A day in the life of Captain Oats

End of Summer

2010-08-11T14:46:00.000-07:00

The summer is coming to an end. This week marks my last week teaching swim lessons for the summer, perhaps ever. In two weeks school will start and my schedule has been dictated by whoever comes up with the class schedules at the College of Social Work. I am not happy with whoever that is. This is because they scheduled a class while I'm supposed to be at Kid's Book Club (I've talked about it in previous posts. Find them yourself.) Today, it hit me that next Monday will be my last Monday. I have been volunteering there since my senior year of high school in 2007, and the last two years I have been acting as the Program Director and planning/executing the weekly activities. I didn't know that I would be this affected by the ending of my term there. It makes me regret those days I did not put my whole heart into interacting and working with the kids. I regret the days when I felt annoyed or even angry at a kid for his/her behavior. I regret kicking that one kid out that one night. I regret half-assing some night's activities. I regret not appreciating the fullness of this experience.

I have been taught a great deal by and owe so much to the hundreds of kids who have gone through those doors - scared at first, hard-asses next, then ecstatic to finally leave the shelter. Kid’s Book Club was my first volunteer experience, and it set me on the path to pursue social work and care about the welfare of every human being. I have been taught that when the objectives of your efforts lie outside yourself you can never be drained. It's like taking a bucket of water and trying to pour every last drop out, only to find the bucket miraculously filled again, fuller this time. This phenomenon is a selfish one where the giver is actually the saved, and the receiver the savior.

My belief system has been transformed and created through my experience working with the kids at The Road Home. I believe in the resilience of the human spirit because I witnessed it firsthand. I believe in the individual worth of all humans because I've seen that which unites us exceeding greatly that which divides. I believe in the care-free adaptation to whatever situation life puts you through because that is exactly what these kids have done and continue to do. I believe in living in the present, not just the present day, but the present moment, because the future is unpredictable and the past is un-reliveable. All that exists is that which you are holding, doing, saying, feeling. And because of this each action, statement, conversation, relationship needs to be executed with the greatest passion, commitment and unwavering dedication.

No post of any length could ever convey the depth and importance this experience holds for me. I am saddened that it is over, but excited by what is happening now, and what surprises the future holds for me.

This is What we Call Dabbling

2010-06-11T16:33:00.000-07:00

I’m not homophobic

My son is gay.

I’m not a racist

My best friend is black.

You tell me as you

Tie your tie

Lace your shoes

Grab your bag of literature

And

Go.

I love you,

Not

What you do.

What I do is who I am

So If you love me

Then you love what I do

_________________________________________________________________________

Choose God

this

How, I wonder.

Why, I wonder.

What does it mean

When you tell me you

Love the sinner, but

Hate

The sin.

Love

Hate

Love

Hate

White

Black

All

None

Black

White

Grey

I love Grey.

I watch you sit there

On the phone

I love you, mom,

You say.

I love you for saying it.

You look at me and smile

What?

Nothing.

Why were you looking at me like that?

I just love you, that’s all.

We said I LOVE YOU for the first time last week

And every five minutes since

I love you too

You kiss me on the cheek as you lift

From the couch

Basketball shorts

White t-shirt with yellow tacos in the armpits

You are ugly

Tennis shorts

Green hoodie covered in blond dog hair

I am ugly

We are cute that way

I remember when

I remember when our lips

I remember when our lips first met

Like very old friends reuniting

That moment transcended

Sex

Became more than

Fulfilled me

By making me one half of Us.

I was

Liberated

Rejuvenated

Free

Safe

Happy

I felt forgiven

Kissing for repentence

I have never been one to write poetry. Let me know what you think.

Nothing More

2009-11-22T19:14:00.000-08:00

I am sitting in my car trying to come up with the script of what, exactly, I am going to say. It needs to be sensitive, caring, and thoughtful, with a tone of finality. I just don’t think this is going to work out. No, too generic. It’s not you, it’s my busy schedule. Too much of a cop out. I really just don’t feel like we’re connecting at the level I had hoped. No, that’s not right either. Newman’s car pulls up next to mine in the Chilli’s parking lot. He gets out, gives me a broad smile and skips over to my door. I get out and hug him, a quick peck – the usual greeting. “I’ve missed you so much!” He tells me.

We walk to the entrance of the restaurant, hands in pockets. I open the door and hold it open for Newman and a perky blond family of four. “Thanks,” he says with a smile that makes me hate myself for what I’m about to do.

“How was your day today?” Newman asks as he rests his foot on mine underneath the table.

I move my foot and reply “It was fine, guess what? I got 20 out of 20 on that retirement plan project.”

“Really? That’s awesome!”

“Thanks, how was your day?”

He tells me about his day. He tells me about how he went to see his friend’s baby, but as he was pulling into her driveway she texted him to reschedule. He tells me about the purse he’s sewing for his mom, and about the conversation he had with his brother, the conversation in which he came out.

“So he took it well?” I ask.

“Yeah, he tried to tell me about all the gay friends he has, but none of them are really gay.”

“That’s funny,” I reply with a little less enthusiasm than the situation calls for.

With a look of confusion he asks, “Is everything ok?”

My heart jumps and I realize that what is bubbling and boiling inside of me, the things that need to come out, are slowly making their way to the surface. “I’m fine,” I reply. “Do you want to hear about the lamest kid in my business class?”

“Of course,” he replies. He is staring straight at me, straight through me.

I proceed to tell him about the kid who has come up with the next greatest asset to modern convenience since the Snuggie: something along the lines of a towel. That’s all he would tell us. I guess he thought that the class was going to steal his idea, patent it, and steal his millions of dollars. He was wrong.

Our food arrives and this is a relief to me. I no longer have to act the part of content boyfriend on just another date. Instead, I can focus on my Fiesta Salad Explosion. I busy myself with the task of corralling lettuce onto my fork, coating each piece with just the right amount of Explosive Dressing. We finish, pay and leave.

“Where are we going?” Newman asks while buckling his seatbelt and turning down the stereo.

“I don’t know. Let’s just drive.”

“Ok.”

I turn onto the main road and head east. We talk about nothing in particular, some may call it small talk, others may call it shooting the breeze. We are simply making a verbal bridge from one moment to the next. The next moment, I know, is going to suck, and because I know this I try to delay it for as long as possible.

“Are you sure you’re ok? Are you mad at me?” Newman asks. The tone of his voice is concerned.

“What? No. Why?”

“Usually your hand would be on my leg or holding mine right now.”

He’s right. While driving, my hand goes instinctively from the shifting stick to his hand or leg, but this time my mind is so preoccupied, and I feel so disconnected, that my hand is resting ominously under my right leg, creating a barrier between us. I pull my hand out and put it on his leg.

“Don’t do it because you think you have to.”

“I don’t think I have to.” I say as I put my hand back under my own leg.

We drive in silence until the road becomes a dead end. I turn around and drive in the opposite direction.

“Have we run out of things to talk about?” Newman asks.

“No.” I dryly reply.

“Are you sure? You’re not talking. It seems like you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad. I’ve just been thinking.”

“About what?”

I don’t reply. Both my hands remain on the steering wheel as we pass Chilli’s - where Newman’s car is still parked. Dread is building in my chest. I open my mouth to say something, then close it. I open it again, then close it. Finally a bubble of courage comes from my stomach, travels through my chest, cutting through the dread, and out my mouth.

“I think….that my life just doesn’t align with having a boyfriend right now.”

Newman stares straight ahead, through the windshield. “You want to break up?” He asks without looking at me.

I steal a glance at him, and then turn my eyes back to the road. “I don’t want to break up.” I carefully measure my words. There is no way I could’ve properly practiced for this. “I just think that it is the best solution.”

“Oh.” He replies.

I steal another glance and notice that his chin is resting on his chest, but there are no tears. This is a good sign because I have never seen him cry before, and don’t know what it’s like. I don’t know if he’s a sobber, a silent tearer, a shoulder shaker, or a wall creater – like me.

“I feel like I am doing a disservice to you, and also to myself. I want to be a good boyfriend. I want to be there for you emotionally, physically and in every other way. But I’m not able to do that because of work, school, and distance.”

He sits quietly as we enter a construction zone. I maneuver around orange cones and reflective orange clad men. I wonder what they think of us as we drive past. What assumptions do they make? Can they tell that something dramatic is going on inside this car? What’s the weirdest thing they’ve ever seen going on inside a passing car? I've found that I hardly notice construction workers anymore. They have become part of the scenery. Not really important. Perhaps this is the reason why there are those commercials on the radio telling you not to hit the mothers, fathers, sons and daughters in the orange vests.

I watch Newman and drive with my peripheral vision for as long as I feel is safe. “What are you thinking?” I ask.

“That there’s nothing I can really do. I can’t say ‘oh we can make it work’ because I know that your mind is made up.”

I make a U-turn. We are enroute to Chilli’s. I’m trying to time it so the hard part is over by the time we get to the parking lot.

“What are you feeling? Are you mad? Sad? Numb?”

“I’m not mad. I understand. I know that you’re busy. I know that you have a lot of things going on. And I support you in all that you’re doing. I think what you do is great.”

An understanding dumpee is so much harder than an angry one. I can deal with the anger; I can’t deal with the guilt trip.

“Do you feel like the past three months has been a waste?”

“No.”

“Good, because I have had nothing but great experiences with you. I have so much respect and admiration for you, and I will never speak ill of you.”

“Ok.” He meekly replies. He is crying now, not audibly, but out of the corner of my eye I can see tears rolling down his cheek. We pull into the Chilli’s parking lot and I park, unbuckle my seat belt and turn to him. It seems that I did not time it right. I hold the back of his neck, where his curly black hair ends and his neck begins. I pull on a lock of curls and they bounce back into place. I’m going to miss playing with his hair. I’m going to miss holding him, him holding me. I’m going to miss having someone always available to text or call. I’m going to miss all these things, but try as I might I cannot cry. I do not have feelings deep enough for him to cry.

Newman begins to sob. I hug him, his head resting against my chest. His shoulders shake slightly, but not enough to be considered a “shoulder shaker.” This hug has triggered something inside Newman. He is crying harder, shoulders shaking harder. I can feel tears dropping onto my bare forearm. I feel like shit. Slowly, he begins to reel himself back in. He pulls away from me and looks up, then back down again. I want to say something, but have nothing to say. “I think I’m going to go,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” is all that manages to escape my mouth.

“Don’t be.” He removes a black bracelet from his right wrist and puts it in his jacket pocket. I have a matching bracelet at home on my bookshelf, untouched. I never put it on, and this affirms to me that I have made the right decision. Newman did not occupy the top of my list of priorities, school does, and this is unfair to him. I know that he will find someone who can provide the level of attention and support that he deserves. A person who lives closer than I, who’s less self-involved than I, and who can be a compliment to him better than I. I am merely a stepping stone to that person. It hurts like hell to get dumped, but I hope that with time he will be able to see our relationship for what it was, a learning, growing, and fun experience. Nothing more.

Failure

2009-05-13T22:34:00.000-07:00

A few months ago I applied for the social work program at the university I attend. It’s a two year program, and they only take in 20 – 25 students each semester. I filled out my application, got two letters of recommendation, wrote a resume charting all my volunteer experiences, sent in official transcripts, and wrote a personal statement summing up who I am as a person, and why I should be accepted into the social work program in 3 – 5 pages. I turned in my application and have been waiting impatiently ever since. I frequented the mailbox 3 – 4 times a day in the hopes that my golden ticket to the world of other people’s problems and dismal pay would be waiting for me. I imagined how they would tell me that I got into the program.

Dear Captain Oats,

We are pleased to announce that you have greatly exceeded our rigid standards for acceptance. We have never had an applicant who exhibited such charm, such intelligence, such empathy, or such brilliance. We would be honored to have you study in our institution. Don’t worry about tuition; your qualifications are such that we’ve got that covered. Don’t worry about grades either; we understand that your level of social genius is immune to the lame-brain structures of tests and a grading scale.

Sincerely,

Top echelons of social work

Certainly my greatness would not warrant a generic response, and I could not wait to get my personalized letter of acceptance. Every day I would get home from work, race down the drive-way and check the mailbox only to find catalogs and bills addressed to my parents. My excitement and anticipation for a letter of acceptance was suddenly replaced with a slightly more desperate need for a “we messed up, you really got in” letter. I didn’t get into the program, and I’m pretty sure I know why. My personal statement was dreadful. I wrote it about 5 minutes before I turned in the application, I was limited to only five pages, and I had the balls to end it with “Taylor the social worker, it just sounds right.” The essay was cheesy, unfocused, and hurried, which is perfectly acceptable for a lame blog, but not so for an application that will be read by people who don’t care about cutesy and topical, and whose decision will shape your future. I was crushed when I read the words “We are not able to accept your application at this time.” I cursed and threw the paper back onto my desk with enough force to change the word order into sentence that says “We are able to accept your application at this time.” I was pissed that they only took a limited number of students, I was pissed that I’ve busted my butt to get good grades, I was pissed that they couldn’t see past my lame personal essay and see that I really do belong in the social work program. I felt discouraged and lost because I was so certain that social work was what I am going to be doing as a career.

Monday night I was where you will find me every Monday night, at Kids Book Club in The Road Home. The theme of the day was fish, and I had just gone down to the copy room to make some copies of coloring pages. I was walking back to the room when I noticed the mother of a child exiting the room, then stopping at the door to continue observing the boy she had just reprimanded. She noticed me coming, and realized that she was blocking my path and she said “Sorry, I’m just watching Mark. They’re supposed to be reading, right? They’re not supposed to be messing around?”

“Yeah” I replied “But we don’t really have much luck getting them to focus on books for the full hour that they’re supposed to be reading. I usually make a deal with them, that if they read a certain number of books, then they can color or play.”

“I worry about Mark, he’s been getting some bad habits. He’s been getting into trouble.”

”At school?” I asked

“Yes, he’s been hitting and kicking other kids. I worry that he’s hanging around with a bad crowd of boys.”

“I see, well I’ll keep an eye on him and make sure that he’s behaving himself tonight.”

“Thanks, I just worry that he’s getting in with a bad group of kids.”

Hearing this mother’s concern for her son, Mark, reaffirmed to me that social work will one day be my career. This mother taught me a lesson: both mothers in poverty, and mothers like my own are striving for the same goal - get your kid a better life than your own. How easy it is for everyone to attain that goal is debatable, but the desire is there. It’s little lessons like these that I learned in Ghana, and that I continue to learn in my current work with the homeless children of Salt Lake City. These lessons are much more valuable than any theories that I could read from a text book or hear from a professor. This is reality. Real people living with real situations with no real solutions at their disposal. There will always be real people living in real situations, and if I can write an intelligent, reasonable personal essay, maybe then I will be accepted to the social work program, and eventually come up with real solutions for the people and situations I work with. I’ll take this failure into stride, learn from it, and try again next time better equipped to convince them of my brilliance. Taylor the social worker, it just sounds right.

Movin' out!

2009-03-31T08:56:00.000-07:00

I have to write an essay as a part of my application to the Social Work program, so I'm going to start here with a little pre writing and get everything out of my head.

Sometimes random questions just pop into my head.
If you had a Parkinson's disease patient group picture, would it turn out blurry? I know that's incredibly insensitive, but I really want to know.
Can someone with a prosthetic leg use a urinal? How do they do the little getting 'it' out of your pants dance. Do they wear boxers for easier access?
If you counted all the steps you've taken in your whole life, would there be enough to walk around the world?

I want to live in a place where people don't talk about "my struggle with SSA."
I want to live in a place where being gay isn't a disease to be treated through therapies which don't comply with APA, AMA, and NASW standards.
I want to live in a place where suicide rates for young men don't lead the nation.
I want to live in a place where the state legislature meets with their constituents before a session, not a church.
I want to live in a place where it's not freaking snowing at the beginning of April.
I want to live in a place where I don't have to be like everybody else to be respected.
I want to live in a place where I can continue my work with kids and not be terrified of coworkers and parents finding out my sexuality and assuming I'm a pedophile.
I want to live in a place where the victim is not blamed.
I want to live in a place where having a husband and two kids isn't an "alternative lifestyle."
I want to live in a place where the needs of your neighbor come in at an extremely close second to your own needs.
I want to live in a place where I can listen to broadway musicals, watch America's Next Top Model, get overly excited about the season premier of The Hills, and not have all these things attributed to my sexuality.
I want to live in a place that defines "All American" as something other than a red neck bastard who eats red meat and watches baseball.
I want to live in a place where people don't get rich off of my healthcare.
I want to live in that place the declaration of independence was talking about. A place where I am endowed with life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

I wish I were in Love Again...

2009-03-30T21:53:00.000-07:00

......not.
The incredibly talented and beautiful Audra Mcdonald totally sums up where I'm at right now in this great song. Listen. Or don't. I don't really care.

Everyone poops

2009-03-28T22:32:00.000-07:00

I listen to a lot of Sean Hannity and Rush Limbaugh, not because I like what they say, but because I like to listen to their rants then imagine their penis size and the size of their country music collection. I'm convinced there is a correlation between the two. From what I get from Sean and Rush, the fabric of our society is decaying into a socialist sludge. No where is this more apparent than in public restrooms. Where is the decency?! Where is the outrage?! Where is the etiquette?! Surely Ronald Regan would look from his heavenly palace and feel shame about how far we have fallen. If he saw what our bathroom manners have become he would cry alzheimic tears. It really shows the signs of the times when I walk into a stall with shit in the toilet and pee on the seat. I've thought about it and I think in order to do my part in putting our upside down earth right side up, I'll share my expertise in bathroom etiquette.

If aim is not your strength, whether it be because of size or an inability to touch your own junk, carry cheerios around with you. Drop a few in the toilet and you'll have a great target to assist your stream into the water. The cheerios sink quickly so if you are a long pee'er then be prepared with extra "targets"
A buffer zone of at least 1 urinal or stall is required.
Nothing is more awkward than making eye contact, through the crack of the stall door, with the culprit of the hilariously loud fart. If you simply must see, do so with much discretion.
Don't be afraid to judge people's character based on these criteria: The shoes you see under the door. If you're at work and you see a nice pair of leather loafers under the door this would indicate an upper managerial position. This means you have the opportunity to share a great story about pinching one off with the boss for your co workers. Be sure to include details such as stink, number of times you heard the toilet paper roll turn, frequency of splash (I.e. lots of little splashes in a row or an occasional big splash.) Another criteria for judgement would be the audible quality of the business. If you hear long wet bottom burps, this would indicate a diet high in Wendy's and low in fiber. If you hear moans, airy farts, but no splashes. Assume that constipation is afflicting this poor soul. Sympathy should be administered and laxatives left on the counter if you have any on hand.
Avoid conversations at the urinal. Exceptions can be made if the conversation started outside the bathroom and migrated into it.
Never ever ever talk on your cell phone while in the bathroom. The bathroom is a sacred place to be respected and not marred by your conversation about Shelly's most recent abortion.
No singing in the bathroom. Whistling is ok.
If you huck a loogie in the urinal, make sure it goes down with the rest of your bodily fluids. Loogies in a toilet can look alarmingly like a different kind of pleasurable secretion.
If you are going to listen to music while you release your bowels, please be considerate of others. The beats that unclench your sphincter may pucker another's. Keep that in mind.
Take all reading materials with you.
Please stifle all laughter in the bathroom no matter how loud or flabby the sound may be. Act as if you were at a baby birthing, no matter how slimy or disfigured the child is, it is never ok to laugh at it.
Stall writing is an important subject to discuss. Grammar, punctuation, and spelling are important. Remember: your, you're, then, than, their, there, they're, it's, is.
Be honest in all your stall wall messages. If Chad doesn't give great blow jobs, then don't say so on the toilet paper casing. Also make sure that you've written Chad's correct phone number.
Remember, permanent marker does wash off, but etchings are permanent.
Keep your political ideology off the stall wall. Keep it to pictures of anatomy and honest reflections of sexual encounters.

Happy and safe pooping.

'Its not fair!'

2009-03-10T23:48:00.000-07:00

There are two populations of kids that I work with, one with homes, the other without homes. Most of the time these kids’ actions mirror each other, but there are the occasions when a homeless child peels away their innocent skin revealing an individual who has been pounded, by circumstances, into a figure less representative of a child, and more representative of a grown adult. It’s in these moments that I realize how important love, trust, and empathy are.
Alex is a child who gives me many causes to believe that there most definitely some sort of abuse in his past. I’d love to think that this abuse has stopped, but I really don’t know. He’s a super cute kid with quick wit and a contagious laugh.

Monday night I had planned an activity which required the use of rice. “You get one cup of rice. If you choose to dump it on the floor or table you will not be getting another cup.” I explained “Do you guys understand?” They understood.

The floor had remained surprisingly rice free until Alex got frustrated with his sister. His frustration moved him to pick up a cup of rice and throw it across the room. “Alright, that’s it. Let’s go both of you.” I said in a less than pleased tone.

“We can go back to our room yet.” Alex’s sister told me

“Why not?” I replied

“We just can’t.” A simple sentence which, added with her firm facial expression, spoke volumes.
Instead of taking them back to their room, we sat down and talked about what had just happened.

“Alex, when you threw that rice at your sister it made me really mad.” I told him

“I don’t care.” He replied.. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips pressed tight. A big person getting mad because of something he did was nothing new to Alex. I could see the bricks being laid in his emotional blockade.

“Do you understand why that made me mad?” I asked

“I don’t’ care. She gets to have that cardboard tube and I want one too. It isn’t fair.”

“You’re right. That isn’t fair, Alex. That would make me mad too, but we’re not using those tubes for our activity, and I didn’t see your sister get it.”

“I want you to die.”

I excused his sister.

“You sound very angry, Alex. What’s making you angry?”“It’s not fair!”

Heavy tears welled up in his eyes and he hid his face from me. “Let’s go sit somewhere where no one can hear us or see us, ok?” I suggested as I put a reassuring hand on his back.

His body tensed and he growled in a low tone through his tears “Don’t touch me!” with an extra emphasis on the touch. I was taken aback by the rejection of comfort, and the strange way he said “Don’t touch me!” The situation was becoming bigger than a simple fight with his sister about a cardboard tube. Alex was becoming bigger than a 7 year old, which makes sense because his is a situation far bigger than any other 7 year old’s.

I suggested again “Let’s go sit over in that corner and you can tell me what is making you so sad.”

Tears dropped from his stationary face onto his lap, and he started sobbing. I’ve been with many many crying children at work, at The Road Home, in Ghana, and I like to think that I know when a kid is crying out of anger, crocodile tears, or whatever. The way Alex was crying reflected a deep and profound sadness.

I tried to reassure him again by placing my hand on his back and rubbing. This time he ran to the corner as he yelled “Don’t touch me!”
In the corner he continued to sob, and I left him there to cry and be alone for a few minutes. After the few minutes I moved and sat across from him.

“What’s making you so sad, Alex? Have you had a bad day? Did someone hurt you?” I was making reference to the giant goose-egg above his right eye and the scratches across his nose. He didn’t respond but continued to cry, and I let him cry to himself for a couple minutes.

“I’m never coming to book club again.” He declared

“That makes me really sad. I love seeing you every week. You make me laugh, you make Sam laugh, and you make all the other volunteers laugh. We would hate to see you not come anymore.” I replied“I don’t care.”“What could we do so that you would want to come to book club?”

“Nothing.”“Really? There is nothing we can do? Nothing at all? What if you help me plan next week’s activity. We could call it Alex's super awesome activity day. What is something that you really, really want to do?”

He thought for a moment contemplating whether or not to truly answer the question, and finally said “Make an instrument.” He was starting to warm up. He was looking at me now, and I could feel the bricks begin to tumble.

“Oh that’s a great idea!” I said enthusiastically “What instruments could we make?”

“A guitar out of rubber bands and a tissue box thing?” He suggested

“Perfect! Let me get a pen, I’m going to write this all down.”

The fact that a big person was going to take suggestions from him and write them down seemed to make him happy. It seemed to replace his profound sadness with a sort of self value. I came back with a pen and my trusty little black book and started writing down his suggestions.

“What could we use to make a drum?” I asked.

“Like a cardboard circle thing with paper and stuff. And we could make shakers.” He used his hands to illustrate his point. He was really getting into the idea now.

“Ok, we are going to do this next week so I will find a book to go with it.”

“Can I have a treat?”

“It’s time to clean up. How about if you pick up 12 things from the floor and show them to me you get a treat?”

“Ok.”

I genuinely care about Alex, and I think he felt it that night. I felt a little bit of trust built and I hope it continues. I can see Alex doing great things if the right opportunities present themselves. I can also see him doing terrible things if he falls into the traps baited specially for the poor in our country. Its nights like these that remind me why I’m going into Social Work. Its nights like these that remind me that the issues of homelessness, and specifically child homelessness, are far bigger than I am. I can only hope that the little talent I have can be used to make a difference no matter how small that difference may be. Its nights like these that suck the apathy out of me, and make me want to smack the apathetic right upside the head. I’m reminded of a quote said by one of my professors “How can I, who has been given so much, do so little when there are those who have been given so little and do so much?”

Desperate Circles

2009-02-10T23:05:00.000-08:00

There are some images from Ghana that will stick with me and haunt me forever, images of Gracie lying on the floor, crying because the malaria hurts so badly. Images of John, lying in the sun with flies all over his face and with feet and hands so swollen he couldn’t walk. Images of Kelvin and Ama Foli rocking themselves to sleep as a way to provide themselves comfort because they don’t get it from any other source. Images of Happy grunting to try to communicate her needs because she abandoned words a week after entering the orphanage, also images of Happy standing in her own waste, screaming maniacally when anyone came near to clean her up. I will forever be haunted by the “orphan stare” as we called it. They all employed the orphan stare, they would be normal, happy children one moment then the next moment they would stare and be unresponsive. It was as if they were stepping out of their childhood skin and stepping into a more mature, wiser skin which could see their own tragic past, and hopeless future. Another image I will never forget is my first experience with a young boy with whom I developed a very close relationship with. His name is Kwame.

7-14-08 Day 30

“Today, we arrived late to work, so all the kids had already gone to school and there was just Happy, Gracie, John, and Lydia left at the compound. There was also a new boy, Kwame his name is. I walked into the common room and saw this new boy I’ve never seen before with cuts on his face, and cracked and bleeding feet he was walking in a circle, impervious to all those around him. While he was turning his continuous circle he wailed the same Twi phrase. I did not understand exactly what he was saying, but I could tell he was desperate. My heart was wrenched. It was painfully clear that he was calling for someone who wasn’t there – someone who used to be there, but for some unknown reason has vacated his life. I don’t know what his back story is. I don’t know if he was found on the street, found by the police, given up by his mother, or given up by the hospital after his mother died. I’ll try to find out tomorrow. I want so much to scoop up this child, take him on the plane and give him a fighting chance in this ugly world.”

That day I couldn’t get the image of Kwame walking around in circles, desperate for that one thing that was most important to him, his mother. I later learned, from the aunties, that the phrase he was repeating over and over was a plea for his mother to come for him. Kwame had been at the orphanage a good week before he would even let me approach him. We started taking him with us in the mornings with the disabled kids. First, he would come with us as long as we didn’t touch or play with him, and then he let me hold him and play with him (but only me.) Soon, his actions became the same as those of the veteran orphans. Occasionally, though, he would break down and start to cry for no apparent reason. This is when I would pick him up, put him on my back like the Ghanaian women, walk around the cement soccer field, and go sit on the big water tank. I would hold him while he cried, humming some of my favorite songs until he cried himself to sleep. As he slept I would cry, although not always on the outside. I would cry for the injustice of his situation. I would cry for Kwame and his pain. I would cry for all the other orphans who had gone through this same process of grieving and forgetting. I would cry for my own mother who does not get the love and respect she so deeply desires and deserves from her own Kwame – me.

The other day my parents and I had it out. Our discussion wasn’t over my sexuality as it usually is, but the overall theme was that my mother was feeling disrespected, put upon, and ultimately unloved by me. I put up my usual wall, picked something to stare at and fixed my eyes on it while I listened to their argument. Finally it all became too much for my mom. She broke down and cried. I stormed off saying spiteful and mean-spirited words as I walked away. After a couple minutes in my room I decided to come back (something that is new for me.) I knew it was important for me not to leave the conversation as it was. I went back downstairs and listened some more. It became starkly apparent that my mother had it fixed in her head that I don’t care about her. Suddenly, the image of Kwame walking around in desperate circles popped into my head. I broke down and bawled. I don’t cry often, but when I do it’s not pretty. My shoulders shake, my face contorts, silent sobs come out of my chest and rattle my whole body, breathing consists of sharp intakes of breath from my snotty nose and restricted throat. All of this occurs until I put up that emotional wall. It’s as if I’m telling myself “Ok, that’s enough now. You’re done crying.” One time I went through this process with Bond, and he noticed that I was putting up that wall of emotional resistance. “Don’t put up that wall. Let it out. Let it out.” He told me. I found it so difficult to not cut myself off and cry for as long as I needed to. I simply could not do it. I tried, but I couldn’t.

That haunting image of the little boy walking around in circles, desperate for comfort, desperate for someone to please say “This isn’t real, this is all a dream. You’ll wake up tomorrow to your usual Bofrut and pure water, desperate for his mother, simply would not leave my head as I grieved over my jack ass behaviors towards my mom. My metaphorical Kwame was trekking that same depserate circle in my head - desperate for comfort, desperate to show that yes, I do love her, desperate to convey how much she truly means to me, desperate to make her understand that I care A LOT. I couldn’t tell her all of this that night. I put up that emotional wall, and along with stopping the crying, it stopped my ability to communicate. Maybe I’ll give her this post. I don’t know. Maybe I can show her how much she means to me through my actions. I don’t know.

A skiddish Kwame on the first day he let me hold him.

A metaphor for something, I'm sure...

2009-02-04T13:33:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time there lived a boy who goes by the name of Raymond. Raymond, was a sweet, charming and charismatic boy. “You’re the best boy in the whole wide world. I will love you forever. One day you will grow up to do great things.” His mother told him this every day. Since Raymond was a good little boy he believed everything his mother told him. “I will, momma, I’m going to grow up and do great things.”

Raymond had lots of friends who also thought he was a pretty cool kid. He never had to worry about whether or not he would have friends to play with at recess. All the boys wanted to be just like Raymond, and all the girls wanted to be close to Raymond. “Walk home with me?” Suzie asked.

“I like your coat.” Said Tommy, “My mom is going to get me one just like it tomorrow.”

“George and I rock paper and scissored and I won, so I get to sit by you at lunch today.” Charlie told Raymond.

One day at school a new kid arrived. His name was Michael, and he was the talk of the school.

“Did you see his back pack? It had Diego on it!” Walter said.

“I heard that his mom packs him two Go-gurts in his lunch every day. I wish my mom would pack two Go-gurts. All I get are these lousy fruit roll-ups.” commented Suzie.

Now, Raymond loved Go-gurts, but his mom refused to buy them. Raymond decided that he needed to become Michael’s best friend so that he could have one of Michael’s go-gurts during lunch.

Raymond caught up with Michael on the way home from school. “Hey Michael, wanna come over to my house? I got the new Bolt game on Xbox 360 and its super cool.” Raymond said.

“Sure, I love Bolt.” Replied Michael.

They played Xbox until Raymond’s mom said it was time for Michael to go home. “Michael, you should sit by me tomorrow at lunch.” Suggested Raymond.

“Ok, thanks for playing with me. I’m glad I have a friend in this new town,” replied Michael.
Raymond knew that Go-gurt was as good as his. You see, Raymond understood people very well. He knew what to say and when to say it. He always got what he wanted.

The next day at the lunch table Michael and Raymond sat by each other. “Oh man, I love Go-gurt.” Raymond informed Michael.

“Me too, they’re my favorite. My mom always packs me two. Since we’re friends you can have one.”

“Oh boy, Thanks!”

So, Raymond took Michael’s favorite snack that day, without considering how much Michael loved his Go-gurts. Raymond continued to share his extra Go-gurt with Michael with the hopes that Raymond would continue to be his friend.

Raymond got sick of Go-gurts after a while, and decided that Michael wasn’t as fun to play with anymore. Instead of everyday, Raymond sat with Michael every other day, then only on Wednesdays, and finally he never sat by Michael again.

Michael felt so bad. He felt like he had done something, or said something to make Raymond not want to sit with him anymore. If only I didn’t show him that scab on my elbow, then he would still be my friend, Michael thought.

A couple weeks later, a new kid arrived at the school, his name was Harold. “Did you see his shoes?” Asked Suzie. “They are real live Air Jordans!”

“I heard his mom packs him a package of s’mores Poptarts every day for lunch.” Announced Ben.

Raymond LOVED poptarts and a package carries two, so he decided that he would become friends with Harold so that he could enjoy his favorite treat every day at lunch time.

This time it was easier for Raymond to become very best friends with Harold, and Harold loved having a new friend. Harold shared his poptart with Raymond every day, but Raymond soon got sick of poptarts. “I don’t want to be your friend anymore, you bug me.” Raymond told Harold.
Harold felt so bad. He felt like he had done something, or said something to make Raymond not want to sit with him anymore. If only I hadn’t told him about my sister’s bra, then he would still be my friend, Harold thought.

There was soon another new kid at the school named Brad, and he had two Fruit by the Foots in his lunch every day. Fruit by the Foot just so happened to be Raymond’s favorite snack at the moment, so he befriended Brad, then got sick of Fruit by the Foot, and stopped being Brad’s friend.

Brad felt so bad. He felt like he had done something, or said something to make Raymond not want to sit with him anymore. If only I hadn’t farted really loud that one day he would still be my friend, Brad thought.

All these kids grew up. Michael, Harold, and Brad had each shared their favorite thing with Raymond, and they had all been dumped and ignored when Raymond was done using what they had to offer, but somehow this made them all stronger. Michael grew up to be a famous R&B Singer. Harold grew up and became a doctor. Brad grew up to be a very successful lawyer. However, Raymond was too busy cycling through best friends to ever gain the depth and discipline of his former best friends. He ended up alone, sad and bitter. If only I had a real best friend, thought Raymond as he kicks three cats off his rat infested easy chair. With a beer balanced on his large belly, he yells out answers to the questions on Jeopardy (never the right answer), and scratches his bald head when his balls need a break.

If only, if only he had been a true friend,
maybe he wouldn’t be so gross in the end.

Therapy with Time and Budget Constraints

2009-01-27T11:19:00.000-08:00

I’m feeling really really wound up and stressed. I feel mentally, emotionally, and physically overwhelmed. In an attempt to unwind myself so that I can calm down and focus on what I need to focus on I’m going to write. I don’t know what about yet, but I’ll see where it takes me. As everything around me shifts and changes I find myself relying on my past summer’s experience as a stable reminder of true happiness. It’s very strange to me the profound impact these little kids had on my life. They taught me things that I needed to learn. I miss them and find myself thinking back on the experiences, both happy and sad. Some of these memories bring a tear to my eye. Others make me laugh out loud in the most awkward settings. I’ll be sitting in Biology when my professor mentions something about a fish. The word fish triggers a memory about Ama Foli. School has been released and we’ve already changed the kids into their play clothes. Ama Foli, who is 2 or 3 years old, has a unique fashion sense and has selected a poofy brown dress with lots of lace and frills which is much too big for her.
We’re sitting in the shade of a giant tree in the middle of the orphanage compound watching some of the older orphans playing soccer, running up and down the cement “field” in their bare feet kicking the rock hard ball. Sometimes they don’t have a soccer ball so they use whatever else they can find – a plastic toy, a basketball, a shoe, anything that they can kick. Ama Foli is on my lap and singing one of her infamous songs and bouncing along to her own rhythm. I look at her and suck my cheeks in, making a face resembling that of a fish. She stops her song, pauses, and sucks in her cheeks. She can’t suck them in as far as I can so she kind of just looks goofy. She giggles at the facial expression then grabs my face and pushes my cheeks back in and giggles some more. Looks like we’ve discovered a new game, I raise my eyebrows and skew my upper and lower lip in opposite directions. Ama Foli tries to copy, then giggles and giggles at her failure.
Later that night we are sitting at the edge of the cement soccer field with our legs dangling into the deep gutter, I lay back and Tsulee comes and lies on my stomach. I hum Nora Jones’s “Sunrise” to him and he doesn’t seem to mind that, rarely, do the right notes come from my lips. The gentle vibrations coming from my chest to his head seem to soothe him and make him tired. As Tsulee and I are sharing this moment, Ama Foli deviously sneaks up and stands right behind my head. Without any warning she plops her naked butt onto my face. I pop up, waking up poor Tsulee and yell “AMA FOLI! What are you doing?!” She runs away laughing maniacally at her little prank.
Tsulee and I resume our position and I resume humming starting a new song -“Bubbly Toes.” I can feel Tsulee’s breathing become long and shallow, and I start to feel myself drift off too. Ama Foli once again creeps up behind me and plops her naked butt right onto my face. I jump up, waking up Tsulee for a second time, and chase Ama Foli. We do a lap around the soccer “field” when I finally catch her, flip her onto my shoulder, and tickle her until she’s hoarse from laughing so hard.
Wow, it’s crazy how some organized and thoughtful reflection can change a mood. I feel a lot more calm and ready for the rest of the day.

Pain yet Healing

2009-01-20T23:03:00.001-08:00

I did it. I finally saw and talked to Bond. I’m having a hard time coming up with the words to assign to the feelings I’m feeling now that I’ve done it. I feel like I’m a much different person than I was when I was dating him. We used to fit together seamlessly: physically, mentally, and emotionally. Our every action was in synch. We flowed; we had that way of communicating without talking, being intimate without touching, a way of dancing without moving. This is no longer true. It is like those toys infants play with where you have to push the shape into its corresponding slot. I used to be a triangle but now I’m a square and that square won’t fit into the triangle slot.

Out of place.

We’re both great shapes with sides, angles and points, we just don’t share the same sides, angles and points. My shape is meant to enter a different corresponding slot, and I now realize and accept that.

We could still read each other. We have enough history and familiarity to still possess that. During a lull in the conversation my leg started to bounce, my mouth set firm and I looked over his shoulder, out the window, focusing on nothing in particular.

“What are you thinking? You look like you’re thinking.” he says to me.

“I-I don’t know. It’s like umm like…I don’t know. I feel….different. I don’t feel awkward. I don’t feel like I expected to feel. I don’t know…. It’s weird.” My words stumble out of my mouth like Amy Winehouse exiting a pub at 2 in the afternoon. I couldn’t believe I finally had him there in front of me. The opportunity to pick his brain and ask all my burning questions was there, but all I wanted to do was sit in a familiar silence.

We joked, we caught up, we laughed and there was silence. Strange silence. Welcome silence. Understanding silence. Comfortable silence.

Healing took place, and I hope it was mutual. I can’t speak for him, and I honestly don’t know what his true emotions are regarding all of this. But, as for me, I feel a lot better. I feel like I can be me 100% independent of him and the ideas I’ve formed of him. It has been a long and strange journey as witnessed by the posts littered throughout this blog, but I’m really feeling like I have some tangible closure to the journey. Am I glad I went to dinner with him? Yes. Are my feelings mixed? Yes. Do I still love him? Yes, but not the same. Maybe I love the memory of him. Do I fear alienating him? Yes. Was I genuine in everything I said? Yes.

Strange is the only way I can think of to describe it. Familiar yet unfamiliar. Attractive yet unattractive. Weird yet normal. Pain yet healing. Wrong yet right.

Snakes Don't Have Ears

2009-01-18T04:45:00.000-08:00

I’ve found myself coming to a strange realization as of late. I am intrigued by people who do not fit our collective ideas of beauty. “Ugly people.” I don’t mean that in a condescending or pretentious way. I’m not like a zoologist observing a new species of unattractive beetle, or flightless bird. I am genuinely more interested in having a conversation with someone who is ugly than someone who is beautiful. I’ve found that, especially if the person knows they’re unattractive, there is nothing superficial about them. There is a certain depth to an ugly person that you will not find in a beautiful person. Take Chet from The Real World: Brooklyn for example. He dresses well (too well), has a symmetrical face, and a strong build. And with a name like Chet, he is the perfect candidate for an MTV reality show. I have absolutely no desire to be friends with him. Nothing about him would draw my attention towards him if I saw him at school, in a restaurant, or at Starbuck’s. I imagine a conversation with him would consist of a brief outline of the latest sporting event, an awkward conversation about girls (I think he’s as gay as anyone reading this blog), a short briefing of his daily gym routine and a glowing review of his latest muscle enhancement supplement. I know that anyone who knows they are not MTV material would never have a conversation like this.

I’ll use my latest “team meeting” from work as an example. I walked into the room where the meeting was taking place and a slightly obese girl with 2 chins and a deep voice was already waist deep in a story involving her best friend and that best friend’s boyfriend, who apparently has no respect for privacy. Speaking to the large man with a closely shaved mohawk she wagged her finger and said, “I told her ‘girl, you cannot let him do that. He’s acting like a girl; he’s being a little bitch. I’m the bitch here. I can be a real bitch. Vindictive Vickie, that’s what I am.’” A strange guttural noise busted out of her gut, I guess it was a laugh. Her laughed matched her personality and appearance, it was booming and punctuated by a loud and distinct snort. I kid you not.

“Vindictive Vickie,” she said. “That’s a good one!”

Then, sitting next to “Vindictive Vickie” was a red haired flamer who picked up a candy cane from the pile in the middle and declared in an animated voice, “I could thuck on thith all day.” His provocative statement made me choke on my own miniature candy cane. I regained my composure and whipped out my handy dandy Moleskine notebook I take everywhere with me, and scribbled out “I could thuck on thith all day.” And “Vindictive Vickie” These were little morsels of comedy which needed to be documented. We then were forced by the person running the meeting to go around and share a “fun fact” about ourselves. I opted to go first and said my first words of the meeting: “I have a fun fact, snakes don’t have ears.” My “fun fact” was met with blank stares and a further explanation as to why snakes don’t have ears from Vindictive Vickie.

We then went around the room with The Flamer divulging his “fun fact.”“I may have red hair,” He said with a snap of his wrist. “But, I am a quarter hithpanic.”

In my mind I retorted, so what you’re saying is your ethnicity matches neither the drapes nor the carpet?

We then moved onto the large man with the closely shaved Mohawk and he proceeded to unfold a story with unforgettable detail about the time he “matrix-style” dodged feces projected from an elderly woman’s ass. Gross, right? Wrong. It was fascinating.

You simply do not get these types of conversations from beautiful people. These “ugly people’s” stories were vivid, imaginative, and gross. I loved every minute of it. I left the meeting wanting to know everything about these people. I wanted to know about their parents, their friends, their passions, their likes, their dislikes, and their respective STI’s. They were beautiful to me. They had depth and personality. These were people I could see myself sitting down at Starbuck’s and just listening to. How does one go about doing that? “Hey, do you want to go to Starbuck’s? You can tell me more about the time you dodged the old woman’s excrement.” I guess with “ugly people” that’s as good as any invitation.

GO! GO! GO!

2009-01-15T10:22:00.000-08:00

I had a very productive break. I cleaned my car and my room (events which only happen on the very rarest of occasions.) I took my first trip to New York to visit my sister, I read 3 books (Holidays on Ice, When You’re Engulfed in Flames, and Possible Side Effects,) I started a new job, I wrote 20 lesson plans for that job, and I wrote in my journal everyday, which is really what this blog is, an edited and condensed version of my journal. Writing in my journal more was A New Year resolution of sorts; I really hate New Year Resolutions. Once you've put it out to the universe that this is what you want to accomplish for the year, you are pretty much guaranteed that you will absolutely, unequivocally will not accomplish it.
Anyway, my break is over, and it's back to "adult life" at a break neck speed. I'm wondering if I've bitten off more than I can chew. I'm working 2 jobs, a full school schedule and a volunteer job which is really like another part time job, just with no pay. I go to work 6 days a week, and school 5 days a week. I literally wake up, go to school, go to work, go to my other job or back to school, and then get home and go to bed. When I’m not in class or at work I’m planning next week’s book club activity, preparing things for the new job, reading for my next class, or trying to squeeze in a meal. I can’t eat breakfast because it makes me sick. I sometimes have time for lunch, but that requires me to go out and spend money on it, and if I eat when I get home I usually can’t sleep or have psychedelic dreams as a result of eating so late. I’ve adopted a 1 meal a day and lots of coffee schedule, and I’m not really sure that’s too healthy. This schedule really has no impacts on my social life because that would require me to have a social life. Strangely, I’m perfectly content. The intense schedule provides me with a comforting sense of accomplishment and productivity, and all the different activities are sure to provide some great and entertaining stories.

I'm in Need of a Good Pair of Balls

2009-01-13T21:09:00.000-08:00

When I moved out of my house shortly after my family discovering my sexuality, I felt like I broke up with them. I treated it the same way I do with romantic break ups; I cut off contact and made myself hard to reach. I don’t know why I do this, but I do. I hadn’t seen or talked to my mom for a couple of weeks. She had been e-mailing me begging for a response, but I wasn’t e-mailing back. I was stubborn and silent, a dangerous combination. I finally decided to respond to her desperate e-mails . I’m much better at communicating through writing. I can think of what I want to say and formulate an acceptable way to say it. If it’s in person or on the phone I usually just blurt out the first thing that pops into my head, and then insert my foot into my mouth. “My dog died.” Someone might say to me.

“What did you do with the body? Did you bury it? Is there a headstone? How deep did you dig the hole? Did you touch the body with your bare hands after it died? Did you wash your hands? Shit, where's my purell.” would be my initial spoken response, but if I had a moment to write down a reasonable response I might say “Wow! That’s awful! Is there anything I can do for you? I scoop a mean bowl of ice cream!” Writing it down allows me to see what I am saying and then make a few edits as needed.

I e-mailed an appropriately worded e-mail to my mom letting her know that I’m still alive and that I do love her and the rest of the family. She wrote back and we exchanged a few e-mails. Eventually we set up a lunch date.

As the time came for her to pick me up approached I became increasingly more nervous. I paced the living room, walked in and out of the kitchen, walked up and down the stairs and checked my face and hair multiple times. The nerves created a strange itch, an itch that could only be scratched by chewing my fingernails to oblivion. I had decided that I should probably shower (a habit which I had fallen out of since moving out.)

I wanted to see her, but I didn’t want her to see me. I didn’t want to make her cry, and I didn’t want cry. There was a constant tear in her eye during that time. Every time my sister called to enlighten me as to what level of assholeness I had achieved so far, I could hear my mom crying in the background.

Her big red SUV finally pulled into the drive way and my nerves climaxed. We ended up going to a restaurant not too far away and proceeded to have a series of awkward conversations about the weather, how I’m doing and what I planned to do about school and a job. I could feel the restraint it took for her not to yell and scream at me, then lock me in the car and drive me to Wyoming to live with my grandparents, away from all the “sin” I was immersed in.

After the series of tactful conversation and tasteless food, she drove me back to where I was staying and gave me a hug. Her hug was the type of hug you give someone when they’re dying or moving to a foreign country.

A desperate hug.

I left the car and my mother, and went into the house where I continued to watch her through the blinds. I watched for 10 minutes while she sat in her car with her head on the steering wheel and her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. After what seemed like an eternity she lifted her head, wiped her swollen eyes, put on her sunglasses and drove away leaving me at the window with matching swollen eyes and shaking shoulders. Like mother like gay son, right?

I imagine, with exception to the tears, this is how my first friendly lunch, coffee/hot chocolate or whatever with Bond will go. Whether that is next week, next month or next year I’ll be a nervous wreck, pacing, changing my clothes, fixing my hair, and chewing my nails. The conversation will be awkward, at least at the beginning. Then I’ll be left to reflect on the occasion kicking myself for the things I said, and kicking myself even harder for the things I didn’t say.

My natural urge is to just shut completely down, and never allow a friendly lunch, coffee/hot chocolate or whatever, happen. But, that is no longer the person I want to be. I don’t want to be that beautiful island that is inaccessible because all the bridges have collapsed and burned. I don’t want to be that shut-in bachelor who sits inside all day and makes inappropriate pottery because he was too damn stubborn to reach out and rekindle a friendship. I don’t want to be that guy who doesn’t see flowers, trees, and mountains, but instead sees the shadows they cast. I guess what I’m trying to say is I want to be positive, and I’m feeling like that starts with a friendly lunch, coffee/hot chocolate or whatever. I just lack the social skills and balls to put out that inviting hand. Any suggestions?

Positive News

2009-01-11T17:37:00.000-08:00

At the orphanage in Ghana I worked at there were a few kids I knew to be HIV+ (they don’t test every child that enters the orphanage, they only test the kids if they get really sick and have to go to the hospital.) I played and interacted with the HIV+ kids just the same as the others. I changed their diapers, got slobbered on, spit on and was subjected to ALL forms of bodily fluids. Now that I’ve been back 3 months I decided that it would be responsible of me to get tested for HIV. Apparently you have to wait 3 months since you participated in “risky activity” before they can get an accurate test. I researched HIV testing locations and made my friend, Fannie, tag along; he was due for a test anyways. Off we went to get swabbed and find out how heavily medicated our futures may be. We arrived at the Utah AIDS foundation and went down to the basement where they do the tests. Seriously? A basement? How Hollywood is that? Were my first thoughts.

While waiting for my turn to be swabbed, they gave me a clipboard with forms to fill out. I think I should be in charge of writing the questions on those forms. People are willing to sit down and check a box telling you their deepest darkest secrets, and that needs to be taken advantage of. I’d start out with the basics like:
1. In the past year have you participated in anal sex?
2. In the past year have you shared needles?
3. In the past year have you had sexual contact with someone you know to be HIV positive?

And then move to some more exciting questions like:

4. In the past year have you dressed in leather, assless chaps and been whipped by a man who insists on you calling him daddy?
5. In the past year have you gone to Gossip (the local gay club) and danced in the cage with the guy who has a sock in his briefs.
6. In the past year have you been in a committed relationship with a wonderful man who buys you everything you want and treats you like the king that you are, only to find out that he is a nymphomaniac and cannot function without being with at least 10 partners a night?

As it comes to my turn to be swabbed I feel a little sensation in my chest. Was that nervousness? Fear? Anticipation? I dunno, but I didn’t expect to feel it that’s for sure. A charming older man gives me a stick. “Swab in between your gums and your lips.” He tells me.

“That’s it?” I reply.

“Yup, just follow Patti up the stairs into the waiting room and your results will be ready in about 20 minutes.”

I follow Patti and get to a room with couches along 3 sides of the wall and a very small T.V. in the corner. There are about 5 other people waiting to hear their fates. Nobody makes eye contact or conversation. We all just sit, tweedle our thumbs and anticipate the news we’re about to get. There are some interesting characters waiting in the room with me.

I like to imagine the back stories of people I’ve never met. I’ll do it as I’m riding the train to school, while I’m in a meeting at work, or while I’m sitting in class. These people on the couches provided me with the best back stories. The girl who asked me for a pen as she walked in was probably the most interesting. She was Hispanic and had on incredibly tight jeans, they looked like they had been painted on. She also wore furry boots and her eyes were caked with so much make-up that I had to squash the intense urge to take my finger and press it to her face just to see how deep it would go in. The make-up made her face look like it could be molded into whatever shape you desired. In my head I molded it so that her left eye was wider than her right. I imagined that she is a single mother of 3 beautiful children, and in order to support those kids she gives massages with “happy endings” behind a Thai restaurant downtown. She’s applied for respectable jobs like a receptionist, T-mobile customer service representative or a Deseret Book sales floor girl, but no one would have her. They all were a little bit disturbed by the ratted hair, acrylic nails, tight jeans, and Plaster of Paris make up. This isn’t a judgment on her character I’m sure she’s a very nice girl. That is just the image that popped into my head when I saw her.

A young blonde girl enters the doorway and calls my number; not my name, my number. I follow her to a room where she closes the door and offers me a seat. My heart leaps as I anticipate the news she’s about to give me. After a few VERY personal questions she tells me that she does not have my test results and it will be another 10 minutes. What the hell? I’m all psychologically prepared for whatever news you’re about to give me and all you want to know is if I’ve ever exchanged sex for money? Back to the waiting couch room it is. My friend, Plaster Face, is nowhere to be found. I sit and wait for another 10 minutes, flipping through the Details magazine that I found on the table. Finally, a short girl with a bob cut calls my number. She takes me back to a room and we both sit down. She looks at me very seriously and tells me “I have some positive news for you.” She tells me breaking her serious look and giggling at her own crappy joke. “Your results came back as negative; you are free to go now.” That’s it? No plaque declaring my negative status to the world? No certificate of cleanliness? No button with a large negative sign and the words “Negative, it’s a positive thing” written along the edges of the button? No t-shirt saying “HIV? Not for me!” Oh well, I guess peace of mind will have to suffice.

Yes, I did go to public school. Why do you ask?

2009-01-08T10:04:00.000-08:00

I had a very embarrassing moment yesterday at a job I just started this week. I was sitting down helping a 4th grader with his math homework. While I did get an A last semester in my math class, that was with the help of a calculator and given formulas. Math is my absolute worst subject. I hate math, and in return it hates me. Our hate is parallel to the hate between Israel and Palestine, it has existed for as long as anyone can remember, and there is no possible resolution in sight.
I’m trying to help this kid with his math which was multiplication; two digit numbers multiplied by two digit numbers. Intricate stuff, I know. I attempted to explain how he needed to set up the problem in order to find the answer. “Times this number and this number, now below it write a zero and times this number by this number. Now add it.” I told him. “Well, that doesn’t look right. Ok, try this…” I gave him a new set of directions and still came up with the wrong answer. I was getting frustrated. It’s no surprise that I never really learned how to do math when I was in the 4th grade. I was drawing penises in my notebook while the teacher was teaching this concept. I gave him different directions for the problem. “That still doesn’t look right.” I announced. The paper was smudged with eraser marks and his face was contorted with frustration.
“You lied to me!” He exclaimed. Right then and there I knew that I had lost any trust this child had in me. I was no longer a big person to look up to, but a big person who doesn’t know how to do little kid math. What a joke.
With a damaged ego I went to my other job right after and practiced my multiplication. I made those numbers my bitch. I’ll show you 4th grade math! I thought as I angrily scribbled out times tables. Thank you, public school education.

Genius Meets Moron

2009-01-07T13:04:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, I feel dirty when I tell people I'm from Utah.

Dreams, Mac and Cheese, and that damn Abercrombie cologne

2009-01-04T14:53:00.000-08:00

I’m not used to people disappearing, and I don’t like it. I don’t make new friends often, but when I do I keep them and hold onto them for a long long time. I had basically the same core group of friends from elementary school through to high school. I think that is why I am still being a boob over this whole break up situation. I’ve never met anyone like Bond before and I’ve never had such intense feelings and shared so much with someone else before. As a result the after math has been a disaster for me. I have made progress; I am nowhere near the boob I was a couple months ago, but while in New York I had a dream about him every single night, sometimes I would have multiple dreams with him as the star. I would have a dream where we were just hanging out as if everything were normal and I would wake up and think damnit why am I still dealing with this? Why is this still an issue in my life? While I’m awake I have somewhat of a grip on how I deal with situations that may arise that have to deal with him, but in my sleep I have absolutely no control. All of the feelings of excitement, euphoria, love, twitterpation, attraction and connection come streaming back, and I wake up wondering was that real? Once I realize that it was really a dream, I’m left to dwindle on whether or not I want that dream to be real or not. There are moments when I’m not sure I would deny access to him being a big part of my life again and start all over. There are other moments when I think hell no, absolutely not. I have grown into a better and stronger person. I have felt content for the first time in months. My brain tells me that letting him back in my life would somehow snuff out all the progress I’ve made in the journey to becoming the person I want to someday be. There are times when I wonder if we could ever be “just friends.” I don’t know if that is possible. [Brace yourself for an OC reference.] Am I the Ryan to his Marissa? Are we that couple that can never truly be “just friends” without letting it magically morph into something deeper? Rawr, so many questions! It would be nice to sit down with him and simply pick his brain, answer all my questions and then move on. But I’m not sure I could ever bring myself to ask all the questions I have, and I’m not sure he would have all the answers, and I’m definitely positive most of the answers wouldn’t be the ones I want. Whenever I’m faced with a hard decision or a trying situation I ask myself “In my own perfect world, what would be the outcome.” I’ve tried many times to do that with this situation, but I simply can’t figure out a scenario that would work in “my own perfect world.” I truly and honestly want to be over him. Where is that switch in my body and why can’t I flip it? He doesn’t consume my thoughts all day anymore I have made progress there. It’s just when I have a dream, eat mac and cheese or smell that damn Abercrombie cologne.

Amazing offer! Act now! Don't wait!

2009-01-02T21:31:00.000-08:00

We have had a 3 week hiatus from Kid’s Book Club at The Road Home, so this Monday will mark our first week back. I’m afraid that we won’t have any volunteers to help coerce the kids into reading. In an attempt to attract new volunteers I’ve come up with an infomercial. I love infomercials. I love the acting and the dialog between the actors. When I was a kid I would sit down Saturday mornings and watch infomercials for the Miracle Blade III Perfection Series, the Gazelle and all sorts of steamers and cookers. Some kids watched cartoons, but infomercials were my Saturday morning entertainment of choice. I’ve cast Tony Little from the Gazelle infomercials as the main character, and Amy Sedaris (my new hero) as the intrigued prospective volunteer.
Spunky announcer guy: The following is a paid advertisement for Kid’s Book Club at The Road Home. Amazing offer! Act now! Don't wait! Are you curious about what a homeless shelter looks like? Do you find yourself wondering “If only there were somewhere I could donate my time and skills.” Do you want to make a difference? Then welcome to Kid’s Book Club.
*Setting is Tony Little walking past a line of obviously homeless people standing in line for the soup kitchen.*
Tony Little: In these economically tough times do you find yourself reaching into your pockets to donate to the homeless only to find gum wrappers and lint?
*queue montage of empty wallets and out-turned pockets*
Tony Little: Well do I have an activity for you. Let’s meet Amy inside for some more information on how you can do your part at absolutely no cost to you.
*Setting is the Playroom at The Road Home where book club is held. Tony and Amy are sitting at a small craft table.*
Tony Little: Hi Amy, thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule to come and learn how you can do your part.
Amy Sedaris: No problem, Tony. So tell me, what exactly is Kid’s Book Club?
Tony: Good question Amy. Book Club happens every Monday at 7:00 pm – 9:00 pm at The Road Home which is located at 210 South Rio Grande Street (455 West) Salt Lake City, Utah 84101. It is a literacy program for kids living at The Road Home ages 5-11. That’s what it is on paper, but what it is in reality is FUN! Volunteers read one on one with the children for the first hour, then we all get together for a group book, and finally end on an exciting activity inspired by that group book.
Amy: Wow, sounds like a great program. How can I get started?
Tony: Simply show up at the Road Home at 7:00 on Monday, sign in at the front desk and wait for Katie or Taylor (who’s a stud) to show up. Or if you’d like more information you can email Taylor at taylorhorn@hotmail.com.
Amy: Wow that’s as easy as 1 2 3. What sorts of things can I expect in Book Club?
Tony: You can expect noisy, rowdy children who love to push every one of your buttons. You can also expect hilarious dialogue between the children and yourself. Kids really do say the darndest things.
Amy: That’s sweet, but I don’t know. 2 hours is a lot of time to cut out of my busy schedule.
Tony: Let’s look at it this way.
*Transition to graphs and charts*
Tony: There are 168 hours in a week. That means 10,080 minutes. All we are asking for is 120 out of those 10,080 minutes.
Tony: In the time it takes to watch a movie, you could be having a positive impact on a young child’s life. In the time it takes to clean your chinchilla’s cage, you could be helping a child improve their literacy.
Amy: Well, when you put it that way it makes sense, but I’m still not sure…
Tony: Let’s hear some testimonials from a few veteran volunteers.
*Fade out of the Playroom and into the hallway where veteran volunteers are giving their testimonials.*
Veteran Volunteer 1: I was nervous to come to Book Club for the first time. I wasn’t sure how to interact with the kids, and I didn’t know what to expect from them. I am so happy I went. The kids are great, and I feel like I am actually doing something with my life now.
Veteran Volunteer 2: It’s all worth it just to see a smile on the children’s faces.
Veteran Volunteer 3: All the kids are great. They can get out of hand and crazy, but you learn to just roll with the chaos. I’m so glad I went to Kid’s Book Club.
*Setting is back to Tony and Amy in the playroom.*
Amy: They sound like some satisfied volunteers.
Tony: They sure do.
Amy: This all sounds great, but I don’t know if I can come every week.
Tony: Amy, that’s a great point. We would love it if every volunteer would come every week, but we understand there are circumstances which prohibit that.
Amy: Wow, Book Club is so accommodating. Some people might say that they live too far away.
Tony: Well, that’s just poppycock. Pardon my language, Amy.
*Unified giggle*
Tony: The Road Home is at a prime location right by Trax and Front Runner. We have volunteers coming from Provo, so distance really is not a valid excuse. And as Veteran Volunteer 2 said it’s all worth it just to see the smile on the children’s faces.
Amy: Well Tony, I’m still not sure this is how I want to spend my Monday evenings. What is the activity this Monday?
Tony: I'm glad you asked, Amy. Our group book will be something about winter, and then we will be making some fabulous scarves with the kids.
Amy: Sounds great! Alright, you’ve convinced me. I’ll be at The Road Home, Monday at 7:00 sharp, and if I have any more questions I’ll just e-mail Taylor at taylorhorn@hotmail.com

Tony: I can’t wait to see you there, Amy. You won’t regret it.
*End with a wink and a smile from both our stars Tony and Amy.*

Back from New York sigh

2009-01-02T00:07:00.000-08:00

*Sister #1's place of work. I learned that they did a pitch for Tyra Banks last year!

*Me want foooooood!
*I'm nuts 4 nuts!

*If sex were a dessert it would be frozen hot chocolate from Serendipity. So much for my streak of celibacy.

In the new year I resolve to...

Put someone, anyone, in their place.

Lose the baby fat.
Conquer post-partum depression.

Have a moment.

Take my relationship with Seth (my imaginary boyfriend) to the next level.

Cure cancer.

Cure AIDS.

Laugh till I cry at least once a day.

Happy New Years!

*We weren't actually at Times Square on New Years Eve. We were there the day before and they were practicing the count down. That was good enough for me. It was frrrrrreezing.

Breaking News: Homophobes Give to Homos

2008-12-30T18:23:00.001-08:00

In these economically woeful times everyone needs to be doing their part. Today, my family and I did our part to support the gay and transgendered community of New York. Although my parents have a gay son, they still remain one of the most anti-gay and homophobic people I know. So I always giggle when an awkward homosexual situation presents itself on tv, at the mall or wherever else we may be. So imagine my delight as they clap for and donate to the prancing homos. I need to give a little background here.

We wanted to see Hairspray on Broadway so we entered our names into the lottery to get cheap tickets, you enter your name in and if they draw your name you get 2 front row tickets at $26.50 a piece. We’d heard that Hairspray is a sure fire show to get into with the lottery, but since this week has been tourist central we didn’t really have a chance. As we wallowed in our failure we decided to go to Ellen’s Stardust Diner on Broadway where your servers pimp out their talent in order to get a few tips. That’s pretty much as good as a Broadway show right? The first thing I noticed, after the long line, was the flamers prancing around belting tunes and waiting tables. Sister #1 has been to the restaurant a few times before and befriended one of the servers. The server she befriended, to my astonishment, was King of the Flamers, complete with a limp wrist, lisp, and perfectly coiffed hair. As they passed the microphone around between servers I noticed that they all shared these flaming traits. I began adding little side comments to whatever the family was saying. My mom would say “Wow, look how big he can open his mouth!”

“I’ll bet that comes in handy,” was my response.

Pointing out that these guys are flamers does not take away from the fact that they have immense talent, and I’m sure they are very nice, respectable people. It was just interesting to see my family’s reaction to them. With me, if I bring up anything “gay” their faces go stony and all conversations stop. But here they are clapping their hands and singing along with the gays. After a few enthusiastic numbers, one of the servers announced that a “singer’s donation bucket” would be going around to gather small donations for their singing careers. As my mom threw a few dollars into the bucket all I could think was that once the servers divided up their shares one of them was bound to go out and use that money to buy their next pair of leather chaps or the latest and greatest sex swing.

I also made a new friend today.

I named her Laila Rose the Transgendered Human Statue. She would constantly change her poses at an excruciatintly sluggish pace. Laila Rose the Transgendered Human Statue, would also giggle in delight and tap you with her flower if you dropped money into her box. I have never been presented with a better reason to give a dollar.

She gave me her heart. I will cherish it forever.

New York So Far...

2008-12-28T17:55:00.000-08:00

*Good enough to be reposted.

* Read me a bed-time story!

*Boys vs. girls gingerbread trains. I declared the boys the winner 3 different times. You don't need to see the girls's.

GYPSY = Orgasm

2008-12-26T21:42:00.000-08:00

ANGEL: New York City
MARK: Uh Huh
ANGEL: Center Of The Universe
COLLINS: Sing It Girl
ANGEL: Times Are Shitty But I'm Pretty Sure They Can't Get Worse
MARK: I Hear That
ANGEL: It's A Comfort To KnowWhen You're Singing The Hit The Road Blues. That Anywhere Else You Could Possibly Go After New York Would Be A Pleasure Cruise
~RENT

Right now I'm writing this on the kitchen floor of my sister's one bedroom, one bathroom, high rise apartment, located in Queens, New York. The kitchen floor also doubles as my sleeping quarters during this trip. My dad said it was "important to my sister" that she provide us housing for the week that we are here. I said that it was important to me that I get a good nights rest and get a hotel. He won out so here are the six of us squeezed into this apartment. The apartment is really nice. We're located on the 36th floor and we have a great view of the city across the river. Yesterday (Christmas day) the Empire State Building was lit up in blue and white for Hannukah and red and green for Christmas.

We spent today in Herald Square shopping our little hearts out. I believe the rest of New York shared our brilliant idea and joined us in this little shopping adventure. My "personal space bubble" was popped as soon as we stepped off the subway, and I don't think I'll get it back until I get off the plane in Salt Lake City. We shopped and shopped until our feet and wallets begged us to stop. After shopping came my highlight of the trip, GYPSY! Being the musical fanatic of the family, I was in charge of picking which Broadway show we were going to see. I chose Gypsy. This decision was made based on two factors: Patti LuPone was the star, and there were strippers. Neither of these factors let me down. Patti LuPone was absolutely flawless in her performance as Rose. I have been listening to the soundtrack for months, but I still got chills as she belted out the lyrics written by Sondheim. The gay part of me manifested itself tonight. I was giddy with excitement as we waited for the play to start. After it was finished I clapped until my hands were sore and could take no more. I don't think anyone really enjoyed the play as much as I did. Sister #1 fell asleep, and Sister #2 was caught up on the stripping. I was ready for Patti to jump on up and start all over again. Here is a youtube video of her singing the famous Everything's Coming Up Roses.

*Sister #2 and I out on the pier right by the apartment. Notice the Empire State Building in the background all lit up.

*You know the star is a big deal when her name is bigger than the title's.

Side story: We had a nazi door woman in our section at the theater. We got in trouble for taking pictures before the show started, climbing over the seat, and having candy in the theater. She was on us like a hawk. Ours weren't the only balls she was busting either. No one was going to do anything against the rules in her section.

I've got friends in high places

2008-12-22T17:53:00.001-08:00

I met the real Santa Claus today at The Road Home while volunteering at their annual radio broadcast fundraiser. I started out collecting donated items, then graduated to taking pictures of kids with Santa. You'd better be nice to me or else I'll tell my new friend Santa to skip your house!

Parties, who needs 'em?

2008-12-21T21:46:00.000-08:00

Who came up with the idea of political parties? I hope they are in hell and preparing the welcome party for Sean Hannity, Rush Limbaugh and Bill O’Reiley. We love to put people into boxes and that is what political parties allow us to do. These boxes allow us to know someone without ever getting to know them. You’re a homophobic, gun tottin’, bible thumpin’, uneducated, conservative red neck who speaks a hobbled form of English which liberated you from having to say the g’s at the end of words. I know all this because you just told me you’re a republican. And you’re a hippy, tree hugging, gay loving, New Yorker reading, elitist, atheist who would love nothing more than to see abortions on demand. I know this because you told me that you’re a democrat.

Instead of researching and learning as much as we can about candidates and their positions on important issues, we simply check the box of the candidate with the preferred letter in parenthesis at the end of their name. With the huge quantity of information ready at the tips of our fingers, thanks to an amazing tool called “Google,” we can learn voting histories, stances on issues and many other important things to know when considering which candidate to vote for. In this “don’t make me think, just make it work” society we live in, that research is too much work. I need to find out how the people from “Lost” got on the island and why they’re there. I can’t be bothered to research candidates who will shape the world my kids will live in.

Here in Utah we have an infamous state senator named Chris Buttars from West Jordan. He continues to be re-elected despite the downright moronic statements he makes. Last legislative session while debating a bill he said “This baby is black. It’s a dark, ugly thing.” He has gone on record as saying that the Supreme Court’s decision on Brown v Board of Education was “a bad decision.” What the hell? Where does this guy come from? I truly wonder if the people of West Jordan would keep re-electing this fool if he didn’t have (R) at the end of his name on the ballot. How much better would our government be if all candidates were allotted the same amount of campaign funds and were not backed by giant parties? It would be so much better if we didn't have the crutch of political parties to lean on, and instead had to actually learn about the people we're voting for.

Instead of getting our panties in a bunch about which party is in charge, we should be working to come together and fix the problems we've gotten ourselves into. Instead of pointing fingers at which party is to blame for these problems, let's work together to solve them. We deserve better than the vain, corrupt, and bitchy system that is our political parties.

Tag, I'm it

2008-12-19T11:00:00.000-08:00

I guess I've been by tagged by Nola.
8 Things

8 Of my Favorite books
1) Nobody Don't Love Nobody
2) Dry
3) Running with Scissors
4) Beloved
5) Glass Castle
6) The Street Lawyer
7) 3 Cups of Tea
8) Kaffir Boy

8 Things That Happened Yesterday
1) Worked and hated it.
2) Left work early.
3) Went to the Albertsons and bought pickles and popcorn
4) Had a Fabulous Fart Feast with Fannie Francine Feltcher
5) Had an intimate moment with Seth (My imaginary boyfriend.)
6) Laughed till I cried on about 3 seperate occasions.
7) Left for work early so I wouldn't have to drive my crippled dad. (I'm an ass.)
8) Got Starbucks

Things To Look Forward To-
1) Starting my new job
2) Visiting Sister #1 in New York!
3) Christmas time in New York
4) Finding Tina Fey on the streets of New York and getting coffee with her. Then she'll say "Hey you're pretty cool. Wanna be on 30 Rock?"
5) Celebrating the New Year in Times Square.
6) Volunteering at the radio broadcast at The Road Home on the 22nd. Be there if you can!
7) Reading for fun and not for school.
8) Going back to Ghana some day.

8 Things On My Wish List-
1) Good books.
2) World peace.
3) No more hunger
4) A Greyhound. They're beautiful.
5) A one way plane ticket to Ghana.
6) A lunch date with Nola and baby Lila.
7) My laundry to wash itself
8) World peace.

8 Things I Love About Winter-
1) Christmas eve
2) Christmas morning
3) Christmas afternoon
4) Christmas night
5) Christmas music. Kathleen Battle and Kristin Chenoweth are at the top of the list right now.
6) Snow (sometimes)
7) Snowboarding
8) Family time

I tag
Sam and whoever else reads this blog.

Seth. The Boyfriend.

2008-12-15T22:52:00.000-08:00

“Hey, wanna go steady?” I casually ask Seth as we stroll down the street arm in arm on a brisk December evening.

“Sure,” he replies. “Does that mean I get to fart around you, fight over the remote control, and tell you the truth when you ask me if you look fat?”

“Yup! I think this is going to work out just fine, Seth.”

Seth has strong arms, a chiseled jaw line, high cheek bones and a mind quicker than Stephen Colbert’s. He can be easily mistaken as a Greek God. We met in a coffee shop on a cold November afternoon.

*queue flashback sound effect*

I’m sipping my tall mocha and listening to “A Lovely Way to Spend Christmas” on my iPod when I notice a certain presence enter the room. I look around searching for its source when my eyes lock with this tall, dark and handsome man’s. After ordering his Venti caramel macchiato (low fat, no whip) he makes his way over to my table. “Is this seat available?” He asks.

“Of course,” I reply.

“What are you listening to?” He asks.

“The new Kristin Chenoweth Christmas album.”

“Oh, my goodness I love Kristin Chenoweth. I watch Pushing Daisies religiously. I can’t believe it is going off the air.”

“I know America just needs to pull its head out, stop watching stupid shows like “Lost” and recognize quality entertainment.”

“You said it!” He agrees. “My name’s Seth. What’s yours?”

“Taylor.” I search for something to talk about, anything. What on earth can I have in common with this gorgeous piece of man meat standing in front of me? I go with the proverbial “Do you come here often?”

“No, I just moved here from Seattle to take a job working with refugee families from Darfur.”
“Wow, that’s incredible! The pay must be pretty dismal though.”

“Yeah, but that’s ok. I inherited a large sum of money when my grandpa died. He invented post-its.”

A man with heart, drive, a career, AND money?! How could this have happened to me?

“I’ve gotta run I have some appointments to get to. What’s your phone number? I’ll call you and we can get together some time.”

I scrawl down my number on a napkin and give it to him with a toothy smile.
The best thing about this relationship is that it produces absolutely no stress. I am free to do whatever I want, whenever I want. I don’t have to worry about who pays for dates or who will initiate sexual contact, and the awkwardness that can entail. I don’t have the dent in my paycheck that a relationship usually produces. And I never ever have to compromise. The very best thing about this relationship is that it’s not real. It’s a figment of my imagination. So let me introduce you all to my imaginary boyfriend, Seth. He embodies everything I want in a boyfriend without the emotional and financial cost on my end. One day I’ll find the real life version of Seth, but for now the imaginary version works just fine for me.

Family....isn't it about time? (final one)

2008-12-14T12:48:00.000-08:00

Mom

My mother is an incredible person, and we share a bond that she doesn’t share with either Sister #1 or Sister #2. That bond has been tested and strengthened through the past year and a half since coming out. My mom was the person who’s reaction I feared and dreaded the most. I didn’t want to hurt her the way I did. I hate that she views my homosexuality as a reflection of her parenting. She has said multiple times that she believes if she were a better mother than I would not be this way, and that breaks my heart. I owe so much to her, and I could not ask for a better mom.

I love when my mom is proud of me and the things that I do. The other day I did very well on a test so I texted her and she replied “You’re a genius, I’m so proud of you. Keep up the good work!” Those simple words made my day. Whenever I won a tennis match that she couldn’t be at, or did well in out of state volleyball tournaments that she couldn’t be at, she would be the first person I called to tell. It makes me feel good when I know she is proud of my accomplishments.

My mother is the sole reason behind my success and love for both tennis and volleyball. I’ve had some incredibly talented and knowledgeable coaches in each sport, but I attribute my love, interest and success in these sports to her. As early as 4 years old I can remember going to her volleyball games and seeing how much fun the sport is. I was always her warm up buddy. We would pepper (pass the ball back and forth) and impress all the other women with the skills my mommy taught me. As I grew older and became more competent in my skills I joined a club volleyball team, which is not cheap. Both my sister and I (and later my other sister) were playing on club volleyball teams, costing upwards of $4,000.00 a piece depending on where we would be traveling for tournaments and such. My mom left the house and went back to work so that her kids could have the opportunity to enjoy the game they love. And when I was frustrated because I didn’t feel like I was the best on my team and wanted to quit, my mom wouldn’t let me. I was so mad at her for that, but now I couldn’t be more thankful to her. In addition to paying for the club volleyball fees and the insanely expensive tennis lessons, she also drove insane amounts of miles to get me to each practice. I had volleyball practice 2-3 times a week near Thanksgiving point (a 45 minute drive each way) and tennis practices 3-4 times a week in different parts of the Salt Lake valley (a 20 – 30 minute drive). Her life revolved around getting me to practice on time, well fed, with the proper equipment, and with an excitement to start practice. I owe her so much for her sacrifices to me. She put me before herself and I will forever be in her debt. Despite my mother’s flaws, I love her fiercely.

Love?

2008-12-04T21:44:00.000-08:00

If there is one thing I excel at, it is asking questions. I am fascinated with how people work, and why they react specific ways in certain situations. Here are a few questions I have about love, specifically dealing with lovers "That word bums me out unless it's between the words meat and pizza." - Liz Lemon, 30 Rock

The big 4 letter word…..love. What does that word exactly mean? What does that word imply? What are you willing to do because of that word? What are you willing to abstain from because of that word? When is it appropriate to use that word? What’s the difference between loving someone and being in love with someone? Where do you get the words to accurately express your love? From songs? Poems? Shakespeare? He’s always good for a line or two. What’s the difference between lust and love? How and/or when does lust turn into love? Is love supposed to be messy? Is love worth fighting for if it means losing yourself in the fight? How does love transform you? Your ideals? Your goals? Your opinions?

Does love bud, blossom and then wilt away like a flower? Is it like our stock markets right now…unpredictable? Is my love the same as your love? Is it ok to love differently? Does love make you blind? Does it consume every part of you so that all other passions and goals melt effortlessly into one passion and one goal; that one passion and goal now being your love for another person? Is it ok to use the same strategies, pet names, or rituals used in a previous love? Is that appropriate? Is that honest? Is that love? Is it a good thing to love someone so much that you will do anything for them? If someone says that they are in love with you do you have to be in love with them back? Can the relationship last if you aren’t ready for that yet? Is it right to fall in love if you’ve recently ended a relationship? Does that undermine the previous relationship? Is that disrespectful to the previous lover?

I have my answers to some of these questions. Wouldn't life just be a lot easier if we knew all the answers to all the questions? Although, where would be the fun in that?

Family...isn't it about time?

2008-11-28T15:06:00.000-08:00

The Sisters

Growing up, Sister #1 and I were partners in crime. We ganged up against Sister #2, my parents and whoever else stood in the way of our fun. I love her. When she was a crazy teenager I would always wonder how the hell that brain of hers worked. The things she did to get in trouble with my parents never made sense to me. I was constantly asking her “Why do you do that? You know mom’s going to freak out. You know you’re going to get grounded. Why do you do it?” Even though I didn’t understand why she did what she did, she could always come to me and just talk. We would wait until my parents went to bed then I would sneak into her room and she would tell me about her latest boyfriend, party, drama, whatever was going on. She told me secrets and that was my favorite part. I loved that I knew things about my sister that nobody else knew. My role in these night time pow wows was simply to listen, and I did it well. I felt so honored that a “grown up” like her would come to me to talk about all her “grown up” problems and tell her “grown up” secrets to me. These talks would last late into the night only to be broken up by an annoyed parent who mistakenly thought they put us to bed hours ago. I guarded Sister #1’s secrets with my life. My mom would always try to get the secrets out of me but I was a steel trap! Sister #1 also comes with her flaws. One of which is her impulsive need to be in charge. She needs to be the one calling the shots. Sister #1 will decide if she wants to listen to and follow what you say. Sister #1 will decide if what you are doing is right or wrong. And once she has made that decision there’s no arguing it and there’s no changing her mind. Despite her flaws, I love Sister #1.

Sister #2 is the ying to Sister #1’s yang. Sister #2 is a tom boy. She hates dressing up, my mom is constantly telling her to “act like a lady” and she could kick any boy’s ass. My sexuality being revealed to everyone has produced major tension between Sister #2 and I. She does not know how to process this inconceivable change of events. I know she wants to bond with me, talk about boys and be normal. She feels that if she stooped down to that level then she would be just as evil as me. Hopefully with time she will realize that love trumps all else. Despite the tension, I still have many fond memories of when we were very little and we played all sorts of imagined games together. We played house, dogs, 3 Musketeers (there were only 2 of us), pioneers, good guys vs. bad guys and a number of other wonderful magically envisioned games. Despite her flaws, I love Sister #2.

Giving Thanks

2008-11-26T21:59:00.001-08:00

It is a tradition for my family to go around the dinner table and say 3 things you are thankful for. My family went to Las Vegas to spend Thanksgiving with some family there, and I have to work so I am home alone on Thanksgiving. Since I won't be able to carry out that tradition with my family I am going to do it here.

1. My family. A few days ago my sister came home from New York where she's carrying out her dream as an interior designer. It was so great to have the whole family together. It was the first time since I came out that there were no tears shed, no arguments, and no hurt feelings. We watched BYU get owned by my school (GO UTES!) and we had fun. We played stupid games that only my family would think is fun. We laughed about things only my family would find funny. We teased each other the way only we can tease each other. Everyone had a good time. I am so thankful for them and the support and stability they provide to me.

2. My friends. I have never been the type of person to have a large group of friends. I have a very very small group of friends who I share everything with, and that has been how it has been my whole life. I have friends who I can talk to about stuff that I can't talk about with my family and I am so thankful that I can have that additional support. Where would I be without FFF & FFF (don't worry if you don't get the reference.) To those few of you who I call friend, thank you.
3. Last, but certainly not least, my dog, D'koda (Sister #1 made up the spelling for his name so don't judge.) I call him my little orphan because he was found by a family friend in a dumpster at the restaurant where she worked. He was only 2 weeks old and barely alive. He couldn't walk so we would carry him around in a towel to keep him warm. And when he woke up in the middle of the night hungry I was the one waking up to make a bottle (which smelled absolutely rancid) for him. D'koda sleeps with me every night and he is my walking buddy. He can be dead asleep and I'll say "D'koda, do you wanna go for a walk?" and he jumps right up and is ready to go! No matter how shitty my day is D'koda will brighten it. I am so thankful for him.

My Spot

2008-11-25T09:53:00.000-08:00

That title sounds sexual, but I promise this isn't a sex post. Yesterday while I was walking with my dog, I found My Spot. It's a place that I can call my own. A place that no one else will go. I sat up there, in My Spot, took pictures, reflected on life, thought about futures, and played with my dog. I'm out the door right now to go back to My Spot. It is a place I will frequent often.

Family....isn't it about time?

2008-11-23T00:02:00.000-08:00

My family is made up of a mother, a father, Sister #1 and Sister #2. I love each and every one of them very much, and also very differently. I don’t love one family member more than another, I just love them differently. All the experiences with coming out of the closet has challenged and tested these relationships but I was reminded tonight how much I love my family, and how much they love me in return. And the best thing about the love of a family member is that it doesn’t go through the honeymoon phase and then morph into an entirely different thing altogether like a romantic relationship. Familial love is constant. Familial love is strong. Familial love is important.

The First Installment of Family....isn't it about time? My Father.

My core values come directly from my dad. He’s a meticulously honest and ethical man. Anyone that has ever done business with my dad will tell you that he does not cut corners or take the easiest route. About 7 or 8 years ago my dad had the strangest idea to start up his own architecture firm. I watched as he worked his fingers to the bone getting this new business started. No matter how stressed and over worked he was at work he always left that stress at work. He has mastered the art of compartmentalizing (I need a little bit to rub off on me!)

In addition to instilling values into his son he also passed on one of his own passions which is sailing. When I was 10 years old he bought a 1986 MacGregor 26 sailboat and every weekend we would go out to the Great Salt Lake and sail around. When I was 14 he bought a much larger boat to stay on while he was in Hawaii on business. A long time ago it was featured on the cover of Cruising World Magazine and that is where this photo comes from. I have been blessed to have the opportunity to make 2 trips with him to Hawaii with the sole purpose of each trip being to work on The Lady Leanne II.

The most recent trip, two summers ago, the boat was sailed from its home in Kauai to Oahu so that it could be pulled out of the water and undergo routine maintenance. I went with my dad so that we could sail the boat from Oahu back to Kauai. It was an incredible and treacherous adventure. We expected the journey to take about 18 hours. So armed with a compass, GPS device, some snacks and rain gear we embarked out into the open sea. The plan was to sail along the island of Oahu until we reached the point of the island, then turn port (left for those not nautically savvy) and go straight for Kauai. We left in the early evening and sailed all night long taking shifts at the helm. I would drive for about an hour or two then sleep while my dad took a shift for an hour or two.

I can only attempt to convey the awesomeness of this part of the journey. We had a great breeze and we were cruising along at around 7 – 10 knots (I don’t know how that converts to MPH). I have never seen so many stars in my entire life. It was BEAUTIFUL! It was so quiet, but not the type of quiet that gives you the willies. It was the type of quiet that will calm any nerve and cure any hurt. There were only the sounds of wind in the sails and water rushing beneath the boat. Sometimes I would get caught up at looking at the stars, the shoreline, or straight down into the black water. At night there are sparkles everywhere, like magic. I later learned that the first explorers thought that there was gold in the Pacific Ocean. It has to do with the chemical makeup of a type of plankton in the water reacting with the churning water. It is entirely too scientific for me to understand. (Imagine seeing a million of these sparkling in the water) After staring for a bit I would look at the compass or GPS and realize I was off course and a correction was in order.

I watched the sun rise and as soon as it did it was time to take off into the truly open ocean towards Kauai. This is when the hellish part of the trip began. Without the protection of the island the waves became huge and the wind strong. The horizon would disappear as we dipped down into the trough of a wave and then reappear as we reached the crest of the next wave, only to go down the next one and once again have the horizon disappear. These constant up and down, side to side motions instantly sent my sea sick prone father to the side of the boat to vomit repeatedly. I was forced to take the helm and coordinate being tossed by the waves, keeping wind in the sails, and making sure we were close enough to our intended route. I had never gotten sea sick before that trip, but boy did it hit me. It was a combination of the sweltering heat and enormous waves, tossing us around like a toy boat in a bathtub with a four year old, that did me in. While I puked over the side of the boat my dad would take the helm, and while he puked over the side of the boat I would take the helm. After repeating this cycle many, many, many times we were absolutely exhausted. (It takes incredible effort to drive the boat in these conditions. You have to fight the waves and work with them at the same time and fight the wind but work with it at the same time. It takes muscle and endurance, something we were not prepared for.) In the middle of the ocean, with no land in sight, we heaved-to (meaning you just let go of the wheel and the boat turns into the wind; stopping you completely) and slept. We woke up and returned to our cycle of drive, throw up, drive, throw up until we couldn’t take it any longer and heaved-to again.

After 18 hours we finally had Kauai in our sights. I could not have been more excited to see a small brown hump on the horizon. We made it safely into harbor 24 hours after departing from Oahu. I was in awe at the will power my dad showed to keep us on course while his stomach and head were doing an Olympic gymnastics routine. We depended on each other that day. We weren’t father and son that day. We were equals, working together to reach our destination. We gained a greater respect and love for each other because of our joint triumph over sickness and sea. Our very own The Old Man and the Sea, coming of age story.

Despite his flaws, I love my dad.

*My dad took this picture at the end of our journey. I was EXHAUSTED!

Purging

2008-11-21T14:51:00.000-08:00

I am sick of worrying that I might say something that can be taken as offensive. I’m sick of walking on egg shells. This is me being emotionally honest. Take it how you want.

How do you do it? How do you turn your back on the past one and a half years and jump right into another relationship? He’s not even cute. How do you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you jump into a relationship? Were you dating him before I got home? Did I play such a menial part in your life that you can just brush off the past year and a half and jump right in with someone else? Did I and we mean nothing to you? Seriously? What the fuck? It still hurts. Do you not hurt too? Is this new relationship somehow a way to mend your hurt? I really really really don’t get it.

Why do I feel like a tissue, all crumpled up, thrown away, useless? Why do I allow you to play such a big part of my life even now? My deepest desires desire you, but my reasoning rejects you. As I sleep my dreams torment me with memories that rip open the wound and send me receding back into solidarity and reclusion. I wake up every single day and hope that my day will be filled with thoughts other than you, but somehow you find a way to weasel your way in, curl up in an arm chair and watch the emotional circus that is me.

Every sight, sound, touch, smell leads me back to memories of you, of us. It feels like I have a bruise and I keep poking it just to see if it still hurts; to see if I can even feel. I couldn’t be dating someone else even if I wanted to. So how do you do it? I’m supposed to be a strong independent person. What happened to me? Your pity is the last thing I want. I knew you weren’t mine while I was still in Ghana. I wrote in my journal on July 10th “…I know something is up on the home front. If that is the case then I am determined to move on quickly and not be a lame, depressed, lethargic person for a long time.” Haha I actually laughed out loud as I read that. I have turned into the person I never wanted to be. And for that you will be nothing more than an acquaintance, memory and learning/growing experience to me.

Jesus is a Friend of Mine

2008-11-10T21:22:00.000-08:00

A Sealed Box on a High Shelf

2008-11-05T14:21:00.000-08:00

This post has been in the works for a couple of weeks now. I've written and re-written it several times. It is important to me, and I can't seem to get the words right. I want to stress that I am writing this as a cathartic exercise for myself. This post isn't intended to be a message to anyone in particular. I'm not seeking anyone's sympathy. Although, empathy would be nice.

To keep with my vow to not bottle things up anymore I need to talk about why I am hurting so bad. Shortly after returning from Ghana my boyfriend, “Bond,” of a year and a half decided that a relationship was not something he was interested in anymore. He claimed it wasn’t me but a relationship in general that he didn’t want. That fateful break up night was full of promises not to be bitter, angry, and resentful, but I am finding that extremely difficult. The year and a half I spent with this boy was a roller coaster ride in every aspect of my life.

Last year my parents found out that Bond wasn’t my best friend, but in fact my boyfriend. I’d like to tell that story. I need to tell that story.

Bond and I are hanging out at his house after a morning of teaching swimming lessons when a knock comes at the door. Shirtless, Bond answers the door and finds my dad standing there. My chest tightens and my stomach flips. Why is he here? And how did he know where to find me? A million thoughts race through my head. “Oh shit he knows. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. OH SHIT!” (I’m still baffled as to how he found out where Bond lives.) My dad asks me to go with him.

I get in the car and my dad asks me “Are you dating Bond?”

“Yes.”

“This is huge, Taylor.”

I get home after driving around listening to my dad tell me how evil and wrong my relationship with Bond is, and my mother and older sister are in tears. My dad takes away my phone, laptop, and car keys, cutting off all contact with the outside world. I go up to my room and punch a hole in my wall. My oldest sister comes up to my room. “Do you want to go for a drive?” she asks. “Sure” I reply. We drive to the temple of all places. I think she thought proximity to something soooo holy would cure the gay right out of me. We talk about my past, my mom, and what I am going to do for the future. She gives me her opinions on why I think I am gay and I give her mine. We return from our drive and I go to my room and stay there for 14 days. In these 14 days I sleep little, eat little, bathe little and read voraciously. I read about 2 books a day and virtually everything the LDS church has ever said about “Same Sex Attraction.” (that euphemism bugs me)

I am lying in bed just about to fall asleep (an accomplishment in and of itself) when I hear a series of clicks on my window. (This is strange because my room is on the 3rd floor.) I open the drapes and see my friend Kiersten standing outside. She tells me in loud whispers that Bond is too afraid to come onto my property but he is standing out in those bushes. I want to see him so I make him come to the window and he tells me, in loud whispers, how much he loves me, how much he supports me and he tells me he is going to sneak a phone to me so that I can remain in contact. My heart was filled with happiness and love after they left my window. Only he can make me feel this way while I’m feeling so shitty. I couldn’t fall asleep that night because of the excitement I was feeling. It is such a comfort to know that somebody still cares and somebody is still on my side.

On the 13th day of solitary confinement I celebrate my 18th birthday. My cousins are in town so I pretend that everything is happy and good (gotta keep up those appearances!) the next day, my parents and I finally have it out. We talk, we yell, we accuse, toxic words are exchanged and we cry, boy do we cry.

“I know you aren’t really gay. I know that you don’t want to live like this.” My mom tells me.

“Mom, I am sick of you telling me how I really feel.” I reply “You have done this my whole life and I am sick of it.”

She starts to cry. “There you hurt me. You accomplished what you wanted.” That is not what I wanted. That is the opposite of what I wanted.

My mom tells me “Taylor, you need to make a choice. You can choose God or you can choose this.” She spits out the word "this" as if its poisonous and will cause an imminent and painful death. I’ve had enough. I can’t take the ultimatums, the untrue statements and the revulsion they show for me, their son. I go to my basement, get the luggage I got for graduation and pack just about everything I own. I write a note to my little sister filling her in on why I need to do what I’m about to do. I text Bond (from the smuggled phone) and tell him to come pick me up because I’m leaving. After I get everything packed up my parents realize that I am serious. I am leaving their house, their protection and their supervision for an undetermined amount of time. My mother breaks down. I have never seen her like this. The woman who gave birth to me, raised me, taught me to love tennis and volleyball, drove my ass to every single volleyball practice and tournament no matter the distance and my oldest friend is reduced to a shaking mass of tears and increasingly audible sobs. My heart breaks knowing that I am doing this to my mother. I need to leave though. I cannot stay.

Bond arrives and I get my bags and prepare to leave when my dad hugs me and tells me “The door is always open, Taylor. You are always welcome in this house.”

I reply “I know but I need to leave.”

My mom can do nothing but wail. She tells me repeatedly that she loves me. “Why are you doing this?” she begs. “Why are you doing this?”

I leave.

“What the fuck did I just do?” was all I could think of. I get to Bond, load my bags into his car and break down in his arms. I’m sobbing and I can’t get anything out. He, my parents and my older sister are the only ones who have seen me in this state. I sit there in his arms for a while and simply sob. His arms bring me comfort despite the grief I am feeling about the heartbreak I am causing my family. Comfort only he can provide me. I want to tell him everything that went on but I can’t. It hurts too much. He drives me to where I spend the next 2 months. Thank God I have someplace to go.

That night in a foreign bed, in a foreign room I am hit with another wave of “What the fuck did I just do?” My only solace comes in knowing that I have Bond. I know he’s not going anywhere. I know that he loves me. I know that he supports me.

On August 20, 2008 I lost that love and support completely. Two and a half short months later I am still mourning that loss. Bond has moved on with his life, gotten a new boyfriend, and is happy from what I can tell. Why was it so easy for him to move on? Why can’t I do the same? I shared the most private, sacred and personal parts of me with him and I don’t regret that for a minute, but it is hard to accept that someone else now occupies that part of his life. My occupancy in that part of his life was something that I respected, cherished and held most sacred, but now there is someone else there. I know millions of other people have had to deal with this but that doesn't make it any easier for me.

It is time to put the lid on the box from that chapter of my life. It’s time to seal the box shut and set it on a high shelf only to be reopened when I'm ready to revisit that chapter, a long long time from now. I’ve already made good use of the shredder; that was a good start.

There’s only us
There’s only this
Forget regret
Or life is yours to miss
No other road
No other way
No day but today
~Mimi Marquez from RENT

A Bright Spot on this Gloomy Day

2008-11-03T16:10:00.000-08:00

Tonight is Kids Book Club and for our activity we are going to make leaf stamp collages. To gather up all the leaves to make the stamps I took my dog, D'koda, and went to my favorite trail. I love hiking and I don't do it nearly as often as I should. It was beautiful to see the changing leaves and hear the rushing of water from the river running parallel to the trail. It was so peaceful and beautiful. I am kicking myself for not taking my camera. Oh well that just means I have to go again.

There was no one else on the trail so I let D'koda run free. He is so funny. He would run run run ahead then stop and look back and notice I was still behind him then run run run back to me, make a circle and run run run ahead. When he's on a leash he walks calmly and by my side but once I let him off he takes off and loves every minute of it.

As I selected leaves and put them in my bag I was hit by an appreciation of what I have here. When I was in Ghana everything was so new, exotic and beautiful. I take for granted the beauty just minutes from my house. We have some of the most beautiful sunsets, mountains, leaves etc. and I definitely don't take the time to appreciate them as often as I should. In every situation you find yourself in there is beauty. The trick is appreciating it. You don't have to be in a far of exotic land to appreciate the beauty around you.

On a different note. I just finished reading Running With Scissors and I recommend it to EVERYONE! It's definitely R rated but I highly recommend it.

True Friends

2008-11-01T17:24:00.000-07:00

What is a true friend? Someone you grew up with? Someone who you spend most of your time with right now? Your dog? To me there are two kinds of friends superficial friends and true friends. Superficial friends are the ones that you hang out with, laugh with, make fun of, and just have a good time. True friends are the ones who stick with you even when it’s not fun anymore. True friends tell you, not what you want to hear, but what you need to hear. They are the people who say “Hey, quit being a douche.” Or “Are you sure that’s something you should be doing?” but at the same time they are also there to support you no matter what. The best example I have of a true friend is Britton (he is the one on the right in the picture above.) Britton and I have been best friends since Jr. High. We raised hell at tennis practices together, crashed cars together, worked together, laughed together, and cried together. When everyone found out I am gay he didn’t skip a beat. He talked with his gay piano teacher about it and talked to me and supported me with all the decisions I made. That is the mark of a true friend. Some of my favorite Britton/Taylor moments happened in tennis practices. We were notorious at North Canyon Swim and Tennis, Salt Lake Swim and Tennis, The Jewish Community Center, Eagle Ridge Swim and Tennis, and the Woods Cross High School Tennis Team. We could never play doubles together because it would just turn into a silly game of how hard can I hit the ball at your face? And he was one of the only people that I could play against and not lose my temper. We could never get sick of each other no matter how much time we spent together.

He is now on a 2 year, religiously affiliated vacation and not a day goes by that I don’t wish he were back here. I’m sure he’s a great missionary and will still be the same dorky, bobble headed Britton when he gets back, and I can’t wait till he gets back.

VOTE!

2008-10-29T17:06:00.001-07:00

It seems kind of stupid that we're fighting two wars in the name of democracy yet we have one of the lowest voter turn out rates. GO VOTE DAMNIT! I don't care who you vote for just vote.

I'm done.

2008-10-26T11:43:00.000-07:00

My heart is pounding. My hands are shaking. My tears are flowing. I don't know what to do. Why do I feel like this? Why am I so messed up? Why am I tormented in my dreams with things that were but never will be again? I hate that I feel like this. I hate that I'm even writing about it. I hate that I don't have anyone to share these emotions with. I feel alone. I feel desperate. I feel hopeless. I feel like if my family doesn't leave the fucking house soon so that I can go running I will blow up. I feel immature. I feel like a moron. I feel like a failure. I am done. What am I supposed to do? What changes to my life should I be making? How can I become a different person so that I don't feel like this anymore? Why does it work like this? Why the FUCK did I ever leave Ghana? My mom said "Maybe we can figure out a way for you to stay for the rest of the summer." I responded "No, I need to come home." that is probably the stupidest thing I could have said. Life in Ghana = love, happiness, purpose. Life in Utah = hell. I hate that I bottle everything up. On August 20, 2008 I put everything into a bottle sealed it tight, and now it is exploding and getting my pillow and shirt pretty wet and salty. Why do I do this? Why can't I cry for more than 2 minutes at a time? Why does it have to be an all or nothing situation for my emotions? I need to get out of this god forsaken state. I just need to go. And now that my family has finally left for church I can go running, hopefully that will help.

Pushing Daisies

2008-10-16T22:13:00.000-07:00

Pushing Daisies is my favorite show right now. It is so different than anything that is on T.V. right now. I love the quick, smart dialog and the vibrant, colorfulness of it. There is nothing on T.V. quite like it. I've heard it described as a hybrid between Tim Burton and Dr. Suess. I think that is definitely an accurate description. There are moments as I watch when I'm like hey that totally applies to me! Like this dialog between Chuck and Alfredo Aldarisio:

Alfredo Aldarisio: Did you say depressing? [opens it up] FDA-approved, pharmaceutical-grade herbology.

Chuck: Like a bully for your emotions.

Alfredo Aldarisio: Emotions need to be bullied. Indulging depression is like indulging a horrible, willful child. If they’re allowed to run roughshod, you’ll find yourself catering to its every whim. So, bully it and bully it good.

Chuck: Everyone needs to be bullied sometimes. Do you have any literature?

Everyone needs to start watching this show so that it doesn't get cancelled. It really is an amazing show!

Ghana loves Barack!

2008-10-09T18:36:00.000-07:00

I often had the same conversation with Ghanaian taxi drivers, shop owners, rastas, and even some of the older orphans. The conversation went like this.

Ghanaian: What country do you come from?
Me: America
Ghanaian: Do you support Barack Obama?
Me: Of course! Do you?
Ghanaian: Yes, he will bring money to Africa.

While I don't know if their belief that Obama will bring all the money to Africa is true, I did find their excitment and support for Obama awesome.

Here's the Barack Obama song by Blakk Rasta. Gilbert loved to introduce all the new volunteers to the Barack Obama song. (it has also become my morning wake up song)

Enjoy.

Perfect Remedy for a bad day

2008-10-05T16:58:00.000-07:00

Today sucks. In an effort to lift my spirits I'm going to talk about the one thing that makes me truly happy right now, and that is the kids in Africa. I don't think I can ever convey the profound and lasting impression these kids left on me. Even though I am not with the kids physically every day. I carry them with me where ever I go. They will forever be a part of me. I miss the kids more than I have ever missed anything, and on this extra shitty day I am going to talk about them.

If you've read previous posts then you know about Kelvin. In the video below I am having a conversation with Kelvin in the few English words he knows. If you listen at the very beginning you can hear him calling me "Auntie Taylah" There's a funny story behind that name. I was trying to teach Kelvin how to say my name and it started out as just "T" then we graduated to Taylor. One day at the school I was getting all the kids rounded up so we could go back to the toddler's compound to get changed out of school uniforms. Kelvin neeed help with his shoes so he yelled "Auntie Taylah!" I was surprised because he had never called me this before. Kelvin realized his mistake and started laughing. He thought this was the funniest thing ever, as did Jessica (co-volunteer) and I. So the name stuck. I was known throughout the orphanage with all the kids as "Auntie Taylah". I miss walking into the orphanage and being greeted with a chorus of "Obruni!" and "Auntie Taylah" from all the kids. As soon as they saw us coming there would be shreiks, cheers and lots of little arms wrapped around my legs.

One of my most favorite and most vivid memories is of Kofi's laugh. He didn't laugh often but when he did it was infectious and one of the best laughs I know of. Sorry this video is dark. I took it right before bed time so it was dark. Turn your volume way up and listen to Kofi's laugh. If his laugh doesn't at least make you smile I will pay you a million dollars. It gets me every time.

To the kids at Osu Children's Home: I miss you. I love you all. And I will be back. Hopefully soon.

Love it!

2008-09-28T04:51:00.000-07:00

Cats

2008-09-21T20:14:00.000-07:00

Anbody who knows me well knows that I am a sucker for musicals. My iPod is full of soundtracks from my favorite musicals. Some of my favorites are Wicked, West Side Story, The Sound of Music, Hairspray, Joseph and the Amazing Technical Dream Coat, Evita, Pretty Woman, Fiddler on the Roof, and Sweeney Todd just to name a few. Saturday night the family and I went to Cats at Capital Theater. Cats is the longest running play in Broadway history. I had never seen it so I was excited to see it for the first time. The singing, dancing, make up, and costumes were all absolutely amazing. My favorite songs were Jellicle Songs for Jellicle Cats and Memory. After watching Cats I can't wait to see Wicked this spring. Here's a video of Memory performed by the original Broadway cast.

My other favorite was Jellicle Songs for Jellicle Cats.

I want YOU!

2008-09-18T18:33:00.000-07:00

I am very happy to have the opportunity to be a Co Director for the Kid's Book Club Program at The Road Home. Part of my job as Co Director is to get some volunteers for the program. So I am calling on you, who ever is reading this blog. Book Club happens every Monday night at The Road Home which is located at 210 South Rio Grande Street (455 West) Salt Lake City, Utah 84101. The Kid's Book Club is a great way to get involved and make a difference in our community. The goal of the program is to help children ages 5-12 gain an interest and love for reading. Volunteers will read one on one with a couple of kids, then come together and read a fun group book. Afterward, art and/or snack activities centered on the theme or characters in the group story follow to reinforce the enjoyment of reading. Volunteers should come with an open mind and a love for reading and kids. I should warn you up front that it can get chaotic. If you like nice well mannered children who only speak when spoken to, then this program probably isn't for you. Volunteers should be able to work effectively with these awesome kids and be positive role models and examples. I mentioned in a previous post about the insane number of famlies living at the shelter (last week there were 20 families in crisis shelter, meaning not in a room of their own). As a result of the increase in families there is also an increase in kids coming to Book Club. We need all the help we can get. I hope to see you there. If you have more questions you can e-mail me at taylorhorn@hotmail.com.

Amazing!

2008-09-15T17:31:00.000-07:00

This is absolutely my favorite thing right now.

Memories

2008-09-10T23:58:00.000-07:00

Why is it that you never really have a true appreciation of a person or place until they are gone? When I miss a place or a person it is the very small things that get to me the most. I miss smells, sounds, words, sensations and feelings. Feelings of contentment, feelings of love, feelings of thinking I know what the future holds for me. Life has a way of keeping you on your toes. As soon as you feel like everything is as it should be, something always happens to destroy this feeling. I used to think I knew what the future held in store for me. The simple truth is, I don't. I never will, and that's ok. I can appreciate what I have right now; celebrate who I am right now, because tomorrow is a new day with new events, new people and new experiences. While the future is always new and exciting, memories are always there to remind you of the past. Memories are strange. The smallest smell or faintest sound can bring a faded memory back to vibrant multi color in an instant. I love memories. They can be painful (even the good ones) but they are mine. No one else's. They are mine to be dusted off and revisted like an old photograph. Memories have the ability to change my day. I can be walking along and smell a cologne, see a landmark, or hear a song and the rest of my day is thrown into a pot overflowing with an eclectic mix of emotions. Sometimes it gets to be too much and that's where releases come in: tennis, running, writing, and crying (or a combinations of these). I have learned that when a memory is painful, ride it out. because there just may be a pleasant one hiding in there somewhere. A memory which forces a smile onto your face no matter where you are. Those are the best memories I possess.

Dream Big

2008-09-10T21:58:00.000-07:00

In my weekly meeting at The Bennion Center (the community service center at the University of Utah) we were given this poem which I really really like.

Dream Big - Author Unknown

If there were ever a time to dare,
to make a difference,
to embark on something worth doing,
it is now.

Not for any grand cause, necessarily--
but for something that tugs at your heart,
something that's your aspiration,
something that's your dream.

You owe it to yourself
to make your days here count.
Have fun.
Dig deep.
Stretch.

Dream big.

Know, though, that things worth doing
seldom come easy.
There will be good days.
There will be times when you want to turn around,
pack it up,
and call it quits.

Those times tell you that you are pushing yourself,
that you are not afraid to learn by trying.

Persist.

Because with an idea, determination,
and the right tools, you can do great things.
Let your instincts, your intellect,
and your heart guide you.

Trust.

Believe in the incredible power of the human mind.
Of doing something that makes a difference.
Of working hard.
Of laughing and hoping.
Of lazy afternoons.
Of lasing friends.
Of all the things that will cross your path this year.

The start of something new
brings the hope of something great.
Anything is possible.
There is only one you.
And you will pass this way only once.
Do it right.

S.O.S

2008-09-08T20:51:00.000-07:00

I have the opportunity to work at The Road Home every Monday night. I work in the Kid's Book Club Program there. I love the chaos that occurs there. I love talking to the kids and their parents. The parents are doing their best to give their kids the life they never had. I respect and am inspired by the hard work they put into raising their kids. I always go away from The Road Home feeling physically drained but spiritually full. Today was an especially draining day. It was my first day being "Program Director" and organizing and planning the group reading book and activity. So after reading The Thingumajig Book of Manners the kids brainstormed about some "manners" that we should have in book club. "Don't say bitch" and "Don't go into the boy's bathroom" were some of my favorites that the kids came up with. (I tried to make the kids come up with rules without using "no" or "don't" but they didn't really grasp that.) After the chaos was over and the room put, somewhat, back together I waited with 2 kids for their parents to come pick them up. As we were waiting in the lobby I noticed that there were about 4-5 families living in the lobby. They had run out of rooms in the shelter and had set up emergency shelter in the lobby. I have never seen this many families living at the shelter. Usually the winter months bring in a lot more families and that is when it gets crowded, so it was strange to see that there were this many families displaced at this time of year.

I definitely lean to the left. I am a big proponent for the little guy, pro-choice, pro gay marriage, and anti big business (Wal-Mart is the epitome of evil). Looking at all the families in the lobby, all the kids in book club, and all the cars being lived in near the shelter, it hit me. This is the reality of the economic mess we are in. It is no longer just numbers stated by politicians and talking heads on CNN. It isn't just something that you see in the newspaper. It is reality. People's, and more importantly, children's lives have been turned upside down. While oil execs are raking in record amounts of cash, regular people are foreclosing on their homes and being forced out onto the streets. A small number of these families are homeless because of addictions as stereotypes would suggest. They are a product of our economic situation and the current administration occupying office for the past 8 years. They are a product of high gasoline prices, high food costs, foreclosure rates, high insurance costs etc. But most importantly they are human. They are just like you or I. They deserve the same health benefits as you or I simply based on the fact that they are human beings. I am so blessed to live in a home, go to school, go on an amazing trip to Africa. We have all been blessed and because of that we are able to give. Whoever is out there reading this blog, go work in a homeless shelter, work at the Utah Food Bank, or simply donate money if you're short on time. We need change, everyone is in agreement on that. "You must be the change you wish to see in the world." -Mahatma Gandhi

Sorry to get political but it was just on my mind after tonight.

Now that I'm home...

2008-09-04T20:45:00.000-07:00

A lot has changed since I got home from Ghana 25 days ago. Changes for the better, and changes for the worse. You never really know how much you love a place until you have to leave it. That is how I feel about Ghana. I was excited to get home to a boyfriend, a hot shower, Wendy's, and some clean clothes. I had painted such an exciting and beautiful picture of my life back home; I was excited to get back to it. Now that I am home I realize the picture is faded and definitely not what I had envisioned. I always chuckle when I get the question "So...how was it?" There is no way that I can sum up my entire experience in one conversation or even a days worth of conversation. And a simple "It was good" does not serve justice to my experiences and memories. There is so much that I learned and am still learning from my experience in Ghana. There is a plus to being home and that is a fast internet connection. Meaning that I can finally upload some pictures.

Kelvin

His name is Kelvin. I've talked about Kelvin in previous posts. He was adopted towards the end of the trip, and in my opinion he is going to have a pretty easy time assimilating into his new british life style. His mother's house will be the cleanest in all the land thanks to Kelvin's love and excitment for helping out. Kelvin taught me that sometimes you can't wait for someone else to rock you to sleep. Sometimes you just have to do it yourself. He also taught me about standing up for the little guy. Kelvin was not afraid to stand up for his peers against some of the older orphans. I miss Kelvin, and think of him daily.

Kofi

This beautiful little boy is Kofi. In the beginning Kofi was always serious, never talked and rarely cracked a smile. After a few weeks though, he was all smiles and chattered away in Twi. I never understood what he was saying but I loved it all the same. Sometimes Kofi would go back into his serious state and just watch the other kids. He would cry when necessary but would quit when it was no longer necessary. Kofi taught me that there are times when you need to cry but there are times when you don't. There are times when you need to be serious and take a step back and just watch, but there are times when you need to get in there and have fun. Who cares if no one understands. I miss Kofi, and think of him daily.

Tsulee

I never got to say goodbye to Tsulee, he was adopted while I was on my trip up north. Tsulee is smart. He loved learning new English words. And I loved hearing his sweet gravelly voice. The orphans and I would play a game, I would say "On your marks" and they would squat down and touch their index fingers to the ground like a modified runners starting position. Then I would say "Get set, GO!" and we would all run run run, turn around and start all over again. This was Tsulee's favorite game. We played it everyday after dinner and if I forgot Tsulee would look at me and say in his gravelly, accented voice "Auntie Taylah! On your marks!" Whenever we were moving to a different part of the orphanage Tsulee would remind me to get my bag by saying "Auntie Taylah, yo bag, yo bag." Tsulee taught me that no matter what your situation is, you can always find a way to have fun. I hope Tsulee is happy with his new family. He definitely deserves it. I miss Tsulee, and think of him daily.

Ama Foli

Ama Foli knows what she wants and wants it now. If I were holding her and, god forbid, put her down to pick up another screaming child, Ama would throw a fit! She may be small but she could make older boys cry. Ama Foli was also known for her songs. Ama Foli loved singing. "Sea Saw up and Down" was my favorite in her repitoire of songs. Ama and I also had a little ritual. Whenever she was in a particularly bad mood I would simply put her on my back, she would rest her head on my back and I would hum, sing or whistle my favorite Jack Johnson, Norah Jones, or Kristin Chenoweth songs. We would walk around the orphanage like this until she was calm. One day I went to the school to pick up our school kids and I noticed Ama Foli was crying. This was nothing new but I decided to go see what was up. I went to pick her up and she winced, I looked to see what was causing her pain and noticed that right knee was at least 3 times the size it should be. I carefully carried her back to the house auntie to see if anyone had noticed this. She told me that Ama had already been treated, and that the swelling had gone down considerably from the day before. I was careful with Ama's knee the rest of the day. Towards the end of that day Ama was running, singing and throwing fits just like the same old Ama Foli. The only difference was a slight little limp which brought a little comedy to my day. I learned from Ama Foli that no matter what life throws at you there's always a way around it. She taught me that I need to carry on with my normal life no matter what emotional or physical pain I may be in. I miss Ama Foli, and think of her daily.

Lydia

Lydia was one of our morning, special needs girls. She has both physical and mental disablities but I don't know the name for them. She had little control over her limbs and muscles. She could walk a short distance if you were holding her hands. She could hear you if you made noises into her left ear, and she reacted to bright colors. I have to admit I was a little squirmish about Lydia when we first started taking her out. Her days are spent on a pot in her own waste and she was only cleaned when we cleaned her or when we asked for her to be cleaned. After I got over those issues I immediately fell in love with Lydia. She has a smile that will melt your heart in an instant. I have never seen a smile that big and that genuine. Lydia was also picked on by all of the other kids. It was a game for the other kids to kick, hit and pinch Lydia until she cried. I stopped this behavior whenever I could see it but I couldn't be in there protecting her from the kids at all times. Lydia taught me about survival. Lydia is a survivor and a hero of mine. I know I would not be able to take the abuse and sub human treatment she was objected to and then smile and radiate happiness a moment later. I miss Lydia, and think of her daily.

Adu

Adu was one of the few kids at the orphanage who were HIV+. This was not what defined Adu though. None of the volunteers kept their distance from Adu because of his sickness. He was just too cute and charming for that. He loved falling asleep in your lap and playing silly games with rocks or leaves. He shared Ama's love of singing but I never could understand the words he was singing. I learned an important lesson from Adu. He is labeled as HIV+ but that was not Adu. I may be labeled by some people but that is not me. I miss Adu, and think of him daily.
These are just a few of the kids and just a few of the lessons that I learned from them. I hold dear in my heart every memory and picture of the kids and Ghana. I had hard days but I wouldn't change a single day if I had the chance. This experience benefitted me then, now and I know it will in the future. Because of events occuring since I got home, I often find myself feeling like my world has fallen apart with no hope for the future. In these moments I look back at my pictures, read my journal entries, and try to heal myself that way.

Thank you everyone who supported me in every way during this adventure. There may be future posts if I feel so inclined on this blog so keep checking back. :) Peace and love.

Oh and if anyone wants to sponsor a child so that they can go to school just let me know and I can get you the information to get started on this process. It really doesn't take very much money to sponsor a child.

My very last post

2008-08-09T08:12:00.000-07:00

What an adventure it has been! I don't even know where to begin in this post. It really hasn't hit me that tomorrow I will be leaving Ghana. Yesterday I had to say my goodbyes to the kids and that sucked majorly! I have gotten used to seeing them every day and being there to comfort them when they're crying or laugh with them when they're happy. There are definitely things I am going to miss in Ghana but maybe a few things that I'm not going to miss so much....

Things I'll miss

1. The kids!
2. All the other volunteers and meeting new people.
3. Cheap transportation
4. Jollof Rice
5. Walking everywhere
6. Hearing "obruni" everywhere I go
7. The friendly people
8. Melody, Tina, Gloria, Gilbert, and Annie (the people who cook for us at the compound)
9. Back packing through Ghana
10. THE KIDS!
11. The relaxed pace of life
12. Bucket showers
13. Hissing at people (It's now a bad habit of mine)

Things I won't miss

1. The hassle of getting a taxi
2. Bargaining for everything!
3. Open sewage
4. B.O.
5. Yams
6. Hand washing laundry

Some most memorable experiences while here

Trying the local foods, Kenkey is the worst! Banku isn't too bad and Omo Tuo is my favorite.
Backpacking all the way up to Northern Ghana. We planned it and executed it all on our own and it was an adventure I will surely never forget.
The 2 adoptions that I got to see. Adoptions are very rare and these were the only two I've heard of since I've been here.
Peeing on the side of the road just like the locals :) It's great to be a guy
Going to the beach with the little ones.
Getting Kwame (the brand new orphan) to come out of his shell.

These are just a very few of the most memorable experiences. I'm excited to go home but at the same time I know I'm going to want to go back asap! I have to jump right into the swing of things and the fast passed life which I'm not too excited about. But hopefully, with any lucky, I will be able to take the lessons I've learned here and apply them to my life back home and be a better person because of them.

Adoption

2008-08-06T07:23:00.000-07:00

Two of my kids have been adopted with less than a week apart! The first to go was Tsulee (pronounced Choo lee) He was definitely one of my favorites. He always wanted to play and loved the attention he got. Whenever I would say "Let's go home!" Tsulee would run up to me and say "Auntie Taylah, your bag! Your bag!" reminding me not to forget my bag. He was also a very intelligent kid who picked up a lot of new English words since I've been here. I don't know where he went because I was on my trip when he was adopted, but I really hope he is in a good home that is able to provide for him all the things he needs and deserves. He is such a great kid and I know he is going to do great things in his life time. The second kid to go was Kelvin. Kelvin was a definite favorite of the aunties and us volunteers. We found out he was being adopted when we were changing the kids out of their school clothes into play clothes. The aunties all of a sudden got very happy and excited, I asked why and they said "Abroad! Kelvin is going abroad!" Abroad in this case meant England and what a great little british boy Kelvin is going to make. He is such a little helper around the orphanage. I think this is why he was such a favorite of the aunties. He also stuck up for the smaller and weaker kids. I'm going to miss Kelvin saying "Auntie Taylah, le'go home" Kelvin was kid that I would go to if I didn't know a child's name or if I needed to know where they were. I could just say "Kelvin, where is _____?" and he would make sure that we went out and found them. I am so excited that these two boys finally got a break in life. There is an irreplacable hole in the orphanage. Work definitely isn't the same without these two. I miss them already.

My last Monday in Africa :(

2008-08-04T05:40:00.000-07:00

I can't believe it has finally come, my last week. What a weird feeling it is that next week at this time I will be home in the hustle and bustle of every day life. I can't believe how fast the time has flown by. I have had the best time and experience since I've been here. I owe so much to the kids for teaching me so much about life, love, fun, and happiness. I know that the lessons they have taught me will be with me forever. I wouldn't trade my time here for anything in this world! I expect that this week will go by as fast or faster than every other week since I've been here. From hearing from other volunteers who have already gone home, I know that it's going to be a weird adjustment coming home. I will take some getting used to driving my own car, sleeping under no mosquito net, doing laundry in a washing machine (I can't wait to do this) and eating normal food. I know I'm going to miss and be thinking about the kids constantly! Hopefully I can take what I've learned here and apply it in my own community with the opportunities I've been given there. I know that there are kids who need love and attention in America just as much as the ones here in Africa. That's another thing that is going to take some getting used to.......white children..... haha. It will be weird walking down the road and not hearing small children yelling out OBRUNI! OBRUNI! OBRUNI CO CO! (the co co part means red and is always directed towards me because of my African sun burns:)) I am excited to get home and see everyone and finally be clean. I definitely have bitter sweet feelings about it.

The Mole Adventure

2008-08-01T05:58:00.000-07:00

What a crazy adventure! There is no way I can describe all of it in this one post. Here are a few journal excerpts.

7-28-08 Day 43

All of today was spent on a bus. The 10 hour bus ride from Accra to Tamale turned into a 12 hour bus ride. My butt was not happy with that by the time we arrived in Tamale. The ride wasn't all bad though. It was very cool to see the extreme differences between southern and northern Ghana. Northern Ghana is A LOT more rural. We passed countless small villages made up of sticks and mud. The people are also darker here in northern Ghana. Unlike southern Ghana which is predominantly christian, northern Ghana is predominantly Muslim. There were a lot of men wearing long dress looking things and funny hats on their heads. A lot of people would wear black eyeliner around their eyes. Men, women, and children all wore this eyeliner. I'm not sure if it is a tribal thing or just a cosmetic custom.....

7-29-08 Day 44

We started our day at 3:30 AM today. We had to catch a bus to take us from Tamale to Larabanga which is right outside the park. We went to the station where one of the big orange Metro Mass buses would take us to Larabanga. We spoke with a guy there and he said that it would probably be hard to get tickets since we didn't book them the day before. The same guy told us he could take us to a different bus which could also take us to Larabanga. The walk to this mysterious bus station was extremely sketchy! It was pitch black and not a nice part of town (There weren't really any nice parts in Tamale) As we were walking I saw some people running a ways ahead of us. Our guide stopped walking and had a cautious/worried look on his face. I saw one of the men running and carrying a big machete. Our guide told us that it was a thief, the tone in which he told us this made it seem like it was an every day occurrence. We changed our route a bit and headed to the bus station. The bus there was not nearly as nice as the metro mass bus which isn't even that nice. We boarded the sketchy bus which could fit about 30 people uncomfortably, 25 people comfortably. The seats were hard and the horn sounded like a train horn but I figured it was only a couple hours drive so I could manage. A couple hours turned into 5 hours. The road was paved for about the first hour then we got to the dirt roads. At the beginning of the dirt road was also the first place that we picked up people from the small village there. We were stopped there for 45 minutes just waiting for all the people and their various items to get packed into the bus. It was CROWDED! We got underway and continued along this dirt road going about 50 MPH on this very bumpy and dusty road. WE continued to pick up people from the small villages along the way and the bus got fuller and fuller. Just as you thought that they would not possibly pack even more people onto this rolling steel death trap we would pull over and load in more and more people. The smell of the people and their various market items was absolutely foul. There were at least 50 people on this bus by now. We finally got to Larabanga which was a small and interesting town. We put our stuff down at the Salia Brothers' Guest Houses which are made up of clay and stick huts. Then we took a tour of the oldest Mosque in Ghana, built in 1421. After a well needed nap we woke up in time to go to the National Park. There we saw baboons and whit ox (warthog looking things) walking all over the Mole Motel grounds. The walking safari started at 3:30 and we saw elephants right off the bat. It was AMAZING! There were 2 of them and they were eating. It was cool to see and hear them ripping off entire branches of leaves. They didn't even seem to mind us watching them at all. After they walked away we kept walking through the park and saw lots of different animals. We saw Bushbucks, white ox, these striped barking deer things (they really barked like dogs!) and a lot of other cool animals. After the tour we ate dinner and went to bed with our alarms set for 3:30 the next morning.

7-30-08 Day 45

We had to go on the treacherous bus ride again this morning. We were on the orange Metro mass buses but they were still packed way beyond maximum capacity. It was raining really hard and there was lightning which would light up the entire early morning sky. As it rained more and more the roads got slicker and slicker but this did not slow down our driver. I was drifting off to sleep when our bus fishtailed out of control coming within inches of hitting the dirt banks and tipping over. After we finished sliding around we continued at the same speed we were going before. It was truly a miracle that we didn't tip over. We finally made our way to Kumasi (about an 8 hour journey) which is the second biggest city in Ghana with Accra being the first. I loved Kumasi! We went to where they weave the beautiful kente cloths. It was really cool to see them in action as they weaved intricate designs into the cloths. After dinner that night all of the sleep deprivation and our schedule of 1 meal a day caught up to me and I got a little sick :(

7-31-08 Day 46

We left Kumasi at around 6:00 this morning and had a surprisingly tolerable bus ride to Accra. I didn't get sick on the bus and I even got to sleep a bit. The ride was about 5 hours from Kumasi to Accra......Despite all the time and pain in the buses I had a good trip. On the previous page of this journal there is a quote which reads "[B]less not only the road but the bumps on the road. They are all part of the higher journey." ~ Julia Cameron. This quote is highly applicable to my trip. It was a great experience and every bump, both literally and figuratively, contributed to the excitement and adventure of the trip. I miss my kids terribly and can't wait to go back to work. What ever am I going to do when I have to leave them forever??? :(

Happy birthday to me

2008-07-24T07:04:00.000-07:00

Just another day here in Ghana! Jessica gave me a box of chocolates wrapped in pictures colored by a couple of the kids I was soo appreciative of her amazing gesture! Then I went to lunch at my favorite restaurant here in Ghana which was amazing! I also got a gift from the orphans in the form of ring worm on my chin. I got medicine today so hopefully that will clear it all up. Jessica has ring worm on her arm as well. Gloria (our local host at the compound) told us about a traditional remedy for ring worm and scabies. This remedies involves breaking a battery in half, rubbing the battery acid on the infected section of the skin. I don't think I'm too keen to this remedy. I'll just stick to my pills and cream.

I have been having a great time! A couple of days ago we had a huge rain storm so I was soaked the whole day! The kids were also forced to stay inside this very small room. I counted about 28 toddlers in this small and cluttered room. It was a nightmare to say the least. There was screaming everywhere, bodily waste everywhere, tears everywhere, fighting everywhere, and more screaming!

I don't want to go home but I know I have to get back to my responsibilities at home :( Thank you everyone for your love and support! It is great to hear from everyone! Keep the comments coming :)

Reader beware cynical post below.

2008-07-16T05:21:00.000-07:00

It's been kind of a rough last couple of days. I'm going to type out my journal entry from yesterday.

July 15th, 2008 Day 30

I don't know if it was the gloomy weather or just one of those days, but today has been kind of a slap in the face with reality. Once we arrived to the toddler's compound I saw a new boy who was just screaming his lungs out and repeating the same phrase over and over and over again while walking around in circles. He didn't notice us or the other aunties who were watching him. I later learned that he was calling out in desperation for his mother. I have no idea what his story was before he got to the orphanage but he appears to be very clean and healthy. He arrived at the orphanage just last night. I don't know if his parents died, abandoned him or if he was simply lost and found on the side of the road. Either way it breaks my heart to see him calling out in absolute desperation for his mother. I want so much to scoop up this child, take him on the plane and give him a fighting chance in this ugly world. Today was also a hard day with the rest of the kids. I am constantly wondering if I am making a difference in their lives. I know I make a difference in their day but I don't think that because of my short 8 week stint here that these children's lives will be molded to turn out in some other way than it would have if I didn't come at all. What does the future hold for these kids? What mean tricks will the world and life throw in the face of these children despite the severe injustices they have already been delt. There are so many of them and my time here is so short. It is not fair that I am gaining so much more than I am giving. I try every day to give everything of myself but somehow I don't feel drained. On the contrary I feel so filled with love from these children and there seem to be no way to give it all away. Is there any way to give and not receive anything in return? I hate the temporariness of all of this. I am only here for a short time. The optimistic part of me wants to think that I will leave a lasting impression on these kids but then the critical, and sometimes cynical part of me, thinks about all of the other volunteers who have come before me and all of the ones who will come after me. With this constantly revolving door, how can one person really leave their impression. I will forever remember the names and faces of these children. I will always remember and be effected by the lessons they have taught me thus far about life, love, resilience and so much more. Life sucks for these kids but somehow they muster up enough courange and audacity to face the day and say " Screw you shitty situation I'm going to get up, laugh, cry, scream and have fun no matter what you throw at me. I'm going to keep on living no matter what."

Despite the blood, sweat, tears and constant flow of snot, they are strong. Sowah cannot hear or communicate his most basic needs but that doesn't stop him from sitting on your lap, looking up at you and giving you the most genuine, heart warming smile tiy gave ever seeb,

Conclusion to all my thoughts, doubts and questions is this....there is no conclusion. I have no answer. But hopefully obecause of the obrunis willing to travel to Ghana and love and play with these kids hopefully their lives will be better off than those children in this world who are unfortunate enough to not recieve any love in their lives. Hopefully I give enough hugs and kisses and console enough sad hearts to have done my part in the larger scheme. What I have to cling to now is hope. Hope that they never give up. Hope that they can keep strong. Hope that they can finally catch a break in this world. Hope and I guess pray.

The uncertainty and temporariness is killing me.

I'm still having an amazing time don't get me wrong. It's just some days it's hard to not take a few steps back and be critical.

Cape Coast

2008-07-13T05:54:00.000-07:00

What an incredible adventure! Emily, Crystal and I left our humble abode in Teshie-Tebibiano Friday morning and took a bus up to Cape Coast which is in the Central region of Ghana. We arrived and went to the Cape Coast slave castle. It was sooo eerie and intimidating. It's located right on the beach and there are cannons pointed in every direction. We walked through the various slave dungeons and I could not believe the conditions they were forced to live under. The dungeons were underground with thousands of people packed into these small rooms for months at a time. There were 3 1x2 foot windows for both light and ventalation. On the walls there were markings indicating the level of human waste that had built up. This line reached above my waste. We saw the door of no return and the condemned cell which housed the trouble makers and once you went into the cell not one would come out alive. It was a sobering and informative experience. After the castle we made our way over to Kakum national forest where we were able to sleep in the rainforest. We slept on these little platforms with mosquito nets for walls and a tin roof over head. All night long we listened to a various array of birds and monkeys. We watched the sunrise and went on the Canopy walk which was incredible. It was a serious of swinging bridges connecting to different platforms all along the top of the rainforest with the highest point reaching 40 meters. I got some great pictures! (My camera got fixed by the way! woot woot!) We saw monkeys on the canopy walk which was very special and rare. I couldn't get enough of the scenery and when we finished the walk I was totally ready to do it all over again! Then we went to the El Mina slave castle. This castle was erected by the Portugese and it was a lot smaller and different. I stood where the women slaves were presented to the Govenor and he would select which one he wanted to rape that day. I stood in the cells which still reaked of human decay and waste. I saw the incredible differences between the slaves quarters and the govenors emaculate living conditions. Again, it was a sobering and informative experience. After the castle we had lunch and I had my first sea food dish. It was really really good! Even though the tail, eyes and teeth were still intact. We made it home safely and I can't wait to show everyone all my great pictures!

Under the African sun

2008-07-07T06:01:00.000-07:00

On Saturday we made another excursion to the beach with Kelvin and Sowah in tow. I was hoping to teach Sowah a couple of signs while we were there but I got so much more. Here is the story. We were all on the beach, getting used to the water (Neither of them were big fans of the water) when I noticed 2 Ghanaian guys signing to each other and amazingly I could understand what they were saying. Apparently Ghanaian sign language is almost exactly the same as American sign language. I approached them and started up a conversation and I eventually told them of my suspicions of Sowah being Deaf. They asked me to yell his name and snap in his either, to which sowah gave no response. They both said "Oh yeah he's Deaf" I then asked them about Deaf schools in the area. They told me about one that is about an hour away. Peter (one of the Deaf guys) said he would take Jessica, Sowah and I there on Monday to check it out and get some forms to take to the doctor so that he can get enrolled. I was extremely excited about this! In America Deaf schools are a very big deal for the Deaf community. It is where they learn not only their language but they also learn their own culture and learn where the belong in this big bad world. I believe this would also hold true for the Deaf community in Ghana.

So come Monday morning we got permission from all of the aunties necessary to take Sowah to the Deaf school to check it out. Peter and I had decided that we would meet at the beach on Monday morning and he would take us all up there. We got there and waited for about 2 and a half hours and he never showed up. I'm sure something came up because he kept telling me not to forget to meet him Monday morning. But I am bound and determined to get Sowah to the Deaf school! I will need a sponsor for him back home who is willing to pay his tuition (around $45 per semester) and pay for his transportation. Any takers?

I also got absolutely fried at the beach! I wore sunblock but that did not stop the African sun from frying my skin to a crisp.

Changing it up

2008-07-04T07:14:00.000-07:00

We're changing up the routine here in G to the hana. In the mornings I will no longer be working in the school but instead we will be taking out 4 or 5 severly disabled children. These poor kids have no choice but to lay on the floor all day with little or no attention from the volunteers or aunties. Today was the first day that we did this change. I loved it! The kids were so sweet yet soo smelly :) I've learned to get past the smells and the uncleanliness of the kids and try to reach out to them. I think at least 1 of the kids has aids but I'm not sure. I'm planning on asking one of the aunties which ones are HIV + and which aren't. I want to know this just so that I can take the necessary precautions and not because I want to stay away from the ones with aids. We've also decided that Sowah is deaf (he is in the picture of me and Jessica on the beach, he is the one that I am holding) Jessica and I are going to try our hardest to teach Sowah some basic signs so that he can better communicate his needs. I know that in the short time I'm here I'm not going to be able to teach him more than a handful of signs, but hopefully we can open the door to communication for him. Sowah is one of the older kids in class and he has never uttered a word and he doesn't respond if you're not looking directly at him. He might be hard of hearing because he doesn't make unintentional moans or grunts. Either way I hope that he will benefit from the little that I can give him.

Jessica and I are also in the midst of planning a couple of weekend trips which I'm super excited about! The first we are planning is a trip up to Kumasi and then a trip to Mole National Park where we will be able to see monkeys, elephants, buffalos and lots and lots of birds. I am super excited!

CRISIS!

2008-07-01T03:20:00.001-07:00

So, the crisis is that my camera simply won't work. It won't turn on. I've tried to charge the battery, didn't work. I tried to plug it in using the USB port, didn't work. I don't know what to do! I want to take so many pictures but my camera won't work! :( :( :(

The walk home

2008-06-26T05:02:00.002-07:00

The trek home from the orphanage to Teshie-Tibebiano (home) is always an interesting adventure, and yesterday was no exception. Megan, Jessica and I were sitting in the tro tro during rush hour traffic (which sucks majorly here!) And we decided we didn't want to wait in the tro tro and we were just going to walk home. We were walking along, trying to dodge the mud and puddles that are ever present. As we were walking we met a Ghanaian woman named Happy. She started talking to us about where we are from and what we are doing and how great the work we are doing here is. She told us about her aspirations to visit her relatives in the Bronx but she said she didn't have the heart to stay there. She told us about her husband who is a writer and a preacher. We reached her house and we were preparing to say our goodbyes when she said that we needed to come into her house and meet her husband (John) and her 3 kids. So we went into her house which was a 10 x 10 foot room with a small couch, 1 foam mattress which sleeps the whole family and a small desk where John does his writing. We sat on the couch and met the whole family. They were so nice and generous, one of the little girls even started wiping the mud off of Megans feet. We talked with them for about 30 minutes about the books John has written and the volunteer work we are involved in here in Ghana. John was so articulate and wise despite the fact that he has no college education. Before we left, John read us a verse from the bible and prayed with us. His prayer was so sincere and all about us and our work and asking for great success with the children and asking that our hearts can truly be opened for these kids, it was a really great prayer. As we were getting ready to leave, Happy brought us pineapple. I don't usually eat pineapple in the states, but here it is absolutely amazing! It is so sweet and juicy and just soo good! So we took a peice of pineapple and Happy and her daughter kept telling us to take more and more and more. I was so taken aback by their generosity and sincere love for us. I had brought a couple of small rubber balls with me to the orphanage and had them in my bag still. I pumped up the balls and gave them to the kids. They were so thrilled! I'm sure I caused a headache for John and Happy, but the children loved them. Happy took down our phone number and said she would call us to go to church with them and then have fufu and banku. I really hope that she calls so that we can get together with these amazing people again and try some local food :S. I will definitely be bringing some crayons and paper for the kids next time we go down there.

Some pics

2008-06-26T05:02:00.000-07:00

I couldn't really get the pictures to load onto this blog but I got it to work of Facebook so you can click on this link and see the pictures I have uploaded so far. http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=30970&l=b2d79&id=656916537

2nd day at the orphanage

2008-06-24T06:12:00.000-07:00

Today is my second day working in the Osu orphanage. I am working with the toddlers and there are about 33 of them all together. These kids' basic needs are taken care of ie. food, clothing, and shelter. But they do not get enough love. The aunties yell and beat them when they are bad. My job is to love, and I am trying my hardest. Yesterday I was all loved out and kind of discouraged but I am definitely not the first to feel this way. Today has been better and I am starting to learn how to help and love these kids. It is so different than interacting with the kids at home. These kids don't speak much English and they all starve for constant attention. I have a couple of favorites, Kofi is a sweetheart who loves nothing more than simply sitting on your lap as the chaos goes on around him. Kelvin is another one, he is all smiles and kind of mischevious. In the last couple of days the question "Why?!" has popped in my head a lot. Why was I born in America to 2 loving parents? Why do you have to live in Ghana for 2 years to adopt? Why did these children get left? Why do Ama and Kelvin rock themselves to sleep? (I've heard that this is a dangerous behavior.....any answers?) Why why why?! I love the kids already and I am prepared to give them all my love. I miss everyone at home and love you all! I forgot my camera today but I will definitely get at least 1 or 2 pictures uploaded. I got some good ones from when a couple of us took 5 of the orphans to the beach. CUTE are they!

Peace and love

I'm here!

2008-06-18T05:41:00.000-07:00

After a 14 hour plane ride I finally made it to Accra, Ghana. The hostel is located in a suburb called Teshie-camp 2. It is very nice but very poor compared to western standards. There is no running water, water is delivered each week. Right now I am just doing the lanuage and culture program and learing lots about Ghana and Twi prounounced (Chwi) I learned that my name in Twi is Kokyo pronounced Kojo. It is very interesting to learn about the different customs of the Ghanaians. You greet everyone you meet with good morning, good afternoon, or goodnight. And when conversing with another human you only use your right hand. Yesterday I gave a woman 1 cedi (equal to 1 dollar) with my left hand and I got in trouble :S Yesterday we visited the tourist market where there are a lot of different souveniers that you can buy. It was a very crazy experience! The second we stepped out of the tro tro (bus) there were people trying to sell us masks and sunglasses and braclets etc. Walking through the market, everyone would try to get you to come into their shop and buy something there. One girl called me her boyfriend! haha so now I have a Ghanaian girlfriend woot woot I can't wait to start in the orphanage on Monday. It should be a very eye opening experience. A lot of the volunteers here are really really sick. I hope I don't catch anything! I am hopefully going to be able to post some pictures when I get to the Osu internet cafe, the other volunteers say it is faster and the computers are newer. Ghana is amazing! The people are super nice the kids are hillarious. Obruni means white man so you hear that a lot as you walk past. The kids like to feel my head and touch my skin. Hopefully I can blog more later. My time here at the internet cafe has run out.

Intro

2008-05-18T21:32:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone! I'm keeping this blog so that I can keep in touch with friends and family while I am living in Accra, Ghana for two whole months! I have set up two blogs, one for my family and this one for everyone else. I wanted to set up two so that I can express my true feelings and sometimes the way I present them would offend my family. So to avoid any future lectures or "life lessons" I have made 2 blogs (http://tayloringhana.blogspot.com is the other one). I think most of the content will be the same for both blogs, but when I have a particularly rough or weird day I can purge about it onto this blog. Hope you guys enjoy and I would love lots and lots of comments!

Testing 123

2008-04-23T21:57:00.001-07:00

Testing 123!

A day in the life of Captain Oats

End of Summer

This is What we Call Dabbling

Nothing More

Failure

Movin' out!

I wish I were in Love Again...

Everyone poops

'Its not fair!'

Desperate Circles

A metaphor for something, I'm sure...

Therapy with Time and Budget Constraints

Pain yet Healing

Snakes Don't Have Ears

GO! GO! GO!

I'm in Need of a Good Pair of Balls

Positive News

Yes, I did go to public school. Why do you ask?

Genius Meets Moron

Dreams, Mac and Cheese, and that damn Abercrombie cologne

Amazing offer! Act now! Don't wait!

Back from New York *sigh*

Breaking News: Homophobes Give to Homos

New York So Far...

GYPSY = Orgasm

I've got friends in high places

Parties, who needs 'em?

Tag, I'm it

Seth. The Boyfriend.

Family....isn't it about time? (final one)

Love?

Family...isn't it about time?

Giving Thanks

My Spot

Family....isn't it about time?

Purging

Jesus is a Friend of Mine

A Sealed Box on a High Shelf

A Bright Spot on this Gloomy Day

True Friends

VOTE!

I'm done.

Pushing Daisies

Ghana loves Barack!

Perfect Remedy for a bad day

Love it!

Cats

I want YOU!

Amazing!

Memories

Dream Big

S.O.S

Now that I'm home...

My very last post

Adoption

My last Monday in Africa :(

The Mole Adventure

Happy birthday to me

Reader beware cynical post below.

Cape Coast

Under the African sun

Changing it up

CRISIS!

The walk home

Some pics

2nd day at the orphanage

I'm here!

Intro

Testing 123

Back from New York sigh