Far, far away.

That's where I want to go. Far, far away. Far from "family," far from this reality, far from all of the shit that has been eating me up inside. I am tired of being taken advantage of, for not being strong enough, for not using the word "no." I'm tired of smiling when in reality all I want to do is rip my eyes from their sockets and slink away from the world.

I am tired of trying to hide my depression. I just want all of the bullshit to end, even if that means moving far away and cutting all ties.

I am about to snap.

tell me you love me, come back and haunt me.

It has been exactly 14 days since I received that fateful phone call at 6:33 a.m. I remember looking at the caller on the screen of my phone and knowing exactly what was going to be told to me - knowing a chapter of my life was about to close. In those 14 days since, I have had to tell people about it, tell people over and over again how I am okay and thankful that my dear Mama Debs is at peace now, and how I am happy she is no longer in pain.I have even convinced myself that I am okay to the point that I can speak about her passing with ease. 

Today was such a stressful day at work, but one I handled with ease as well. I made every necessary phone call, wrote out every report that needed to be submitted, and dealt with the endless emotion that comes with my job. My coworker and I vented and shook our heads at our mutually hectic day with smiles on our faces because that is how I am programmed to handle all of the stress and distress in my life - with a smile on my face. And I don't know it all went wrong exactly; I did not feel like crying at work. I felt triumphant and accomplished by my day. However, and maybe it was the fact that "The Scientist" by Coldplay came on, or the fact that I absently allowed my buzzing mind slip into the darker realms of my brain, I lost it in my car and burst into tears. This is the first real breakdown I have had in these 14 days since Mama Debs' death, and boy does my heart really hurt right now. Really, all of these tears could be a manifestation of everything going on in my life. I keep lingering into the past and recalling how great life used to be when I was naive and more fun to be around and more like myself - when I wasn't lost in the desert.

No, I will not say that I regret moving out to Las Vegas. I moved out here to find myself, but Lord, am I finding out how hard being a "grown up" really is. I was so spoiled in LA. I was spoiled by friends and dreams and my beloved Mama Debs. I was cocky and ungrateful, floating by with my intense post-teenage invincibility haze where I was sure life would always be an endless beach beneath a glorious sunset; I would never get burned and when the sand was too hot, all I had to do was ride a wave to feel a cool rush that everything was okay. But the beaches here are far away, and the only coolness I can feel is when I run my blistered tongue over cracked, chapped lips. The desert isn't entirely dry. There is water out here. It just isn't fun to search so aimlessly. I have grown tired, I suppose. I wish things would be a bit more certain. I used to tell Mama Debs how right everything is here. When I would give her the rundown, it was always happy, progressive news. She would always tell me how proud of me she was; she always seemed to be more excited about my life than I was. When we hung up, I always felt better because I knew that I was being accountable to someone. Someone was watching over me, sending me strength from afar, and I was receiving it with open arms. I suppose I always assured her that I was just fine here because the last thing I wanted to do was to make her worry about me. I did not want her to waste any amount of strength worrying over me because she needed every amount of strength to get better. The cheeriness in her voice and the love that she sent to me through our cellphones gave me so much hope - hope for her, hope for myself, hope that one day she would watch me graduate with a B.A. and be there at my wedding and be one of the grandmothers to my future spawn. I prayed to God that this cancer would be a bad dream that we could all eventually wake from, something to forget about later on in the future; a down point equivalent to a bad day that we could be thankful to be rid of and never look back to. 

But that hope would be futile.And while I am thankful my mother would find peace from such a terrible, evil thing, I still find it hard to believe that something so terrible and evil could possess her. Debs was nothing but a ray of light and hope to many. She gave so freely of herself and of her love, and it really hurts that that candle would be fated to go out so quickly. I find myself thinking about my last encounter with her and how much I needed to see her one last time before Sept. 4th at 6:33a.m. to tell her - even though she could not say it back to me - that I loved her and that I would make her proud. In these following weeks, I have been so blinded by my job and the desert that I haven't really processed everything, and maybe that's why I am being swept away by a wave of emotion now. 

My coworker returned today from a trip to New York. She was a part of a wedding and she was able to see family and friends from her past. She told me that when she does take trips back, there is always a weirdness that follows her upon her return to Vegas. It is not a desire to move back to the east coast, but there is a period of time in which she must process that that is her old life and this is her new one, and this is where she belongs and wants to be. I agreed, thankful to hear from someone who doesn't share roots in my coast that there is a weirdness that follows a return to Vegas. I always feel it, as does my bestie and my boyfriend. But where my coworker, bestie and boyfriend can return freely to their homes of the past, for me there will always be that place where my Mama Debs used to be. There will always be that side of town that was so engraved into my driving patterns whenever I would return to the South Bay. And while her home, my home and the ever-strong and loving Linda will remain there, there will always be that one thing missing, the best thing, the most loving thing that I can never visit again. And yes, you may say the cliche line about her being forever in my heart, and while I may believe you, there will always be a Mama Debs-sized hole through my heart reminding me of how short and precious life is. It will remind me how stupid people can be but how we must forgive and forget because tomorrow does not come for us all. The only thing I regret was that I was not there more to enjoy those final moments of her life like those other precious and lucky individuals who watched Mama Debs transition into the end. That part will always haunt me.

And I pray to God that she always does.    

A Heavy Farewell.

On June 7^th, 2013, James died. It was terrible and unexpected, and I can remember being in that state of shock, the one in which your mouth can do nothing but hang open stupidly and your breath is caught in the back of your throat as though someone has just punched you in the stomach. I remember how quickly time moved around me while I sat crouched before my good friend Sybrina, to whom the news of her brother’s passing had just been delivered. We were caught in some other-dimension bubble, replaying the news over and over again in our space while the rest of the world moved on in its rapid, unforgiving pace. She cried. It was hard and unlike anything I had ever seen come out of her small frame. I hated to see it but I could not leave. I patted her back, hugged her tightly, said those loathsome words in a faint whisper, “Everything is going to be okay,” and called her wife for her when she needed a ride to the hospital.

            Everything changed in that moment. It is a scary notion to consider how plausible this thing is, yet it is always the farthest thought from our minds. No one expects after news of positive recovery and continual progression that the worst result could rear its ugly head. That’s what the few weeks preceding the accident were like, terribleness to hope to happiness to the end. It was a twisted plotline with an ending inconceivable and heartbreaking. I did not want to hear the truth – no one did. Especially Sybrina. No one wanted to see her go through such a wicked twist of fate, and yet here she had come face to face with the wall of reality. I watched the entire thing unravel from the background and then within the fore. And that is where I stand now, in the foreground as close as anyone can get when a memorial is being held for the passing of a friend’s sibling. It is an honor and a hardship, a blessing and a curse to be a part of something so final. Of course I will do anything within my being to assist my dear friend Sybrina and her family with overcoming this terrible time – if overcoming something as horrid as the passing of a family member is even possible. At the same time, I have felt a piece of my own heart die as well. I am not trying to take any attention or care away from the family; I am merely expressing how tragic it all is, and how evident it is that James touched so many lives even when those exchanges were new or brief.

            I did not know James long enough to be considered as one “close” to him. But I did receive many tight hugs, enthusiasm, a printed picture of him, proposals to attend dances with him, and the honor of being called “Hey you!” because he never could seem to remember my name. Whenever I ventured into the lunchroom at work to assist my guys with grabbing a soda, I became fervent in casting a watchful eye out for James. I enjoyed his embraces and his stories about baseball games and his love of the Raiders. I also did so to report anything that should have been brought to Sybrina’s attention – I know, too harsh, right? I suppose in a way, I had found myself another person to protect, another “sibling” to keep an eye on. God only knows how much James put himself out there. He was a character, a ball of joy and obnoxiousness, always smiling, passionate and friendly. One could hear James from a mile away literally. He was known to start the chicken dance in the lunchroom as well as on the baseball field. He was known to charm girls and sweet talk his way out of almost any situation … almost. Of course I needed to make sure James was, well, you know, not being too much for any given situation when his sister wasn’t around. Besides, I could never get enough of the faces she’d make after I would tell her about the latest in the world of James after my stroll from the lunchroom back to our program. I don’t know if some of the things I told her about her brother ever surprised her, but I knew deep down inside she always got a kick out of his personality. It was too hard not to. He was so honest all of the time. He was himself all of the time.

            I suppose I took those fun times for granted, because I never expected to be sitting here typing this out. I never expected to be so full of emptiness over James. The entire thing is still so surreal, despite the fact that we lost James a couple of weeks ago. Looking back, I didn’t realize how deep this wound actually is. It seemed so small, like something that could be easily bandaged when it happened … but I have come to find that as the memorial looms ahead on Friday, the 21st, the wound is larger than ever. I can’t really find the exact reason why, and maybe it’s because there are so many reasons why losing someone like James is so hard. It’s easy to say that it is because of the man he was, the fact that he served and was served by an organization working with those with intellectual disabilities, that he was the brother of a close friend; he was someone I ran into almost everyday, who always put a smile on my face and filled my heart with laughter. It could also be because this is the first memorial that I am attending where I will stand in front of people close to this individual and speak about him. Well, I will be reciting a poem I wrote for him, a poem that captures the essence of how one could feel at this moment of loss. I cannot say that I wrote the poem as myself entirely; I was full of emotion and tried to channel those feelings into how I could believe Sybrina is currently feeling – as unsuccessful as that is. I will never know how Sybrina is feeling or the depths of the pain that has entrapped her existence. The poem is my interpretation of how Sybrina could be feeling, like a writer trying to write a biography on another without being able to understand the evidence cited because it is in another language. It is subjective and inaccurate but it captures an emotion that is not impossible within her. I am beyond honored she has allowed for me to share it at James’ memorial. She will never know how honored I feel to be one of the few to speak before James’ friends, coworkers and kin. That, too, is surreal.

            Somewhere out there is an answer that we will probably never get, the one to the question Why? Sybrina and I were conversing over the memorial today while together at work. My boyfriend took the day off and in his errands he had a photo of James enlarged to be used at the service. We talked about that photo, the details of that day and of the poem and my worries about it being too sad to be spoken to a crowd of mourners. When we finally pulled up to our worksite, I turned to her and in the most honest of professions expressed that the deepest of my hurts came from being robbed of my hope for James. That is what cuts the worst; his death was the last resort, the thing farthest from anyone’s minds – so why did he die? She solemnly agreed … and we didn’t talk about it anymore.

            I suppose one of the things I love most about Sybrina is her ability to be strong despite the storm raging around her. She endures my honesty about life, the sorrowfulness of her parents and friends, all the while trying to balance her own personal demons. I’m sure she would disagree with being called strong, but being “strong” is not the person who won’t shed a tear in the face of tragedy; or the person who takes charge when others whimper in weakness. For me and how I have observed strength, a strong person is the one who cries openly and honestly says when they cannot take anymore, and they allow for others to carry them in their weakest of moments. They press on along the precipice of uncertainty when giving into pain is so much easier; when finding solace in solitude sounds so much sweeter. Sybrina is strong because she surrounds herself with others and weeps openly about how much this entire process just fucking sucks. She is strong because she accepts the meager hugs we extend and the shitty take-out food we swing by her house. She is strong for finding times to smile and times to laugh and times to kind of feel like herself again despite this ominous shadow lingering over her head. These are things that make Sybrina strong, and I firmly stand my ground on those things. I can only pray that when tragedy does strike me down that I will have the strength to accept humbly the support offered to me by my friends and family without pride or reservation, and with the strength to fight the urge to completely give up.

            I have finished the guest book for the memorial and now I selfishly muse over what I should wear for the service on Friday – but that is not what consumes my mind. I am not so selfish as to dwell on something as frivolous as clothing. I feel that darkness, though, not in the same intensity that Sybrina or her family does, but I can see it there. It is hard to miss. Death is such a fascinating, cruel thing; fascinating when it has everything to do with someone else, someone unfamiliar. When it concerns our loved ones, death is an angering, evil thing. James’ passing puts death into full view of how swiftly and suddenly it can come. But if there is one light at the end of this long, long tunnel, it is the knowledge that James did not go out with regrets for his choices in life. He did not miss a moment to smile, or to laugh, or to be himself at every moment of his existence, and perhaps at the end of his story that is the moral of it all: you can never, ever miss those moments because all we have are precious blinks that slip past us in the stresses we focus on and are never seen again. The simplest things, the grandest things, all of those things mean something, and they must be taken advantage of before we lose that time. James indulged in all that made him happy; he spent his time sharing his happiness with others, whether he realized it or not. He filled any room with joy whenever he entered it, or changed the mood of a room to happiness whenever he left it. And though James made his final exit from this life onto the next, I will always have the comfort of his smile, his laughter and his loud-mouth antics locked away in the capsule of my heart. This is the capsule I will open every now and again to chase that impending darkness away, and to be reminded that there is always time to enjoy all of those things that make up this crazy puzzle called life as long as we take the time to seize it.

            James, you taught us all in life and you have changed us all in death. You can never be forgotten.

All of my love always,

Hey you.

Field Trip: Yama Sushi Las Vegas.

Red letters of glory!

 I’m sure you’re all aware of what happens in the summer time, as you’re sitting outside in the evening, rocking back and forth in one of those swinging chairs, enjoying the warm breeze and watching the sun go down behind the horizon; as the day darkens, you turn on the porch light so that you are not completely prone to wild animals and various monsters that inhabit the surrounding area, and in that instant you are hit by a swarm of moths and flies in pursuit of one thing and one thing only: the Light. Yes, the holy Light probably the equivalent to Jesus but for winged life, the most attractive, glorious, beautiful creation by man for these annoying bugs.

            

By now you’re probably asking yourself, Okay, what the hell does that have to do with the picture in this article, or with anything for that matter? Well, let me tell you why this is the perfect analogy for this blog post: the sign in the above photo is that porch light and I am the representation of all of those winged annoyances that haunt your porch light once you flip it on. But the sushi sign doesn’t even have to be on for me to flock to it like a crackhead to crack; all I have to do is merely see it and I will come. And went I did.

           

I hope the gates to Heaven look similar or I won't be as excited.

The ever lovely Denise had told me of an amazing sushi experience she had had with friends at a place called Yama Sushi off of Flamingo and Maryland Parkway. Of course my ears pricked at the sound of the word sushi and instantly it was decided that we would go. Grabbing the Manfriend and our friend Sean, we decided to see what this yummy goodness Denise had described was all about. And while she had already explained that Yama Sushi had an all you can eat menu that cost an easy $20, those immortal words brazen in neon immaculacy over the front door nearly brought tears to my eyes: had we died and gone to fishy heaven? If we had, there was a line to get in through those pearly gates. 

      

It didn’t faze us too much because Denise was generous enough to let us play around with her gorgeous camera. The wait was said to be around 30 minutes, but unfortunately we were standing outside for almost an hour. Again, like I said, we were having fun with Denise’s camera, conversing about the pains of work and how hungry we were. My suggestion to anyone who goes to Yama Sushi for a meal: arrive kind of hungry but not starved because you will wait for a hot minute. At least with an increasing appetite you are assured to get your $20 worth. We sure did. Anyway, as hunger gripped our sanity, we inched closer and closer with every group they ushered in towards sushi bliss.  

24 hour wait? Not a prob! I have all day.

The interior of Yama Sushi is a hustle of romance and hunger. It is an odd coupling that compliments each other so well it’s almost maddening. The lighting is low and comforting, the flow of traffic in the small space is quick and aggressive, yet I never once felt crowded. The thing that impressed me the most out of the service was how quick we were served and the food was delivered. With a bunch of orders going in and coming out all at once, we had our drinks and appetizers and essentially everyone’s first set of rolls on our table within the first ten minutes of being seated. I was shocked; the order was always accurate as well. I was thoroughly impressed.

Or maybe my brain had become sod with hunger and anything that resembled something edible in front of me seemed accurate. Regardless, when the food was in front of me, the world outside could have gone up in

One always needs a bowl of health to
compliment the fried.

flames and I would not have had a care about it. I was faced with delicious rolls and seated before great friends, so in that moment, life was peachy. Denise ordered for the table some Edamame and pot stickers.We each had our own rolls. I am a big eel enthusiast, so naturally I went with the Eel Avacado roll to start.

Eel - the other, other, other white meat
slathered in a brown eel sauce ...
I guess making it a brown meat after all.

With a few shots of sake and some chugs of water with lemon, the four of us finished the delectable rolls rather quickly as our taste buds re-familiarized themselves with the concept of food. Before we had even finished our first rolls, our waitress was already inquiring as to what we would have as our next. Maybe it was because we all held the disposition of Charlie in the chocolate shop at the beginning of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, or maybe because we’re American and our glutton-isms were displayed on overdrive as we  dug into every ricey piece with our chopsticks with clumsy precision, but this waitress was on top of everything. She only made us wait in intervals of about two minutes before our next round of rolls to conquer was placed before us. It was service with a serious smile, with a lack there of smile on her part, stupid grins on ours. 

Satisfaction guaranteed!

      

Over the course of our dinner, I began to realize why the wait to dine at Yama Sushi was so long: the all you can eat deal is amazing and affordable, the food is really good, and the staff are all super efficient. I only made it two and a half rolls in before I threw in the towel (to accommodate for the yummy green tea ice cream at the end, of course), and the half I ate came from aiding Denise with her roll. The big rule at Yama is that whatever you order must be eaten or you will pay a fee. 

Thankfully our table was ready to dive into help out whoever needed the help. We all ended up trying/sharing our rolls anyway once the initial hunger rage was subsided by the first round of food. Aside

That's a spicy meat - er, sushi roll!

from Rey’s spicy roll, I enjoyed virtually everything I put into my mouth. I don’t mean that in a dirty way but if you took it that way, kudos to you.

Denise's beloved No Name roll! ... seriously, it's called that.

Overall, Yama Sushi was an enjoyable experience filled with all that I love: fish, friends, and a splash of booze. It has been over a week since we dined there and I am already craving a rerun … hopefully my next paycheck will allow me to splurge on more next time. But for anyone who is in the Vegas area, visiting or living, and hasn’t tried out Yama, I strongly suggest it. They have an array of sushi as well as other combination plates and such, so if you’re a non-sushi fan there is something you can enjoy while your friends pig out in front of you. Just remember my warning about arriving hungry; don’t be in starvation mode when you show up because other bystanders will not be afraid to shove your famished corpse out of the way to move up in the line. And remember to make sure that whatever you do order must be consumed. Really, it’s all about careful planning, time management and the Tortoise and the Hare philosophy: slow and steady wins the race – or in this case, wins the overabundance of fishy burps succeeding a delicious feast of epic proportion.

Fish-ay, fish-aay!

 Staying hungry for life,

Rae :]