Everyday Heroes: M'Bwende Anderson and Carlos Blanco

Not only is it one of my supremely rare double blog days, but for the first time, I am giving my Everyday Hero recognition to two individuals: M'Bwende Anderson and Carlos Blanco.

From time to time, I recognize individuals that walk the walk and go way above and beyond in surprising and powerful ways. Both of these individuals, recently, as I have been working through some challenges have shown up to provide love, care, and support that was unlooked for, unasked for but so very much needed.







M'Bwende Anderson

To begin with, I have known M'Bwende Anderson for a very, very long time. I first met M'Bwende when I was a queer youth organizer in the late '90s. At the time, M'bwende was a staff member of the National Youth Advocacy Coalition, which for roughly 15 years was the national voice for LGBTQ youth in Washington, DC. I loved M'Bwende from the gate. Their personality, charm, and caring spirit was evident in everything that they did. For the first year or so of our acquaintance, I only saw M'Bwende sporadically at Creating Change or at NYAC's Youth Summit, but then, for a brief time, I joined the board of NYAC as it was struggling to go through a process of confronting the structural racism that existed within the organization and the movement. It was a hard process made harder by an executive director that was truly struggling to confront his own white privilege in so many ways.

I didn't last very long on that board.

But over the years, M'Bwende and I have come into contact now and again, and though I don't know them deeply, there has always been a love there that I am so happy is reciprocated. I think that they are one of the most loving people that I have met. And this Summer I benefited from that love and support directly, and I know so many others that also have been lifted up by that fierce love...one of whom is another love of mine, Jaime Grant, M'Bwende's partner. That coupling makes me moist now and again. But I digress.

Carlos Blanco

I met Carlos about a year and a half ago when I walked into the office of QEJ as a part time contractor. Carlos was this fierce ghettois Columbia student with a helluvalot of swagger and a heart as big as ummm his...ummm...feet. (His feet are huge).  From the gate, I recognized the power of this human being. He was gentle, fierce, sassy, committed, radical, and had a hunger to learn that I haven't seen in anyone for a very long time. He was ok with being wrong and because of it rarely found himself having to remove those size 14s from his mouth....while some of us (ahem me...) are constantly chewing on some size 11s.

If Carlos loves you, he lives that love. It is humbling. It is beautiful, and it is a way of being and living that belies his 22 odd years that he has been walking around this planet. Carlos is living proof that a mentor does not need to be someone that is older than you. A mentor is someone that has something that you want in your life and can show you, by living, how to acquire it. Carlos is one of those people in my life. And I am blessed that I get to watch and see just how fiercely he is going to change this world for the better.


Thank you to you both for all the love that you have given. I hope to repay it with abundance one day. You are my Everyday Heroes.

At Times Like These: A Love Blog for Nico

It's at times like these, these moments when I am feeling full of love...those moments when it's been a decent week....when I have done what I set out to do (for the most part), did the best I could do on a given day....had the strength to ask for help and support and love from my family and community...had conflict and resolved it....had trouble and overcame it....dreamed a little bit...cried a little bit...said some goodbyes....made some new friends...and loved myself just a bit more....that I miss him the most.

You see...I fell in love with a man. Not just any man....but a Frenchman (ouhlala)....by the name of Nico.

Let me tell you something about Nico....unexpectedness....and the quirky twists of fate of a universe gone un poquito loco. He is the best friend of someone that I still love dearly and that I once dated.

I shall not name any names but there are some blogs (some good and some...ahem...rough)....on this blog about his best friend and the firestorm of emotions that existed/still exist/have been banked....between us. That was a crazy love...a conflagration that was explosive. I am sure there is some alien species somewhere that saw us meet for the first time and was like..."Fuck...I think the Earth just blew the Hell up!"

I met Nico through the other one. When I met him I thought he was a smooooooth operator. Tall. Fancy. French. Works for the UN. Suave.....very...umm....welll....ouhlala. He was a married man. Like...legally and stuff....and he spent most of his night talking to our friend Ben in Frenchy talk. He maintains to this day that I ignored him that night. I didn't ignore him. I was perfectly engaging....I just happened to have my attention focused elsewhere.

Proof that I am right and he was smoking that stuff is that shortly after meeting, we developed our own friendship that intensified as he and his former partner split up.

For two months, we spoke often, communicated often, and as the unnamed one and I went from a twin star galaxy to supernovae, Nico and my friendship deepened.

Then for reasons that were both valid (feelings wise) and super duper extra regrettable (actions wise), first the other one and then I were sent into Siberia as my chou (cabbage aka Nico) calls it.

Fast forward some six months later. The ex and I are again close and friends. We go out for Nico's birthday. I hadn't seen him (Nico) in almost seven months. By the end of the night, we were kissing, and I asked him out on a date.

When I went to bed that night and thought back on the evening, my eyes were as big as a lemur's and all I could do was blink and say..."what the fuc....."

And one date turned into nights spent together, laughing, talking, walking, singing, ummmm playing...uhhh twister, eating, cooking, and it was all and has been so easy. Not easy as in...no hard moments or no difficult times where he or I haven't had to say....No no Mischa...not tonight. And a couple of times, I've had to go all Ghost on him...."Molly...you in danger girl!" Of course, I have been a perfect angel full of Christ's love and have never made him raise his eyebrows and get all Franco-Germanic Valkyrie on me....no...not me...no way man!

He sees me and loves me and holds me...and the things I think of as flaws and detriments...the HIV....the slight tendency towards crazy (I have more than a little Madea in my soul)....the wounds that I carry and am trying to heal....he just kisses me and lets me be....and I like to believe that for those things that he carries...I have been able to do the same.

The man loves me in that slow, steady insistent way that you hear about sometimes in stories. Not the pyrotechnical oh shit we blew up the universe way and then burned down to a cinder...but in that slow, steady, warm, glowy, constant way that just keeps burning and sparking and warming without flickering.

Yeah it's only been a couple-o-months...but it's been something vastly different than this...ummm...very experienced human being has known. And what's even better is that everyone around us sees it. In pictures. In person. Folks comment on the light that is there when we are together.

Which is why I wanted to jump up and down on his forehead when my beloved man up and moved to Togo for two months.

Yes yes, I am cursed to have a successful man that works for the UN doing disarmament that was recently promoted to a fabulous post in NYC and asked to go back to Africa to be the Interim Director of the center in West Africa that runs the disarmament program for the entire damn continent. WOOOOOOEEEEEE IS ME.

At least he bought me some jewelry before he left. He knows what a lady likes.

In the end....I am so proud to be his man. I am proud of the work he is doing. The world of modern technology lets us see and talk to each other every day....but on nights like this...after days like this....Skype is lovely...but it doesn't replace his kiss, his skin, or my arms around him.

He'll be home soon. Until then.....it's love letters and a list of some acrobatic gymnastic twister games in a spreadsheet to be played that grows longer by the day. 

POEM: A Very Sappy Love Poem aka The Chou

The Chou

He is to me the stuff that dreams are made of

brilliant bursts of color that

throw shade at the rainbow

give side eye to a prisms glow

French diplomat freak in the sheets realness

the category is

Love
New Style

soft and gentle

smooth and subtle

it isn't the explosive passion that has moved my foundations

in the past

it was the Fourth of July and Krakatoa

but this......

this is a broad river

with a powerful undertow

slowly making its mark

through the stoic earth

inexorable it feels like truth

his distance feels like the reach

from river source to its delta

But I can feel him though he is not cerca

verdad the source and the delta are the same river

I meant to give him a lingering goodbye

but life got in the way (I had a grant due that day)

so it was a swift kiss and into a taxi

left me

wanting

that long goodbye

instead

it will be a Hell of a Hello

And anyone that says two months ain't a long time

hasn't been in love before

Two days is a long time when you crave waking up in his arms

despite the snores

that sound like a Silverback banging on its chest

somewhere deep in his neck

he growls in his sleep

keeps his arms around me

except when my arms are around him

sometimes he doesn't let me go

in that way he is just like his best friend

(Yes, I also dated him).

But if this is the beginning

there can only be a happy ending

because once upon a time I fell in love with a Frenchman

who was first my friend

and those are the types of bedtime stories

that never ever end.

-Brandon Lacy Campos

-New York, NY

-August 7, 2012

An Open Love Letter to My Community

Dear Friends, Family, and Loved Ones:

I received a hateful and spiteful letter in the U.S. mail the other day from an anonymous writer that reads my FB and blog and lives in St. Louis. I sat with the letter for several days. At first it made me angry, and then it made me feel ashamed, and now I hold it for what it is: a sad, hurt, angry, self-loathing attempt by someone to offload their own feelings of inadequacy on others. The only thing I truly have to say to you is that I hope you find the love, healing, grace, and peace that you seem to not have in your life in this moment. You deserve it.

The one point in the letter, though, that truly made my eyebrows raise was when I was accused of, and I am paraphrasing, loving my friends, boyfriend, community too much (or as anonymous said...when I am in love the whole word has to hear about)....acting as if you are all superstars, phenomenal, the best people ever. Please note I was not accused of putting down the friends, family, and loves of others only that I loved you all too much and too publicly and without the appropriate amount of humility and self-effacement.

Guilty.

Let's start off with something simple. Nico, I love you. But you already knew that. And you know why. You are French and stoic, so I won't embarrass you by listing why exactly you have captured my heart. I love you. Now get back to saving the world from itself.

But that's not all, I love so many other people: David, Kenyon, Rodrigo, Jennifer, Nubia, Chad, Jenna, JT, Umberto, Pookie, Tasha, RJ, Bebe, Amber, Jay, Collette, Susan, Rocki, and so on and so forth and on and on and on and on. Guess what? There is no lack of love to be given or accepted. I love you all, my community, my friends, many of my former boyfriends, some folks that are no longer on this earth. I love you. Thank you for all that you have given me and for the times you have allowed me to be of service to you in friendship.

To my family, my brothers and sisters, my Dad, my Mom, my step-Mom, my nieces and nephews, my godson, cousins, family of choice, family of origin, I love you. Thank you for holding me, raising me, growing with me, and giving me the gift of your love.

To my political family, especially Paula Austin, thank you for building with me, checking my ass when it needed to be checked and DOING IT WITH love and compassion (shout out to Irma and Lolan), and to those that have helped me understand what it means to be a feminist, a radical, a man, privileged as well as oppressed, and the responsibilities that come with access. Thank you. I will continue to fuck up and I know that you will hold me down and hold me correct when need be. Thank you.  I love you.

To the poets and writers of the world, I love you, keep sharing your stories and your truths....we all need them. To my ancestors: Black, White, Anishinaabe (LCO Band of Ojibwe where my Mother is an enrolled member as are all of my relatives of the last generation), and Puerto Rican...thank you....your work and breath made my life possible. I love you.

And to those that have offered up their less than loving critique, thank you for giving me a gift to see myself, my work, and my place in the world as distinct from how you live yours. I will continue to celebrate my life with love, my community with love, my work with love, my family with love, and even those that believe I am nothing more than the basest of their perceptions, I love you too.

Thank you to you all. One love.

Love,
Brandon

Everyday Heroes: David Berube

When I tell folks that a year after we ended our relationship, I still live with my ex-boyfriend, almost to a person their mouths fall open and they ask, "Ummm how does THAT work."

I explain that our relationship didn't end because we didn't love each other or because there was some giant meltdown, it ended because it had changed into a deep and meaningful kinship that was no longer best suited by being boyfriends. We made a choice to continue living together and to be family to one another, and while, in the first few months, things were sometimes rocky, it is a loving home that we share, with Mimzy, and it works for us.

I done told y'all before I am a quarter lesbian on my Mom's side.

The fact is that David is permanently and forever a part of my life. He has seen and supported and loved me through some intensely hard times in my life, some created by me, others that the Universe brought along. And while it hasn't always been pretty, it has always been loving, and I have been able, I think, to give back that love and support in equal measure.

Most recently, though, when starting my HIV medications, David was, in fact, amazing....supporting me through some really rough patches when I was angry and sad and hurting. He supported me through the side effects and gentle and caring on the mornings when I just couldn't sleep because of my medication.

We bicker like little old ladies in a nursing home. His trumpet farts in the morning work my last nerve, and I think his recipe for cooking salmon is just plain wrong, but he is one of my Everyday Heroes. I love him. I value him. And I thank him for being a part of my life for the last four years and letting me be a part of his.

Love you, Fool.

 

Breaking Down and Lifting Up

The last week has been no damn joke.  Last weekend, I started my HIV medication, Complera. I was surrounded all weekend by some really amazing human beings, old friends and new possibilities (thanks Pete), and all week long I have received texts, emails, real life, and telephonic love from, literally, all over the world. My blog about starting meds was reposted on TheBody.com, and I have literally received notes from North Carolina to rural Africa. How much amazing love is that?

Part of my legacy of how I grew up is that you deal with the crisis by smacking it down and then you bully ahead. I had a calendar full of things that had to be done this week. I have remarked to some friends that being an executive director, even a co-executive director, is like ascending to the throne. Your body now belongs to the state, or in my case, Queers for Economic Justice. It's pride and there is just a lot of must do shit that...welll.....I must do. And the fact that this medicine makes my body vibrate and bounce like I've had a Tigger shoved up my ass, well, as I said....bully through and have at it.

Yesterday though, I just couldn't do it. I needed to break the fuck down and feel some shit and let it out. I was supposed to meet my girl Tasha and my boy Von for drinks. Walking to the bar, I realized exactly how exhausted I was. Two of the side effects of my medication are....get this...fatigue AND insomnia. What kind of shit is that? Imma make you reallllly tired but then make it so you can't sleep.  This is some Abu Ghraib shit. Anyway, I got to the bar, and Von walked in (I so apologize Von), but I realized I could not do it. He'd hauled his ass up from Chelsea, and I sent him right on back out the door.  I went home and Tasha came and met me.

And this is why I love Tasha, and I love Tasha for many and plentiful reasons, but at one point, I just laid my head down on the bed and said Tasha, I am so tired. And she looked at me and said....then boo, go to sleep.

We were waiting for food (and Tasha had the bad luck to be on a wine run when the food arrived....and I ate every damn piece of calamari before she got back.....ooopsy!), but my girl said....just go to sleep.

I didn't. I stayed awake, because Tasha is good medicine. Complera is the medicine keeping my body alive, but it's been Tasha, JT, Peter, Amber, Lily, Hallie, Jay, David, Brad, Sohail and so many others that have been the medicine keeping my spirit alive. 

Sometimes it is good and necessary to break down, fall apart, and feel what needs to be felt. Then you can let it go, get back up, and build yourself into something more powerful.  That's what good medicine does.

Starting Meds or HIV Sucks

Let's start this way: I have an amazing job with amazing people, especially my co-director Amber Hollibaugh and my Shelter Program Director Jay Toole. I've known them both for years and years before working with them and I love them both dearly.

Though I live with HIV, I am healthy. I am fed. My bills (except my student loans) are paid. I have an awesome roommate and a beautiful dog. My family loves the Hell out of me, and I have seven siblings that hold up their big brother always. I have friends/family/complicated definition folks in my life such as JT Mikulka, Bebe Zahara Benet, RJ Thompson, Roojie, Kamal Fizazi, Sam Matin, Di Sands, Jennifer Molina Balbuena de Hannon, Jason Ruiz, Coya Hope Artichoker, Anh Thu Pham, Betty Tisel and Sarah Farley, Susan Raffo and Rocki Simoes, Rigo and Nubia, my beautiful nieces and nephews, my godson Santiago aka Baby Rufus, Troll Baby and Rebs, Gracie, crazy ass and brilliant Ebony, my brother from another mother and father Carlitos Blanquitos, and so so so many others. I am so blessed and full up on love, and I KNOW that so many folks walking around this earth experience or believe that they have a love deficit. I don't. I NEVER have had. I have ALWAYS in every moment, in my deepest poverty, during the greatest violence, and in my fiercest hurt, and during my most self induced crazy, been held by so many with such compassion that if any one of them walked down to Hudson River park and commanded the River to split open, I wouldn't have been the least surprised. It would be nice though, if they do, if I could at least grab my good chancletas first.

We might be going to Jersey, but we don't have to LOOK like we live in Jersey.

My life changed this week. Only slightly. Only nominally. But it changed.  After ten years of being so very blessed.  After ten years of having my body, and all I've put it through, kick HIV's ass (I am one of those super rare and magical creatures called a nonprogressor......not a super nonprogressor...but a nonprogressor....there is an important distinction that I am about to talk about), my amazing doctor, Steve Dillon at Gotham Medical, recommended that I start HAART treatment.

Nonprogressors go years, in my case a decade, without needing HIV meds. Supernonprogressors never need them. My body just got a little tired. It fought so hard for so so so long. From 25 to 35 it fought a war that it will win but now it needs just a little help. Just a bit. 

PS Dr. Dillon and the practitioners are Gotham Medical, formerly the Chelsea Doctors.

Lets be real. For ten years my body kept my HIV viral loads at or near undetectable ON ITS OWN. My Tcells, are at "normie" levels. Near a thousand (and usually over....most normies aren't even that high).

And, to quote my girl, Lezbehonest....the news that I have to start HAART treatment kicked my motherfuckingass.

I ain't dying. So far from it. I ain't sick. So far from it. I get to start a new state of the art med (Complera) particularly designed for folks like me that have a natural resistance to HIV. The side effects are almost non existent besides some initial fatigue and headaches. I AM SO FUCKING BLESSED.

And today, I broke the fuck down.

My walk with HIV is MY walk. And if I stop to compare it to other folks journey, I have nothing to complain about. But my feelings are real. My experience is real. My sadness and hurt is REAL It's not cute. It's not easy. It's not a tragedy. It's not a crisis. But it is hard. It does hurt. And this transition and its incumbent feelings are all valid.

Thank you everyone who picked up the phone or sent a text today. I needed it. I needed you. I still need you. Thank you. I love you. And anyone else that walks this walk...know that it's gonna be alright but its gonna hurt when you take those first few steps...whether it's a week after your diagnosis or after a decade.

Imma love and live well. So will you.

Hard

There is a beautiful Sara Bareilles song that has a lyric that says, "I'm gonna love you and maybe it's gonna last this time, but I am gonna love you, you never have to ask, 'Till you start looking back, I wouldn't need a second chance."

This is how I live my life. This is how I love my life. If I love you. Friend, lover, family, hope to be lover, lover of spirit, lover without admittance, complicated lover, this is my truth. This is my reality. THIS is my beautiful.

Love shouldn't be hard. Actually, love is NEVER hard.

Let me be clear. Hard and complicated aren't the same damn thing. Love is often complicated. Love is often hurtful. Love often comes at the wrong damn time in the wrong damn place. Sometimes it comes in the wrong damn body (note: Nicole Zajkowski nee Harris who I would have married at 18 but she was born in the right body for her, the right spirit for me, but her body and my desire didn't match). Love sometimes requires work. Love often requires bravery. Love is always laced with fear. As bell hooks once said, "To risk great love is to risk great hurt." Without risking being absolutely and completely ripped apart and devastated you can NEVER and will NEVER have that passionate, destructive, transformative, healing, and potentially deadly love that we all deserve. It's our fears that keep us from it not our capability.

I know what it means to run screaming from the possibility of happiness, from an inkling of love, from the hint that someone may actually give me what I DESERVE, what we all deserve.

God Bless the HIV virus. God Bless being a rape survivor. God bless being a child of intense and traumatic abuse. God Bless having grown up wondering if I would have dinner. God bless racism. God bless heterosexism. God bless addiction.  God bless any and every oppression that I have survived.

Because if I have survived to almost 35 in the skin, spirit, and body in which I live and the history that I carry, then motherfuck if I will ever run AWAY from happiness. If I have had the grace of God and begged, borrowed, and found the strength to beat that shit, then I WILL NEVER AGAIN RUN AWAY FROM LOVE.

In fact, I will risk everything for that passionate love that I believe is out there for all of us. I WILL risk devastating hurt, because I deserve earth shaking happiness and joy of the type promised in Heaven but DESERVED on Earth.

And so do all of you. Bravery isn't just about surviving the shit that comes with living, it is also required to reap the gifts, treasure and bounty that is ALSO your portion of life. Survive, but CHOOSE joy and be brave enough to risk pain in order to get it. That is what it means to truly live.

Go in.

POETRY: I LIVE

I LIVE

I live

because today

I looked in the mirror

and I didn't see a lie

I cried

for the first time

because I

realized

that I love myself

I LOVE MYSELF

And that is revolutionary

a story that I never thought

included me

not a happy ending

on my block

no ever afters

just laughter

I thought

was going on behind my back

instead

it was only going on

between my ears

can't hear it anymore

because I live

I live

to give back the love given to me

freely

abundantly

it has freed me

from the chains forged

some

by my family

some

by my childhood

some

by society

but mostly

by me and the “truths” that I let control me

turned the Man in the Mirror

into a horror

turned this Christian soldier

into a Devil

but Devil backwards

is Lived

and I am moving forward

I live

because so many others died

so that I could be queer

and black

so that I could write this poem

knowing I won't be persecuted

jailed

beaten

hunted

for the things I believe

for the skin I wear

for the rage I swear

still howls from my broken heart

that has come a long way healing

this feeling is fucking beautiful

I could get used to feeling

FEELING

hurt, angry, sad, lonely, happy, horny, tired, frustrated

because I am FEELING

not locked up

or locked down

or drowned out by powders ground

on mirrors

or lit up

in pipes

I live

with HIV

but that doesn't define me

doesn't limit me

doesn't confine me

to the margins

for your comfortability

it's a part of me

has given me

the dignity

to live openly

my truth

my absolute truth

with its cold edges

and hot centers

bold flavors

and risk factors

and the reality

that I am still as fine as Hell

finer than a Sharpie

marking this reality

with my complexity

because I live

in a world that loves boxes

and borders

loves to insist on rigidity

and conformity

not me

NOT ME

I live past your ridges

climb over your borders

straddle your fences

spread my legs wide across your limits

swallow your can't's

do your don'ts

defy your won'ts

and you love me for it

because I live

and I give you the space

to be more than the expectations you inherited

more than the limitations you've accepted

more than the ending you've written for yourself

I live

and I will keep on living

not even the grave

will stop me

because I live

and I love myself

and you.

-Brandon Lacy Campos

-New York, NY

-May 24, 2012

Guest Blogger, Kamal Fizazi: A Letter to Friend About Hope and Survival

New York, NY
1 April 2012

Habibi,

I found out today that a friend killed himself a few days ago.

His death makes me sad and makes me think how sad I would be if I lost you and felt I had not done as much as I possibly could to help you.

I love you and I hope you are ok.

Over the years, especially recently, you have spoken to me about your severe anxiety, depression, PTSD and other issues, and about wanting—at times—to kill yourself.

I have tried to be a good friend, to listen and, when you asked for it, give you names of therapists and other resources that could help you address these issues.

We haven’t spoken in a few weeks, so maybe you are feeling great these days and I am worried for nothing. If this is the case, I am very happy for you.

After losing my friend Tony, I can’t be silent. I have to ask: Have you followed up and sought help for the issues bringing you such pain?

If not, I beg you, call one of those therapists whose names I shared with you a few weeks back (after your request to me), or to seek help in other ways.

Even if you are feeling good these days—especially if you are feeling good—now is the time to do something about all this, while it is easier to take steps that connect you to support that will help you survive the times when you are not feeling so happy.

If you are feeling down these days, I still urge you to seek help. I know how hard it can be to seek help when we are down, you know I know this, but I still hope you will try. It could save your life. Just as importantly, it could help turn it around.

I keep learning and still have to keep reminding myself that nothing in life is permanent. Not joy and not pain. LIFE is not permanent! But it does not have to be painful. We may have to do some hard work to make things better, but things can get better.

As you know, I use Surat al-Asr as my mantra in times of loss, pain, confusion, and fear. This Qur’anic prayer tells me: Time itself is a witness, all humanity experiences loss and pain, except for those who have faith, do good works (or are of service), and live as an example of honesty and as an example of patience (and forbearance).

I’ve shared this with you before, and this painful reminder is impetus to share it with you again.

My friend Tony is dead, and I am still here.

I do not know why, but I do know this has been one of the resources that got me through those terrifyingly bleak times when I considered doing what Tony did.

How does this simple yet powerful prayer work for me? As any mantra, repeating it means I change the tape in my head from whatever terrible tape to this pre-recorded, familiar, repetition. In that way it functions like any prayer or ritual in which we can seek refuge.

But this prayer is pragmatic in other ways too.

It comforts me by reminding me that my pain and suffering is not something I alone endure—“The Ages witness: all humanity experiences suffering”—and it gives me practical steps I can take, solutions to my pain, loss, and confusion:

Faith (Imaan)
The prayer directs me to have faith. To me this means making a choice to believe things can get better, even that a specific someone or Something loves us. Sometimes I have had to simply trust that this was true even when I doubted it deeply or didn’t feel it. But then, that is why it is called "faith." :) Sometimes it has been faith in, belief in, someone other than myself, someone who told me things do get better. At those moments, again, I did not believe it was true, but I could believe my friend believed it, and, ”borrow” her faith. At times it has meant a faith in a Divinity, Most Merciful and Most Compassionate, Greater than any trouble I might face, an Everlasting (internal) Resource any one of us can tap into, in times of loss or not.


Service (Saalihaat)
The prayer suggests that I do good works, that I be of service. I take this to mean reach out and help a friend or volunteer in an effort to improve my community. Doing something good for others gets my focus off my problems. When I do this, I shift the focus from the running commentary and obsessive concern with my own problems to the world outside my head. This liberates me from the not-so-merry-go-round of nasty thoughts *in* my head (that nasty committee that never has anything nice to say to me about me). There is always someone can use our help, so why not shift the focus from our complaints to gratitude and to service? Let us improve the world we find ourselves in! It sorely needs it. And we end up feeling better about ourselves because we are doing something positive in the world, rather than feeling stuck in, or focused on, our pain, fear, and confusion.

Honesty (Al-Haq)
The prayer suggests that I live as an example of honesty and truth. What this means to me is that I am supposed to walk through my fears and be rigorously honest with myself and others about my fears and the reality (or falseness) of them. Living as an example of honesty means letting go of my fantasies or the narratives I spin about how things are. When I am truly honest, I can see what I can change and what really needs to change. I also see what is not in my power and how, if I have no power over it, it makes no sense to spend time worrying about it. You know what I mean: If I have a role to play or choices that could be different, I can do that, if I can’t, well, then I can’t. Talk about freedom! Living a life of honesty and truth also means unburdening myself with someone I trust about what I have done or am doing, or what I am feeling, all of which helps me not live in shame, secrecy, or fear. This frees me from carrying the burden of my troubles all by myself. Living honestly and in truth also means removing that awkward, painful, conflict and stress that arises when I say one thing (to be polite or because I am avoiding a confrontation), but I really mean or want to say another. This type of honesty also can be daunting, but it too sets me free.


Patience (Sabr)
Lastly, the prayer says I am to try to live as an example of patience and forbearance (while facing all my troubles). This to me means, “Don't give up.” Ever. It is a reminder that things get better. Things change. The hard work we can do (therapy or whatever path we choose) takes time. We didn't get into our mess and messed up way of thinking overnight. We won't get out of them overnight. We have to give time time. I know the despair can be all-encompassing, I have felt it. But I also have learned—as I am sure you have too—that I am strong in patience. No matter what troubles that befall me, even when despair feels like a reality convincing me to my bones, something that I feel as if I KNOW will always be my reality, I can be patient. I can wait the pain out. It too will pass.

Trust me. Things do get better, if we do our work and we are willing to wait.

Things have gotten better for me, and I promise they can get better for you too.

Love, Light, & Peace,
Kamal

P.S. I would add one more thing to all my fabulous (& unsolicited) advice above (): Music. I know you love music. And that’s great, because music moves us, changes our mood, reminds us things get better (and have been better). Here are some of my favorites that have so far worked to get me through some pretty tough times:
“I Look to You” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tYFfmFeFGZg&feature=related as sung by Whitney Houston (RIP) or the GLEE version with Amber Riley, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BQgO5TtBF6g
A soft strumming song I just recently discovered, by City and Colour, “O’ Sister” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gi-crVagUok&feature=youtu.be
“It’s a Beautiful Day [don’t let it get away]” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=co6WMzDOh1o by U2
“Feeling Good” by Michael Bublé, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Edwsf-8F3sI&ob=av2e, or the Nina Simone version, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHs98TEYecM
“I Am Changing” by Jennifer Hudson, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nYuFvu2gdFU

P.P.S. What are your favorite songs to get you through tough times?

Bio: Kamal Fizazi is a writer, activist, lawyer, policy wonk, strategic planning and program consultant, and all-around good guy who spends his time thinking about and working on issues of human rights and equality, diversity and inclusion, democracy and social justice, equity, gender, sexuality, public health, HIV/AIDS, addiction, mental health, recovery, faith-based anti-oppression efforts and interfaith organizing, and Lord only knows what else.

You can follow Kamal on facebook: https://www.facebook.com/kamalfizazi or on twitter: @kamalfizazi. You can also read his blogs on http://izazif.wordpress.com and http://wholooksinsideawakens.blogspot.com.


Additional notes and links:

Suicide claims 36,500 lives yearly in the USA; close to one million attempt it each year.

Suicide Prevention & Support:
http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/GetHelp/Default.aspx
http://www.thetrevorproject.org/
http://veteranscrisisline.net/
http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/
http://www.samaritansnyc.org/
http://www.afsp.org/

Solidarity & Fundraising:
http://www.outofthedarkness.org/

Rage

There was a very long time in my life when I could not get angry. Even the things that should have made me angry, I shrugged off, ignored, or, most often, let pass deep inside of me, where I stuffed down the feelings, bottled them up, and sealed them inside of what I thought was a vault but, instead, turned out to be a pressure cooker.

There was a time when I saw rage and I fundamentally didn't understand it. I had moments when I felt what I thought was rage, and the first, and only time, I experienced intimate partner violence, my partner hit me and it triggered undiagnosed PTSD and I "redded out." The rage came on so explosively and suddenly that I had no memory of the time from when he hit me to when I came back to myself, sitting on top of him and smashing his face into the floor while crying. That was in 1995.

Since then, I have learned to let myself feel anger. In general, I now am able to get angry, address the source of the anger directly and then let it go. I have never held grudges, and I don't understand people that do. If I am in community with you, and you piss me off, then it is an act of love to confront you about your behavior (or be confronted) and then give or be given the opportunity to make amends and change the source of the behavior that triggered the anger.

It's been a long time since I felt rage. But I have been dealing with it, intensely, traumatically, shamefully and hurtfully for over a month now.

This is how it happened.

I was, I don't know what to call it, in some sort of intense friendship with someone that was fast becoming a relationship. To all outsiders, it looked as if we were in a relationship. On the inside, it felt like a relationship. The love was there, and it was intense. There was also a whole lot of hurt from relationships that we each had that had recently ended. We attempted to put on the brakes in a number of ways, but things still progressed. Certain committments were made, and so I moved forward, knowing that hurt was possible but truly believing that what this other had said was true. Until it wasn't true anymore.

Here is where I made my grand mistake. Instead of simply letting myself feel the anger that was obviously present at our break up that wasn't a break up and setting firm boundaries and excising the anger and hurt in a healthy way, I instead stuffed it down, let sadness take over. I knew better. It would have been healthier, right, and just for him and for him if I had just been honest with my anger and walked away then.

Its what the people around me told me I should do. I didn't listen. I was in love, and I didn't want to lose him. I thought it would be temporary. I still believed the things he had said. And I was believing the things he was still saying after the relationship adjustment. Except he wasn't in a place or space to be honest with himself in any way about where he was at in relationship to me or anything else. I am a smart human being and very little escapes my notice...its a survival technique....I kept in allowing myself to be yo-yo-ed. I was fighting him to want me and every time I had to go to war to get him to admit his feelings...a little more anger built up. Every time an I love you left his mouth and yet he pulled further away, a little more anger built up, and yet I kept sticking around. I kept trying to figure out how to be friends, how to console, how to be supportive yet stick to my own truth.

On Christmas eve all that ended in an explosion of rage. There had been one other rageful "text message" moment previous to this, but on Christmas eve my rage came out, it came hard, and it was directed at him. I set firm boundaries, to which he agreed. For about a week and a half all that worked out.

Until I had to see him again on a regular basis. And then all the angry and hurful things that I wanted to say...all of the things I wanted to verbally scissor into him so he would at least show some emotion and at best feel as hurt, wounded, and shitty as I feel gorged up in my throat every time I saw him. I couldn't sleep again. I had dreams in which I said all that I needed to say, and more than once on more than one occassion I woke up in the middle of the night and wrote out all of those things in a text message only to set it aside and delete it come morning.

I didn't find a way to excise the rage and so it continued to build, until last night, after copious wine and several cocktails I wrote and sent the text messages. Crueler. Meaner. Harsher. And more destructive than any I had written and deleted.

There was truth in them but it was truth meant to hurt as much as possible. It was ugly. It was rude. It was the dark side of the mirror that exists inside of all of us, and it is not who I am. It is not who I want to be. I have been hurt by words. I had been hurt by people I love, with intention, and I have made a committment to never spout that verbal poison out at someone I love.

And I did it. And it is shameful. I don't feel guilty about it. I feel shame about it. Shame is much much much worse.

Did the truth need to be told...yes...but not to him...to me. My rage and my anger are mine to hold and mine to excise. I did last night what I should have done six weeks ago. I deleted his phone number from my phone. I sent an email apologizing for my behavior. I am taking two weeks off of drinking to evaluate what that means and if it is something I need to look more deeply at (it isn't an excuse for my action only an enabler). But I believe in making amends and not just apologizing, so I am going to look at that. And, truth be told, since the break up that was not a break up...I have been using both alcohol and sex as ways to avoid dealing with how I really feel. Unhealthy combinations of both that have kept me off balance, in crisis, away from my feelings, and damaging in all sorts of combinations. That ends now as well.

I have come to a clear understanding that not only can I not have him as a part of my life, I don't want him, anytime soon, to be a part of it...because of the trust lost but also because I can't have him in my life and have it be healthy in anyway right now. I love him enough to not want to hurt him and I love myself enough to let myself be hurt by him anymore. And because there is still rage, I can't trust myself either to make the best choices. Not until the rage is gone. Not until I figure out how to let it go. Not until I learn how to forgive him and not until I learn how to forgive myself.

POEM: An Angry Love Poem

An Angry Love Poem
for him

I am tired of being beautiful
Ain't no sweetness left
Your mess has consumed
What you presumed was a never ending fountain
Of bullshit cosigned by my heart

Fuck you.

Your white privilege has protected you
And that pretty face
Race is front and center when a grown ass man of color
Chases after a needy toddler

How dare you say that you love me and then walk away
How dare you say you want me
and then leave me
Entitlement and white don't make right
Get it the fuck together, Heather
You have crossed the border from Heaven
And all Hell is about to break loose
Choose
The man that fucked you and left you aching
Except we were makin the foundations of this love
When your ass was his plaything

I am angry

You gone tell me your heart is broken
While breaking the love we were making
Forsaking what you admitted was your chance at having
Everything
For a bad dream, an uptight Indian pining for a virgin bride

Have some motherfucking pride

Fuck him too that broke you.
Took you and left you half assed and hurting
And rampaging through my life
How dare you love me so imperfectly
Loving me so sadly badly gladly
Taking what I offered
Taking away what you proffered
Softened my spirit
Filled it with so much hope
With a single kiss

I hate that I miss you like this

Yes, I said that I wouldn't be hurt
By your doubt but that was a caveat
Not a blank check
I was in it to win it and u
Said u were in it too
I believed you
I BELIEVED YOU
Do you have any clue
What it means
For a brown man to trust a white man
Can you imagine what it took
How much it took
What it cost me
To trust that much
And have it thrust back into me
Like a machete straight through the heart
Do you understand that this man
Put all his chips on the table
Are you able to understand that when you folded
You ended so much more than us
Trust that
Because I can't trust anyone else

What a fucking mess

I guess I did this to myself
I guess it's better to have loved than lost
I guess but I don't know
How to let you go
How not to love you
How to forgive you
How to relinquish these feelings
Remembering the truth of being with you
In you
Can't do this any longer
Wish I was stronger
I wish I were stronger
But I don't believe in wishes any longer
Or happily ever after.

Everyday Heroes: Natasha Johnson

Seven years ago, I came to New York City to visit my best friend RJ Thompson and his boyfriend at the time that we shall call Cray Cray. It was my first time in New York in years, and a number of my closest activist buddies from my days as a youth organizer had relocated to NYC. If you have ever been to New York, you know that this city is huge and depending on where you are located, it can take up to an hour and a half from one point in the city to another. So, when visiting on a limited time frame, it makes sense to try and arrange to see as many people as possible in one location at one time. RJ and Cray Cray knew that I had lots of people I loved that I would love to see so they threw me a party at their spot in West Harlem.

What if your friends threw you a party and none of your friends showed up (because they were all together at a house party in Brooklyn?). I almost friend divorced a few people that day (SAMER AND YK ARE YOU LISTENING!)

But never-the-less, the apartment was filled with awesome folks, none of whom I knew, but several of whom are now my friends and none closer or loved more dearly than Natasha Johnson.

Tasha walked in the door that night, and I was in love instantly. She was brilliant. Beautiful. Styling. Had a hot ass husband AND a fine ass girlfriend (the girlfriend wasn't there but I saw pictures later). I mean DAMN! You know you got magical pussy when you can hold down a black man as fine as John and a hot girl too.


I bet Tasha's coochie sparkles and gives birth to leprechauns. (Note, Tasha is single...taste the rainbow ya'll. TASTE THE RAIBOW).

Sparkles.

Since 2004, Tasha and I have built a beautiful friendship. When I moved to New York in 2009, Tasha and her former partner Natalie (who I also love and adore)....were two of the first people that I made an explicit point to build more deeply with. And Tasha has become someone so very amazingly special to me. She is intentional. She is beautiful. She can weave a rainstorm into a pair of panties and three pieces of cat hair into a full length gown and make it look couture. She is a human rights lawyer that left us for a year to help stop sex trafficking in the South Pacific and Indian Ocean area. And she is kind. She is gentle. She is no bullshit. But all love.

For all of these reasons and so so so many more, Natasha is my Everyday Hero.

Love you boo.

The Origin of Love

Generally, I am one of the first folks around to connect the dots between sometimes disparate experiences. I have a knack for drawing the lines between various points and pointing out how sometimes seemingly incongruous moments are actually directly connected.

In fact, I believe that unless you are able to pull certain points together, you can't really understand what is going on in the present. This is no less true about the political than it is for the personal.

This morning, I was listening to the song Origin of Love from Hedwig and the Angry Inch. And I had a moment of realization that hit me so hard that I gasped on the subway platform. The gay next to me looked up in alarm, and I pretended to cough and scrubbed angrily at my face at the tears that seem to have taken great liberties lately with coming and going as they please and often in very conspicuous places.

I repeat....Minnesotans do not do public displays of vulnerability...I have been gone from the cold, heartless homeland of my people for far too long.

This week has been good and hard and rough and difficult and a whole host of other adjectives. There have been some dramatic highs and some fucking terrible lows...but it has all been about growing (and loving) myself and someone else in the best absolute possible way, while holding on to my truth and his truth and a whole lot of not so easy but oh so good honesty. Oh yes Daddy....loving someone the right way can tear you up and put you back together and leave you breathless all at the same time. This one and I have done that to each other and for each other this week.

But there has been a fear sitting inside of me that goes way beyond what is actually happening right now. Right now, my insides tell me that he and I are in a good place with each other and at some point will be in a good place together. Not yet. Not now. But it is what I absolutely believe will be true. Or, as my coworker Jay said today, "From the first time you two saw each other, there was an instant attraction and affection. We all saw it when you two didn't. I believe in my heart that you two will be together."

Guess what? Me too. It's not possible quite yet. But I have faith..and faith is stronger than belief. It doesn't require proof. And I have plenty of proof. BAM!

So, if I am so sure about something that is still unsure, then where the Hell is this fear coming from. I finally figured it out. Let me tell you about the dots that I connected.

In 2006 was the last time I fell for someone anywhere nearly as intensely as this. I have loved people since. Read this blog to know that to be true. But this reminds me of that previous love. The kind that makes you cry for no damn reason when you see a toothbrush or when some stupid as song comes on. Or makes you wait for the first communication of the day like you are in high school or when you are far apart it makes you want to rush back home. That person's name was Chris Johnson, and I love him because he was just that damn amazing.

I need to own that this blog was fairly easy to write until I named Chris. And now a fear just settled on me has put a weakness into my hands.

Chris was amazing from the beginning. I met him in rehab. He had already completed inpatient and was in the transitional program. He was a Southern boy from Virginia. He was my SoCo, Southern Comfort. We dated for a short while and even though there was intense and powerful love present, Chris decided that he couldn't be in a relationship at that moment. And to justify it, he declared that he didn't love me as anything more than a friend.

I knew that motherfucker was lying from the gate. At least the man that I am in love with has owned his love for me, and though he cant really say it, he allows his eyes and body to do so. When he hugs me. When he looks at me. It's there. And, it has been acknowledged as best as he as able right now.

Chris' dumbass looked at me the same damn way and then tried to tell a story that his body gave the lie to.

When I decided to leave Minneapolis, Chris collapsed crying. He decided he was going to drive with me to Albuquerque. He actually drove me all the way to Albuquerque. I confronted him before we left and told him that I knew he was in love with me. He got angry. He denied it. So I let it go. And I did what I had to do to move on. I did the work to survive the longing. I did the work to survive the desire. I did the work to amputate the bleeding from a wound that was created when he walked away and that was slashed wide open when he denied that he loved me all the while acting like a partner would act minus the sex.

A year later, I moved back to Minneapolis. He had just gotten out of a relationship with an asshole. And, finally, he admitted that he had lied. That he loved me. That he still loved me.

Holy shit was I an angry human being in that moment. I resisted slapping the shit out of him. Instead, I simply told him that I knew that. But it was too late. I still loved Chris, but I was too afraid to open back up that ridiculous floodgate of desire and passion again. He hadn't been brave enough to at LEAST admit his love for me, so I couldn't trust him a second time. It just wasn't something I could risk. The first time had almost done me in. And I am survivor if nothing else. Once bitten....

Chris became one of my best friends. And all the love that had always been sat between us. It was there and continued to grow. And it was there the last time I talked to him. I was the last person he talked to the night before he shot himself. Not his boyfriend. Not his Mom and Dad. Me. And the last thing he said to me was that it was too painful to hear me voice, that he loved me, and then he hung up the phone. At least I got to tell him that I loved him before he had to leave. I still tell him that I love him, because I believe in Heaven, and I believe that good people go there. Chris was more than good. He was great.

The person that I have in my life now, is someone that I care about as much as I did Chris. If possible, more. More because the way it started had nothing to do with sex. It had everything to do with respect, politics, support, energy, and friendship. That is still the basis of it. We aren't together. But the similarities are enough that I finally realized today that I was sitting with an irrational fear related to Chris. I have learned that the people you love the most and best who are afraid to name their love...are the ones that leave...and leave a hole the size of an exit wound in your life.

This isn't the same as that. And just writing this blog has my spirit telling me that this is so very different. I listen to my spirit...and the fire that is now glowing inside of me. The work is different...there is still work to do...but damn if it doesn't feel like work that is about love and bravery.

Hey Chris. I still love you. Sleep well. Now, I can let you go.

Conflict Isn't A Four Letter Word...Running Is

At this point in my life, I should really know better than to avoid my feelings. Actually, let me be clear. At this point in my life I should know that when I avoid owning my feelings, particularly when I am afraid of my feelings or afraid of how those feelings may be received, I tend to wild out and do some dumb shit.

I am hoping to avoid that this time around.

I believe that everything happens for a reason. Absolutely everything happens for a reason. I often get pissed off because I don't usually understand why certain shit happens when it does and in the circumstances when it does (I mean....it would be simple courtesy if the universe could give me a heads up when it is going to fuck with me and turn everything topsy turvy....perhaps a post it note on the fridge or a text message...GChat? Im? No? Okey dokey)....

For the last week, I have been in Minneapolis for two series of meetings. The first was the ROOTS Coalition meeting. ROOTS is a coalition of the 14 leading queer and trans people of color organizations in the U.S. (though the coalition is multi-racial and includes white led organizations, all of the groupings either center people of color in their work or are explicitly people of color organizations). Getting 14 organizations together to form an entity that can work together to push a new kind of LGBTQ organizing agenda by forming a strategy and education tank (StratTank) is hard work. Lots of the folks in the room have personal histories as well as organizational histories that are sometimes difficult.

Moments of difficulty and conflict are necessary for growth and lay the foundation for really being able to do tremendous work together.

This weekend, there came a point in our work when the entire body started to run from a potential conflict. I am no stranger to running from something that seems hard. I am no stranger of walking away from something that seems complicated. It's the fear of being hurt or being wounded or being rejected or being denied or being found wanting/unworthy that has always been behind my high stepping away from difficult moments.

This week I decided to force a confrontation by holding the group accountable to its attempt to run from a hard decision. I knew absolutely that I could come out the other side hurting. I risked being rejected by my peers and I was forcing myself into a confrontation that I absolutely understood was going to be difficult and could trigger some old and deep hurts. But I also knew that if this body of allies didn't stop running from the hard work, and if I couldn't, personally, face up to the piece of the hard work that was sitting in the room that was attached to a history that belonged, in part, to me, that the coalition was in deep fucking trouble.

Not only did the confrontation happen and it was difficult, the end result was so beautiful that it absolutely confirmed for me that it is beauty and healing that lays on the other side of bravery and risk.

By no means did I make it through the conflict on my own. Part of being willing to engage in healthy conflict is trusting that the folks that are in it with you are going to HOLD you if you come to the hard stuff with integrity. It's trusting that love is stronger than hate/anger/hurt/wounding/sadness/loss/fear. It is trusting that if you come to the moment with hope and care not just for yourself but for the process and with the small bravery of dreaming and wishing for something better and more beautiful to come the other side of the hard moments, that it WILL work out. For those of you to whom I reached out and reached back, thank you. To those that reached out on your own, thank you. And to the one who answered the phone a whole lot that day, thank you.

We can all think/fear/nightmare out the horrible possible outcomes of any situation. Particularly those of us that have been hurt and are still holding on to our hurts. The pain and fear tells us that this situation is going to be a repeat of the one before it and the one before that and the one before that. We lose sight of all of the happiness and beauty that we have experienced and the OVERWHELMING number of times that our families/communities/lovers/friends/comrades have held us. We forget about the times when we took a risk and it led to something transformative and beautiful.

Hurt screams while love whispers...but hurt eventually loses its voice while loves voice keeps steady and strengthens.

I won't run any longer. My hurt doesn't get to win and difficult moments do not get to derail potential. The work of living, the work of growing, and the work of justice demands more than that.

I love you all.

Mr. Fix It

I have a problem. I like to fix shit. Actually, let me rephrase that...I like to fix problems...including things that aren't mine to fix, situations that don't need my interference, or folks that are able to manage themselves and their process without my personal divine intervention.

I get it. I know where it comes from. Growing up in a home of intense trauma and abuse, fixing situations and people is an act of survival. If you can make everything better, quickly, even those things are not directly related to you or anything that you have done....you learn young that those same situations that may have nothing to do with you at all, could have direct, intense, and damaging consequences to you none the less. As a child, it often meant physical or emotional abuse. And, so, you learn to manage other people, direct or redirect their emotions away from danger zones, and involve yourself in moments and situations that are not yours to hold, handle, or resolve.

The problem is that those behaviors, which once served a direct survival purpose, translate as an adult, into an intense desire to step into places and spaces that aren't yours to hold..YET...and here is the kicker, at least where I am involved, I then internalize shit that actually has NOTHING to do with me.

For example...there is someone that is very important to me. This amazing human being is doing some intensive healing work, some of which touches on us because it involves a previous relationship. Now....let me be clear...it has NOTHING to do with me. It isn't ABOUT me. When things sort of occupy space between us that has been triggered by previous experiences with other folks...this beautiful human being generally tells me so...in order that it remains really clear that it isn't about me and therefore not for me to internalize, over think, or own. And when there have been times in those triggered moments when their behavior has resulted in some hurt because it was handled in not the best way...I have been given the grace and space to say so and it has been acknowledged in a way that has allowed me to let it go.

So, you'd think having a clear realization that the shit ain't about me would let me go on about the business of living and dealing with my own caca crap....you'd think that wouldn't you? Wouldn't you?

Well....surprise surprise I still end up wanting to reach out and in and try to lift away what...in truth...I have no real power to change and no right to try and take on or cut out. Folks gonna heal when they decide they want to heal. Folks are going to hold on to things until they are ready to let them go whether or not it is good or healthy. Folks are going to release and change their emotional well being when they decide that they are tired of spending all their time hurting and instead would rather do the work to let it go. And, here's the kicker, folks gonna reclaim their power from others including the power to let others hold their hurt AND...it sure is Hell not ok for me (or you or you or you) to try and take away the power that someone you know and love that is hurting is doing the hard work to reclaim for themselves.

To love someone is to commit oneself to ones own and another's spiritual growth (bell hooks' words). To love someone means sitting with your own discomfort, being present with yourself and your own work (because when we DO our own work and focus on our own work we are loving that other as best we can...because we are starting by loving ourselves (in his words) fiercely. And if we can sit with our own shit and discomfort, if we can keep our hands and feet and "fix it" tendencies to ourselves, it means that when the person we love that is hurting/struggling/working comes to us, on their own terms, we can be really present for them instead of being present in our own interests and based in our own selfishness or self-protective behaviors.

This consequently means that we also don't get to project our own work and struggles on others with the expectation that they are going to fix them for us. Asking for strategic advice in order to help us do our own work or reflecting with someone for clarity is one thing....offloading my/your/our shit onto someone else and then walking away from the work afterwards is so not cool and it is so not going to result in anything but pissing off the person that is now carrying your stuff as well as his or her own.

No bueno.

It's about damn time I took my own advice. So I am going to try and practice this a little bit better, particular with the people that are closest to me. This might mean a whole lot of things that I may not like to do, look at, admit, see or confess. But if it's about the work, and I am about the work, then I better work it.

WERQ!!!!!!

Minneapolis to NYC: Thank You, Love You, Peace

Minnesota has my heart, but my heart has another lover, New York. To my heart I give home, to my lover I come. Home is forever, while my love waits ephemeral, though home be distant and lover close, it is home that has what the lover has but on loan. -BLC, NYC, 11.7.11

The beginning of last week was a shit show extraordinaire. I was in full flight from dealing with some heavy emotional stuff that had gone down over the previous two weeks. To sum it up, I officially ended a relationship with someone for whom I still care but it is not possible for us to be together. In the meantime there are other highly emotional (mostly good yet still complicated) situations going on (I am being WAY cryptic here...which is all for the best)...and all of that combined to make me flee and hide out in some rather unhealthy ways last weekend.

Luckily thanks to the support of an acquaintance, I was provided with the time, space, and solitude to pull myself, my thoughts, and my courage together. It was the best gift that I have gotten in a very long time.

Last Monday and Tuesday were rough. My emotions were on an internal Great America theme park adventure, the people around me were super loving, and I finally, with the love of community, pulled myself together. In fact, despite the ending of my relationship and the accompanying heartache that entailed, my life is good. I am employed. I have a home. I have a Mimzy. I have a powerful family of choice and of blood, and frankly I have a book that is doing really well. Since October 1, I have been in Atlanta to celebrate the wedding of Paulina and Ashe, in Albany to co-keynote the national queer people of color health conference, at Davidson College in North Carolina to do a reading and give a series of lectures in partnership with the amazing photographer Sophia Wallace, and I just returned home from Minneapolis where I not only got to spend time with my Betty and Sarah and family, but I got to hold my godson as he was baptized, share in the wedding vow renewal of Rodrigo Sanchez-Chavarria and Nubia Esparza, and I had a jam packed Minneapolis book launch party at the fantastic Cafe SouthSide!

To stand in front of an audience, with my godson present, my amazing step-mom Melanie, my nephew Jason Jr., the Scooby Gang, my high school art teacher Mrs. Mary Simon-Casati, high school friends, Facebook folks that I had yet to meet but am so glad I did, and with the powerful presence of other writers and performers particularly Harry Waters, Jr., Kevin Kaoz Moore, Kyle "Guante" Myhre, Teresa Ortiz and the aforementioned Rodrigo Sanchez-Chavarria, was to stand in front of a room full of blessings. And anytime I can look up and see the loving, gentle, and powerful face of Susan Raffo, co-director of Minnesota's LGBTQ foundation PFUND, it is a good and blessed day.

I am so thankful for the gift of community. I am grateful for those that show up again and again to share their love and to let me reflect back to them the light and love that they give to me. To be mirrors for each and to reflect back the light that each of us was given brighten the way for those around us, is what I believe we were all put on this planet to do.

Today, I landed back in New York, and as sad as I was to leave behind my friends and family back in Minneapolis, I was jumping up and down to get home to my people here. First it was a reunion with Mimzy...and I spent a good 15 minutes wrapping her up and holding her and burying my face in her fur while she tried desperately to lick all of the sweat she could from my head. It's her job. Don't judge. And then it was a quick shower and to the QEJ office where I was greeted with a shout and love by my co-conspirator and beloved Amber Hollibaugh, the elfin soft show of Naomi, the giggles of Gykyira and of course the sun-shaming smile of JT Mikulka.

There was sadness today. I don't want to downplay or undervalue the sadness that existed today as well. That isn't a story I want to share here, now. But I learned a long time ago that it is not an oxymoron or a conflict to hold great joy and great sadness in your belly at the same time. In fact, on a day to day basis, those two seemingly conflicting emotions often show up, together, to remind us that the sweet tastes sweet because we know bitter as well.

To all my friends and family, I wish you nothing but the greatest blessings. Thank you for being in the world and being a light that helps me see where I am going when I am most likely to bang around in the dark, bruising myself, and crashing into the folks that showed up to help me. Love to you all.

An Open Letter to Halim: You Have All the Strength You Need

Dear Halim:

I received your email early this morning when I woke up, here, in Manhattan. I am not sure the time difference between Manhattan and Malaysia though I know that the two places are a Hell of a long way away from each other. In fact, right now, I am sure it is tomorrow in your part of the world, and the sun is just setting here, on the eastern edge of the United States.

First, I want to thank you for reaching out. Testing positive for HIV was the single loneliest and scariest moment of my life. I know what you mean when you say that there is all kinds of support in your area but you still feel alone, lonely, and as if you can't trust the folks providing support. I know that story very well. In fact, when I tested positive, for three years exactly three people in the entire world, besides my doctor and my boyfriend, knew about my HIV status: Jennifer, Russell, and Lonnie. In fact, my inability to deal with my HIV status led me to a dark place inside of myself. I stopped thinking of myself as worthy of being loved. I stopped believing that I deserved to be held and valued and supported. I no longer felt that I had the right to companionship, a relationship, or that I was good. I shut myself off from myself. I closed my spirit down and hid it away. I turned to drugs and sex and sex with drugs in order to feel, even for a moment, that I was indeed worthy, loved, desired. For a while it worked. For a while it kept me from myself and from the feelings that I had towards myself: the shame, the loathing, the disappointment, and the fear. It worked, until it stopped working.

And when it stopped working my life fell apart. The emptiness that I'd been holding inside had slowly and surely been growing, enlarging, and engulfing me quietly. It was hidden behind the drugs and behind the sex. And in one moment, in the Minneapolis Airport, when my guilt around my drug use and sex use had reached a point that it overwhelmed me, I called everyone in my cell phone and told them about my HIV status and the drugs. And then my mind broke just a little bit and I ran away inside of myself.

Despite the manner in which I told the people that love me about what I was going through, the fact that I told them saved my life. My shame and disappointment in myself had kept me away from the medecine that matters as much as any HAART treatment: the love of friends and family.

And they loved me through the times when I couldn't love myself. They held me accountable to the person that I wanted to be, and they stood in front of the mirror to keep the mirror from telling me lies about myself, lies that I had believed for too long. I made agreements with them that let me stay human but accountable. I could make mistakes. I could be less than perfect, but I had to be honest as best I could and when I couldn't be, I had to at least be honest about that. And, it worked. It worked. It hasn't always been easy, and there have been times I haven't been honest. Over a year ago, because of the situation and fear, I wasn't honest with someone when asked about my status, and it was heartbreaking to have to look at myself closely again and it was even harder work not taking on responsibility for his choices around sex while taking responsibility for mine. But, my friends loved me through that as well. And I wrote about it and talked about it openly and frankly in my blog and with the people I care about. And more healing came from that.

I know that I will continue to make mistakes and continue to be afraid from time to time, but the person that I am now is nothing like the person I was in 2005. What I know now is that sex is amazing (and I love having sex) but sex can be dangerous if it is used to try and fill a hole that can only be filled by learning to love yourself the right way. I learned that fear is terrifying but not facing my fears can lead me to places that can and will, eventually, take me out of this world. I learned that there will be times when people will reject me for my HIV status but that people who really love me never will. I learned that I deserve love and affection. I deserve to be desired. I deserve to have mind blowing sex. I derseve to live free from fear.

And guess what? So do you, my far far away brother.

I am not going to pretend that being queer and being positive is the same in New York as it is in Malaysia. I know next to nothing about what it means to be either of those things outside the borders of the United States. But I do know that even if you can start by telling one friend, if you can cry and start to let out the shame and fear, if you can step into one of those support group meetings even once, if you can turn the mirror around and refuse to listen to the lies it is ready to tell you, if you can be just a little bit brave, just for a little while, over time, you will find yourself full of joy. But you have to make that choice. Even if right now you don't believe the day will come when everything will be alright, you have to CHOOSE to fight and walk forward until that day is here. I promise you. I PROMISE YOU that it will come. You have to faith...in yourself...and, if you are a believer, in your God, but mostly you have to faith that you are loved and let those that love you help you through this time. Be smart. Be safe. Be brave. You have all the strength you need.

Love,
Brandon in Manhattan

It Ain't Truth If It Doesn't Hurt: A Great Big Thank You!

Sometimes miracles do happen. I haven't learned how to walk on water yet, but I'll be damned if I didn't finally have a book release party for my long awaited poetry collection: It Ain't Truth If It Doesn't Hurt. The collaboration with artist David Berube is stunning. The reviews so far have been amazing. It's my publisher's number one best selling volume right now. It has been selling out on Amazon.com. It's available online and in stores at Barnes and Noble. Ladies and gentleman...it's official...I am an author.

And I have all ya'll to thank for it.

From those of you that have put me on stages, encouraged me to write, sat through performances, workshopped my writing, loved me through my shit, brought me to your campuses, put me on your panels, invited me to speak at your conferences, fed me, fucked me, loved me, held me, hated me, walked away from me, walked towards me, published me, rejected me, infected me, gave birth to me, raised me, abused me, healed me, taught me, and brought me to this exact point in my life...this book was given to the world.

Thank you.

This last Wednesday, by the grace of God, I turned 34 years old. That same day, I had my book release party at Bartini Ultra-Lounge in Hell's Kitchen. Thank you to the owners Joe Puc and Ted Arenas for donating the space for the party. I hope the 60 odd folks I brought in during happy hour drank enough to make it worth while! I was surprised at my book party by the most effing amazing cake that I have ever seen or eaten. Master cake baker Huascar Aquino of H Cakes in New York made an exact replica of my book, completely edible, that was so real that no less than THREE people tried to open the damn thing before I could shout them down (Brandon Dean I am talking to you!).

Mr. Andrew Werner of Andrew Werner Photography was on hand to photo document the event and put his magic eye on things, and I am deeply appreciative of his support as well.

Old friends and very new friends showed up to cheer me on and buy copies of the book! The party was a fantastic success, and I left the party feel loved, supported, and mostly content to be at the place I am at in my life. It ain't perfect, but it is my truth, and it is a glorious truth even if sometimes it really does hurt.

Thank you again to my publisher Sven Davisson of Rebel Satori Press, Bathabile Mthombeni and riKu Matsuda for putting me on their radio shows to promote the book, and Ebony "Miss Celie" Adams for hosting my first book party in Los Angeles. Your book and your ducats gonna be to you soon gal.

And thank you all ya'll that continue to show me love and to support my work. I love you all.

(PS for regular updates on the book, performances and signings related to the book, and occassional bloggings about it....please check out www.itainttruthifitdoesnthurt.blogspot.com--it's barebones right now, but I am working on it).

One Liner of the Week Award: Ebony Adams

I have a friend that is what, in the technical jargon, is classified as straight up country colored Kookers McGee. Look that up in the DSM-IV, and you will find a picture of Miss Ebony Adams formerly of Cheyenne, Wyoming (one of three and a half Negroes in the entire state) and currently of Los Angeles, California. Bourgie ass Brentwood to be exact.

I ain't mad at her, I am currently sitting up in her living room, drinking her wine, and cooking her food.

Ebony and I met through my Non-Romantic Life Partner Jason Ruiz who was, whilst finishing his PhD, a dissertation fellow at Macalester College where Professor Kookers McGee was teaching the children a thing or two. Upon meeting Ebony, I immediately developed a colored crush. She was brilliant and country and sweet and sassy and so much goodness wrapped up in a gorgeous little box that I had no choice but to love the Hell out of this girl.

She been there for me through some crazy ass shit I put myself through and kept right on loving my Kookers butt, and now, four and some years later, I am sitting in her house in LA doing the colored things I mentioned above.

Hey glory. Praise Him.

Yesterday, Ebony and her fab roommate Jen threw my first book party to celebrate the launch of It Ain't Truth If It Doesn't Hurt (which is now available for pre-order from my publisher and Amazon.com). Despite the fact that immediately after finishing a radio interview an walking into her living room and slicing my foot open down to the meaty meat on a sliver of glass, I still love her.

Eb prepared all kinds of goody snacks for the fiesta including a black bean dip that she lamented was flavorless.

Fast forward to this morning.

It was early as Hell, and Ebony had gotten up and made breakfast before she had to go to work. I walked in the kitchen to dish me up a plate, and I noticed that Ebony had the black bean dip out to put on the eggs and stuff.

All of a sudden I hear Ebony exclaim from the front room,

"Oh snap. These beans done sat around and got good all of a sudden."

I laughed so hard I almost fell face first into the hot ass cast iron skillet on the stove.

And that, mon cheries, is the One Liner of the Week.

And thank you to Ebony and Jen for hosting a fabulous book party. Love ya'll.