Gotham Memories | Love Defined


She stood in the doorway to my room, braids falling over her shoulders, skin the colour of cafe au lait, dressed in college casual and an expression of distress on her face.

“Why doesn't he answer my calls?” was followed by a clear argument for the obvious. He just was not into her anymore.

He was her boyfriend from back home and she was my quad-mate (not my roommate, but the person who lived in the next room who I shared the bathroom and kitchen with). It was the weekend and he was to come up but there was an obvious change in plans.

I remember feeling frustrated by her constant whining about not getting in contact with him. In my best neutral tone of voice, I told her perhaps the relationship was over. I could tell she was not hearing the words coming out of my face, so I told her to try calling him again.

From tat moment, I disliked the notion of being so caught up with another person that I never let anyone get too close. I didn't want to be the teary-eyed shadow of myself, trying to hold on to something that had come to past. I had also seen something similar with a friend in Italy.

Perhaps, it's a woman thing where we need to understand. Yet part of me can see the male side of it where they know they don't want to be in a relations just because they are not into that person or that relationship.

She eventually came to terms with her single status and I'm sure he's just a fuzzy memory. It's sad though that their relationship's demise is such a vivid memory for me. That i is the first pillar upon which I rest my resistance to giving my heart freely. From that point, subconsciously, I built an argument against falling in love.

The lesson is that this is another person's love story. I should never use it to avoid experiencing my own hardship and pain. It's those hardships that carve one's character, making them unique and interesting. Some scars are sexy and tell interesting stories, even the scars of a broken heart. The great thing about a broken heart, it can always be put back together and most times, it's stronger that it was before.

I'm happy to say this memory is fading away and in a few years it will be gone, replaced with memories of loving and being loved.

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Gotham Memories | Brenza


Her name was Brenza, she lived on the first floor of my dorm in my freshman year. She was a full size woman relegated to a wheelchair who liked to regale anyone who would listen about herself and being a plus size model. She said she was from Brazil and from what I gathered she made FIT her home. Taking every major she could, a perpetual student, Brenza was. A perpetual liar, Brenza was.

I believe I was her friend for too long. It sounds harsh, I know, but hear me out. I am a loyal person, I will be there when a person need me but Brenza took it too far sometimes.

I remember a time when she wanted to go to an electrical store on the east side in the 40's. Let me paint the scene, at that time, I weighed between 128lb and 132lb, Brenza weighed 200lb+. I think we had taken a cab to the store, she did her thing which I think was to exchange a camera or cellphone, I can't remember for sure.

Then Brenza wanted to go to The Wiz on 31st and 6th Ave and she wanted to go by street. Part of the way was up a slight incline and I had to push her wheelchair most of the way.

My resentment was borne from my physical strain, her neediness, her wanting to be the center of attention and my own naivete. I believed her lies, I took what she said at face value because why would someone lie about such things?

As time passed, I stepped back from Brenza long after the people I met her through did. I would wave, make small talk, then leave shortly after. As the years passed, I would watch people get caught in the sticky web of her lies. Only to see her truth and like me slip away from her grasp.

I am not saying she was a bad person, I would say she was a person who created an alter ego for herself or should I say she wrote another story for her life that was more interesting to her than her true story. At the end of the day, it was a lie and a true, lasting friendship can not exist if one party refuses to tell the truth about themselves.

Now, I am happy that the chapter of Brenza was a short one. I don't know where in the world she is, she might very well still be at FIT or she might have found gainful employment somewhere. All I can hope for is that she had learned to accept who she really is and learned to face who she is.

Brenza was her name, and although I spent so much time with her, I never really knew her.

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I'm Baaack!!


My apologies on being MIA, it was my intention to be consistent in blogging at least once a week. I know what tripped me up, trying to include more blog posts, but I will do my darnedest to refrain myself from posting more than my Wednesday post.

So what has been keeping me away? Well...

I moved
It's been a long time in the making. For 8 years, I've been living in one of my parents' apartments which was ideal at the time. I didn't have to be concerned with my parents dictating how I lived. Still, I felt like I was still under their hand. There was also the fact that it was too big for me, so the space was underutilized. Also, my sister wanted to move out from the family home, for some of the reasons I moved out.

After much discussion and consideration, we decided to move in with each other as of the 1st of March. Luckily, the ideal place was found and we moved in on the 16th of March. Unfortunately, moving was a hassle, I have to much stuff. At one point I wanted to burn them all.

It took me about 2 weeks to empty out all my stuff doing it little, little around my work schedule. It reminded me of the George Carlin bit, about stuff



What I recognized was my stuff fell into several categoriest:
  • Stuff I used regularly, from daily to every few days. This is stuff I can't do without. What I've discovered was although I had upwards of 7 glasses , 7 dishes, 3 bowls, I only used one of each. Which made me ask the question, Why do I have all of the others?
  • Stuff I never use but they have sentimental value. There were things that were left in my apartment during the move and it was not a big deal. Then I would bring them over and it was important that I had them with me. These included photo albums, books I really liked, little souvenirs.
  • Stuff I never use and rationalize that I would use them. The only reason I still have them is because as soon as I toss them I will have a use for them. It doesn't matter that they are collecting dust and have probably gone bad, I just might use them. These include art supplies, photography supplies, screenprinting supplies.
  • Stuff I don't use on the regular but most likely use again. Months may pass and I haven't used them, but I know for sure there will be a time when a family member or I will use it. These include my guillotine, my laminating machine, my sewing machines.
  • Stuff I should toss and know I must toss. I just never got around to tossing them.
  • Stuff that might be able to fix and/or I paid quite some money for and I question if I should do away with it. I just might be able to get it fixed, but do I really want to go through the hassle of finding someone just to be told it can't be fixed. This includes old printers, old monitors (big ass monitors)
  • Stuff to sell/donate. These are just spread out and I never took the time to put together and take to the consignment stores or donate to the Red Cross. The bottom line is I just don't want them. These include books, clothes, little knick knacks.

After moving all these things to my new home, I still have to sort them which is another hassle. But there is....

Something I Never Thought About
Wanting to get some of the stuff out of the house, I took some to the consignment store I've used before. While waiting to present my stuff to be sold, I looked around and noticed some art supplies, art books, odds and ends. When I went to the sales clerk who I knew long before she worked there, she said she couldn't take my stuff.

A few months back, an ex-pat was killed by her ex-husband and the store was asked to do a yard sale for her estate and what was left back the store could have. It was a lot of stuff.

It made me think about my stuff. How one's lifetime, they accumulate stuff what fall into the above categories. They don't think about the fact that one day, they will die and a family member or worse, a stranger, would have to go through their stuff.

What will my stuff say about me? Are there things I'm embarrassed to own? What will happen to the things that were dear to me? Will they be sold off without a thought? Will they hold on to them in memory of me? Should I go ahead an purge  my stuff? And a very important question,

Why do I have this stuff?

These are a few questions I will be mulling over as I sort through my stuff. I know I will have to keep repeating to my self, “These things don't really matter.” I know I won't be going the minimalist route, but I will come as close as I can while creating a space that will nourish me and expresses who I really am.

What about you? If you were to move tomorrow, would you be taking all the stuff that populates your current space? Could you live with out most of your stuff?

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