-aid, biscuits, hot dogs, yada yada yada. People were all over the place, having a merry time. The group of my lifelong friends were there, who we shall call the Fantastic Four (which consisted of me, YC, Bizarro and Spears). I had a not-so-secret crush on Spears, but it was a relaxed atmosphere, so I wasn't really "on".
Somehow, we started this really sadistic game that involved hitting each other.

It made no sense then, and it makes no sense now.

Anyway, Spears starts chasing me to hit me. Naturally, she get me, so I turn around to hit her back. Only I decide that it'd be pretty funny to kick her in the butt. I thought it was a good idea.

The kick was successful, but I somehow forgot that she'd want to hit me back. She starts chasing me, and as I turn to run away from her with the graceful speed of a gazelle...I run into a tree. A big tree. A freaking HUGE tree. I fell over, landed in some dirt (some of which coincidentially flew into my eye) and started praying that no one saw...

Remember how I said that people were all over the place? Yeah. So...yeah. EVERYONE IN ATTENDANCE saw it, and laughed at me. And my best friend? Standing with the masses, laughing, while pointing his finger.

Yep. Love that kid.

And then there's Piff.

This brother ::shakes head::...

You know how everyone has the voices in their head?
There's one voice that says "I know that you want to skip class today, but you really need to go. The amount of money that you pay in this place? Shoot...you'd better attend class, dummy."
There's another voice that says, "Eff classes, eff school, eff yo' mutha-effin' degree. Nigga, let's hit up the mall, get some numbers and allow me to spank dat ace in some Madden."

Piff is the latter. He is the Id to my SuperEgo, the evil guy on my shoulder, and I am his conscience. We met in high school, over the affections of a particular female, who just happened to be his boo at the time. Somehow, our personalities clicked.

Now, I pride myself, to a certain extent, on being a pretty rebellious character. I like going with the flow, and enjoying the ride. But I have an off button. I know when to stop. My sense of right and wrong dominates most of my decisions. Piff? Not so much. Imagine me, with less inhibitions, more wrong, less right, hopped on Mary Jane and ginseng. That's Piff. And I love that dude like my own flesh and blood. There are so many stories that I can bring up, but I'll just choose one:

Once again, in the days of yesteryear, we were in class. I think it was an English class. It was snowing outside, and I was probably day-dreaming or something. Suddenly, my peripheral vision kicks in, and I see him, wielding a snowball. (Later, I would find out that he went to the bathroom, for the sole purpose of getting said snowball.) Before I could do anything about it, he launches the snowball dead. at. my. face.

I wasn't mad yet. Somehow encouraged to play along (IN ENGLISH CLASS), I run to the window, scoop up a handful of snow and before I can throw the snowpile, I hear, "NICHOLAS! GO TO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE!"

My response? Years before I heard of Oh Hell Nawl, I said, "DISBS!"

Oh, I said it. I was heated. I was mad as hale. How'd I get in trouble, being the victim? I naturally threw your typical teenage tantrum. I think in the process, she ends up sending him down to the bench too.

However, once we got there, we started laughing about it. I don't know how. If they decided to call home, I would be getting in trouble. And here I was laughing about it.

And we still laugh about it.

These two fellas are my closest friends, and it gets hard to understand why or how sometimes. I think they give me balance, a good place between stability. Together, they can't let me get too serious or freak out too much. They also cannot let me shrug anything off without first letting me know how stupid it was in the first place.

So again I ask, who are your homies?

Love Musings #3

I really like my iTunes/iPod.

Really. I do. I mean, I might complain about it when it freezes, threaten to blow it away with a shotgun whenever it decides to update at a time when it's really not appreciated, but at the end of the day, I really like my computer.

And I'd better. I spent a good portion of the money on it, money that could have probably went towards the car that I still don't have.

In this declared admiration for my technology, I realize that this expands further than its operational capabilities. I use iTunes on my computer, but I use my computer for more than that. Microsoft Word, Excel, PowerPoint, Publisher, Adobe Acrobat, Photoshop, and I can't forget all the goodies that came pre-installed, like the calculator, games (all Solitare fiends know what I'm talking about) and the like. There is more to my computer than my favorite application.

I recently came across another issue in the fickle tendencies of love.

When in relationships, we tend to capitalize on the traits that we particularly favor. And that makes sense, looking at it objectively. I'm not going to jump through hoops for someone who's favorite tv show is a blatant insult against intelligence. I won't go ga-ga for a lady who would rather do her make-up than play some ball.

My particular cup of tea? A couple of things:

• Honest to God conversations. Easy conversation. Just plain-ol'-talking. I love it. I LOVE IT. It really makes my heart flutter, peeking inside a ladyface's brain (as confusing as it may get).
• Writing. I grew up being that kid that was always being compared and contrasted to Steve Urkel...until I discovered poetry. I truly believe that the written word was what God decided to give to me, in the stead of verticale growth and being smooth-n-slick with the ladies. Writing is all I have, all I know, all I am. I am synonomous with poetry. And if she can do that too? Aw yeah...
  

And while I may love those things in my lady, if I love her like I say I do, I have to see more than her than what tworks my buttons.

The question posed to me was this: If she no longer wrote, would I still love her?

As much as I bleed, sweat and cry prose, my love for her is so much more than what is on a page/blog/notebook. I can't limit how I feel for her to what we have in common.

Kind of like loving God/God's love for us. It's more than when He helps us pay rent or pass that exam. God is bigger than what He may or may not do for us. Loving her is more than what "that thing" is.

And my computer still has Windows Media Player, right?

The BreakDown Pt. 1

Love:

• Family -
  
• I love my family. There is no doubt about that. After all, they are mine. Each quirk and quarrel is specifically and genetically entitled to me. I can complain all I want about it, when the truth is, it's all mine. Lately, I've been looking at my home life a bit more closely. I've been analyzing the whole scene silently, going through everything with a fine-toothed comb. Some things are new to me. Some things are merely being emphasized. Others are new discoveries in old territory. For example, I know that I am the eldest. I'm the big brother, therefore, the root cause of any mishap that may happen with the younger siblings, regardless of if I'm in the same...hemisphere. However, I tend to question whether I'm having any impact on their lives. I don't really have an answer, but I continuously pray that I'm doing something right.
• My sister is entering college this year. Automatically, my Big Brother Radar is on Code Punch-a-Negro Mode. Any burly looking 'bama that approaches her had better have any and everything upwards of a 401k and a Benz...This is before I take a step back and realize that she is entering a phase of her life where she is beginning to know who she really is and where she stands. Most of what she stands on will be questioned. Most of what she thought she knew will shatter and fall around her. And she will learn lessons that will last her for the rest of her life. I have to understand that I am not the one to teach these lessons to her. That's God's job. I can't pretend I'm the Gestapo or something. I just really need to be her brother, her support.
• My parents have done too much for me. Most people understand that sentiment. But it's so true. This is not a cliche` statement; I'm not saying this because I just saw some inspirational new movie starring Cuba Gooding Jr. They really have done too much for me. And I am not one to pick my favorite parent; that's like choosing my favorite testicle. However, me and my dad have this weird...relationship. On the surface, it probably looks no different than any other father-son relationship, but under the surface, there is so much laying there...it's ghastly. My father is...just that. And so much more. I couldn't possibly write it all in a blog, but here's a brief try: My dad is the man that I am trying to become, yet at the same time avoid.
• Friends-
• I don't really have a lot of friends. I think I can count all of my close friends on my fingers. Some of them are new entries in this book of my life. Others are as old as the pages themselves. I truly and honestly love them all. You can attach a 'no homo' if you want, but it's really not necessary. I love them all, like blood-borne siblings.
• At a certain point during this summer, one of my friends and I were talking about number of different things; college, our respective wifeys, summer projects, spirituality, etc. During this conversation, it became rather clear that we were on a certain plane of growth, of evolution, of change. He had just graduated undergrad. While I was supposed to graduated as well, I am still on a route of elevation. For example, he brought up a relationship that I had pursued in my younger years. Looking back on it, I shake my head in an effort to get her face out of it. But! I look at the relationship that I am in now, and I can say that it is soo much better than what I was prepared for. It's like God was there, keeping me from many potentially stupid situations (prepare for a future blog about this topic).
  
• One of my friends, whom I oft refer to as my Id, is just that. He exists in the pleasure principle, and while it almost always provides great stories and endless chuckles and giggles, it worries me to a large degree. I love him like a brother, but I fear that he is sprinting down a path filled with all that a man's flesh desire, but very little soul-ful benefits. And the painful part is, he knows better. He is no idiot. A brilliant mind, stifled by "arms that won't reach for the sky". There is nothing that I can tell him that he isn't already aware of. What a battle is this, when two brilliant minds are facing opposite directions.
• I am currently involved in my first serious relationship. Going on a year, we've been doing the whole "official" dating thing. Personally, I find great pleasure in saying that we were friends first. And I wish that there was some cheesy way to say it, but that's really what it is. I think that's what's making this thing work. I have no idea what we would look like without that first year of our knowing each other. I value that the most, because that provides the foundation for our relationship. Most of those goodies and treats didn't really come about until some months before we started "officially" dating, but I'm talking about the grounds on which we were first aware of each other: Faith. Writing. Music. Myspace. (lol) With that being said, some times, we need to take a step back and pay attention to what drew us together. I've noticed what when in a dating relationship, it's a lot like a car. In order for the car to run properly, you've got to take of it. Some people go overboard and get silly additions, like rims and tinted windows and other attractive, but basically unnecessary additions. Others tend to be more content with the basics: Regular Gas Fill-Ups. Consistent Maintenance. A Working CD Player. I would like to consider myself the latter. While I may desire all the fun stuff that comes with being in a dating relationship (Boo-loving 'til the wee hours of the morning, Sporadic Make-Out Sessions, etc.), the basics are what keep it flowing smooth and nice-like...and fun. Like affection. Writing little love-notes. Inside jokes. A Working CD Player/iPod.
  

What It's Like To Date Me

For those who are wondering, yes, I'm biting.

1. I am a mess, and I will not hesitate to let you in on that fact. Truth be told, I still suffer from a lot of scars from my youth. I'm not putting that out there as an excuse...I'm just saying. I'm tender. However...

2. I am stronger than you think. I am stronger than I think. And I don't know if I can attribute that to the Y Chromosome coursing through my veins or not, but I know that there is a lot of power inside of me that I haven't even begun to tap into. It would be a mistake to mistake my sensitivity for any kind of weakness. I'm not immortal...but I'm not impotent.

3. I have a problem with my mouth. Some times, I will just say the stupidest things, and I won't even be ready for it. You know that feeling when you regret something, and you just wish to the Almighty Heavens Above that you could snatch back those last for moments? Yeah, I live in that state quite a bit. One minute, I'm adorning you with praises and adoration; next thing you know, you'll wonder why I'm quoting this video. Which basically means...

4. I'm a guy. Some of the things I find funny, you'll find repulsive. Some of the things I find humorous, you'll say are ridiculous and immature. Sorry. I'm working on it.

5. I'm not really used to getting compliments. Actually, let me rephrase that. I get compliments; my self-esteem doesn't seem to allow me to really stay there. I appreciate them, but I find myself in a place of frozen surprise. I guess I'm more used to giving them than receiving them.

6. Even when you don't think so, I'm paying attention.

7. Even when you think I should be, I'm probably not paying attention.

8. You could cheat on me, ridicule me, disrespect me, cuss me out, jack my car up (if I had one), run up my phone bill (if I had one), and I'd still give you the benefit of the doubt. I am forgiving to a fault. I mean, naturally, all things must come to an end, but I'd defend your honor before I question it. Even it's obvious to everyone else but me.

9. I'm a huggy person. What can I say? I love hugs. Say what you will. Still can't beat me.

10. I know what I know, and I believe in what I believe. Which are a number of things. The top of that list?

1. My God - I'm not going to paint a picture of that Jewish carpenter-turned-traveling man on a cross. Instead, I will opt to create a picture of the God who loves me, beyond all I've done wrong. I believe in His power, but behind that, I have FAITH in Him and His Universal/Unique Love. Lemme stop before I start preaching...
2. The Power of Words - We says words without thinking about them. I say words without thinking about them. However, I believe that we have the ability to mold our words to thrust ourselves into the cosmos of infinity, craft missions from pencil scribbles. There is no such thing as not being able to write. All you need are words and the conviction to pack each one with enough heat to fuel a rocketship.

11. I like surprising people. I love surprising people. I get a kick out of coming all the way from Washington, DC to the middle of Virginia, just to surprise you. Seriously. I guess it's something about the element of surprise, or the joy of seeing a well-executed plan come to fruition, or something like that. Alls I know is, I will spend a lot of time coming up with ways to make you blush, shake your head and mutter, "This boy is crazy...". And this can range from a Valentine's Present or an Engagement Ring or finding a certain chocolate bar in your coat pocket.
Now that I think about it, I do put a lot of energy making sure a surprise is all the more surprising. And don't even think that you can prepare yourself for such a surprise. That's why I work so hard at it: making sure you don't see it coming.


I think that's all for now. I mean, there's probably a whole lot more. But I'm tired. Work was CRAAAZY today, and I could really use a Reeses.

You Should Be Here (From Summer '07)

This here is something that I wrote back during the summer of 2007. It wasn't that long ago, but looking back...if only I had known what was in store. You can see the original posting, but it's pretty much the same thing. Either way, here it is. Right. Here.

You should be here, right now, but I'm not Raphael Saadiq
I'm simply missing you love. Behold the sweet mystique
of a tuned union that seems to me to be unique.
My heart bleeds with constant need to see the next time we meet.
Realization hit me with hunger pangs, blows and pain
that I miss you so. More than recess and childhood games,
more than reruns on TV, more than ice cream in the summer
More than I thought I would, I miss you, lover.

Snuck up on me with the efficiency of a ninja Jedi
Slightly distracted when we were suddenly standing eye-to-eye
Travel this road a few months later, tons of late-night conversations
I exposed my heart to you without a moment's hesitation.
The love was borne in common interests like the mic and music, too.
Soon to be dug deeper into with each nighttime rendezvous.
There was to be an inquiry into the act/art of Jedi Lovemaking,
Allowed with various techniques, leaving hands numb and shaking.

Like a drug, I'm hooked up on you. Can't get enough of your voice,
All hours of the morning; you are the sweetest kind of noise.
Yet, I miss you all the same. For no reason, I call out your name
just to feel it roll off my tongue and allow me to spit pure flame.
"I've lost control of my soul, because you've got a hold on me"
These are your words; these are our feelings, sort of like our creed.
You are more than my friend, because with you I do more than care.
I love you dearly, girl. And now? You should be here.

Love Musings #2

Have you ever wondered why Superman does what he does?

I mean, I know that he's a fictional character that possesses the strength of God-knows-what, but venture with me for a second.

This man has a nice job, working for a prestigious newspaper in a big city. He's got his parents, who doubtlessly still love him. He's not bad looking (no homo), even in his glasses. And he works (rather closely, might I add), with the lustrous Lois Lane, day in and out. Oh yeah, and he's more powerful than a locomotive, faster than a yadda-yadda-yadda...

So with all of this going for him, why in the world would he go through the stress of changing in and out of his clothes everytime some knucklehead decides to try and blow up the world? Why put himself through the whole shpiel of flying here and there and back again, just because some idiot wants to hold up a bank in Southeast Asia?

Because he knows, deep inside, that it's the right thing, and he holds himself accountable.

I mean, I don't doubt that some nights, he just wants to throw on a Chappelle's Show DVD, order some Domino's and call it. But he knows that it is in his power to actually do something about all the wrong that takes place in this miserable world of ours. Even if he doesn't belong to it.

Once again, I'm kinda free-balling here, but I think that the same ethic is included, but not limited to love.

I'm an advocate of autonomy, but I got a lesson with all of that recently. Somehow, I thought that I was exempt from certain accountability issues. I thought that all was needed was the truth about the situation, and each person should go along with whatever they thought was right. For example:

"Hey baby, should we really go to that club? It looks shady..."
"Well, you don't have to go if you don't want to. I know I'm going."
"Wait...you're going?"
"Yeah."
"But...what about me?"
"Well, if you don't wanna go, you don't have to go."

That was just a rough exaggeration, but see how unfair that is?

Basically, both members of the relationship need to keep each other accountable. If the love is really there, this (in my opinion) is a way to really have each other's back. Simply put, right is right is right is right.

Hopefully, you kids aren't walking into shady-looking clubs. Superman might have this night off.

Love Musings #1

Love.

There is no way to truly comprehend the magnitude of that word. I don't think anyone alive on this planet can fully, completely come up with a definition of this word. I mean, seriously. There is no way. There are way too many variations and version, interpretations and intentions. Love. I love my parents. I love Reese's. I love my girlfriend. I love action movies. Love, love, love. What the heck does it really mean?

Should it even have a definition? If you are of the Christian persuasion, you know that the maker of this...thing is so great, He cannot be defined. He is so much bigger than any adjective, term or religion. He just is. So maybe, and I'm just free-balling here, love is as much as its Creator. Love is undefinable.

But if that's the case, how can so many people claim to know for sure that what they call love is really, truly love?



I love this girl. Yet, how do I know? How can I possibly know, in my limited years of experiences on this miserable rock called "Earth", what love is? How can I use the same word for her and Butterfingers?

A little history lesson. I am a hopeless romantic in a sad way. My favorite movie is "Aladdin". I love watching "The Notebook" for no apparent reason. And I've been in enough heart-related trials to completely discourage me from the pursuit of such. As a matter of fact, were I any less of a man, I would've probably converted to one of three options:

1. Forget females. All I need is me, myself and some Vaseline.
2. Forget true love. Just change my name to King Ding-A-Ling and lay the pipe at any opportunity that presents itself.
3. Keep trying. There's always tomorrow.

Naturally, we can tell which one I chose.

I suppose that it is just my nature. I guess God just saw it fit to have me as an emotional soul, blindly following my emotions. Whatever it is, I am not too much closer to the definition of whatever it is that seems to swarm over my being...

I found it interesting, while reading 1 Corinthians 13:1-3. A lot of people are familiar with the Love Verses, which are 1 Corinthians 13:4-12. These are the ones that we are taught as children. While they are important, I personally don't think that they are the entire picture. The first three verses of this chapter really seems to capture the essence of Love. I think that this is what makes love Love.

Without love, generosity means nothing. Without love, donations mean nothing. Without love, nothing is of consequence.

Remember that pretty lady in that picture? I still love her. I had love for her from when we were simply friends, but I love her. Still. I'm still learning more about her, day by day, but I still love her. Not that "bow-chika-wow-wow" kinda love. More like "I-am-going-to-consciously-work-on-growing-with-you" kinda love. A lot of people think that love is a magical event that takes no effort. I used to to hope/believe in that. But love is not apathetic. Love truly is a verb (Thanks dcTalk).

My parents? They've been around since day 1. And they are still my parents, checking up on me, calling me, even slipping a little dollar bills in my account when I'm not looking. Still. They are still concerned. They still want the best for me, and that's not just because they biologically are responsible for my life. They love me. My dad could've left. My mom could've given up. I know that out of the four children, by myself, I've given them enough opportunities to give up. But they still worry, pray for, stress over and love me. For real.

I think that's the first step to understanding love. It endures.

Y'know, I should post a bunch of cheesy love quotes to prove my point, but for now, that scripture is all for this post.

The End? = Snatched from J.S.

Wow. I haven't done this in a while.

A friend once told me that blogging is theraputic. I didn't really doubt her, but I doubted it counseling powers for me. I didn't really see how typing something in a consistant rough draft for the world to see could help me out. Then I felt like I didn't deserve to be a Psychology major.

I mean, come on. I should've understood that before she even said it.

But like Mario said, "Here I Go Again".

It's the end of my junior year. God continues to read me riddles and haikus in the form of women, academics and family. I would've thought, a year ago, that I could handle it, that I knew enough to NOT make a bad decision. God proves to me again that I never know enough. 

The roster:
Georgia Peach-y? - I think its done for real now. I've been dancing the same tango with this girl for two years, since her freshman year, my sophomore year. At first, the attraction was solely physical. As time went on, and we spent more time with each other, I think we elevated to a level past tolerable. She's a cool kid, with her own little quirks that showed me who she was. I genuinely liked her, our conversations, our late-movie walks, et cetera.
For a while, I hoped for a relationship between us. The problem was, I couldn't understand her to save my life. As a poet, analyzation is a way of life, but there will always be a woman to screw those thoughts up. The signals she threw me, while legitimate, still confused the crap out of me. Does she like me? Are we still friends? More than friends? Should I make a move? Non-stop questions.
One night, it became clear that we should keep it simple, and keep it on a friendship level. Yet, when I follow the protocol of "just friends" and pursue nothing more, she expected me to actually try harder. Didn't someone say something before about saying what you mean?
As of right now, I think she despises my existance. The lack of communication, or desire for, has both of our views of the other screwed up. She doesn't seem to be willing to talk to me. All I ever wanted was for her to be straight up and come direct to me. I just want(ed?) her to talk to me. Even if she hates me. Even if I'm just "another guy" to her. Even after we weren't trying to date each other, I still want(ed?) to be a friend.
Ah well. I miss her.

M. Jones - How in the world did she end up becoming one of my closest friends? I met this kid on the basis of a mutual friend. Subtract the mutual friend, and somehow we went together just fine.
In the beginning, I hoped for more than a friendship with her. Thankfully, I didn't try it/she didn't let me. And we still have a strong friendship. I care for her in so many ways, and I honestly try to be the best friend I know how to be. Her ear, her shoulder, her late-night-run-to-Walmart buddy, whatever. She doesn't still have to talk to me. But she's still here. As am I.
Point being? She's a cool kid. Cuz we rock out with our glocks out.

Love's Love - This girl. The longest source of confusion in my life. Without thinking, I say that she might've been one of the major factors of angst during my early teenage years. At the same time, I don't know if I'll love any other female as much as I love her.
I fell hard for her. I didn't know why. I still don't know why. But she's grown to be such a part of my life, I can't imagine not having her. Since knee-highs, we've been friends, with countless memories to boot. I loved her in ways that no 12-year-old should.
Alas, time walks in the door. Almost like a beacon of light, I saw that something had to change. We were both growing up, becoming different people, yet the same souls.
I love her. I will love her. For reasons that are no clearer to me now than they were at age 12. While I may not be head-over-heels in love with her any more, we've come too far to drop it. 

Stupidoodle - Oh wow. The magic and mysticism of Spting Break knows no boundaries. What started out as a simple evasion of boredom ended up being a very sensitive "like" affair.
I like her. I really like her. I like the way she feels in my arms. I like how I don't feel pressured to be something else around her. I like her corniness. I like her gay nicknames. I like how she looks in my eyes. I like how she says, "I like you".
I don't even know how it happened. Somewhere, I started saying to myself, "Man. This feels good."
My fear is that I'll fack it up. Like I usually do. I'll be graduating in a year. Will that year be enough? Will it be in vain? Is this even real? What if we're just in a hypersensualized state of infatuation? I hope not.
In any case, she's also my friend. I hope she sticks around.

Jedi.Wordsmith. - If you could type a smile without looking wack, then insert that here ___________________.
If I ever had a reason to thank Myspace, this is it. I thank God for her. There are many people that I get along with. There are a few people who I can righteously vibe with spiritually, vocationally and spiritually vocationally. She's one of them. In a world of Dipset admirers and Chicken Noodle Soup dancers, she's the one person who wholeheartedly despises them on the same level I do, if not more. It's not even just that. This woman is a writer. A WRITER. If you don't belive me, just check her myspace moniker. 
When we started talking to each other via Myspace last summer, I guess you can say that I was excited. Actually looking forward to the new semester. Just to meet her in person.
She proved to be a great friend. Always willing to listen and give unbiased advice. Nice, I thought to myself.
Imagine my surprise/joy/confusion/ecstacy when she ended up reiterating those same feelings towards me. Almost to the T. Except it was a P. (Get it? P for Poetry?)
And I was definately attracted to her. Physically and mentally.
(Un)fortunately, I said nothing. Yet we were still friends. United by the pen, stronger with time, I appreciated it.
Now? Questions. Not that she's grown more cryptic, but I have the feeling that there's a lot more behind her words. Me? Unsure how to read it. Do I automatically assume that behind her words are messages tainted with admiration? Common sense tells me no, but hope pushes me to look for more.
Either way, here's what I sound like approaching the finale: our love remains on paper until forgotten. If I'm right.