Before I leave.

dorkness > darkness

Me and my grandparents

This was either days before or perhaps THE day right before I bid farewell to Wisconsin to embark on my new life in CA with my father. Take a peek at those rolled pants – a carefully crafted process involving crimping first and then rolling for the tightest taper. And let's not overlook those faux snake skin BKs – smoking HOT! Paired with those white socks, it's a bit reminiscent of the late '90s Japanese girls and how they stylishly rocked their slouchy socks.

OR this

OR this

I trust you caught a glimpse of that rad Swatch watch, complete with the cool white protector and the stylish friendship bracelets. Back in the day, I rocked two Swatches simultaneously – that was the epitome of coolness, remember that? Interestingly, I contemplated snagging a new Swatch watch recently. They were teaming up with OMEGA, and having sold my Speedmaster after returning to Wisconsin to navigate the survival and bill-paying game, I thought it'd be a pretty cool middle ground. Timepieces with a touch of nostalgia!

Me and my mother

A picture speaks a thousand words. Right. I guess, I’m done.

That photo is from my confirmation at the First United Methodist Church. Well, helloooooooo organized religion – I think they might have miscast that video.

Every picture I have with my mother showcases the same expression: the "I would rather be anywhere else" look. And did you catch the fashion statement? Popping not just one collar but two. Double collar action with a Bugle Boy shirt over a polo shirt. Quite a day indeed – my grandparents were really keen on me going through the ceremony. I endured a month or more of classes during Sunday school to prep and get ready to be confirmed.

Before

four years old

After

five years old

I recently relocated my grandmother into assisted living and have been sifting through and organizing her belongings, determining what to sell, what my mother desires, and what I might want from my grandparents. In the back of a closet, I stumbled upon some old photo albums. As I flipped through one, I encountered this image. It halted me in my tracks. Despite the blur in the photo, that look is piercingly clear. The gaze in my eyes. Witnessing that expression shook me to my core.

I see hope, love and innocence in that previous image when I was four.

I see fear, hurt, and a loss of innocence in that image of me at five years old. It completely guts me to look at that photo. I can feel the tears and sadness welling up.

I felt so hopeless and lost.

Looking at that little version of me, I just want to give him a hug.

I felt so hopeless and lost.

He just wants to know someone is going to protect him.

I had to drag that fucking old heavy wooden chair into the kitchen to do the dishes. I couldn’t even reach to turn the water on. Just a child.

The clock reads 9:30. judging by the flash burst against the back wall and knowing my mother's drinking and hangover routine, that was not 9:30 am. She was most likely drunk, yelling about what a piece of shit I was, that I didn’t do anything around the apartment except remind her how I ruined her life.

So why not document this special occasion?

I just wanted to know and feel that someone was going to protect me.

See that brown garbage can against the wall?

It’s okay, scroll back up.

It was made of plastic, and one night I set it on fire. I wanted to burn the apartment down with my mom and me inside of it.

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I promise it gets lighter after this. It’s always 72 and sunny in CA.

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LISTEN: The title says is all.