Hate

It is a fragile living.
A life not made for this world.
I am not allowed to be a being,
Merely present, never wished.

Into a world of hate,
I was hurled.
But through repression,
I had to learn compassion.

For the wounds, they create,
Was not a product of chance.
It was brewed long before they emerged.
A deadly stance.

Why should they bear the weight,
Of these ancient mistakes?
Make not enemies of the people,
That do not understand.

Love them.

We are all within the same boat.
We need to stay afloat.
On this earth we all are the same.
Maybe it is time we share the blame.

x,
Ez

Broken Wishes

I wish, I hope; I try, I fail.

Broken

'm not a terra cotta vase, I "break" but you don't see it. 

I'm a pile of charcoal, the deep white, red embers hidden within a shell of dusty black. It appears calm and unchanged, until a piece falls off the facade of black wood, then does the fiery heat burn with the intensity it has always been burning underneath, only now exposed like a fresh wound, the air only strengthens the flames and they soar higher, burning through the entire outer layer. 

These layers were only temporary, even these flames are temporary, I know I will soon die out. But for now, I am burning bright, hot, intense and oddly fascinating. The heat and flames that have so bad wanted release has finally broken through the bland, rocky surface. I am no longer a broken nor enraged, I am pure living energy, a bird flying dangerously close to the sun. I love it.

The struggle is real

Imagine yourself as any member of LGBTQ+.

You could be a forty-six man from Brisbane, loves to fish, visits his mother every weekend, and teaches English Literature in a local university. His husband works in a bank downtown and during the December heat, they enjoy the cooler weather of the Northern Hemisphere, traveling to places like Armenia, Portugal, Tibet. He has stage two prostate cancer.

You could be a teenage girl, living in Iraq. She loves reading cheesy love stories and dancing to songs on the radio, while mouthing every word to her favorite song. Her two sisters and three brothers annoy and adore her, she teaches them the words to the songs she loves and even sneaks them sweets before dinner. She fears the possibility that she will be kicked out of her own house if her parents find out that she's dating the next door neighbor's eldest daughter. 

You could be sixty-one year old woman who always wanted to be a man. She was an art curator and now she's retired and lives in the same house she grew up in. She collects reader's digest magazines and has over a thousand copies haphazardly around her semi- detached. She loves her husband but she envies the ability to wear a polo t-shirts to every occasions. She does not have anyone to talk to about her true feelings. 

Yeah we live different lives, but we all share the same struggles. We cannot define each other for what we appear to lack, seem to have. Not just us. We all have a struggle and they are all equally real.

You should know by now,

Ez

Censorship

Have you ever just wanted to express yourself but couldn't? Well I have and it was fucking shit. Nobody understood me and nobody really cared. You see, I'm gay. But, in a country where being who you are is illegal, people don't think or talk about it and it's all kept in a metaphorical closet. People don't want to understand or even try to be understanding, they believe you can be cured like you're sick or something, that God can save you and you won't end up in hell. 

Thank goodness my parents sent me to an international boarding school. Although in the same country and there were still the same homophobic people in the boarding community, I was allowed more freedom and had excess to being whoever I wanted to be. It was thrilling and exciting and scary and new. It was a ball of emotions and I loved it. But I still wasn't expressing myself fully. I couldn't tell anyone, because I was just starting to make friends and I was just trying to make it from day to day and I enjoyed talking to my roommates and housemates and teachers and even the Indian lunch ladies in the dining hall. I didn't want them to think that something was wrong with me and I didn't want to feel rejected. So, I hid it. Kept it locked up behind closed doors. And it when on like this for days, and then for months and then the whole schooling year. And even though I wasn't being my complete self, it was enough for me. 

Till I went back home. Things stayed the same after I left. I was still the quiet one that had friends but nobody really knew who he was, and to my parents I was the good Christian child that hate anything sinful and was definitely not gay. To be restricted from expressing myself was terrible. It felt like locking away everything I felt made me who I  was as a person away. I had to pretend I believed that God hates gays and I had to stop being to "feminine" and be a "guy". Bullshit. I am who I want to be I can be whoever I choose to be. And then I realized that this school is my only chance I'll get to ever being me. 

I first came out to a friend, which in hindsight wasn't the best choice, because she was and still is a follower. She had a worst identity crisis than me. She wanted to be white, and wanted to be Indian, and wanted to be Latino. She couldn't not make up her mind. She was easy to manipulate and was vain as a poodle. She was utterly the most basic bitch I knew. I wished it wasn't her I came out to first and it wasn't because she didn't understand she did and was very supportive. But to me coming out wasn't just about being gay it was about being myself and if she wasn't herself, why the fuck would she understand? She did what was expected from an "understanding friend" she said there is nothing wrong with me and it's ok and we can talk more if I wanted to. And at that time, I was just grateful for her listening and thoughts were just rushing around my body and my emotions were just overflowing and for once in my life I felt my life was changing for the better. 

And it did. It was beautiful a whole new me was emerging from the shell I was hiding in for so long and it was just amazing. I couldn't tell you how it felt but it was just so intense and so raw and it was so me. After telling her, I didn't tell anyone else that week. It was just so scary and everything was so new I couldn't bring myself to tell anyone else. But eventually I told another person and then another person and then another and another, till I felt everyone I trusted was well informed of my gayness. Most were fine with it, and some were very curious about my sexuality and a few just didn't get it. I still remember one saying "your type" and that made me so pissed. I am not a "type" I am me. There is no one that is like me so therefore have no "type". The person never understood me and frankly I didn't care. Leave those that are only there in your life that hinder you and only create problems. 

Life was good and still is. I am myself and I have people that understand me right by my side. Many more have already found out and they support me or prefer not to ask questions. Fine by me. They say it's a new me. But I say it's the me that I have always been.

Found this random essay I wrote like 3-4 years ago. And yes I hate myself for this. Oh well. We learn from our past or something along those lines. I promise I will post more regularly. TRY.

Love,

Ez

Passion

I lay awake sometimes, thinking, asking myself, what do I actually enjoy doing, what exactly is my passion. 

I've always been told my entire life that I can be whatever I want to be, been told as long as I have a "passion" for something and I work towards it, I will succeed in my career, my life. But, I do not think I have any talents or something that I could used as a potential "successful" job. Even then, my passion definitely would not be the only factor that will influence my choices, because in this world you won't find many jobs with a degree in English, I won't be able to afford anything I want with a liberal arts degree, at least that's what my parents think. 

I'm stuck in the middle of the gap between what I enjoy and what I need. For me there's really no intersection I can foresee, my passion isn't as important anymore. 

Wildest dreams 1 (the series)

I've decided after consulting my previous posts on this blog, that I am very depressing. So, I decided to write something less depressing and focus on dreams I have remembered, because why the hell not. So here is one I had last night.

It started out in my school auditorium. It was packed with various faceless people that my dream felt was insignificant. The head of our sixth form, let's call her Mrs. Winnie, was, ironically enough, giving us a speech about personal statements much like in real life. And nobody in the sea of faceless enigmas of my dream was paying attention as per usual. However it quickly turned into a game of "Simon Says" and she said, "Simon says leave." So we did.

This is the where it gets weird.

As I was leaving, I saw a strange man rolling a carpet down a flight of incredibly dark stairs which is one. Dangerous as hell, and two. Kinda creepy. That's when I decided to look down and try to attempt to catch a glimpse of what this man was rolling up and duh duh DUH. It was a body of course. So naturally I was like the hell dude and made a beeline out of the auditorium as fast as my short legs could carry me. Thank god for black Thor, (Isaac) for conveniently being at the front door. Using his nordic powers of lighting he summoners enough of a light show to scare the strange man and allowed me to use my now obvious power of flight to fly into a steel tower surrounded by a rusty fence, built on top of the main field. Black Thor dropped his hammer and I also used my power to manipulate my body parts and stretched my arm outwards, to fetch it for Isaac.

Within the tower, we were met with different entities of not only the Nordic gods but also Egyptian ones, one of which resembled a sexy female spider. Each of them offering me gifts to help defeat the stage man, now identified as Loki. After receiving gifts from each respective God, me and Black Thor looked outwards and saw letters spelt in clouds, spelling out an address. So, quickly we got into Mr. Botak's car and we drove towards a small town.

In the town, let's call it "Martin", my friend, Cynthia was trying to sell huge individually bagged mackerels packed in red plastic bags. We managed to get her to tell us where the approximate area that addressed would lead us to, and this rag-tag squad left the market in town to find out what would be at the place. But, then I woke up.

What happened? I don't really know. I guess you can come up with your own conclusion and hopefully involves as many quirky, dream-like sub plots not mentioned perviously. Best of luck making your own ending!

Love,
Ez