Oakland

Whenever I come back to California, it is like something in my body sings "You are Home, let go, let live."

The people that I have here infuse so much energy into me with their stories. They listen, but they talk. They adventure with me.

Law school draws that energy from me, and I haven't entirely found out how to replace it, but this is where it starts. These people who can inspire me with radical legal thought and social justice. To see people on the street and talk to them about random life experiences and be on a level playing field.

To go to social justice actions on the corner to mourn the loss of QTPOC spaces... even if that means you need to leave your phone in the fridge for fear of government spying.

It is like letting your wings out to air when they have been so closely wound to your body for a prolonged period of time. I love the grit of everyday urban life. Strangers care about you. Starngers want to be your storyteller. I want to be their muse––their recorder.

San Jose

IJUSTBOUGHTMYTICKETTOCOSTARICA and I just wanna run and dance all over the place.

BECAUSE.

SLOTHS

AND COSTA RICA

AND BEACHES

AND MORE SLOTHS!

Do you ever have a feeling that someone you knew so well is suddenly a stranger?

Now that school has started, and I have only easten veggies for a week, I am feeling so much better. My friends and "foster" family really can rally.

And the reason why I was cold, is because I could feel you cheating before you did...

Sometimes, I think that I may have lost the beat that inspired me. Five years ago, I wouldn't have known what I meant if I had that thought.

When I was a child, I had some sense of stability in my life. Stability in my hope that life could improve, and within its core, life was meant to be beautiful. I don't know if I believe that anymore.

I think life is supposed to be hard. People are meant to struggle. People are meant to build themselves back up. But why? When do you lose that hope and the drive.

Teachers and adults would always applaud students for projects that benefitted others. As if, that all disappears when you reach a certain age. You can't find hope or you know better than to be tricked into thinking it exists. I see colleagues and professors and classmates who think like this. Everything is a circle-jerk. Then why are we here? What are we doing this for? If you honestly believed that, wouldn't you just give up and call it a life? Or do you live just to feel the few moments of bliss that happiness can bring?

I'm not sure that I know the answer, but I know that feeling empty isn't it.

I'm knocking on your door today. Answer, please.  Beause I have been standing on your porch for hours. When I got here I felt lost. Lost- I couldn't even feel my legs, and my mind was full of empty thoughts. Can God fix lost? How about confused?

God, I'm knocking. Isn't this your door?

This morning was a struggle to get out of bed. But I did. 

I went to Lakeside Middle School and interviewed the last child on the CASA case I am working on. Today, I decided to take the 44 to the law school. On the bench, I met a man who had just lost his wife and was trying to sell me a bottle of wine. 

But then, I got on the bus and I sat across from someone whose soul spoke to me.  It was practically screaming at me.... I just wish that I knew what it was saying. 

Wooden Deceit

The wind was blowing softly, and I sat down on the neglected wooden swing in the backyard. Green leaves popped out of the decaying section of the next tree. Swinging back and forth, I thought about what we would all write on your headstone. My words seemed harsh and unnatural- perfectly fitting for  a concrete memorial to a young life full of regret and pain. But I didn't want my words to be fitting. I wanted my words to left you up to everything that I knew you could be. As if words in death could re-write life. 

Let's re-write life with drawn out adjectives and over emphatic verbs. Let's infuse the drab misgivings of yesterday with a colorful fire that strangers would be envious of. Let's deceive ourselves with the beauty of language...