Monday, November 18, 2013
This November marks four years of growing upper lip hair. And while Movember seems like an obvious reason for me to have started growing bigotes in the first place, let me tell you that it’s not. Simply put, me growing a mustache was a result of having my heart broken for the first time and like any good heartbreak story, it’s a good one.
In the four years of having my magnificent mustache, I’ve shared this story with only a hand full of folks. The question of why I started growing one is something I’m use to, but I will usually say something that is funny and won’t have folks asking follow up questions after. So I would just say that I always had mustache envy, and that envy prompted me to grow one. And while that is one my reasons, it’s not the entire story.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
The act of being politicized was never something new to me, but taking action was. It’s only in these last few years that I have taken action in support, solidarity and/or against numerous issues. But the one issue that brought me into the fray of things was one that affected me directly and inherently, selfish. It was the Federal Dream Act. My foundation has been built on being selfish.
Up in till then, music, comics, video games and some television had sowed in me ideas, notions and ideals of social justice, but the connections were never made. There was never a spark to light something in me and push me to do something about it. More than anything, that was on me because I was and in many ways, still am a nihilist. My personal experience growing up left me longing for what I didn’t have and instead of doing something positive about it, I let it fester into something negative.
There was this one time at a party, someone was asking me which political figures I admired. Who were the folks that I looked up that helped me be socially conscious. The fact that I was cross faded aside, I replied by naming Peter Parker, The X-Men, and a few other fictional characters. When the same person asked me again when I was sober, I gave him the same answers. He thought I was yanking his chain, but I was just being honest. Fictional characters have more impact in my life than any individual you can think of.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Somewhere there’s a quote by some inspiring individual that I can drop here, about how it is easier in life to hate than to love. If you think of one, insert it here on your own, other wise I may have to use a star wars reference with Yoda. The thing about hating someone or thing, at its core, is lack of understanding. While obviously not an be all end all explanation, it suits my needs for this thread of thoughts. Thus I ask myself the question, why all the hate?
Hate of/for specific individuals, things, practices, things I can’t control, pass experiences etc. The most important question for me isn’t trying to find the cause or origin, but reflecting more on the active decision making process in which I acknowledge choosing negativity versus anything positive. I don’t deny past decisions I have made, once upon a time I may have, but not these days.
Hence, knowing and fully understanding what it means to put out bad juju in the universe, I consciously throw metaphorical rocks that have started and/or escalated beefs that could have been avoided and/or ignored. None of it does any good and it only furthers to alienate myself from whatever it is I’m trying to get away from and/or put down because I don’t agree with whatever thing I don’t agree with.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Part of it is that I gave up on myself when I was seven years old. I treated school and life like I job I hated, but had to go to. I went through the notions and did enough work so as to not be “fired.” And the Los Angeles Unified School District had no problem letting me go through the motions until I was no longer their concern.
I wanna say that part of it also involves my parents, but that’s just a cheap cop out. They fed me, put clothes on my back and a roof over my head. Anything after that is just being nit picky. But I don’t deny that my particular experience growing up and my relationship with my parents, or lack there of, does have its place in all this.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Saturday, September 14, 2013
I visit these memories now mostly as a courtesy to myself. I’ve built many more on top of those and as I get older, they’re becoming more and more vague. Like anyone else, I do my best to keep reminders around me or visit certain places to keep these memories alive. Wrestling mask is one of them.
Before I was born, my father was a luchador. He never made it beyond the warm up matches that got the crowd warmed up for the main event because of a shoulder injury, and because I was born. I can remember walking toward the entrance of the stadium. Seeing folks sell everything from cotton candy, tiny luchador action figures to wrestling mask. I can remember being in our seats, up high, looking down at the ring and hearing the babble of the crowds.
But the distinct smell of the mask has always been imprinted in my head. Over the years, I’ve come across numerous mask of all kinds, but none of them ever smell like the mask I remember having. In a sort of obsessed way, I’ve been looking for the kind of mask that you can only get in Mexico, hoping that someone brought them up here and they’re selling them. To this day, I’ve never found anyone that has’m, not like the ones that remind me of my childhood.
Recently, I had a friend offer me an opportunity I couldn’t refuse. His dad brought back a couple of mask directly from Mexico. The kind of mask I’ve been looking for all these years. When I finally got them in the mail, I couldn’t help getting emotional over them. Not only were they the mask of two of my favorite legends, Blue Demon and El Santo, but also the smell took me back to my childhood.
The texture of the material, they way they fit and even they way the mask feels against my skin; it was just as I remember it. It’s as if a part of me that was missing for all these years reattached itself. Part of me wants to wear the mask everywhere, but another just wants the have them on display, but either way, I’m over joyed at finally having my hands on them. The nostalgia of a scent from a time long ago, instantly brought back after all these years.