A NYC native that's a self-taught writer with various interests. A poet, musician, bike-rider, coffee fanatic, and language lover. I enjoy bird-watching, making music, card games and the performance stage.
When Leaves Wither...
My uncle once told me getting older weakens one’s endurance for the cold. Winter used to be my favorite season; I'm not a wallflower, but enjoy the ambiance of solitude intimated by snow. And yet it seems my uncle’s words caught up to me earlier than expected.
Wisdom of the Allurements
I love poetry, but I find myself engaged in various art forms e.g., jazz, music, poetry. Much before the pandemic, a decade from now, I was becoming a wallflower, although my behavioral habits suggested otherwise; nights of house-partying, excessive drinking, giving attention to others and not myself led to an inevitable mental crash. Around that time, I was new to jazz, poetry, and even music on a serious level. At heart, I will always be a musician, but I continually notice that distinct art forms relate and how that illustrates my insatiable thirst for wisdom in various places; I think I'm a potential polymath. But with various interests at irresistible demand, a personal life to consistently manage, and shouldering the struggle of freelancing, I find poetry keeps me grounded more than any art. She's like the woman of my life.
Drowning in Dreams
The movie Inception never made much sense to me, where exploring a dream within a dream called in various professional geniuses, adventure, and mind excavation. I think I learned about the idea better from Edgar Allan Poe, specifically, from his poem ‘A Dream Within A Dream’. So many times I’ve read it that I could recite it at whim; any poem remembered verbatim yields tighter kinship with its cadence. I interspersed with its rhythms immediately, realizing it’s full of open-ended meanings despite a close-ended question concluding the poem: “Is all that we see or seem but a dream within a dream?” First instinct, my mind says no, except I adore the room for theory which opens at the sound of yes.
Beginning The Poetic Journey
I forget how old I was but I was still a child. I spent some years as a cub scout going on small adventures. One was exploring Alpine Park in New Jersey. I learned some basics about living and surviving in the wild. Many activities filled the scenery, for the Boy Scouts organization occupied the land and established a safe and thriving environment for young boys to learn a skill or two. I tried the bow and arrow to rock climbing to running. I grew up playing basketball, football, tried tennis till my wrist hurt too much, and joined the track team in my senior year of high school. But as a preteen, despite how thrilled and vigorous I was for social interaction, I often daydreamed. Getting lost in reverie was something like a hobby. One day it became a necessity.
While many circumstances life can unfold before us, among the worst is turning jobless－unintentionally. A year ago, in the early autumn of 2020, I was relieved of work due to a misunderstanding between a former coworker and my ex-boss, a young Caucasian Californian lass who seemed to take me for a womanizer.
There’s a scratched up, medium-sized table in my bedroom. It stands next to my bed, and beneath that is my pink yoga mat. Pink is my second favorite color (I think we all have more than one favorite type). Yellow comes first for me. Thus there is Ms. Sunshine.