I don’t know why I find it so hard to write. This once was my only
love. I could sit down and write an entire story in a matter of hours.
The words would flow so perfectly and easily. I was so confident in my
ability to tell a story. It didn’t matter how serious or silly the
subject. It all came so easy. I felt like I was a natural. No, my
grammar is not perfect and in a rush my spelling would surely be off
too, but none of that mattered to be because I WAS a natural. Now when I
write it’s like learning a new language. You retain the basics, but you
can’t fully grasp the entire understanding of whatever the hell it is
you’re talking about. I’m easily distracted. I all too easily doubt
myself. It’s very crippling. Losing motivation in the thing I loved most
is like not being able to breathe. I haven’t been able to breathe for a
long time. At times I can catch my breath and everything seems fine and
brand new then all of a sudden something knocks the wind out of me
again. I once read a quote that said something to the effect that “I’ve
fallen in love with depression”. I in fact have. It gives me every
excuse in the world. Can’t write? I’m depressed. No motivation? I’m
depression. It’s my scapegoat. It’s also my hindrance. As easy as it is
to say that my lack of motivation stems from depression, it’s so hard to
burst through that wall to knock this demon on its ass. Hiding behind
this wall of mental illness is easy until you realize that there’s no
way around, above, or under that wall. You just sit there, stare, and
wonder how you got trapped in the first place and how long have you been
cowering behind this wall. I’m so so tired of being trapped, but I know
nothing different. I so much so want to be a best selling author. I
want that more than anything. I want my words to help people. I have so
many stories that I know for a fact would reach and touch so many, but I
can’t get past myself. I am forever standing in my own way. The fear
and the doubt has left me without passion. I write little posts like
this in hopes to get me motivated and to give me a little push, and
above all else, to get to the nitty gritty of what I’m feeling, but it
hardly ever goes beyond that. How do I get back to what I love? I need
to find a way to stop me from stopping me. That’s the only thing between
me and creativity. I guess, I’ll have to remind myself that there’s
always baby steps. To not beat myself up over the big picture and
instead celebrate my small victories. It’s easier said than done. I’ve
been beating myself up for so long that it’s hard to remember what a
self pat on the back feels like. I’ll get there. I will definitely get
there.
-Asia Aneka Anderson
Showing posts with label words. Show all posts
Showing posts with label words. Show all posts
I Wish You A Merry Christmas And A Better New Year
Christmas is here and 2016 is almost over. My family and I don’t do
much for the holidays. We really haven’t for several years now. I don’t
remember the last time we set up a tree or hung up a single light.
There’s only a medium sized feast and a few gifts if our budgets allow.
Although our Christmases are not Christmassy this year is the most
uncheerful I’ve ever felt. Last year I lost an aunt and this year my
dad. Time is chipping away at my family and grief is leaving little to
celebrate. Over time wounds will heal but it will be long in my future
for everything is still raw. With that being said trust me that everyone
I love has not been overlooked or forgotten.
I’m not in any sort of Christmas spirit, but I am in the spirit to try and spread my love and understanding. Over the past year I’ve seen grief has not only hit me, but many people I’ve crossed paths with. Many of us will be spending this holiday as a first without a loved one whether it be a parent, grandparent, child, etc. I’ve seen many of these people on my social media timelines, whether they be old friends, best friends I’ve never met, or family, battle cancer, lose jobs, lose homes, etc. These past few years have been really trying for a lot of us. One thing I can say is that we made it through. 2016 was my own personal hell, but I made it through. I struggled through, but made it out on the other end ready to take 2017 head on.
This season I want to take the time to tell people that I love them. The latter part of the year I’ve been difficult to deal with. I know this. I also no that for some time to come I will continue to be difficult to deal with at time. One moment I’m cheery, the next I’m short, the next I’m silent and don’t want to be bothered, and the next I’m loud. For now this is my new normal. For those of us who have dealt with a lot these past few years we all have a new normal. It may not be pleasant. It may not be ideal, but it is what it shall be. That does not alter my love for my family, my friends, and those who have had my back.
Merry Christmas to you all. May 2017 be something only dreams are made of. Let it be full of hope and promise and more laughs than tears. Much love to all of you.
- Asia Aneka Anderson, 2016©
I’m not in any sort of Christmas spirit, but I am in the spirit to try and spread my love and understanding. Over the past year I’ve seen grief has not only hit me, but many people I’ve crossed paths with. Many of us will be spending this holiday as a first without a loved one whether it be a parent, grandparent, child, etc. I’ve seen many of these people on my social media timelines, whether they be old friends, best friends I’ve never met, or family, battle cancer, lose jobs, lose homes, etc. These past few years have been really trying for a lot of us. One thing I can say is that we made it through. 2016 was my own personal hell, but I made it through. I struggled through, but made it out on the other end ready to take 2017 head on.
This season I want to take the time to tell people that I love them. The latter part of the year I’ve been difficult to deal with. I know this. I also no that for some time to come I will continue to be difficult to deal with at time. One moment I’m cheery, the next I’m short, the next I’m silent and don’t want to be bothered, and the next I’m loud. For now this is my new normal. For those of us who have dealt with a lot these past few years we all have a new normal. It may not be pleasant. It may not be ideal, but it is what it shall be. That does not alter my love for my family, my friends, and those who have had my back.
Merry Christmas to you all. May 2017 be something only dreams are made of. Let it be full of hope and promise and more laughs than tears. Much love to all of you.
- Asia Aneka Anderson, 2016©
Just Trying To Act Naturally
I had the absolute pleasure, this weekend, to see “Eight Days A Week”
in the theater. Anytime something like this comes along I’m reminded
how much I love The Beatles. I discovered them when I was about 13 years
old when the Anthology DVDs and CDs were being released. I feel like
since then I’m always looking for that same feeling I had from the I
first time really heard them. I know I’ll never get that *gasp* moment
again, but I try so hard to find that feeling again when it comes to
these four.
Nothing reignited my love for this band the way this documentary did. It feels silly to say, but it’s true. I think it may be because of new footage as well as some great interviews included in the film. One thing that really touched me was hearing Whoopi Goldberg talk about being introduced to The Beatles music. Hearing her talk was like hearing my own story. Her speaking about people accusing her of wanting to be white because she loved them was like reliving my youth. I got that so much when I was younger and sometimes even today. I never paid attention to the color of a band. If I liked the rhythm and the lyrics spoke to me that was all I needed. To be accused of wanting to be something that I’m not always made me feel horrible because I never understood how someone would come to that conclusion just based on a musical preference. It was (is) tough being an artsy alternative black woman. “The Beatles gave me this idea that everybody was welcome.” is something that Whoopi said that really hit home for me. I honestly had to hold back tears. Growing up, before I had even discovered The Beatles, I was in love with bands like U2, Aerosmith, Tears For Fears, Red Hot Chili Peppers, etc, and I kept it to myself. If I overheard a kid say that they liked the music I did I’d light up and say “Me too!”, but for the most part the things that I loved I kept to myself to keep from being teased…. that is until The Beatles came along. They did make me feel welcome. At that point I gave not one damn about being teased. I didn’t care if anyone thought I was trying to be white. No one was going to keep me from falling in love with this band. No one. I attribute The Beatles with helping me find the courage to step into myself. I haven’t looked back since. They helped me become an individual. More than their music I’ll always love them for that.
When I look at my life and all the creative steps that I have taken it’s all because of this amazing band. I have many story ideas that have come to mind after hearing a certain song, or seeing a certain interview, or watching one of their films. There’s one major story I’m trying to work on that stems from a reoccurring dream I’ve had ever since I was about 15 that places me in the era at the height of their fame and in their circle. Listening to their music takes me places I’ve never been, but that feel so familiar. Not much can spark my creative energy like The Beatles can.
“Eight Days A Week” is a well put together doc. Ron Howard really did an amazing job. It’s nothing over the top, but he made sure to bring something new and fresh to the story. Yes, if you’re a hardcore Beatles fan a lot of this stuff you will know and have seen before, but this doc is slightly different. I’ve seen tons of Beatle docs and most tell the same story over and over, using the same footage and the same photos. I liked that Ron Howard got insight from people of different walks of life (although there aren’t many) to share their own Beatle stories. Seeing this was a great end to my birthday weekend (the birthday that I also share with John). It helped to remind me to keep being an individual no matter what.
-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2016©
Nothing reignited my love for this band the way this documentary did. It feels silly to say, but it’s true. I think it may be because of new footage as well as some great interviews included in the film. One thing that really touched me was hearing Whoopi Goldberg talk about being introduced to The Beatles music. Hearing her talk was like hearing my own story. Her speaking about people accusing her of wanting to be white because she loved them was like reliving my youth. I got that so much when I was younger and sometimes even today. I never paid attention to the color of a band. If I liked the rhythm and the lyrics spoke to me that was all I needed. To be accused of wanting to be something that I’m not always made me feel horrible because I never understood how someone would come to that conclusion just based on a musical preference. It was (is) tough being an artsy alternative black woman. “The Beatles gave me this idea that everybody was welcome.” is something that Whoopi said that really hit home for me. I honestly had to hold back tears. Growing up, before I had even discovered The Beatles, I was in love with bands like U2, Aerosmith, Tears For Fears, Red Hot Chili Peppers, etc, and I kept it to myself. If I overheard a kid say that they liked the music I did I’d light up and say “Me too!”, but for the most part the things that I loved I kept to myself to keep from being teased…. that is until The Beatles came along. They did make me feel welcome. At that point I gave not one damn about being teased. I didn’t care if anyone thought I was trying to be white. No one was going to keep me from falling in love with this band. No one. I attribute The Beatles with helping me find the courage to step into myself. I haven’t looked back since. They helped me become an individual. More than their music I’ll always love them for that.
When I look at my life and all the creative steps that I have taken it’s all because of this amazing band. I have many story ideas that have come to mind after hearing a certain song, or seeing a certain interview, or watching one of their films. There’s one major story I’m trying to work on that stems from a reoccurring dream I’ve had ever since I was about 15 that places me in the era at the height of their fame and in their circle. Listening to their music takes me places I’ve never been, but that feel so familiar. Not much can spark my creative energy like The Beatles can.
“Eight Days A Week” is a well put together doc. Ron Howard really did an amazing job. It’s nothing over the top, but he made sure to bring something new and fresh to the story. Yes, if you’re a hardcore Beatles fan a lot of this stuff you will know and have seen before, but this doc is slightly different. I’ve seen tons of Beatle docs and most tell the same story over and over, using the same footage and the same photos. I liked that Ron Howard got insight from people of different walks of life (although there aren’t many) to share their own Beatle stories. Seeing this was a great end to my birthday weekend (the birthday that I also share with John). It helped to remind me to keep being an individual no matter what.
-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2016©
Another Year: The Loneliness Yet Peacefulness Of It All
My birthday was Sunday. This year was definitely different. My dad
is no longer here. The past month or so has been a blur, but somehow
I’ve been able to go day by day a bit easier. I guess I had convinced
myself that I was healed. When I woke Sunday morning and walked into the
kitchen to see my mother’s birthday card sitting on the counter I was
slapped with the harsh realization that a card was missing. I keep
forgetting that my life is forever changed. Still last weekend and this
week has been a blur. I went to a party Saturday night and although I
had fun something was off. I guess I should accept that this will be my
life for a while. I already have social anxiety and depression now we
add grief to the mix.
Overall my birthday weekend was nice and laid back. I got to spend it with awesome people even though a few were missing that I wish weren’t. I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t have something to rant about though. Just a little something to get off my chest although I am in no way surprised. That Saturday afternoon I went shopping with my mother and grandmother. The next day my grandmother had forgotten that it was my birthday and my mother had to call her to tell her. Now some might say, “Well, she’s older. Something like that is bound to happen from time to time.” Sure. Yes. I’d go with that if I wasn’t always the forgotten granddaughter. She can tell you when my other two cousin’s birthdays are. Hell my birthday is EXACTLY TO THE DAY two weeks after my youngest cousins. I have always been forgotten. I am the black sheep. My other two cousins are treated as gold and I’m only acknowledged when she wants something. As far as family goes I love her because she is my grandmother, but that love is out of obligation not from the heart. I feel like an asshole when I say that, but it’s true. I have no emotional connection with her. It’s unfortunate, but it’s reality. A lot of my lack of self esteem comes from being a child and being teased or ignored by people who were supposed to love me unconditionally. So naturally, for me, I grow up with this resentment. Her forgetting my birthday actually had no effect on me until my mother mentioned it and even then it didn’t have an effect until I realized that my mother was surprised by it. Really? I’m 34 and for as long as I can remember I’ve always been an afterthought to this family. I’ve always been forgotten about. Why the surprise? She’s falling right in line. It didn’t really put a damper on my day since it’s nothing out of the ordinary.
As far as everything else I sort of wish I had done something big, but on the other hand I kind of feel like those days are over. I’m getting closer and closer to 40, my group of friends is pretty small, and in all actuality I probably prefer a more mellow celebration. Here’s to hoping that 34 brings more peace to my life and something more magical and complete.
-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2016©
Overall my birthday weekend was nice and laid back. I got to spend it with awesome people even though a few were missing that I wish weren’t. I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t have something to rant about though. Just a little something to get off my chest although I am in no way surprised. That Saturday afternoon I went shopping with my mother and grandmother. The next day my grandmother had forgotten that it was my birthday and my mother had to call her to tell her. Now some might say, “Well, she’s older. Something like that is bound to happen from time to time.” Sure. Yes. I’d go with that if I wasn’t always the forgotten granddaughter. She can tell you when my other two cousin’s birthdays are. Hell my birthday is EXACTLY TO THE DAY two weeks after my youngest cousins. I have always been forgotten. I am the black sheep. My other two cousins are treated as gold and I’m only acknowledged when she wants something. As far as family goes I love her because she is my grandmother, but that love is out of obligation not from the heart. I feel like an asshole when I say that, but it’s true. I have no emotional connection with her. It’s unfortunate, but it’s reality. A lot of my lack of self esteem comes from being a child and being teased or ignored by people who were supposed to love me unconditionally. So naturally, for me, I grow up with this resentment. Her forgetting my birthday actually had no effect on me until my mother mentioned it and even then it didn’t have an effect until I realized that my mother was surprised by it. Really? I’m 34 and for as long as I can remember I’ve always been an afterthought to this family. I’ve always been forgotten about. Why the surprise? She’s falling right in line. It didn’t really put a damper on my day since it’s nothing out of the ordinary.
As far as everything else I sort of wish I had done something big, but on the other hand I kind of feel like those days are over. I’m getting closer and closer to 40, my group of friends is pretty small, and in all actuality I probably prefer a more mellow celebration. Here’s to hoping that 34 brings more peace to my life and something more magical and complete.
-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2016©
This New Phase Of My Life
I’m still processing. I’m still dealing. I’m still going through a
day to day routine as if everything is fine. I don a smile, I pop some
happy pills, I make nice, and I carry on. Inside everything is still and
silent. I keep going because when everything stops I’m reminded that he
is no longer here. It’s been over two months and already business as
usual, but how else are things supposed to be? One still has to make a
living, be social, and take on opportunities. I am still here. My heart
still hurts so much.
Recently I attended a comic convention in Chicago. It’s the first vacation I’ve had in ages and was so desperately needed. For that moment in time the sadness had escaped me. I was able to feel joy for the first time in a long time. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, but there was a moment, while looking through my pictures, that I thought to myself “I can hear my dad’s laugh if he saw these.” The fact that I could clearly hear his laugh let me know that he did see them and was there enjoying everything with me. While there I also had a man read my aura. Since my father’s memorial service that was the first time I had broken down in public. This man let me know that something very sad happened recently and that I feel like I’m not a good person, but that I am. That I should stop worrying about it and truly know that I am good. He also noted that there are many spirits around me that are pulling for me. He grabbed my hands because he said they told him I needed it. Again he told me I was good. It reminded me of a time years ago when I had a car wreck and was going through so much crap with lawyers, the insurance company, and everything kept falling through. One day as I was leaving the house my dad said to me “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. You’re a good person unlike me” and he just walked away. I was so shocked and hurt that he said that he wasn’t a good person. It’s something that always stuck with me. Since my father’s death that is something I’ve struggled with. I don’t feel like I was the greatest person to him in the end. I could’ve been better. I could’ve tried harder. It puts my mind a little at ease that possibly it was my dad coming through to reassure me that I am a good person and did the best that I could considering the circumstances. I still don’t entirely feel like a good person and I don’t know what it will take to make me feel that deep down, but my mind is slightly at ease.
Still I try to process. I’m still trying to grasp the idea of death of someone so important to my life. Last year I entered the hospital room as my aunt took her last breath. I was there when the color left her body in a matter of seconds. Her toes and fingertips turned white almost instantly. Her body turned cold just as fast. Even though I was present for that when it comes to my father I still can’t grasp the idea of telling a person that you’ll see them later and have them be gone hours after you leave the house. It seems so foreign. Him not being here is like someone trying to hold a conversation with me in Korean. I don’t understand it. Death is the most simple yet most complex thing to exist. We all know that we’re born, we live, and eventually we die. You can live for 100 years but once you’re gone all that exists are pictures, tales, videos, and things. How mind boggling is that? You go from being a living breathing person to just a memory. As generations go on you go from being a memory to a story that’s passed down to the next generation.
My dad was only a month and a half shy of his 66th birthday. I see that life is too short. You’re here one day and gone the next. I think about if he got to do all the things he wanted. I’m a true believer that we go when our time is up, but what happens when you don’t accomplish all that YOU wanted, but you accomplished everything that was all apart of the plan? I think about things I’ve tried to accomplish over and over and now wonder if this is even supposed to be apart of my life’s journey. For instance I’ve had to drop out of college more time than I can count for various reasons and what if that’s not what I’m even supposed to do? Perhaps that was years and dollars wasted that’s taken away from what my real goal should be? The question is, what is truly each of our main goals in life if we’re truly not the ones to call the shots on whether we live or die? All of my life I envisioned I’d be a best selling author/screenwriter, all of which has not come to fruition, and it’s all quite possible it may not even be what I should be doing with my life. I look at my father, a true artist in his own right, and nothing ever happened with that. Is there a point where if we deviate from the plan too much this higher being just gives up? I don’t want this sadness to keep me from pursuing all that I want to do, but it happens. I want to do things he never got a chance to so in some way he’s done it, but when life keeps throwing up roadblock after roadblock it hinders you a bit. I don’t want to be 60 and wonder what could have been. At the same time I’m just trying to exist in a world where my father doesn’t and taking baby steps just trying to get my bearing. I can only go through this process, no matter how long it will definitely be, in order to get to the next phase in life where I’m ready to conquer all the things I’ve ever wanted in my name and his. I’m not sure when I’ll get to that phase and that’s what worries me. For now all I can do is continue to try and make sense of how the rest of this new life will go. Phase one: Still loading….
-Asia Aneka Anderson, This New Phase Of My Life 2016©
Recently I attended a comic convention in Chicago. It’s the first vacation I’ve had in ages and was so desperately needed. For that moment in time the sadness had escaped me. I was able to feel joy for the first time in a long time. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, but there was a moment, while looking through my pictures, that I thought to myself “I can hear my dad’s laugh if he saw these.” The fact that I could clearly hear his laugh let me know that he did see them and was there enjoying everything with me. While there I also had a man read my aura. Since my father’s memorial service that was the first time I had broken down in public. This man let me know that something very sad happened recently and that I feel like I’m not a good person, but that I am. That I should stop worrying about it and truly know that I am good. He also noted that there are many spirits around me that are pulling for me. He grabbed my hands because he said they told him I needed it. Again he told me I was good. It reminded me of a time years ago when I had a car wreck and was going through so much crap with lawyers, the insurance company, and everything kept falling through. One day as I was leaving the house my dad said to me “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. You’re a good person unlike me” and he just walked away. I was so shocked and hurt that he said that he wasn’t a good person. It’s something that always stuck with me. Since my father’s death that is something I’ve struggled with. I don’t feel like I was the greatest person to him in the end. I could’ve been better. I could’ve tried harder. It puts my mind a little at ease that possibly it was my dad coming through to reassure me that I am a good person and did the best that I could considering the circumstances. I still don’t entirely feel like a good person and I don’t know what it will take to make me feel that deep down, but my mind is slightly at ease.
Still I try to process. I’m still trying to grasp the idea of death of someone so important to my life. Last year I entered the hospital room as my aunt took her last breath. I was there when the color left her body in a matter of seconds. Her toes and fingertips turned white almost instantly. Her body turned cold just as fast. Even though I was present for that when it comes to my father I still can’t grasp the idea of telling a person that you’ll see them later and have them be gone hours after you leave the house. It seems so foreign. Him not being here is like someone trying to hold a conversation with me in Korean. I don’t understand it. Death is the most simple yet most complex thing to exist. We all know that we’re born, we live, and eventually we die. You can live for 100 years but once you’re gone all that exists are pictures, tales, videos, and things. How mind boggling is that? You go from being a living breathing person to just a memory. As generations go on you go from being a memory to a story that’s passed down to the next generation.
My dad was only a month and a half shy of his 66th birthday. I see that life is too short. You’re here one day and gone the next. I think about if he got to do all the things he wanted. I’m a true believer that we go when our time is up, but what happens when you don’t accomplish all that YOU wanted, but you accomplished everything that was all apart of the plan? I think about things I’ve tried to accomplish over and over and now wonder if this is even supposed to be apart of my life’s journey. For instance I’ve had to drop out of college more time than I can count for various reasons and what if that’s not what I’m even supposed to do? Perhaps that was years and dollars wasted that’s taken away from what my real goal should be? The question is, what is truly each of our main goals in life if we’re truly not the ones to call the shots on whether we live or die? All of my life I envisioned I’d be a best selling author/screenwriter, all of which has not come to fruition, and it’s all quite possible it may not even be what I should be doing with my life. I look at my father, a true artist in his own right, and nothing ever happened with that. Is there a point where if we deviate from the plan too much this higher being just gives up? I don’t want this sadness to keep me from pursuing all that I want to do, but it happens. I want to do things he never got a chance to so in some way he’s done it, but when life keeps throwing up roadblock after roadblock it hinders you a bit. I don’t want to be 60 and wonder what could have been. At the same time I’m just trying to exist in a world where my father doesn’t and taking baby steps just trying to get my bearing. I can only go through this process, no matter how long it will definitely be, in order to get to the next phase in life where I’m ready to conquer all the things I’ve ever wanted in my name and his. I’m not sure when I’ll get to that phase and that’s what worries me. For now all I can do is continue to try and make sense of how the rest of this new life will go. Phase one: Still loading….
-Asia Aneka Anderson, This New Phase Of My Life 2016©
My Five Stages Of Grief
Denial
I’ve dealt with death before, but never to this magnitude. I’ve lost grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends, but nothing on Earth prepared me for this. You hear about the five stages of grief and in the past almost month I’ve felt every last one of them. They’ll come in waves. Sometimes they’ll hit me all at once. Sometimes they come out of nowhere. Sometimes there’s an absence of feeling altogether. When I first found out my dad had died I was at work. I had just left home not even 4 hours before that. He walked me to the door, hugged me, and watched as I pulled away. How can someone go from being here one minute then gone the next? I feel like I’m processing it like a child who’s learning about death for the first time and still refers to it as a long sleep. Of course death only takes a second, but at the same time how can I hug this man and tell him “See you later” and not even four hours later he’s no longer of this world? I do not understand.When my mother called me she had only told me she had trouble getting into the house, because the screen door was locked, and she couldn’t see my father moving. I had two reactions as I rushed out of work early. One was traumatizing while the other hanging onto optimism 1. I was shaking because I knew that this was it. This was going to be the day that my dad dies. 2. This wouldn’t have been the first time for my mother to come home, banging on the door trying to get in and my father being so into his music that he hadn’t noticed she’d arrived. I held onto the latter the entire drive home. My job is barely 12 minutes from my house, but that was the longest 12 minutes of my life. Once I pulled up and stepped out of the car my mother said the words “He’s gone.” I stood in disbelief for only second before wailing into my uncle’s arms. Again, I ask, how? He was okay when I left. How? I was in such a fog that when I entered the house to talk with police I didn’t realize that his corpse was still on the living room couch. I only thought there was a sheet there that was left from when they took his body away. When my mom told me that he was still there I toyed with the idea of pulling the sheet back. That was the only way it could be real. I walked through the living room, towards the dining room, slowly. After seeing a glimpse of his pant leg I knew he was there, but I couldn’t bring myself to pull away the sheet. For hours thereafter, and days, and weeks it still didn’t/doesn’t feel real. My father spent many a night in the hospital due to his COPD and other illnesses. It just felt/feels like he’s in a long hospital stay. I often think back to if I had seen his lifeless body if it would feel real or offer some beginning to closure. It takes a long time for the mind to process the fact that a person that’s been in your life for almost 34 years is no longer apart of it.
The following day after he’d passed my mom and I drove to McDonald’s. Anytime we’d go there my mom would always get my dad a fish filet, even still sometimes she’d call home to see what he wanted. As we drove there I started “Aren’t you going to call and see what… Oh right.” I imagine there will be times that I will forget or wonder where he is only to have reality hit me that he is no longer here.
Anger
I’ve written before, countless times, of drug abuse*. On the drive home from work that day I remember yelling and screaming to myself in the car. “WHY DIDN’T HE JUST GET FUCKING HELP?! WHY DIDN’T HE TRY TO GET BETTER?! PLEASE GOD JUST GIVE HIM A CHANCE TO GET BETTER!” Because of this I’ve spent the better part of the last few years toggling between anger and nothing. I was never angry with my father as a person, but more so at his choices, and what he had let a substance do to him. Either way I had become so disappointed. I wanted so much better for him, as I know he probably wanted for himself.Through this anger, that still arises from time to time, I feel like I don’t have the right to grieve. Although we had a great relationship (I’m a total daddy’s girl) up until a few years ago I, unjustifiably, judge myself on these last few years instead of the entire lifetime. I feel like I was an ass so what right do I have to grieve? I feel guilty. Could I have been nicer? Could I have been more understanding? At the same time, how else would someone react to an addict? I felt for his depression and his declining health which certainly must’ve caused even an more vicious cycle of depression, but I just couldn’t understand it. I still don’t. All I know is I wanted him better and he was stuck in a rut that he would never escape until his soul was freed from his body. Still I was angry and perhaps selfish. I wanted him to be better for me. I want him still here for me. He had to want that. I couldn’t want it for him. Even still I feel like a phony for grieving. For the last few years, until even now, I’ve been angry for various reasons. Angry at the outlet he chose. Angry that he didn’t take better care of himself (despite having COPD and congestive heart failure he still smoked). Angry that he gave up. Angry that he didn’t express his feelings and what he was going through. Angry we didn’t get a last heart to heart. Angry he died two days before father’s day. Angry at society for making people (especially black people) feel as though they should be ashamed to admit they suffer from depression therefore they never seek help. Also angry at society for making people believe that the cure to depression is to turn that frown upside down. Angry that doctors weren’t more forceful with trying to get his health on track. Angry that he’s not here. Angry that my world has stopped and everyone keeps moving and now I’m forced to continue and catch up to a world that kept on spinning. Angry that people keep asking me if I’m okay as if I’m supposed to be. It’s a miracle for me to even get out of bed let alone be okay. So there’s this underlying feeling of anger mixed with guilt topped with hurt. Perhaps it’s not even anger. Maybe I’m just hurt.
Bargaining
Before he even died I’ve always thought about “what ifs” and “why didn’t I knows?” or “why didn’t I speak up sooner?” So many shoulda, coulda, wouldas. I want there to be a rewind button. I want to go back to a time where everything was fixable. I want to go back with the mindset of the adult that I am now. I want there to be a pause button so that I can truly mourn without having to put on a mask and clock in everyday as if I’m a fully functioning human being. I want to wake up and hear someone go “Ha ha. Just kidding.” and this was all some insane, cruel, morbid joke. But here we are just a day shy of a month and no one has relieved me with that one yet. I’m almost 34 and it seems like our time together was only 34 seconds. It seems like everything has been one big blur and I’d give anything to go back and linger on fond memories and make new ones. I just want to go back and live it all over again. This can’t be the end.Depression
I’m prone to depression and in watching my father’s health decline over the past few years, and even more so his spirit, I wonder if it’s genetic. I’ve done my best not to let it take me over completely and I think I’ve done a good job so far. I’ve let depression completely take over before and it’s crippling. I made a promise to myself to never let that happen again. That doesn’t keep the tears from flowing at random times. At work I’ll hear “After The Love Is Gone” by Earth, Wind & Fire (his favorite group), a song I requested be played at his memorial service, and all I can do is clench my jaw to keep from weeping. I know it’s not healthy to keep it in, but that’s all I know. As I walk downstairs from my bedroom I look to the living room, where he always was, and walk by slowly, trying to process that he’s not in there anymore laughing at “American Dad” in the afternoon, or playing songs from back in his day really loud, or fiddling with one of his guitars. The other day I had an eerily realistic dream. I dreamt that my parents and I were getting ready for bed and before my dad walked down the hallway to their bedroom I grabbed him and hugged him. I could feel him shaking from crying and the only thing he said was “You be good and I love you forever.” It felt as though I was really hugging him. It breaks my heart to even think about it.As much as I want him here his quality of life was very poor. I can’t imagine being someone who needs an oxygen tank and constantly has shortness of breath so going far from home is pretty much a no go. Who would want to deal with that? I know that depressed him. I know he wanted to be able to drive and go outside and do things. I hate when people say that the person is in a better place, but this is true. He no longer has to worry about if he’ll be able to breathe. No more machines. No more medications. He is free. Truly free. That being said it still hurts like hell. I can’t get to a point to where it stifles me, but some days it’s damn hard. All I want to do is sleep. I’m exhausted all the time. The tears are a constant and now the pain manifests physically which is something unavoidable that I was trying to avoid.
Acceptance
He is gone. I know this. This will be a struggle to completely 100% come to terms with. I know that over time it will get easier, but there is this hole in my heart that can never be filled. I lost an important piece to my puzzle. As time goes on I can only remember all of the good times and reflect on the bad as learning lessons. Life, in fact, does go on and I can’t let it keep going without me. I said in my poem that my dad encouraged me in every major step in my life, and he did. When I went to DC in 8th grade I had second thoughts because I didn’t want them to worry about finances, but he wanted me to go and told me not to worry. The same went for Australia and also picking up my life to try and take on Chicago. When I found out I got accepted to Columbia College Chicago he was the only person I truly told because I knew he’d be happy for me and push for me to pursue it. He always had my back. Therefore, I know he would want me to keep going and doing big things and doing what make me happy. I know he’ll be there to give me a push. I’ll never be okay with his death, but I will eventually come to terms with his passing. I wish he could’ve stayed a little bit longer, but I had no say in that. I know that he is with me where he will be always.Dragonflies always remind me of him from the days went went fishing together. More than anything from those trips I remember the dragonflies.The day after he died there were two of them hovering over my car and I’ve seen that same blue one quite a few times since. I’ve never seen them away from water. I know it was him. He’s watching me. I hope to make him proud. I hope to just keep going. He is my guardian angel and I know he’ll steer me right. <3
-Asia Aneka Anderson, My Five Stages of Grief, 2016©
*He didn’t overdose btw. Just thought I’d make that clear.
I'm Lost.
My father just died. It feels weird to say it. I’ve had many
nightmares like this, but none that could prepare me for the real thing.
I have no idea what to say. I have no idea what to do. I just keep
going back to when I last saw him. He walked me to the door as I left
for work and hugged me as he always does and said “Be careful.” I was in
such a hurry and my hands were full so I didn’t get to hug him back,
only press my head against his chest. Did I even say “goodbye” or “I
love you”? Not even three hours later he was gone. How is that even
possible? I can’t wrap my head around it.
As I’ve written about before, my father has been sick for a long time. Everyone knew this time was coming, but still it doesn’t prepare you. Nothing in life can prepare you for this. I’ve gone through every emotion possible in 10 hours and I know I go through many more in the upcoming hours, days, weeks, months, and years. Mostly I feel numb. The crying has not stopped, but still I’m just numb. I don’t know when it will finally hit me that he’s gone, but it’s a feeling I do not anticipate. I do not want to go through that experience. I know there will come a day I’ll leave the house and wait for him to hug me goodbye, and turn around to realize that he’s not there.
I keep playing in my head that I didn’t tell him I loved him enough. This is something I know I can’t dwell on forever because it doesn’t change anything, but I know that I will. I know that I will guilt myself for it. I take small comfort that I at least hugged him last time I saw him. I take comfort that he went peaceful. I take comfort that he is no longer in pain. I know I will not take comfort in the things I never got a chance to say. Words he’ll never hear. I can only hope that he knew I loved him as I know he loved me.
-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2016©
As I’ve written about before, my father has been sick for a long time. Everyone knew this time was coming, but still it doesn’t prepare you. Nothing in life can prepare you for this. I’ve gone through every emotion possible in 10 hours and I know I go through many more in the upcoming hours, days, weeks, months, and years. Mostly I feel numb. The crying has not stopped, but still I’m just numb. I don’t know when it will finally hit me that he’s gone, but it’s a feeling I do not anticipate. I do not want to go through that experience. I know there will come a day I’ll leave the house and wait for him to hug me goodbye, and turn around to realize that he’s not there.
I keep playing in my head that I didn’t tell him I loved him enough. This is something I know I can’t dwell on forever because it doesn’t change anything, but I know that I will. I know that I will guilt myself for it. I take small comfort that I at least hugged him last time I saw him. I take comfort that he went peaceful. I take comfort that he is no longer in pain. I know I will not take comfort in the things I never got a chance to say. Words he’ll never hear. I can only hope that he knew I loved him as I know he loved me.
-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2016©
Just Because The Year Is Halfway Over Doesn’t Mean New Goals Can’t Be Made
For the last few years I stopped making New Years resolutions and
just narrowed it down to making my goal trying to be truly happy. No
goal body weight, travel plans, quest for love, blah blah blah. I did
declare that 2016 will be a good year after the horrible past few years
I’ve had. I deserve a teeny tiny bit of good. Although we’re barely six
months in and 2016 has been a struggle worldwide. We’ve already lost
tons of legends, mass shootings and nonsense killings, and let’s not
forget this circus of an election. So dammit, let me set some goals that
I need to carry out through the rest of 2016. These will be my little
rays of sunshine to making the rest of this year a worthwhile one.
1. To finally get this promotion and transfer that I’ve been promised for almost months now. It was a promotion I almost didn’t agree to at first, honestly. I felt this strange need to stick with my current store and be loyal to a place who has done nothing but waste my abilities, dedication, and determination. Other managers in other stores saw all those qualities, appreciated it, and wanted me a part of their teams. It’s a much needed and deserved move. Once my current manager stops cock blocking me this move will become a reality and as soon as next week.
2. To go to and have an amazing time at Wizard World Chicago. I already have my ticket, but anyone who knows me knows that when a concert, convention, or anything dealing with people I admire I do the absolute most. I don’t care about staying in a great hotel when I get to Chicago, but what I DO care about is hoping I have the funds to get a photo with Sebastian Stan and Norman Reedus. That’s where goal #1 comes into play and I need my boss to stop fucking around. I haven’t had a trip in forever and I need this so much.
3. This year I need to sit back and let love find me. I keep looking and sooner or later I’m disappointed by what I find. I find liars, cheats, manipulators, and overall just dishonest BOYS who take no responsibilities for their actions. If when the ball drops on the last night of this year I’m alone I’ll be okay because I refuse to keep settling. I refuse to see what’s going on in front of me and sticking it out a little bit longer hoping for the best when I know deep down there is no best to come. I deserve a MAN that is going to love me at my best and love me even more at my worst. I’m going to hold out for a partner that is mature enough to know that a relationship is work and both of us should be putting in 100%. No more feeling like I’m with someone who is purely only interested in physical. I deserve much more than that. So no more losers in dull armor that’s spit shined. With that said I’ll still be adding to my “Tragic Crush Tales” and telling the stories of my failed attempts with these dudes as if I’m the Jane Goodall of fuckboys.
4. This is a goal for the rest of my life not just the rest of 2016. I need to stop letting people get the best of me. I need to stop reacting to something that shouldn’t matter. I should just throw my head back, laugh, and keep it moving. Case in point one of these fuckboys mentioned in #3 keeps making posts on social media that are most likely aimed at me. Almost responded, but why give him the satisfaction? He was talking to me and other girls at the same time and has possibly moved on with one. So, dude you won. You have someone, but yet you still keep coming for me. That’s something you have to laugh at. You have a woman in your life now so why keep bringing any attention, negative or otherwise, my direction? Obviously still in his feelings, but that sounds like a personal problem. No more immediate reactions from me. I’m just gonna like his posts to piss him off. I’ll no longer let people get the best of me, but I will continue to live the petty life.
5. I say this every year, but I feel like in 2016 it may be a real possibility. I want to travel to NY for my birthday this October. If #1 can follow through immediately, and with not much to pay for on #2, I should be able to afford at least a little four day trip to a place I’ve always wanted to go. My fingers are really crossed on this one. Even better is my BFF lives in Philly and her birthday is two days before mine. It would be nice to experience that with her.
6. Last but not least my biggest goal is to keep moving forward. Too many times have I looked back. What for? There’s nothing back there. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming.
-Asia Aneka Anderson
1. To finally get this promotion and transfer that I’ve been promised for almost months now. It was a promotion I almost didn’t agree to at first, honestly. I felt this strange need to stick with my current store and be loyal to a place who has done nothing but waste my abilities, dedication, and determination. Other managers in other stores saw all those qualities, appreciated it, and wanted me a part of their teams. It’s a much needed and deserved move. Once my current manager stops cock blocking me this move will become a reality and as soon as next week.
2. To go to and have an amazing time at Wizard World Chicago. I already have my ticket, but anyone who knows me knows that when a concert, convention, or anything dealing with people I admire I do the absolute most. I don’t care about staying in a great hotel when I get to Chicago, but what I DO care about is hoping I have the funds to get a photo with Sebastian Stan and Norman Reedus. That’s where goal #1 comes into play and I need my boss to stop fucking around. I haven’t had a trip in forever and I need this so much.
3. This year I need to sit back and let love find me. I keep looking and sooner or later I’m disappointed by what I find. I find liars, cheats, manipulators, and overall just dishonest BOYS who take no responsibilities for their actions. If when the ball drops on the last night of this year I’m alone I’ll be okay because I refuse to keep settling. I refuse to see what’s going on in front of me and sticking it out a little bit longer hoping for the best when I know deep down there is no best to come. I deserve a MAN that is going to love me at my best and love me even more at my worst. I’m going to hold out for a partner that is mature enough to know that a relationship is work and both of us should be putting in 100%. No more feeling like I’m with someone who is purely only interested in physical. I deserve much more than that. So no more losers in dull armor that’s spit shined. With that said I’ll still be adding to my “Tragic Crush Tales” and telling the stories of my failed attempts with these dudes as if I’m the Jane Goodall of fuckboys.
4. This is a goal for the rest of my life not just the rest of 2016. I need to stop letting people get the best of me. I need to stop reacting to something that shouldn’t matter. I should just throw my head back, laugh, and keep it moving. Case in point one of these fuckboys mentioned in #3 keeps making posts on social media that are most likely aimed at me. Almost responded, but why give him the satisfaction? He was talking to me and other girls at the same time and has possibly moved on with one. So, dude you won. You have someone, but yet you still keep coming for me. That’s something you have to laugh at. You have a woman in your life now so why keep bringing any attention, negative or otherwise, my direction? Obviously still in his feelings, but that sounds like a personal problem. No more immediate reactions from me. I’m just gonna like his posts to piss him off. I’ll no longer let people get the best of me, but I will continue to live the petty life.
5. I say this every year, but I feel like in 2016 it may be a real possibility. I want to travel to NY for my birthday this October. If #1 can follow through immediately, and with not much to pay for on #2, I should be able to afford at least a little four day trip to a place I’ve always wanted to go. My fingers are really crossed on this one. Even better is my BFF lives in Philly and her birthday is two days before mine. It would be nice to experience that with her.
6. Last but not least my biggest goal is to keep moving forward. Too many times have I looked back. What for? There’s nothing back there. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming.
-Asia Aneka Anderson
A Question Of Beauty
What truly is the definition of beauty? How do we each individually
interpret it? I can see beauty in everything but myself. I have never
seen myself as beautiful. I have cute days, pretty days, and decent
days, but never have I looked in the mirror and thought the woman
looking back was beautiful.
I’m not sure what societal norm I base my own definition of personal beauty. I can see a plus size woman and see her as beautiful. I can see the beauty in a woman covered in tattoos, scars, or dealing with a disability or handicap. Why can’t I see the beauty within myself as I do others?
When I look at my love life I equate the lack thereof to my looks. There’s two major problems with that. If I’m looking for a partner who will love me more for my looks above all else then I’m asking for a relationship based on something extremely shallow. The second is where is the value I should have for myself to show a potential partner that I offer so much more? I guess as time goes on and as dating has changed I encounter a lot of people who judge a mate based on looks more than looking for other qualities in a person. These are not the type of people I should be looking towards for a romantic relationship, obviously, but still that insecurity lies within me.
I’ve grown up in an environment where the way I looked, dressed, my weight, and styled my hair was often criticized. From a young age I saw myself as a smart and creative child and never cared to much about appearance because I was a tomboy, but I was surrounded by certain family who paid too much attention to the unattainable standards of a Vogue type of beauty. It was discouraging as a child to be taunted at school for my looks and then have people in your safe space do the same. It sticks with you. That feeling slowly turns into self loathing and never feeling good enough. I was never the pretty one. Always the weird one because I leaned more towards academics and art. It wasn’t until I was much older that people appreciated my mind, but the damage was already done. Now I’m under constant paranoia as to whether or not I’m beautiful and the answer to myself is always “no”.
I don’t know if there will ever come a time that I will truly see myself as beautiful. It has less to do with my body and more to do with my mind. The hard part comes as trying to unlearn the negative view I have on myself and my body. I’d love to say it’s a work in progress, but I don’t even know where to start. I will continue to uplift and encourage others and speak on body positivity. Speaking words to others that I should be speaking to myself. No amount of words can erase the negativity done. I will work on it. I am working on it. It’s just waiting for it all to sink in and to finally feel beautiful inside and out.
-Asia Aneka Anderson, A Question Of Beauty 2016©
I’m not sure what societal norm I base my own definition of personal beauty. I can see a plus size woman and see her as beautiful. I can see the beauty in a woman covered in tattoos, scars, or dealing with a disability or handicap. Why can’t I see the beauty within myself as I do others?
When I look at my love life I equate the lack thereof to my looks. There’s two major problems with that. If I’m looking for a partner who will love me more for my looks above all else then I’m asking for a relationship based on something extremely shallow. The second is where is the value I should have for myself to show a potential partner that I offer so much more? I guess as time goes on and as dating has changed I encounter a lot of people who judge a mate based on looks more than looking for other qualities in a person. These are not the type of people I should be looking towards for a romantic relationship, obviously, but still that insecurity lies within me.
I’ve grown up in an environment where the way I looked, dressed, my weight, and styled my hair was often criticized. From a young age I saw myself as a smart and creative child and never cared to much about appearance because I was a tomboy, but I was surrounded by certain family who paid too much attention to the unattainable standards of a Vogue type of beauty. It was discouraging as a child to be taunted at school for my looks and then have people in your safe space do the same. It sticks with you. That feeling slowly turns into self loathing and never feeling good enough. I was never the pretty one. Always the weird one because I leaned more towards academics and art. It wasn’t until I was much older that people appreciated my mind, but the damage was already done. Now I’m under constant paranoia as to whether or not I’m beautiful and the answer to myself is always “no”.
I don’t know if there will ever come a time that I will truly see myself as beautiful. It has less to do with my body and more to do with my mind. The hard part comes as trying to unlearn the negative view I have on myself and my body. I’d love to say it’s a work in progress, but I don’t even know where to start. I will continue to uplift and encourage others and speak on body positivity. Speaking words to others that I should be speaking to myself. No amount of words can erase the negativity done. I will work on it. I am working on it. It’s just waiting for it all to sink in and to finally feel beautiful inside and out.
-Asia Aneka Anderson, A Question Of Beauty 2016©
Good Riddance, 2015
It’s already December. 2015 went by entirely too quick. This year I
took on a project (sort of) by posting a picture a day of things that
made me happy. I called it my “365 Days of Happy”. With the year coming
to a close, although I started this project of happy, 2015 was a tough
year for my family and I. Looking back, this year was probably harder on
my family than for myself. My hardest year so far was 2013, but still
2015 for almost everyone I knew was difficult. The way that I am I know
that I can see the hard times more than the good. It’s more obvious to
see the bad when it outweighs the good. I started thinking to myself
what my best years of the past decade were. Once I sat down to really
think about it I’ve had equally bad and good years between 2005-2015.
2005 for me was a pretty decent year. In the past decade I have some years that are neither good nor bad, but there are events that stick out for me. 2005 was definitely one of those years. That summer I rode a plane for the first time. I traveled to Los Angeles with my cousin on a much needed vacation. That was a highlight for me. I got to see LA for the first time and I got to do it with my best friend. The downside of that year is that once we returned from that trip my cousin and I had a falling out and didn’t talk for nearly five years after that which affected me for a while afterwards (and to this day if I’m being honest with myself). For 2005 there’s lots of memories there, but these are the two events that shaped that year for me, both good and bad.
2007 was probably my best year so far and it was for one reason only. I got a chance to go to Australia. It was a big deal to me because ever since I was younger out of my top five places that I’ve ever wanted to visit Oz was always number 1. Sometimes, even now, if I feel like I haven’t accomplished all that I wanted so far, I remind myself that at 24 I got a chance to go to the one place I’ve always wanted to go. Not many 24 year olds can say that. At least not one that has been through the financial strain that I’ve had. What made that trip even better was that I got an opportunity to go on this trip through the National Dean’s List. This program was also awarded to 80 different students throughout the US. I met some great people on that trip. There’s a good number of people that I’m still friends with today and although we don’t talk much I love them to death and hope that they’ll always be apart of my life in some way.
2008 was another great year. That summer alone was filled with a lot of changes. I was accepted to Columbia College Chicago. After getting in things seemed to be rocky because getting approved for student loans took forever, but two weeks before classes started everything fell into place. Within a week I was able to find an apartment in Chicago and move. It was as if the universe was working in my favor for once. I got to meet some great people at that school and also I had some great professors. I really loved that school. It was home for me. I really felt like I fit in there.
2009 was a pretty good year. Like 2005, it was equal parts good and bad. While still adjusting to life in a big city, like Chicago, it took me nine months to find employment. By the time I did find a job I couldn’t afford to stay in school so I had to dropout, unfortunately. The job that I did get was at Borders bookstore. To this day it was the best job I’d ever had. I will admit at the time I didn’t 100% see that because the hours weren’t all that great and a lot of days I went without eating, but I did recognize for the most part that I was working with some pretty great people. I walked into a place where everyone was pretty tight and most accepted me as one of them. I really loved those guys and still do. Hell, even the ones that irritated me I miss.
In 2010 Borders was in it’s last year so I had to find another job. The bad news is it was at Comcast. That job was the worst thing that ever happened to me. I hated that place with a passion. Although since I didn’t start this job until the summer that deep hatred didn’t come until later into the year if not the next. This year was also the first year that I attended Lollapalooza. That deepened my love for this city. I love a good festival, concerts, live shows, a great crowd, and being stuck in a moment where everyone seems to be vibing on the same wavelength. I got to see some of my favorite bands that year like, Stars, Rouge Wave, The Strokes, Matt & Kim, Foxy Shazam, Company of Thieves, and my absolute favorite Gogol Bordello. Not to mention I was able to talk my way into the Gogol Bordello aftershow. That alone was the highlight of the summer. The other highlight of this summer was watching the filming of the third Transformers movie. I was a bit obsessed. On days that I worked, I’d hop on the train to downtown and watch the night shoots. On my days off I’d get up insanely early to watch and stay until the late evening. The creeping paid off because I got to meet Josh Duhamel. I was actually supposed to be an extra, but with my work schedule that fell through.
The bad outweighed the good in 2011, but the great events that happened this year were definitely huge. January of that year my father had a stroke and that was hard because I could only return home for a short time. As the year went on the bad was that I was starting to see how horrible Comcast really was. My stress levels were through the roof. I gained a ton of weight because of it and because of that I fractured my foot early that summer. Even though while I was off on a medical leave and my pay was being screwed with that summer was the best summer thus far. I finally got a chance to see my second favorite band in the world, U2, and it was amazing. Not even a month after seeing U2 I also got a chance to finally see Paul McCartney. Let me tell you, Sir Paul knows how to put on a show. It was also my second year to Lollapalooza. This year Coldplay was one of the headliners. I will say that out of all the shows I’ve ever been to in my life I have never seen anyone put on a show like Coldplay. It was beyond amazing. I also got to see Kid Cudi, Flogging Molly, Friendly Fires, The Kills, and Patrick Stumph. That was definitely a great end to my summer.
2012 was like riding an intense roller coaster. The start of the year I slowly climbed uphill. By the time spring had arrived I reached the top. I received notice that I was being evicted from my place in Chicago. Down we go. That entire spring and summer I spent every day I had off searching for apartments. Those days I spent at least eight hours online, on the phone, or walking entire neighborhoods searching for a place. I had never given that much effort to anything in my life. Still the sharp turns and smalls drops from all the rejections came one after another, but I kept going. I guess deep down I knew I was going to be defeated, but there was no way I was going to give in. That summer was my last Lollapalooza. It was a much needed distraction. The headliners were big that year. I got to see Black Sabbath, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Jack White. I also got the opportunity to meet Dhani Harrison and the rest of TheNewNo2 and, one of my favorites, Passion Pit. The last concert I saw in Chicago was The Monkees that November. I couldn’t think of a better way to end a wild ride. I said goodbye to Chicago December 6, 2012 and my roller coaster ride came to a stop.
2013, like I said before, was my worst year to date. That is because my roller coaster ride came to a stop and I was still stuck in the seat. It’s as if the whole amusement park shut down and forgot I was there. I then shut down. I didn’t want to do anything. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to live. Everything just hurt. There was a such a sadness that clouded me that it made me numb. My friends went ghost and no one seemed to notice how much pain I was in. I was also forced to see my father’s growing drug habit which I spent years in denial about. It was just something to add to my already low point. March of that year my aunt was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. It just added to the cloud. That year she went through multiple surgeries. The first to remove the cancerous tumor. The next was a non-cancerous tumor on her brain stem that developed later than year. Not much else occurred that year since this is the year that my life froze.
2014 really was no different than 2013. More bad than good. I was still stuck in a deep depression. At least in this year I felt like I was free to leave the roller coaster. Now I was just wondering through a dark amusement park alone looking for an exit. That summer my cousin had to bury her first born son who was shot and killed. He was only a 16 year old kid. That was a blow to my family. My aunt’s health was up and down. Throughout the year her health was more up than down until the end of the year. A week after Thanksgiving she went into the hospital where she stayed for over a month. No one in the family knew that it would be the last time she’d see home. That December was strange. It seemed as though we spent most of that time getting all of her personal affairs in order. I just remember I couldn’t imagine knowing that this was it and getting everything together before I left this world. Although I had spent the better part of these last few years in a deep darkness it seemed as though I was the only family member really thinking that she was going to make it through. When she made it into the new year and got to see the start of 2015 I was certain of it.
That brings us to this year. Even though I was still hopeful I knew this year was going to be another tragic one which is why I decided to start my “365 Days of Happy” project. I needed something to remind me that there is something happy in each and every day. About a week into the new year my aunt was moved from the hospital to hospice where she stayed for only eight days. Barely two weeks into the new year and we had to plan a funeral. That’s how our year started. For my family it seems as though they’ve been hit with blow after blow this year. They’ve been hit with one possibly losing her home and another losing her job after 34+ years of service because the plant is closing it’s doors*. More health scares as well as the continued mourning for my aunt as we close in on a year of her death. I’ve spent this year trying to turn all past, present, and future negatives into positives. As hard as it was I see that there was no other choice but for me to leave Chicago when I did. Had I still been there when my aunt got sick I would’ve had to fight tooth and nail with Comcast in order to get some sort of time off to spend with my family. This year I spent trying to get back on my feet. This summer I found two jobs. I’ve tried to grow my social circle and reconnected with some old friends. These past few years have been rough. Very very rough. I try to dip my toes in the positivity pool, but there’s still a cloud that hovers over me. I won’t deny that. There’s still a bitterness and sadness that lingers from 2013. With that still in mind even though it is now December 7, 2015 I still feel that there is time for 2015 to turn things around and end on a good note. My family and I deserve it. I’m keeping my fingers crossed on that one. There’s always a rainbow after the storm and I, for one, think this storm has lingered for far too long. Here’s to hoping that 2016 is far more kind.
-Asia Aneka Anderson
*I hope you guys respect and understand that I don’t want to go into personal details here of ongoing situations.
2005 for me was a pretty decent year. In the past decade I have some years that are neither good nor bad, but there are events that stick out for me. 2005 was definitely one of those years. That summer I rode a plane for the first time. I traveled to Los Angeles with my cousin on a much needed vacation. That was a highlight for me. I got to see LA for the first time and I got to do it with my best friend. The downside of that year is that once we returned from that trip my cousin and I had a falling out and didn’t talk for nearly five years after that which affected me for a while afterwards (and to this day if I’m being honest with myself). For 2005 there’s lots of memories there, but these are the two events that shaped that year for me, both good and bad.
2007 was probably my best year so far and it was for one reason only. I got a chance to go to Australia. It was a big deal to me because ever since I was younger out of my top five places that I’ve ever wanted to visit Oz was always number 1. Sometimes, even now, if I feel like I haven’t accomplished all that I wanted so far, I remind myself that at 24 I got a chance to go to the one place I’ve always wanted to go. Not many 24 year olds can say that. At least not one that has been through the financial strain that I’ve had. What made that trip even better was that I got an opportunity to go on this trip through the National Dean’s List. This program was also awarded to 80 different students throughout the US. I met some great people on that trip. There’s a good number of people that I’m still friends with today and although we don’t talk much I love them to death and hope that they’ll always be apart of my life in some way.
2008 was another great year. That summer alone was filled with a lot of changes. I was accepted to Columbia College Chicago. After getting in things seemed to be rocky because getting approved for student loans took forever, but two weeks before classes started everything fell into place. Within a week I was able to find an apartment in Chicago and move. It was as if the universe was working in my favor for once. I got to meet some great people at that school and also I had some great professors. I really loved that school. It was home for me. I really felt like I fit in there.
2009 was a pretty good year. Like 2005, it was equal parts good and bad. While still adjusting to life in a big city, like Chicago, it took me nine months to find employment. By the time I did find a job I couldn’t afford to stay in school so I had to dropout, unfortunately. The job that I did get was at Borders bookstore. To this day it was the best job I’d ever had. I will admit at the time I didn’t 100% see that because the hours weren’t all that great and a lot of days I went without eating, but I did recognize for the most part that I was working with some pretty great people. I walked into a place where everyone was pretty tight and most accepted me as one of them. I really loved those guys and still do. Hell, even the ones that irritated me I miss.
In 2010 Borders was in it’s last year so I had to find another job. The bad news is it was at Comcast. That job was the worst thing that ever happened to me. I hated that place with a passion. Although since I didn’t start this job until the summer that deep hatred didn’t come until later into the year if not the next. This year was also the first year that I attended Lollapalooza. That deepened my love for this city. I love a good festival, concerts, live shows, a great crowd, and being stuck in a moment where everyone seems to be vibing on the same wavelength. I got to see some of my favorite bands that year like, Stars, Rouge Wave, The Strokes, Matt & Kim, Foxy Shazam, Company of Thieves, and my absolute favorite Gogol Bordello. Not to mention I was able to talk my way into the Gogol Bordello aftershow. That alone was the highlight of the summer. The other highlight of this summer was watching the filming of the third Transformers movie. I was a bit obsessed. On days that I worked, I’d hop on the train to downtown and watch the night shoots. On my days off I’d get up insanely early to watch and stay until the late evening. The creeping paid off because I got to meet Josh Duhamel. I was actually supposed to be an extra, but with my work schedule that fell through.
The bad outweighed the good in 2011, but the great events that happened this year were definitely huge. January of that year my father had a stroke and that was hard because I could only return home for a short time. As the year went on the bad was that I was starting to see how horrible Comcast really was. My stress levels were through the roof. I gained a ton of weight because of it and because of that I fractured my foot early that summer. Even though while I was off on a medical leave and my pay was being screwed with that summer was the best summer thus far. I finally got a chance to see my second favorite band in the world, U2, and it was amazing. Not even a month after seeing U2 I also got a chance to finally see Paul McCartney. Let me tell you, Sir Paul knows how to put on a show. It was also my second year to Lollapalooza. This year Coldplay was one of the headliners. I will say that out of all the shows I’ve ever been to in my life I have never seen anyone put on a show like Coldplay. It was beyond amazing. I also got to see Kid Cudi, Flogging Molly, Friendly Fires, The Kills, and Patrick Stumph. That was definitely a great end to my summer.
2012 was like riding an intense roller coaster. The start of the year I slowly climbed uphill. By the time spring had arrived I reached the top. I received notice that I was being evicted from my place in Chicago. Down we go. That entire spring and summer I spent every day I had off searching for apartments. Those days I spent at least eight hours online, on the phone, or walking entire neighborhoods searching for a place. I had never given that much effort to anything in my life. Still the sharp turns and smalls drops from all the rejections came one after another, but I kept going. I guess deep down I knew I was going to be defeated, but there was no way I was going to give in. That summer was my last Lollapalooza. It was a much needed distraction. The headliners were big that year. I got to see Black Sabbath, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Jack White. I also got the opportunity to meet Dhani Harrison and the rest of TheNewNo2 and, one of my favorites, Passion Pit. The last concert I saw in Chicago was The Monkees that November. I couldn’t think of a better way to end a wild ride. I said goodbye to Chicago December 6, 2012 and my roller coaster ride came to a stop.
2013, like I said before, was my worst year to date. That is because my roller coaster ride came to a stop and I was still stuck in the seat. It’s as if the whole amusement park shut down and forgot I was there. I then shut down. I didn’t want to do anything. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to live. Everything just hurt. There was a such a sadness that clouded me that it made me numb. My friends went ghost and no one seemed to notice how much pain I was in. I was also forced to see my father’s growing drug habit which I spent years in denial about. It was just something to add to my already low point. March of that year my aunt was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. It just added to the cloud. That year she went through multiple surgeries. The first to remove the cancerous tumor. The next was a non-cancerous tumor on her brain stem that developed later than year. Not much else occurred that year since this is the year that my life froze.
2014 really was no different than 2013. More bad than good. I was still stuck in a deep depression. At least in this year I felt like I was free to leave the roller coaster. Now I was just wondering through a dark amusement park alone looking for an exit. That summer my cousin had to bury her first born son who was shot and killed. He was only a 16 year old kid. That was a blow to my family. My aunt’s health was up and down. Throughout the year her health was more up than down until the end of the year. A week after Thanksgiving she went into the hospital where she stayed for over a month. No one in the family knew that it would be the last time she’d see home. That December was strange. It seemed as though we spent most of that time getting all of her personal affairs in order. I just remember I couldn’t imagine knowing that this was it and getting everything together before I left this world. Although I had spent the better part of these last few years in a deep darkness it seemed as though I was the only family member really thinking that she was going to make it through. When she made it into the new year and got to see the start of 2015 I was certain of it.
That brings us to this year. Even though I was still hopeful I knew this year was going to be another tragic one which is why I decided to start my “365 Days of Happy” project. I needed something to remind me that there is something happy in each and every day. About a week into the new year my aunt was moved from the hospital to hospice where she stayed for only eight days. Barely two weeks into the new year and we had to plan a funeral. That’s how our year started. For my family it seems as though they’ve been hit with blow after blow this year. They’ve been hit with one possibly losing her home and another losing her job after 34+ years of service because the plant is closing it’s doors*. More health scares as well as the continued mourning for my aunt as we close in on a year of her death. I’ve spent this year trying to turn all past, present, and future negatives into positives. As hard as it was I see that there was no other choice but for me to leave Chicago when I did. Had I still been there when my aunt got sick I would’ve had to fight tooth and nail with Comcast in order to get some sort of time off to spend with my family. This year I spent trying to get back on my feet. This summer I found two jobs. I’ve tried to grow my social circle and reconnected with some old friends. These past few years have been rough. Very very rough. I try to dip my toes in the positivity pool, but there’s still a cloud that hovers over me. I won’t deny that. There’s still a bitterness and sadness that lingers from 2013. With that still in mind even though it is now December 7, 2015 I still feel that there is time for 2015 to turn things around and end on a good note. My family and I deserve it. I’m keeping my fingers crossed on that one. There’s always a rainbow after the storm and I, for one, think this storm has lingered for far too long. Here’s to hoping that 2016 is far more kind.
-Asia Aneka Anderson
*I hope you guys respect and understand that I don’t want to go into personal details here of ongoing situations.
There’s Constant Screaming Among The Silence In My Head
Recently I came across an article on Buzzfeed
that spoke to everything that makes me what I am and especially how
I’ve been feeling the last three years of my life. This article broke
down, what some, who battle both depression and anxiety feel on a
regular basis. I’ve spoken before that I’ve never been properly
diagnosed with depression and/or anxiety but I have never related to
something so much in my life. There was a list of 20 things that people
who deal with depression and anxiety go through. While I couldn’t relate
to all, here are some of the ones that literally had me in tears by the
time I’d finished the article.
Almost three years ago when I moved back home to Ohio from Chicago I
shut down. I shut down for almost two years. I was saddened by my sudden
huge setback in life while at the same time wanting to move forward,
but couldn’t. I knew in order to get back on track that I had to kick my
life into overdrive, but had no will to get out of bed let alone try
and live life like a fully functioning human being. I kept telling
myself that this will be the time that I will try to buckle down and
start writing but the thought of starting that process caused me so much
anxiety that it would cause me to crash. Everyday was tomorrow.
Everyday I’d start poems or stories, only to have them sit in my drafts
folder because I put to much pressure on myself. Everything just left me
feeling tense and overwhelmed. Simple things like just getting up and
getting the day started caused me to become a nervous wreck. I knew at a
certain point that in order to get my life back together I’d need to
find a job, but some days I’d open up a job application and just stare
at it. The thought of filling one out and possibly putting myself into
another stressful work situation scared the hell out of me. I’d tell
myself I was being silly, but that didn’t make the anxiousness go away.
When I returned home I was expecting lots of support from people I considered friends. I actually was the one who was game to go out, but unfortunately got too many excuses from too many people and again shut down. I got the feeling that none of these people cared which caused me to wonder why I should. My depression grew bigger as I had no one to confide in. I desperately wanted a friend to reach out so that I had an excuse to move. To live. I only got that from a friend who now lives in another state. I’d make myself get out of bed when she came into town. I had to. I just knew deep down that I had to even though it was a struggle to get out of bed.
I do feel sort of pathetic that I’ve been single for many years now, but while I’d like to be in a relationship I don’t see why anyone would date me. How would I even be able to function in a relationship when I’ve become so used to being alone? Honestly the thought of someone possibly understanding me and taking on the challenge of me is sort of scary. I once found a man that partly understood me and I didn’t tell him how I felt. Now I compare every man that approaches me to him. I don’t want to start over brand new with someone who will possibly judge me for something that I have no control over, when I had someone in my grasp that made me feel like I could be me. What if I happen to find another person who will understand all that goes through my mind and I end up scaring them away? What a waste that would be.
For those two years when my life stopped I had no sense of time. I’d
sleep until 2pm and be awake until 5am. My mind never stopped. Ideas and
thoughts were (are) going nonstop, but I had not a lick of motivation
to actually do anything. All I wanted to do was sleep. Sometimes I feel
myself slip into that even now. It’s like a never ending exhaustion.
Sometimes that exhaustion makes me angry because I know there are lots
I’d like to accomplish whether they be big goals or small ones and I
feel so helpless and like a failure. I want(ed) to make my future, but
it is scary and again, shut down.
This is my thought process all day everyday. There’s so much I want to
do. There’s so much I need to do and there’s this overwhelming feeling
of can’t. It feels almost impossible. It’s so crippling. More than
anything I want to be back in Chicago or possibly go to New York. I know
I want to be in some city rich with art, but when it comes to putting a
plan together to make all this happen it’s like my mind blows a gasket
and I let myself get overwhelmed. I get stressed out over the smallest
details because I want a plan set out ahead of me and I want everything
to go according to that plan. When nothing goes as planned that’s when I
don’t want to do anything at all because I’m lost on what to do. It’s
an exhausting process that barely even gets off the ground.
I know I become anxious over small things which leads me to think
that it’s all in my head. It’s a sort of paranoia. Is what I’m feeling
real? Is it really worth being this being anxious about? Should I really
be paralyzed by this feeling? I let my mind be weighed down by things
that to most people seem like small or no problems at all.
I lay awake all day and night thinking of how great my life would be and should be, but the thought of never getting there terrifies me. I’m never going to get to that level of comfort in life, so why bother. I really want to think that things for me will get better, but there’s a huge chance that they will not. I stick it out even though most days I really don’t want to. I stick it out because I truly want to believe that there is a purpose for me. That faith often weakens, but I know that I have to try.
A feeling I cannot explain is feeling nothing and everything at the same time. I often tell people that I feel too much and care too little or vice versa. That is the constant state of anxiousness for me. That state of caring about your future, wanting better for yourself, standing up for those you love, trying to be productive in life, and also saying “fuck it all.” Those two conflicting feelings tug inside of me constantly. In one breath I could be pouring my heart out and throw up my hand at the same time. #20 alone sums up how I feel in my soul. Just reading that one sentence makes me want to break down. The feeling of everything and nothing is like being ripped in two. Again, I shut down as this feeling has left me paralyzed then get back up and go through steps 1-20 again.
-Asia Aneka Anderson
When I returned home I was expecting lots of support from people I considered friends. I actually was the one who was game to go out, but unfortunately got too many excuses from too many people and again shut down. I got the feeling that none of these people cared which caused me to wonder why I should. My depression grew bigger as I had no one to confide in. I desperately wanted a friend to reach out so that I had an excuse to move. To live. I only got that from a friend who now lives in another state. I’d make myself get out of bed when she came into town. I had to. I just knew deep down that I had to even though it was a struggle to get out of bed.
I do feel sort of pathetic that I’ve been single for many years now, but while I’d like to be in a relationship I don’t see why anyone would date me. How would I even be able to function in a relationship when I’ve become so used to being alone? Honestly the thought of someone possibly understanding me and taking on the challenge of me is sort of scary. I once found a man that partly understood me and I didn’t tell him how I felt. Now I compare every man that approaches me to him. I don’t want to start over brand new with someone who will possibly judge me for something that I have no control over, when I had someone in my grasp that made me feel like I could be me. What if I happen to find another person who will understand all that goes through my mind and I end up scaring them away? What a waste that would be.
I lay awake all day and night thinking of how great my life would be and should be, but the thought of never getting there terrifies me. I’m never going to get to that level of comfort in life, so why bother. I really want to think that things for me will get better, but there’s a huge chance that they will not. I stick it out even though most days I really don’t want to. I stick it out because I truly want to believe that there is a purpose for me. That faith often weakens, but I know that I have to try.
A feeling I cannot explain is feeling nothing and everything at the same time. I often tell people that I feel too much and care too little or vice versa. That is the constant state of anxiousness for me. That state of caring about your future, wanting better for yourself, standing up for those you love, trying to be productive in life, and also saying “fuck it all.” Those two conflicting feelings tug inside of me constantly. In one breath I could be pouring my heart out and throw up my hand at the same time. #20 alone sums up how I feel in my soul. Just reading that one sentence makes me want to break down. The feeling of everything and nothing is like being ripped in two. Again, I shut down as this feeling has left me paralyzed then get back up and go through steps 1-20 again.
-Asia Aneka Anderson
Am I Where I Should Be?
I envy people who are happy with who they are and where they’re at in
life. That must be a freeing feeling to be who you truly are and be
confident and completely trusting in where you’re headed in life. I wish
I had that. I wish that I could be who I am. I’m not speaking in a
sense that I’m afraid to live my life a certain way. I mean that I’m not
sure who I am and who I’m meant to be. I’d like to imagine that in the
past I had an idea of who I was and what I wanted, but that all changed.
Life took a turn and I stumbled along the way. Now I’m unsure of
everything. I’m unsure of what makes me happy. Unsure of what I long to
do with my life. Unsure of who I should let into my life. I just don’t
know. Once upon a time I wanted to be a teacher, writer, director,
photographer, and journalist. I wanted to create things that the world
could related to. That need to create something that the world will
relate to is still there, but my ambition to create is lost. I feel as
though all I want to say has been said and if it hasn’t already been
said I’m lost on how to put it into words.
I’m so unhappy with life right now. It’s not just a sadness that’s knowingly felt and bubbles to the surface from time to time. It’s a sadness that sits at my core and just sits there like a sick felling, where you can’t remember what you ate, but all you know is that it’s made you nauseous. I can’t 100% explain it. I want to know what it feels like to say “Great! I found my calling!” Instead I’m lingering on something that at one point I felt was my calling and now it’s just a dwindling hobby. Don’t get me wrong, I do think that my writing is pretty good, but there’s no love behind it anymore. There’s no dying need for it. I miss the feeling of NEEDING to write. At one point in my life it brought me joy to write until my hand would cramp because that said to me that I was accomplishing something. It said to me that my mind was running a mile a minute and my hand was hurrying to catch up with every thought I could think. All I ever wanted to do, since I can remember, was write. That is all I ever wanted. This is something I wanted so much for my life and now I just can’t be bothered with it. I have to MAKE myself write. Never in my life have I ever had to make myself do that. Any free moment I had there was a pen in my hand. Always. Now that need, that want, is completely gone.
I’ve run out of accomplishments and I’ve run out of knowledge on what I want. No matter my career, my love life, my family life, I just don’t know what I want. I just know that I want to feel free. I don’t know what that entails, but I’d like to think I’d know it when I feel it. So far I don’t feel free. I think a sense of creative freedom and freedom from my mind would bring me happiness. To me freedom equals happiness. I don’t remember the last time I felt free, but I do know that even then I didn’t feel completely free. It was just a glimpse of what could be. That glimpse was everything. It gave me hope. I liked that feeling. Although at the time I was going through other struggles, that little ray of hope made everything okay. Then my world just sort of collapsed. Everything changed and my drive vanished.
Next month I’ll only be 33 and I just feel so stuck that I’ve somewhat lost hope. Too old for adventures. Slowly becoming to old to possibly be someone’s mom. Too old to feel like I have to coerce people into friendships. Too old to make new friendships. Too old to return to school to continue and education that I’m not even sure I want anymore. Too old to play the field when I should be settling down. I just feel too far gone. I’m so so gone.
So to anyone who is in the career they truly want, have the relationships that they want and make them better (whether it be with a partner, family, friends, etc) I really do envy that and it’s scary because I’m not absolutely sure if I ever will. At least not to the extent where I will be truly happy and satisfied.
-Asia Aneka Anderson
I’m so unhappy with life right now. It’s not just a sadness that’s knowingly felt and bubbles to the surface from time to time. It’s a sadness that sits at my core and just sits there like a sick felling, where you can’t remember what you ate, but all you know is that it’s made you nauseous. I can’t 100% explain it. I want to know what it feels like to say “Great! I found my calling!” Instead I’m lingering on something that at one point I felt was my calling and now it’s just a dwindling hobby. Don’t get me wrong, I do think that my writing is pretty good, but there’s no love behind it anymore. There’s no dying need for it. I miss the feeling of NEEDING to write. At one point in my life it brought me joy to write until my hand would cramp because that said to me that I was accomplishing something. It said to me that my mind was running a mile a minute and my hand was hurrying to catch up with every thought I could think. All I ever wanted to do, since I can remember, was write. That is all I ever wanted. This is something I wanted so much for my life and now I just can’t be bothered with it. I have to MAKE myself write. Never in my life have I ever had to make myself do that. Any free moment I had there was a pen in my hand. Always. Now that need, that want, is completely gone.
I’ve run out of accomplishments and I’ve run out of knowledge on what I want. No matter my career, my love life, my family life, I just don’t know what I want. I just know that I want to feel free. I don’t know what that entails, but I’d like to think I’d know it when I feel it. So far I don’t feel free. I think a sense of creative freedom and freedom from my mind would bring me happiness. To me freedom equals happiness. I don’t remember the last time I felt free, but I do know that even then I didn’t feel completely free. It was just a glimpse of what could be. That glimpse was everything. It gave me hope. I liked that feeling. Although at the time I was going through other struggles, that little ray of hope made everything okay. Then my world just sort of collapsed. Everything changed and my drive vanished.
Next month I’ll only be 33 and I just feel so stuck that I’ve somewhat lost hope. Too old for adventures. Slowly becoming to old to possibly be someone’s mom. Too old to feel like I have to coerce people into friendships. Too old to make new friendships. Too old to return to school to continue and education that I’m not even sure I want anymore. Too old to play the field when I should be settling down. I just feel too far gone. I’m so so gone.
So to anyone who is in the career they truly want, have the relationships that they want and make them better (whether it be with a partner, family, friends, etc) I really do envy that and it’s scary because I’m not absolutely sure if I ever will. At least not to the extent where I will be truly happy and satisfied.
-Asia Aneka Anderson
Reasons I Don't Like To Be Around My Grandma
My mom and I took my grandma to this festival in her neighborhood
that she wanted to go to. At one point after we grabbed some food my mom
points out this cute kid that’s clinging to her moms leg because she
wants to be picked up. We both playfully laugh with the mom (Who’s a bit
of a distance from us.) The mom picks the girl up and my grandma says
“I wouldn’t have picked her up. Let her fat ass walk. There’s nothing
wrong with her legs.” Did I mention the little girl looked to be about
2-3 years old? My grandma called a toddler a “fat ass”. Have I also
mentioned that quite a few women in this family suffer(ed) from body
image issues and/or eating disorders? Hmmmm….. I wonder where that comes
from? Either way it’s unnecessary to call someone a “fat ass” and it’s
more than disgusting to use that term to describe a child.
After we were done eating and I told her how awful a person she was, we walked around and looked at some of the stuff people were selling. Out of the blue she asks “When y'all were into The In Sing did you know that guy was gay? Was he not gay then?” 1. Who the fuck is “The In Sing”? 2. NSYNC broke up like 10 years ago so why is this relevant? 3. And no he totally wasn’t gay then. He turned on the gay switch when the band band broke up and 4. Why do bring up gay people out of the blue all the time when you know you’re gonna say something dumb and offensive that is gonna push my buttons and make me go off?
We decided to sit again and see this cover band play doo-wop. A few songs in this mom sits next to me with her two young kids. Her youngest, a little boy about 2 years old, was a total ham. He was dancing all over the place, moving his little Spider-man chair in front of the stage, and trailing this older lady who was photographing the band because he became completely obsessed with her camera (Although I think his mom should’ve grabbed him because at one point he followed the woman back to her seat and kept trying to climb onto her lap). It was completely cute and everyone in our section was laughing more at him than the band making jokes. When the set was over my mom and I were still laughing about this kid and how he must’ve gotten on the one woman’s nerves. My grandma just blurts out “I think he was mixed.” because that totally was a factor in the conversation and totally explained his mischievous behavior.
If it doesn’t have to do with race, weight, or homosexuality she has nothing to say and they are the things she probably should keep her mouth shut about or at least think before she speaks. I swear I feel tense whenever I’m around her. It’s like nothing but offensive shit flies out of her mouth and when you call her on it she’s not even adult enough to at least say “Okay I can see how that may be hurtful or ignorant.” She just kinda laughs it off. Like, no, its not funny. I shouldn’t have to tell you this shit EVERY time I’m around you. As a human being you should know that some of the crap that falls out of your mouth is hurtful. Period. It’s not rocket science. It doesn’t take a Yale graduate to know you shouldn’t do something like call a 3 year old “fat ass”. I’m so glad that I have two jobs now cause I’d rather work overtime than be around her, honestly. I know that my mom feels she needs to take care of her since my aunt passed, but my grandmother needs to learn how to take care of some of her own business, take advice good people try to give her, think before speaking, and more importantly seek some therapy or pay for mine cause I feel like I need a therapist after every visit with her. She is mentally exhausting.
-Asia Aneka Anderson
After we were done eating and I told her how awful a person she was, we walked around and looked at some of the stuff people were selling. Out of the blue she asks “When y'all were into The In Sing did you know that guy was gay? Was he not gay then?” 1. Who the fuck is “The In Sing”? 2. NSYNC broke up like 10 years ago so why is this relevant? 3. And no he totally wasn’t gay then. He turned on the gay switch when the band band broke up and 4. Why do bring up gay people out of the blue all the time when you know you’re gonna say something dumb and offensive that is gonna push my buttons and make me go off?
We decided to sit again and see this cover band play doo-wop. A few songs in this mom sits next to me with her two young kids. Her youngest, a little boy about 2 years old, was a total ham. He was dancing all over the place, moving his little Spider-man chair in front of the stage, and trailing this older lady who was photographing the band because he became completely obsessed with her camera (Although I think his mom should’ve grabbed him because at one point he followed the woman back to her seat and kept trying to climb onto her lap). It was completely cute and everyone in our section was laughing more at him than the band making jokes. When the set was over my mom and I were still laughing about this kid and how he must’ve gotten on the one woman’s nerves. My grandma just blurts out “I think he was mixed.” because that totally was a factor in the conversation and totally explained his mischievous behavior.
If it doesn’t have to do with race, weight, or homosexuality she has nothing to say and they are the things she probably should keep her mouth shut about or at least think before she speaks. I swear I feel tense whenever I’m around her. It’s like nothing but offensive shit flies out of her mouth and when you call her on it she’s not even adult enough to at least say “Okay I can see how that may be hurtful or ignorant.” She just kinda laughs it off. Like, no, its not funny. I shouldn’t have to tell you this shit EVERY time I’m around you. As a human being you should know that some of the crap that falls out of your mouth is hurtful. Period. It’s not rocket science. It doesn’t take a Yale graduate to know you shouldn’t do something like call a 3 year old “fat ass”. I’m so glad that I have two jobs now cause I’d rather work overtime than be around her, honestly. I know that my mom feels she needs to take care of her since my aunt passed, but my grandmother needs to learn how to take care of some of her own business, take advice good people try to give her, think before speaking, and more importantly seek some therapy or pay for mine cause I feel like I need a therapist after every visit with her. She is mentally exhausting.
-Asia Aneka Anderson
How Do You Forgive What Still Hurts?
It is past midnight making it officially August 2nd. It is my father’s
birthday. I am quite impressed with the birthday card I picked out. It’s
very sweet and thoughtful. It says everything you’d want a birthday
card to say.
As many stories and poems I’ve written I’ve often stated that my father is a drug addict. I went from denial, where I lived for many years, to hurt, and anger. I’m still angry, but far more hurt. I am now in a place where I want to forgive, but how do I do that when I’m still hurt and no one seems to acknowledge that pain? I love this card, but I feel it speaks to the man my father used to be. He was the best father a girl could ever have, but the key word is “was”. The man I looked up to no longer exists. I look at this card and it says everything I want to say, but yet it feels like lies. Part of me would like to think that when I give him something like this it’ll awaken a drive in him to be better. I only set myself up for disappointment with that one. It won’t happen. He won’t get better. He doesn’t want it as bad as I do.
I look at my father and I see someone that is lost. I see someone that doesn’t understand how he got to a low point in his life. I understand depression. As much as I understand it I still don’t get the individuals that drown that pain with drugs and alcohol. I don’t understand that addiction. I don’t understand allowing a substance to control everything that you are. I can look at him and understand that feeling of hopelessness, while at the same time not understanding him at all. I have battled depression for many years and sadly can only relate to how I handle it and how others similar handle it. I can feel like no one cares, but in the back of my mind know that’s not true. I can feel like I’m unworthy and know that’s not true. I can feel ugly and know that’s not true. I can feel all of these horrible things and still at the end of the day know that I’m going to make it out of that state of mind. There will be moments (or longer) where I’m stuck in my own thoughts and want to curl into a ball for days. I still could never imagine diving into an addiction. I feel that once you go down that road not only are you hurting yourself, you hurt the others that care. You make them go through the same hurt, pain, and anger that fills me. An addiction can ruin a family’s structure, finances, trust, etc. My college fund was blown on drugs. My mother is almost 60 and works 10-12 hour days to pay almost every bill in the household. Everyone is in debt to their ears. Everyone is stressed to the max and drugs is the main cause of this. We are all affected by one person’s actions. I couldn’t do that. When I sink into a depression the only pain I cause is not helping out to make my mother’s workload easier. That’s when I try my best to snap out of it. I can’t have her work like a dog then come home to work more. That’s not fair to her. It is also not fair for us to want better for our lives only to be weighed down by one person.
As much as I want to be sympathetic to my father’s addiction I just cannot do it. I want to be at place to be able to forgive before it’s too late. I think I can only get to that place of forgiveness if there’s an acknowledgement on his part of the hurt he has caused. With him being an addict and stubborn I don’t see that happening. I can only forgive once he sees the destruction he’s caused his family. I can only forgive once he forgives himself. I have curbed my anger, but my pain still exists. Most likely after he is gone that pain and anger will still remain. I can only hope for the best. I can only hope that one day he’ll want to take charge of his life. I have to remember that I can’t force him to do that. That drives comes from within. I don’t know what it will take to kick start that drive, but the girl who had the best father ever can only hope.
-Asia Aneka Anderson
As many stories and poems I’ve written I’ve often stated that my father is a drug addict. I went from denial, where I lived for many years, to hurt, and anger. I’m still angry, but far more hurt. I am now in a place where I want to forgive, but how do I do that when I’m still hurt and no one seems to acknowledge that pain? I love this card, but I feel it speaks to the man my father used to be. He was the best father a girl could ever have, but the key word is “was”. The man I looked up to no longer exists. I look at this card and it says everything I want to say, but yet it feels like lies. Part of me would like to think that when I give him something like this it’ll awaken a drive in him to be better. I only set myself up for disappointment with that one. It won’t happen. He won’t get better. He doesn’t want it as bad as I do.
I look at my father and I see someone that is lost. I see someone that doesn’t understand how he got to a low point in his life. I understand depression. As much as I understand it I still don’t get the individuals that drown that pain with drugs and alcohol. I don’t understand that addiction. I don’t understand allowing a substance to control everything that you are. I can look at him and understand that feeling of hopelessness, while at the same time not understanding him at all. I have battled depression for many years and sadly can only relate to how I handle it and how others similar handle it. I can feel like no one cares, but in the back of my mind know that’s not true. I can feel like I’m unworthy and know that’s not true. I can feel ugly and know that’s not true. I can feel all of these horrible things and still at the end of the day know that I’m going to make it out of that state of mind. There will be moments (or longer) where I’m stuck in my own thoughts and want to curl into a ball for days. I still could never imagine diving into an addiction. I feel that once you go down that road not only are you hurting yourself, you hurt the others that care. You make them go through the same hurt, pain, and anger that fills me. An addiction can ruin a family’s structure, finances, trust, etc. My college fund was blown on drugs. My mother is almost 60 and works 10-12 hour days to pay almost every bill in the household. Everyone is in debt to their ears. Everyone is stressed to the max and drugs is the main cause of this. We are all affected by one person’s actions. I couldn’t do that. When I sink into a depression the only pain I cause is not helping out to make my mother’s workload easier. That’s when I try my best to snap out of it. I can’t have her work like a dog then come home to work more. That’s not fair to her. It is also not fair for us to want better for our lives only to be weighed down by one person.
As much as I want to be sympathetic to my father’s addiction I just cannot do it. I want to be at place to be able to forgive before it’s too late. I think I can only get to that place of forgiveness if there’s an acknowledgement on his part of the hurt he has caused. With him being an addict and stubborn I don’t see that happening. I can only forgive once he sees the destruction he’s caused his family. I can only forgive once he forgives himself. I have curbed my anger, but my pain still exists. Most likely after he is gone that pain and anger will still remain. I can only hope for the best. I can only hope that one day he’ll want to take charge of his life. I have to remember that I can’t force him to do that. That drives comes from within. I don’t know what it will take to kick start that drive, but the girl who had the best father ever can only hope.
-Asia Aneka Anderson
#SandraBland #SamDubose
The main reason why what happened to Sandra Bland scares me to death
is
that this literally could’ve been me several years back. A few years
ago, on my birthday, no less, my best friend and I were celebrating. We
drove from where we live in Dayton, Ohio to the amusement park King’s
Island which is about an hour drive south, if that. We went late because
my birthday is in October and it’s Fright Fest around that time at
King’s Island. On the way back, I honestly couldn’t tell you if I was
speeding. I don’t think I was because I was keeping up with the rest of
traffic, if not going slower. At one point I see this car tailing the
fuck out of me. Whoever it was was dead on my bumper with bright lights,
and because it was dark I couldn’t make out the car. Even though it was
late the highway was still busy and I really wanted to get the hell out
of this person’s way. I sped up a bit to get over and as soon as I did
the cop threw on her lights. I was confused because the only reason I
was speeding and getting over was to get the car off my ass… just like
Sandra. Also, like Sandra I’m pissed. This was the second time I’d ever
been pulled over and I can tell you both times my blood was boiling (the
first time I was ever pulled over was when a cop cut me off, damn near
hitting me, and then pulled me over because I flicked him off, but
whatever). So she give the whole “You know why I pulled you over?” spiel
and since my friend and I had just stopped to get food before this I
just decided to eat with an attitude, give her as many “whatever” facial
expressions, and told her I was speeding to get her off of my fucking
bumper, until we could be back on our way. She was kind of a bitch to
us, but I was just focused on her wrapping up whatever bullshit ticket
she was going to give me.
After what has just happened to Sandra, I’ve been replaying that incident in my head. My best friend that was with me was white. Would things have played out differently if we were both black or if I was by myself? I mean, we were on a dark highway and people were rushing down the road not paying any attention to us. If it was the middle of the night anything could’ve happened. I also think back to the many times when I lived in Chicago and when I wanted to drive back home I’d hop on the highway by myself. I don’t know if any of you have driven through Indiana, but through there from Chicago to Ohio looks like nothing but back roads and through most of it there’s hardly any traffic at all. Often times I wouldn’t see another car for miles. The only thing I was semi aware of is that certain spots of IN. are known to be racist so I took extra care when stopping for gas, but that was it. I never thought twice about it. Now I do have to think about that. I have to wonder if it’s safe for me to get into a car by myself. I have to double check and triple check my surroundings. This isn’t normal to be in this state of fear. I don’t want to live in a world where I’m more frightened to be pulled over than be in a car pileup. That’s fucked up. It really is.
What happened to Sam Dubose hits very close to home as well. For starters this happened in Cincinnati which, as I stated before, isn’t even an hour away. The reason Sam was pulled over is one that has caused police to pull over my mom several times. Something as dumb as a license plate not being on the front of a car cost Mr. Dubose his life. Completely unnecessary. When my mother would get pulled over it would only be in one neighborhood and, surprise, it’s a predominately white area. The last time she was pulled over the cop followed us in a parking lot and didn’t pull her over until she pulled out onto the road (which is dumb. Why not pull people over when they’re already out of traffic?). I remember the cop trying to be funny and looked at my mother, uncle, aunt, and I and said “Well look at you guys all dressed up? Where are you going to?” We were just coming from my 16 year old cousin’s funeral. That’s why we were so “fancy” *eye roll*. After that was all said an done since my uncle was in the car he put on the license plate for her. It’s funny how I still see tons of cars everyday without their front plates, but either way it’s still not a reason to ask someone to get out of the car let alone take their life. That scares me, because now we live in a time where cops are trigger happy and nervous because they’re afraid of a retaliation. I remember when this story first broke, my mom and I walked in the house and my father asked if we’d heard about it. My mother said she’d heard about it a little, but didn’t know why Sam Dubose had been pulled over. I just looked at her and said, “License plate.” I could see the look of disgust on her face to just utter confusion because that had been her many times before. I don’t even want to think about what could’ve happened the few times she had been pulled over for this. Black people are losing their lives for minor traffic offenses. Something as small as not using your turn signal will get you killed. I cannot comprehend why these things are happening. Why are we being murdered? Can we live?
-Asia Aneka Anderson
After what has just happened to Sandra, I’ve been replaying that incident in my head. My best friend that was with me was white. Would things have played out differently if we were both black or if I was by myself? I mean, we were on a dark highway and people were rushing down the road not paying any attention to us. If it was the middle of the night anything could’ve happened. I also think back to the many times when I lived in Chicago and when I wanted to drive back home I’d hop on the highway by myself. I don’t know if any of you have driven through Indiana, but through there from Chicago to Ohio looks like nothing but back roads and through most of it there’s hardly any traffic at all. Often times I wouldn’t see another car for miles. The only thing I was semi aware of is that certain spots of IN. are known to be racist so I took extra care when stopping for gas, but that was it. I never thought twice about it. Now I do have to think about that. I have to wonder if it’s safe for me to get into a car by myself. I have to double check and triple check my surroundings. This isn’t normal to be in this state of fear. I don’t want to live in a world where I’m more frightened to be pulled over than be in a car pileup. That’s fucked up. It really is.
What happened to Sam Dubose hits very close to home as well. For starters this happened in Cincinnati which, as I stated before, isn’t even an hour away. The reason Sam was pulled over is one that has caused police to pull over my mom several times. Something as dumb as a license plate not being on the front of a car cost Mr. Dubose his life. Completely unnecessary. When my mother would get pulled over it would only be in one neighborhood and, surprise, it’s a predominately white area. The last time she was pulled over the cop followed us in a parking lot and didn’t pull her over until she pulled out onto the road (which is dumb. Why not pull people over when they’re already out of traffic?). I remember the cop trying to be funny and looked at my mother, uncle, aunt, and I and said “Well look at you guys all dressed up? Where are you going to?” We were just coming from my 16 year old cousin’s funeral. That’s why we were so “fancy” *eye roll*. After that was all said an done since my uncle was in the car he put on the license plate for her. It’s funny how I still see tons of cars everyday without their front plates, but either way it’s still not a reason to ask someone to get out of the car let alone take their life. That scares me, because now we live in a time where cops are trigger happy and nervous because they’re afraid of a retaliation. I remember when this story first broke, my mom and I walked in the house and my father asked if we’d heard about it. My mother said she’d heard about it a little, but didn’t know why Sam Dubose had been pulled over. I just looked at her and said, “License plate.” I could see the look of disgust on her face to just utter confusion because that had been her many times before. I don’t even want to think about what could’ve happened the few times she had been pulled over for this. Black people are losing their lives for minor traffic offenses. Something as small as not using your turn signal will get you killed. I cannot comprehend why these things are happening. Why are we being murdered? Can we live?
-Asia Aneka Anderson
Is it possible to have someone’s presence make you incredibly angry? I
swear every time I’m around my grandmother I’m just so fucking angry.
Like I love her because she’s my grandmother, but that’s the only love I
got for her. She spent so much of my childhood making me the black
sheep and putting my cousins above me and now I’m just filled with so
much anger towards her. Like a blinding rage. What makes it worse is if
she does something that triggers me or says something that’s completely
offensive and I call her on it, she never apologizes. She’ll make
excuses or divert the conversation, but she never apologizes for
anything or takes responsibility for her actions. She has no concern for
how this might affect me at all which let’s me know that I’m not shit.
Never have been in this family and never will be. I feel like this
feeling I have towards my family is abnormal cause I was never abused or
anything like that so why the anger? But I just feel like I’ve never
mattered and no ones actions has proved me wrong in that.
-Asia Aneka Anderson
-Asia Aneka Anderson
Be Who You Want To Be
I had yet another of many discussions with my mom about body image.
Since my aunt passed in January we’ve been spending a lot of time with
my grandma. One thing my grandma wants to do at least once a month is to
go to church. My mom freaks out about this because 1. her and I are not
church going folk and 2. she’s always worried about how her body will
look if she wears a dress. She complains because she doesn’t like the
idea of dressing up. I try to tell her that just because she assumes
other people may be in “church attire” doesn’t mean she has to do the
same. Church shouldn’t be about fashion, but somehow that’s what it’s
become. I don’t think God will mind if you show up in jeans and a
t-shirt or a nice blouse and some slacks.
When going shopping with her I feel like a life coach. She’ll pull out a cute dress only to put it back because it’s sleeveless or has spaghetti straps all because she thinks her arms are flabby. “And?” has become my signature response. “If you like it, wear it.” I asked her, “Why do you care so much?” She said “That’s what happens when you get older.” I had to correct her. “That’s backwards. They older you get the less fucks you give. You’re doing life completely wrong.” The same goes for my grandma. My aunt, who passed, was a hair stylist and did my grandmother’s hair regularly. Now that she’s gone she’s had no problem buying wigs. What she does have a problem with is stepping outside of this strict comfort zone she’s set around herself. She won’t try different styles or different colors and then gets frustrated if she doesn’t find anything, even if there’s plenty to choose from. She refuses to at least try wigs on to even attempt to step out of her tiny zone. I do my best to encourage and tell her what would look nice on her if she’s just willing to live a little, but she refuses to hear it.
I understand and I don’t understand this mentality. At the end of the day if I really love a certain outfit or anything else that is going to be on my person I really don’t care what other people might think. Life is entirely too short to not do the things that make you happy. In my lifetime I’m going to get all the tattoos I want, dye my hair every color of the rainbow, wear mix-matched socks, buy men’s shoes even if people think it makes me looks like a “lesbian”. I’ll wear suspenders, wear skirts so short that you’ll wonder if it’s legal, and wear any shade of lipstick that matches whatever shirt I’m wearing. I don’t want to wake up one day and be 70 thinking to myself “I really wish I had cared less and lived more.” And you know what? At 70 I’m still going to live my life this way. I’m not going to limit myself to those old lady Reeboks, and pants the color of blah. I’m going to be the hippest grandma ever and will be there to take my grandchild to get their first tattoo and hope to get matching ones. I hope I can drill this message into their heads, to live the way you want. That’s the only way to be stress free as possible and to be happy. We spend too much time wondering what people will think when no matter what people are going to talk. Being worried about it sounds like wasted energy to me.
By: Asia Aneka Anderson
When going shopping with her I feel like a life coach. She’ll pull out a cute dress only to put it back because it’s sleeveless or has spaghetti straps all because she thinks her arms are flabby. “And?” has become my signature response. “If you like it, wear it.” I asked her, “Why do you care so much?” She said “That’s what happens when you get older.” I had to correct her. “That’s backwards. They older you get the less fucks you give. You’re doing life completely wrong.” The same goes for my grandma. My aunt, who passed, was a hair stylist and did my grandmother’s hair regularly. Now that she’s gone she’s had no problem buying wigs. What she does have a problem with is stepping outside of this strict comfort zone she’s set around herself. She won’t try different styles or different colors and then gets frustrated if she doesn’t find anything, even if there’s plenty to choose from. She refuses to at least try wigs on to even attempt to step out of her tiny zone. I do my best to encourage and tell her what would look nice on her if she’s just willing to live a little, but she refuses to hear it.
I understand and I don’t understand this mentality. At the end of the day if I really love a certain outfit or anything else that is going to be on my person I really don’t care what other people might think. Life is entirely too short to not do the things that make you happy. In my lifetime I’m going to get all the tattoos I want, dye my hair every color of the rainbow, wear mix-matched socks, buy men’s shoes even if people think it makes me looks like a “lesbian”. I’ll wear suspenders, wear skirts so short that you’ll wonder if it’s legal, and wear any shade of lipstick that matches whatever shirt I’m wearing. I don’t want to wake up one day and be 70 thinking to myself “I really wish I had cared less and lived more.” And you know what? At 70 I’m still going to live my life this way. I’m not going to limit myself to those old lady Reeboks, and pants the color of blah. I’m going to be the hippest grandma ever and will be there to take my grandchild to get their first tattoo and hope to get matching ones. I hope I can drill this message into their heads, to live the way you want. That’s the only way to be stress free as possible and to be happy. We spend too much time wondering what people will think when no matter what people are going to talk. Being worried about it sounds like wasted energy to me.
By: Asia Aneka Anderson
This Is Art: Learn, Create, and Share
This is a business plan for an art gallery I’d love to own one day.
With most art galleries and museums the only art that is displayed is drawing, painting, sculpture, photography, and maybe, JUST MAYBE videography.
I want an art gallery that showcases all art. I’m talking about poetry, acting, dancing, music, comedians, fashion design, etc. This is all art to me and I believe there should be a place where it can ALL come together.
In my gallery I’d love to have themes/events. For instance perhaps during February we’d display art that represents black history, or dancers would choreograph an interpretive dance, film students can make short films on the subject, etc. Also think in terms of October for breast cancer awareness, or a freedom theme for Independence day or 9/11. It’d be nice to, with the exception of whole themed months, to possibly have each week in a month dedicated to a certain field of art; like week 1: poetry, week 2: painting, week 3: photography, week 4: dancing. Of course some fields would intertwine with others and I don’t have that all mapped out yet, but that brings me to my next point. I would also like to see artists collaborate. An example if a poet read one of their poems and a dancer choreographed a dance to their poem or if a musician played an original song and a painter drew what they felt the music was saying. I want to build a community where all artists can come together. Collaborations and displaying their work is where the “share” part in the name comes from.
The “learn” part of the name points to teaching. If at all possible I’d love to start this venture with my best friend, Janyce, who is an artist in her own right. With her being the painter it would be great to have her teach art a few days a week to anyone who wants to learn. I don’t see it as being a regular class where people would pay X amount of dollars for 12 classes or something. I see it starting off as a pay for each session type of thing. As time goes on and if there’s repeat students, then maybe I could vision a play for a lump sum of classes off the bat. I would teach about poetry and writing in general. The thing that sucks about this is my old friend Melissa was heavy into photography. I’ve had the idea about this gallery for some time now and I had always envisioned Janyce, Melissa, and myself starting this together. No worries of that. There are artists in the area that I hope would take a few hours a week to teach people. I follow a lot of local musicians and I think if they were to come in a teach people how to play certain instruments would be a plus. I’d love to have a few musical instruments on deck for underprivileged kids who can’t afford their own but still want to learn.These lessons would only happen a few days a week and on weekdays seeing as I hope the big events would happen during early evening and weekends. If this were to take off I can imagine it would be pretty crowded, but once everything comes into place it’ll be more settled.
Now the “create” part is fairly easy. It’ just creating. An artists creates something they want to “share”. I’d love to have a space big enough where a few artists could rent space to call their own for a while as if it’s a mock studio so they can work on projects that they would eventually like displayed in the gallery.
As far as running this, again, if possible I’d want Janyce to be my partner. We’d start off here in Dayton so that we can make the art community in Dayton bigger and better. For someone like me who is artistic the art community is extremely small here. I want to build something for kids who want to make art and feel like they have to go to a big city. I want to make it so if they aren’t able to go to a big city they still have a community to belong to.
Living in Chicago also gave me ideas on certain events. I lived for outside concerts, Lollapalooza, and Just For Laughs. I’d love to be able to build this to where we can start to have events like this in Dayton. We could use some big music festival and some of our small venues could host after parties just like music venues do in Chicago during Lollapalooza. I’d also like to have a comedy festival like Just For Laughs. We have decent sized theaters that can house more popular comedians and the smaller clubs can be for up and comers (local and otherwise). I just want to be able to expand the art community and create revenue for my city.
Hopefully to start off this gallery we could hire two people (manager/ asst. manager) to work under us so that they can handle things when we aren’t there. Since Janyce lives in Philly and I feel like, for me, Chicago is home, I’d love to take on those two first. Both places are rich in art and culture, but even so, I still haven’t seen a gallery that incorporates all what I want to achieve. We’d still be co-owners of all, but the Philly branch would be more her baby and the Chicago mine. If one or both of those do well I’d love to branch out even more, but mainly in smaller cities so that kids who love and create art can have a place where they feel like they belong and won’t feel like they have to escape to a big city right away to get that feeling.
To go along with all of this there will of course be a website/blog that will promote the gallery, spotlight on certain artists, list events that are happening, intro to some of the artists works, and also an area for people around the country to leave feedback on their own towns so that we can get a feel on where other locations could be opened.
With everything else who knows what else could come from this. Perhaps this could expand into making a production company, a museum, a concert venue, maybe even an art festival. I’m hoping this could become something massive.
With most art galleries and museums the only art that is displayed is drawing, painting, sculpture, photography, and maybe, JUST MAYBE videography.
I want an art gallery that showcases all art. I’m talking about poetry, acting, dancing, music, comedians, fashion design, etc. This is all art to me and I believe there should be a place where it can ALL come together.
In my gallery I’d love to have themes/events. For instance perhaps during February we’d display art that represents black history, or dancers would choreograph an interpretive dance, film students can make short films on the subject, etc. Also think in terms of October for breast cancer awareness, or a freedom theme for Independence day or 9/11. It’d be nice to, with the exception of whole themed months, to possibly have each week in a month dedicated to a certain field of art; like week 1: poetry, week 2: painting, week 3: photography, week 4: dancing. Of course some fields would intertwine with others and I don’t have that all mapped out yet, but that brings me to my next point. I would also like to see artists collaborate. An example if a poet read one of their poems and a dancer choreographed a dance to their poem or if a musician played an original song and a painter drew what they felt the music was saying. I want to build a community where all artists can come together. Collaborations and displaying their work is where the “share” part in the name comes from.
The “learn” part of the name points to teaching. If at all possible I’d love to start this venture with my best friend, Janyce, who is an artist in her own right. With her being the painter it would be great to have her teach art a few days a week to anyone who wants to learn. I don’t see it as being a regular class where people would pay X amount of dollars for 12 classes or something. I see it starting off as a pay for each session type of thing. As time goes on and if there’s repeat students, then maybe I could vision a play for a lump sum of classes off the bat. I would teach about poetry and writing in general. The thing that sucks about this is my old friend Melissa was heavy into photography. I’ve had the idea about this gallery for some time now and I had always envisioned Janyce, Melissa, and myself starting this together. No worries of that. There are artists in the area that I hope would take a few hours a week to teach people. I follow a lot of local musicians and I think if they were to come in a teach people how to play certain instruments would be a plus. I’d love to have a few musical instruments on deck for underprivileged kids who can’t afford their own but still want to learn.These lessons would only happen a few days a week and on weekdays seeing as I hope the big events would happen during early evening and weekends. If this were to take off I can imagine it would be pretty crowded, but once everything comes into place it’ll be more settled.
Now the “create” part is fairly easy. It’ just creating. An artists creates something they want to “share”. I’d love to have a space big enough where a few artists could rent space to call their own for a while as if it’s a mock studio so they can work on projects that they would eventually like displayed in the gallery.
As far as running this, again, if possible I’d want Janyce to be my partner. We’d start off here in Dayton so that we can make the art community in Dayton bigger and better. For someone like me who is artistic the art community is extremely small here. I want to build something for kids who want to make art and feel like they have to go to a big city. I want to make it so if they aren’t able to go to a big city they still have a community to belong to.
Living in Chicago also gave me ideas on certain events. I lived for outside concerts, Lollapalooza, and Just For Laughs. I’d love to be able to build this to where we can start to have events like this in Dayton. We could use some big music festival and some of our small venues could host after parties just like music venues do in Chicago during Lollapalooza. I’d also like to have a comedy festival like Just For Laughs. We have decent sized theaters that can house more popular comedians and the smaller clubs can be for up and comers (local and otherwise). I just want to be able to expand the art community and create revenue for my city.
Hopefully to start off this gallery we could hire two people (manager/ asst. manager) to work under us so that they can handle things when we aren’t there. Since Janyce lives in Philly and I feel like, for me, Chicago is home, I’d love to take on those two first. Both places are rich in art and culture, but even so, I still haven’t seen a gallery that incorporates all what I want to achieve. We’d still be co-owners of all, but the Philly branch would be more her baby and the Chicago mine. If one or both of those do well I’d love to branch out even more, but mainly in smaller cities so that kids who love and create art can have a place where they feel like they belong and won’t feel like they have to escape to a big city right away to get that feeling.
To go along with all of this there will of course be a website/blog that will promote the gallery, spotlight on certain artists, list events that are happening, intro to some of the artists works, and also an area for people around the country to leave feedback on their own towns so that we can get a feel on where other locations could be opened.
With everything else who knows what else could come from this. Perhaps this could expand into making a production company, a museum, a concert venue, maybe even an art festival. I’m hoping this could become something massive.
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