Not Just Gang Members, Human Beings

This weekend I watched the documentary Crips and Bloods: Made in America, and let me tell you...I cried. I'll explain.

See, I'm of the school of "Don't give the cops a reason and you'll be FINE" and have never really put any credence in the ghetto mentality of The Man keeping "us" down. I grew up in the ghetto in the heart of the crack era and it didn't keep me down. I always joke about The Man, but I've never considered him a real threat.

Enter this fakakta documentary.



I was sitting there listening to these former and current gang member discuss their experiences and world views and you know what? I get it. If I had been told, at any point in my life, that I couldn't do something just because of the color of my skin or because of where I live, I would be bitter, too. If I had been stopped by the police everyday just for not being in my own neighborhood, I'd be angry, too. If my neighbors and kids were being gunned down in the street everyday while the cops did nothing to really prevent it, I'd feel hopeless, too. And if my environment offered no opportunities to better my situation, I'd give no fucks about life, too.

And if there was no one around to tell me about my options, offering me a way out, and only found comfort and protection from a local gang, I'd see no problems with making violence my way of life, too. I'd barely feel human!

These are young men and women being born into and growing up in a culture of constant harassment and poverty and depression, contained by invisible walls. And just outside that wall is freedom and happiness, but god forbid you cross the wrong street.

One former gang member said it best, when discussing the Watts and LA riots, stating that the police and National Guard didn't scare them because they were used to a cycle of guns and violence every damn day. The riots were just an extension of that. I couldn't even imagine that kind of life. I could hold back my tears no more.

The documentary did highlight the grassroots efforts afoot to help get these kids off the streets and out of the cross-hairs of the LAPD, and it did offer some hope, but without the backing of city, state and federal officials and funding, it's barely a drop in the bucket.

Toward the end, one former Crip, in an effort to reach the young gang members, looks into the camera with tears in his eyes (so of course by now I'm inconsolable) and says:

"Your reward for gang-banging is to be crippled, lamed, for life. Your greatest reward is life, plus forty years. Your ultimate reward for gang-banging is death. And you don't come back from that."

But after watching the documentary, though, I have to ask...what if death is better than what you have to come back to? Wouldn't gang-banging be a walk in the clouds?

*smooches...finally getting it*
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also, fuck the PO-lice!

What Would You Like To Do If Money Were No Object?

I spoke briefly about this video and how it inspired me before speaking at career day at my high school over on my author site, but I wanted to share it with my Jaded folks, too.



While I am already living a pretty good life as a writer, there's still so much I'd like to do. If money were not a driving factor I'd still have a job, but not a full time one. I'd have more freedom to pursue a slew of creative endeavors that are currently on the back burner because I have somewhere to be from nine in the morning to five in the evening, Monday through Friday. As it stands, everything I want to accomplish has to move at a slower pace than I'd like, but maybe it's a good thing. Maybe it's teaching me patience. I mean, I got the tattoo, might as well try to embody it, no?

So how about it, folks- what about you? What would you do if money were no object?

*smooches...looking to have a passion-filled week*
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there's so much weighing on me right now; gotta make my own happiness while I can!

Tales From The Motherland, Part 3

From my travel diary, the ramblings of a Jaded NYer in her homeland:

Smizing with duck lips

Tuesday, my last day [in Santo Domingo]. I wanted only to see my grandma and eat some sugarcane. The rain and Papi had other plans. I don't know why we couldn't go to the cemetery besides it being far. It was one of the main reasons I went [to DR].

Lil Miss N

I know the girls were also disappointed that we were cooped up in the house all day with nothing to do, except go to the bodega and spend our pesos. At least we had dominoes and the mini-dance party we had after dark.

Papi & K

I mean, I guess I understand- Papi is of limited means. Next time I'll come better prepared and go see grandma first before anything else. Five days was not enough. Also, Papi's house requires you to make your own fun. Also: beware mosquitos!





The night we left it rained so hard I didn't think we'd make it to the airport in one piece. The car taking us was basically held together with duct tape and, of course, we were booked on some god-awful 2 AM flight. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I hadn't been to DR in over a decade and still, traffic lights and proper driving rules? Nonexistent. At one point someone on a bike rode out in front of us and I swear I saw my life flash before my eyes. Then I began to fear those predators who purposely get into a wreck to rob you. As if I had AMERICAN stamped on my forehead.

It made me sad to leave my Papi behind in this place, but honestly, he's like the mayor of Los Minas. Which makes me the daughter of the mayor of Los Minas. Royalty in the ghetto. I guess it ain't so bad.

*smooches...still reliving the memories*
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as winter approaches, I get more excited about going back

True Dat!

"What was the reason you got married?"

"Oh, when you love somebody and you know it, what else do you need?"

"Yeah, but how can you know that?"

"How can you not?"

-Mike Seaver discussing cold feet he felt about his impending nuptials to Julie, the nanny, with his grandparents, on the TV show "Growing Pains." Realer advice was never given out by a fictional character.

*smooches...getting closer to the answers*
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sometimes you need a reality check; sometimes cheesy 80s comedies can be that reality check.

Tears Of A Clown

Here's another post where I remind you that I suffer from (seasonal, situational, PMS-related, etc) depression. Where I wake up thinking "UGH. Another day." and then feel guilty because so many others didn't get this gift. Where I crumble in the face of every thing (and every one) for which (and whom) I'm responsible, and then remind myself that people everywhere have "lots to do." Where I try to understand why I feel so shitty, and then diminish my own reality by labeling myself as hormonal or whiny or lazy.

And I understand that somewhere, a family probably just lost their home, and maybe the kids have to be sent to live with family or strangers or worse- in the alley with their parents. Somewhere, someone was diagnosed with Stage 4 something-or-other, or has to wait for someone else to die in order to get a life-saving organ transplant. Someone just lost a parent/child/spouse, and someone's HIV cocktail has stopped working. Someone just got slapped across the face for just looking at their spouse wrong, and someone was just stabbed for the $12 in their wallet. And none of those things apply to me.

But I also know that my troubles and sadness and stresses and pressures are still very real to me, and I can't keep living under the It Can Always Be Worse regime because honestly, this is already bad all on its own.

So here's another post where I come off as crying out for help but really I'm not, so I close the comments because I just wanted to get some things out of my head, and I really don't care for feedback- good or bad. This blog is my chosen form of therapy and I just want a(nother) day to cry into my pillow in peace.



If I get a(nother) tomorrow, I'll work harder to feel better.

*smooches...giving in to the tears, just today*
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and maybe tomorrow, but I haven't decided on that yet.