Interests:London; child/community psychology; activism; social justice; diversity issues; workers' rights; global awareness; gay Christians; jazz Expertise:making you feel uncomfortable; challenging your views; & of course shakin it like a SALT SHAKAAAAAAAA Occupation:Activist Industry:Nonprofit
You're a falling star, You're the get away car. You're the line in the sand when I go too far. You're the swimming pool, on an August day. And you're the perfect thing to say.
And you play it coy, but it's kinda cute. Ah, When you smile at me you know exactly what you do. Baby don't pretend, that you don't know it's true. Cause you can see it when I look at you.
And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times It's you, it's you, You make me sing. You're every line, you're every word, you're everything.
You're a carousel, you're a wishing well, And you light me up, when you ring my bell. You're a mystery, you're from outer space, You're every minute of my everyday.
And I can't believe, that I'm your man, And I get to kiss you baby just because I can. Whatever comes our way, ah we'll see it through, And you know that's what our love can do.
And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times It's you, it's you, You make me sing You're every line, you're every word, you're everything.
So, La, La, La... So, La, La, La...
And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times It's you, it's you, You make me sing. You're every line, you're every word, you're everything. You're every song, and I sing along. 'Cause you're my everything. Yeah, yeah
so it's been a while... seems i don't have time for xanga anymore...hm. i've been trying to keep a personal journal, however over the course of the month i only started journaling today... it's like there's so much on my mind all the time that i don't even want to write it down because i don't want to be reminded of it... i wanted to share this entry... as it's been especially pressing on my heart... this is from Friday, Sept. 7--
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I just found out that a boy from one of the high schools I will be working with was shot and killed last night. My heart sunk. It sank even further when I heard the next words. “He was Vietnamese.” Though I didn’t know him, it hit close to home. And how ironic that he had the same first and last name as a friend of mine.
That’s my people. That’s small grandmothers and close knit families and little brothers and sisters and cousins JUST LIKE MINE that are now hurting, crying, and in pain. That’s my family.
The news stayed with me all day, but while at work I swallowed it and held it in the pit of my stomach. I wouldn’t allow it to rise up into my heart.
That night at home, it rose.
The sorrow and frustration took hold of me. I was in shock.
But why? I’m from West Philly. We have the second highest murder rate in the country. People are always getting shot on the block.
I think the difference is, in Philly, I learned to expect it. As horrible as it sounds, I did. Everyone did. It was a fact of life. Life on the streets—life and death; the war of the streets. And on the East Coast, when you are in poverty you SEE the poverty.
Here life is different. I shouldn’t say that. The scenery is different. I’m living in freekin’ Silicon Valley. When I’m downtown I turn around and see Adobe, Cisco and other tech companies looming over me like tech-hungry giants. I drive around the poorest areas in the East side and think to myself, “This is the ‘hood?” It looks like a suburb. Perhaps that is what is most disturbing, and unsettling. You don’t expect it. It looks nice. But it is a façade. And these neighborhoods and these gangs and these confused, scared kids are growing up in the cracks and crevices of million dollar neighborhoods. And much like Tupac’s poem, there are times when a rose is able to rise out of the concrete. But for every rose there are a thousands weeds—trampled and broken. Victims to the streets.
I don’t know who this young kid was who died. And I can’t help but think, ‘What if Governor Schwz. hadn’t gone on vacation and instead had signed our grant so that we could have started when we were supposed to? What if we were at that school and recruited that kid or the kids who shot him and they were off the streets? What if?” I can’t stop ruminating about the ‘What-if’s’ and I know that it does no good—but I can’t stop.
I fear for the kids who will be in our program. I fear for them walking home from school. I fear for their future. I fear for their families and for their lives. I want to hold them in the core of my heart and protect each and every one of them. I want to lift them up to the Heavens, to God and to the Universe. Young souls and young minds lost to the war on the streets. A war they never signed up for. They were drafted without consent. Born into a life of strife and armed with nothing but naivety and sophomoric pride. God be their shield, and use us as your armor to give them strength and support.
Let us fight the good fight and help to end this war.
My new favorite pasttime is gazing at the stars at night. I've never really had the time--err, taken the time to do so...in a long time. And it's one of my favorite things about the countryside. On a clear night you can see almost every star in the sky. It's something I've missed living in the city.
I've been noticing a dim star, an orangish one that flickers. With my limited knowledge of astrology, I've been wondering if it is a dying star. Then it makes me wonder whether God has planted a star in the sky which represents each one of us. Is that dying star my star? Does the strength and color of that star represent the current state of my soul--my spiritual life? Hmm... somewhat disheartening...
Yet in a way, I know that I'm in a lull in my life--physically, mentally and spiritually. A transition period. I know that all of those areas of my life are about to grow stronger. Hopefully my star's light will as well.
Then it makes me think, with all of these stars out there in the sky... there has to be another star out there, made to accompany mine.
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