DR: Gods Among People

Excerpts from A Note Written By Cassandra Farrar: Maybe I need to Vent: "Science is not just a passion, it is my calling. and science and all that comes with it, is probably the most fascinating thing in the world to me. and what really BUGS ME is that there are people who are going into the medical field because of the MONEY and because of their demanding and one-dimensional parents who only WANT their children to do it. of course money is great, but if that's the only reason, it seriously makes me want to slap you and whoever believes that. maybe I'M not even cut out for this career, but i think i know damn well that this job is not for everyone. i know people have their reasons but becoming a doctor is NOT a job you do so your parents can get bragging rights and refuse to pay for any other means of education. it is NOT a job you do because you want money in the future. it is a job that you MUST be passionate about and something that you want so badly in order to further advance the findings in the science world, and actually make a difference. today's people and sciences' future does NOT need someone like that. this fucking world doesn't need more people who call themselves "doctors" just because they happened to get by in school. I wanted it ever since i had to watch my dad scream in a pillow every night because he was in so much pain. i wanted it so damn bad to HELP HIM and FIND A CURE for him, and to be able to say "it'll be okay" and actually mean it. and i still wanted it when i had to see my dad laying on the bathroom floor passed out, or when i found him when he was dead. like SERIOUSLY i grew up wanting this. I've wanted this for 10 years now and I'm finally 2 years into it. and it is SO upsetting to see people who aren't passionate about this! medicine and science will not advance if you are just someone who shows up and works just to work. We need to think about other people, we need to love to help people, and ENJOY LEARNING and enjoy our work rather than just working to work! i cannot express how excited i am for the next 12 YEARS of college I've left. i can honestly say I've never wanted anything more in my life than this, and i will damned if someone takes it away from me, or if someone else who can care LESS gets what i want.i am done :)"

Science is the love of my life. It's my strong suit and it's the area of knowledge that I honor & love with every ounce of blood in my body. It's responsible for the advancement of society, reason for technology, and the betterment of humanity. It is everywhere- in all the molecules of air that I breathe, the water I drink, the food I eat, and the bed that I lay my head down to sleep. It is a passion I have developed over my academic years ever since I won the hokey science fair in the sixth grade, got high marks on all my high school chemistry tests, and fell in love with the immense world of knowledge that lies within the study of biology. Many career paths open up for me as I pursue my degree in the science field- the pill counting pharmacist behind the counter at Walgreen's, the blood sample carrying white lab coated biochemist with eyes constantly in microscopes at Genetech, the morbidly pale mortuary scientist uncovering hidden lives of the dead, or the beloved healer of all, modern-day Jesus Christ with tons of money in the bank doctor. Each career path carries with it years worth of intense studying, hardships, and a heavy price tag that only a few can afford. To be a doctor you have to be strong-willed and you have to really want it. However, I have bounced back between being a pharmacist and a doctor a thousand times and I still have not come to a solid decision as to exactly what I want to do with my life. To be a doctor takes time. Time that I don't have. Or more so, time I think I don't have. It requires you to have hope in the most hopeless and helpless of all situations. It begs you to shed light on the most darkest and abysmal of all areas. It involves courage and strength of not just a human, but of a warrior, of a fighter, of a God. To become a doctor is an act of God. With your hands you save a life, with your hands you bring a mother to their first born child, with your hands you bring a father back from the dead to his son's first baseball game, with your hands you allow a lover to wipe the tears from their spouses eyes and cry no more. You pull the curtain over death for a while longer, you create time- you create life.
You have the ability to bring people ease from the pains they face.
You take compassion for humanity and love each person's life like they are your brother, mother, father, and sister.
Going through the process of being a doctor requires you to put Your Life on hold for the betterment of humanity. Being a doctor may put a hold on your relationships, may distance you from friendships, and may make you a stranger to your own kin. It requires you to dig a hole, plant a tree and watch it grow tall enough so you can climb up it and not come down for a few years but stay up in the branches and learn everything you can to help those who wait for you to blossom and bloom into the MD you will become as you descend back down. It takes away your social life, it tugs at your nerves, it elevates your stress level and it can ultimately kill you but at the same time make you stronger. Doctors are heroes in my eyes. They save the world. Science saves the world. And to me it is a meaningful subject that can save the planet which we all need to care more about.
However, it's hard to become a doctor though you may think it's easy or that Indians become doctors all the time. This is the sad reality behind the stereotype that we live amongst. For most young Indian girls, similar to many cultures, becoming highly educated is rare. In my own country of India the literacy rate for men was around 73% whereas for women it was 48% (taken from a CIA projected estimate in 2001) compared to the literacy rate for both men and women in the United States stands at an equal percentage of 99%. (2003 est.) We are all familiar with the glass ceiling that is placed on us as women in not only India or the United States but around the globe. As women we stand united and try to fight this injustice but sometimes it's not that easy. When it comes to education, even in the United States, it's hard to aspire to our highest goals. I know a girl whose dedicated in her area of study but it may take her a while to become profound or get up to the level she aspires to. Her parents commend her on her studies and have faith in her to follow her dreams but the beady eyes of her family members think differently. She got into the car that evening furious as hell and vented out to both my mother & I about the course of events that had just occurred. A family member asked what her career of choice was and when she told them Psychology, the family member replied back with an unneeded suggestion of "why don't you do something else?" The something else meaning something less complicated, something a lot more simple, something that required less time in school and more time finding a husband, getting married, and settling down. This sad reality was brought to me through this girl and for me it was a mind changing.
My parents are best described as the most lenient Indian parents that you'll ever meet. I mean, of course they are, their MY parents. They let me do what I want when I want and maybe they should be charged for my guilty behaviors but the long leash of freedom they've got me on came with alot of background that you'll hear about soon enough. I've always gotten the grades that please the eyes of my parents and with it comes the leniency. My parents have always encouraged me to chase my dreams and my grandmother, who is all to pleased to brag about anything, can't be happier that I've chose a field in Healthcare. She constantly tells me to go off and be an MD especially when I try to help her find a way to cure her own pains by taking in more potassium or fiber.
I tried to comfort my friend the best I could and let her know she has the right to do what she wants with her life whether it takes her a thousand years or just a few. I couldn't comprehend how life could really be this demoralizing. Welcome to the real world of Indians.
The traditionalist Indians that exist within everyones family don't want you to pursue your career or do what makes you happy. They want whats going to be the fastest way to get you married and procreating to take on the family name. They don't want you to find Prince Charming and have him sweep you off your feet because Indian Life isn't a fairy tale. It's a hardship. They want you to go and get married and fall in love afterwards. This also is a stereotype because it's not this bad, I just make it out to be because I'm the liberalist Americanized Indian girl that you'd just love to hate because I run my mouth on the world as it is, as I see it, and as is real. And the real sad reality is that girls in my position can often be mislead or disheartened to follow their dreams. I, myself, have gone down this road wondering 'will i ever make it?' If I pursue this dream in Med will I be good? Am I cut out? The answer should always be YES. If you ever raise doubt in yourself, you will fail. The answer is always YES. Think of the positive especially when those around you begin to raise doubt in yourself. For those who need more inspiration than this. There's the phenomenal Eleanor Roosevelt.

"Do what you feel in your heart to be right- for you'll be criticized anyway. You'll be damned if you do, and damned if you don't."

-Eleanor Roosevelt.

"Never allow a person to tell you no who doesn't have the power to say yes."

-Eleanor Roosevelt.

Ready, Set, Fire.

I live in the Tenderloin and most of you already know this. You may think no big deal. You may think it sucks. You may think it’s unfortunate. You may think nothing at all. Welcome to my average night in the Tenderloin:
Today I have so much rage in me that I can barely type. The only thing going through my head is ‘I wish I had a gun!’ It’s a typical evening and I’m sitting in my living room slaving away reading countless textbooks, writing notes, and doing question after question. Laura, the handicapped and crippled woman who lives upstairs is starting her normal amount of bullshit. Every night around the same time she brings home a visitor of a different sort. She always has a story claiming that this visitor is helping her do her laundry, carry groceries or give her medication. Each visitor looks like some random hoodlum off the street, a homeless alcoholic, or at times a coked out prostitute. They are all unique characters of the bizarre play that takes place here at this famous hotel, my home. My grandparents scream their heads off for no damn reason and tell her she cannot have visitors after visiting hours are over. The rules of the hotel clearly explain to her that visiting hours are between a certain time and she as well as everyone else must adhere to those rules regardless of disability. My parents being the pushovers that they are always allow her to get what she wants as a way of just not having to deal with it. I, on the other hand, put my foot down especially if I’m watching the office which I rarely do for this obvious reason. I will yell and scream and do whatever it takes. It may not be the right way but it works for me. As I’m dealing with Laura who is always up for complaining I hear shouts from outside. My grandma is already heading to the fire escape and I hear her yelling out to the bottom of the street “GO AWAY!” and a loud man’s voice booms back “SUCK MY DICK BITCH.” My grandmother is a 76 year old religious and conservative Indian woman and the fact that someone would have the audacity to scream this at her made me furious. I ran to the fire escape and the wrath seeped out as I saw the man’s face. He used to be allowed to visit here until he lashed out at my grandmother and attacked another tenant. After five minutes of yelling back and forth I had had enough. The blood in my veins was boiling and if I had a gun in my hand all six rounds would have been fired easily on point, with precision, and on target which at that point was his head, heart, and groin. The man called out verbal, racial, and downright degrading slurs mostly along the lines of “you can suck my dick” and “go call your dad to come suck my dick too” and “ill fucking beat your ass bitch.” This was outrage and my patience had escaped me a long time ago. How dare he? Now I had already hated this man who was yelling back at me for a long time now. One day when we were on vacation this same man had snuck into the building much like he does every night and beat up another tenant living in our hotel as well as pushed my grandmother. My parents were furious and he was forbidden to enter the property or we would call the police. He’s done it every night and has never been caught. This man has very violent behavior and as it seems he is very sick in the head. He is dangerous and I am unprotected. I can’t do anything because I don’t have a gun. And my family’s security is in danger. ( The video on my page shows him having convulsions right outside my house an hour after our altercation. ) He is obviously unwell.
This has always been the case in my life. Every time I walk out the building there is a good chance that I might get mugged by this man or any another. There is a possibility of rape and even death. There is a possibility that this could happen to my elderly grandparents or my young brother who is only seven years old. About a year ago my mom was on her way to work. It was one o’ clock in the afternoon and she was walking down the street like she usually does until some lady mugged her and left her with seven stitches above her eyebrow, a few court cases and nightmares for a lifetime. When I first learned about what happened to my mom I broke down in tears of rage. I was crying uncontrollably but more than that my insides were fighting against themselves. The blood wanted to pour out. My veins wanted to split. And my hair wanted to catch fire. The whites of my eyes turned bloody red and I felt like my brain was going to burst. I was frustrated because I wasn’t there to protect her. I was frustrated she had to be put in such a position, my own mother! I was frustrated to think that a human being could do that to another human being. There was no point calming me down so my friends just let me be. It’s the best thing to do when I get in this zone. Rage was burning through my insides and all the water in the world couldn’t cool me down. It’s a sickness. It’s my fury and it cannot be dealt with by anyone but me. At times I feel God is testing me but at times I feel like it’s just a step closer to the point that I’ve pretty much almost reached. It’s unexplainable. And for a person who talks nonstop, I have no words.
Tonight I am typing this up as the steam pours through my fingertips and every other pore throughout my body burns. My tears hot like boiling water rushing down my cheeks and my brain is exhausted from the over heat. I don’t have patience. I don’t have calm. I don’t have serenity. I am anger. And there is nothing that can be done to stop what I’m feeling. I am filled with hatred for the world. I am filled with resent to the people who gave birth to me including God himself. I am filled with passion with the conclusion that I have come to that this place is sick and I do not deserve such a life as this.
I texted my father after tonight’s incident the following- Final conclusion: either we move out or I’m buying a gun. Period. Make a choice.
God forbid the day I ever say I would buy a gun. I like their mechanics. The masterpiece of the machine that it is but its purpose is immoral. Guns have been around me since my early teen years and it’s no surprise to those who know me. I’ve held guns, handled them, loaded them and fired. It’s not a pretty site. It’s not a nice sound. It’s not a good look. For me, not at all. I’ve had them shot at me and around me. I’ve dealt with people in hospital beds wounded by the burning bullets of somebody’s hate or more often their mistake. Stray bullets breaking families. Confused bullets causing rivalries. Bullets causing suffering. Nothing compares to how many tears have been tasted caused by a trigger being pulled and released in a swift movement too soon. No one has the power to kill anyone or anything for that matter. No one can hate someone so much they wish them death. Such hatred and power does not exist in the realm of humanity. However, today in me, it has been born. The wrath. The venom. The vengeance. The hatred. The sinful. I screamed my head off the minute my mom walked into the house. She had missed the episode that took place while picking up my sister.
I hope your reading this. I hope it makes you cry. I hope it brings you both to tears because I have cried enough over this god forsaken hell hole that I call my life. What do I have to do to make you UNDERSTAND. I’ve forfeited my education at the University of San Francisco to go to San Francisco State University where I will probably have to struggle my way to graduation which has been ungratefully set back to possibly 5 or 6 years rather than just four due the state’s economy. I have sacrificed the 30 grand a year in attempt that the money saved would be seen as a way to buy a home! A home in a nice part of town, a place where my brother can ride around the block on his new bicycle and see something a lot more pleasant then hmm let’s say a prostitute overdosed on drugs laying on the sidewalk half naked. A place where my sister and I can walk to and from school without feeling uncomfortable about men gawking and whistling and cat calling at us like we are cheap whores for sale. A place where my grandparents can walk without me having to worry about if they’ll make it home safe. This place is not safe. This place is not home. It can never be home.
I’ve put up with the Tenderloin and this hotel for the last 20 years of my life and hated every minute of it. I’ve sav’d it out and yes it’s made me twice as smart as your average teenager. The ghetto of the Tenderloin has many life lessons but the one lesson we’re about to learn is that it makes me unwell. I hate living here among the scum. I hate living here and not knowing what humanity is. I hate seeing the things that I have see which have stained bloody and tainted images to the backs of my eyeballs so I can’t sleep with peace at night. Most importantly I hate walking home from people who don’t understand the sickness that I’ve been living in. The disease that infects my soul with a hatred for all the people living here.
I pleaded to my mother this evening. WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO to make it clear that I can’t live this way anymore. Sure, I can get up and leave. Pack my shit and get an apartment somewhere out there but they’d still be here and it would tear me apart. Should I slit my wrists in the name of the Tenderloin? Oh wait, no that doesn’t help. Or should I do a hunger strike until you have to all hold me down and force feed me? That didn’t work either. Should I contemplate suicidal schemes in my mind and say them out loud at random until you can’t trust me to be alone anymore? Ha! That never worked. Or do I do what I can and simply purchase a gun, buy ammunition and be prepared to use it? Will that make you want to buy a house? Will it finally make you take me seriously since all the above didn’t work? Will you finally see the wrath that escapes from the beauty that’s composed in tight shell? My life is lived in a box. It’s a tight box and my brain has no space to breathe. My words slip out and it stirs trouble. But to me, it’s only foreshadowing the storm ahead. I have a demented mind. Welcome to my nightmare.

Happy Birthday To You

It’s the middle of September and as we crossed the parking lot to go back to the apartment I felt droplets of rain fall from the gloomy skies above me. Summer was over and fall was beginning. The daylight-savings time would switch back to standard time soon and the sandals and flip flops would be replaced by rain boots and Uggs. The cold was welcoming and being beneath the foggy overcast protected from the sun (kinda) was soothing. We had just finished a big lunch at Olive Garden and the heat from the calories burning through our veins was warming us up on the inside so we could bear the cold walk back to the apartment. Krishna’s birthday was finally over and it was relieving to not have to watch everything I say around her in case I let the surprise slip. Never in a million years did I think I would be sitting in Krishna’s apartment with Pooja setting up for her surprise party while keeping in constant contact with Sheyna to make sure things ran smoothly. Surprisingly this was exactly what I was doing Saturday morning. My anxiety was kicking in slightly but didn’t come into full swing until people began to arrive. Krishna’s birthday had to be special, it had to be fantastic, and it had to perfect.
Krishna was my study buddy, the alarm clock, my bus ride companion, my new Indian friend, the shopping buddy, the only other girl in the group, the balance of good, the dayi, the Jimmy Cricket, the psychologist, the duo to my solo, the antaksari partner, the lift me up when I’m sad, the don’t give a fuck about no hoe when I cared all too much, the save me when I’m drowning in emotion. She’s helped me through a lot of troubled times in recent months. Granted I haven’t known her for years but for the time that I have she’s constantly proved to be a great friend. A lot of people call her all the time and depend on her to solve problems and issues. She’s kept everything in. She’s like Pandora’s Box. I can vent, you can vent, everyone vents and she takes all evils in, shuts each story in its individual box, and keeps it to herself. Never lets it out. She’s kept all my demonic thoughts to herself and helped me calm down when I’m ready to lose it. And for this reason and many more I’m blessed to say that I actually have at least one down friend.
Sheyna and I planned the entire party from start to finish and she was surprised at how much “bonding” we did without her. From jumping on Muni, sampling snow cones at party city, and eating turkey sandwiches we made up a lot of lies to get everything done the way it should be. Many people came to celebrate either because it was a party or because they actually cared that it was her birthday. People from many places as far out as Modesto to just down the hall came through and I know that it meant a lot to see each of them. Besides all the unnecessary drama and too-over-the-top commotion, I’m glad she had a great time throughout the night.
Overall, Krishna is an influential person and she lives the life of an absolute princess. She’s the girl who is a mystery and who is intriguing for those that don’t quite know her. She’s the girl you would love to hate, and although many may, the hatred doesn’t get in the way of her having a good time with those she loves, who are few but plenty. (I’m glad to be one of those people) She's not the type of person whose gonna be your best friend today and leave you in the exhaust fumes tomorrow. Although she’s almost a year younger than me she’s taught me a lot about life especially on friendships and the people that come and go. I met her last year at Navratri and from the start I thought she was bad news. The all too pure for my life of sin. Until I realized slowly, day by day, that this was the dose of sanity I'd been waiting for, the balance that I needed to reach. I went from being way out there on the left wing to coming closer to the center by being drawn to the gravitational force. Krishna is the girl who my parents would praise if I ever make it to my wedding day in one piece, the girl who my family would be glad that I brought around, the girl that my brother will remember because he got ice cream the day he met her, the girl who has influenced me to have hope in the hopeless and be a better person. Thank you, love!!! I hope you had the greatest birthday ever because you deserve it more than anything. Things may be shitty and we may be seeing the gym a lot, if you know what I mean, but you’ve got a great family and great friends who adore you and that’s all ya’ll ever need. And I know you’re hella reading this to Sheyna right now going, THAT’S ME THAT’S ME, She’s talking about me!!! =]

Quote of the Day:
Nikita [look of great enthusiasm]: Oh my god guys! I just realized why it’s called Navratri. It’s because Nav means nine and rat means night and since its nine days they call it Navratri, nine nights.
[Blank stare from Sheyna & Krishna]
Krishna [after a minute or so looks to Sheyna, sarcastically]: Please go get her a cookie! Please!!!

"Stop and Stare, you start to wonder why you're here not there, and you'd give anything to get what's fair, but fair ain't what you really need..can't you see what i see"

Throw Ya Hands Up

I'm sitting at the Stones town Mall bus stop and since it’s going to take another 13 minutes for the bus, I'm doing what I do best- observe the world around me and people watch. It’s a better day out on this part of town than it was yesterday. It’s breezy but the sun is shining at its full potential. It’s about 3:15pm and that's just the perfect time to reminisce about my high school years as I watch the female students down the street at Mercy High School walk by to catch the M or hang out at the mall. The familiar groups of girls in plaid skirts walk by. Some hang at the bus stop waitin for the 28, others climb the platform for the M train like me, and some groups head to Stonestown, the ultimate afterschool pit stop. Back in freshman year we hung out there all the time! I can't begin to count how many times I've been kicked out of that mall for shoplifting, disturbing the peace, or being there during school hours. I see a few girls I used to know and they smile. I wonder if they're thinking ‘God, she so different now.’ Truth is – I am. I've given up the Southpole jackets and Airforce sneakers for a flowy floral tank top with some flip flops and jeans. I chose a suburban look over the ghetto look I used to sport. Either way it’s a lot better than her all-too-high plaid skirt, long socks, and side ponytails. Ah, the single lonely Riordan boy probably trying to score a date to homecoming walks along. Reluctantly he makes his way to the corner alone and disappears. Better luck next time, chump! Back in the day there would always be a group of Riordan boys waiting at the tops of the stairs. They’d stand there and we’d see them from the class windows and giggle. Some with braces, others with the nicest and cleanest shoes money could buy, some playing music loudly from their mp3 compatible sidekicks. All as desperate as the other one, each waiting for the 3:05 bell to ring and the skirts to come flying out. The bus drives by and a new group of girls catch my attention as I wait on the platform. They are squawking at the top of their lungs to a girl not too far from me on the platform. They exchange words back and forth. The girl waiting for the train tells them she's heading home. The girls yell out 'Por que!?' she tells them she's gotta watch her younger brother and do homework for English. 'Ok, te veo manana' I notice another girl walking ahead of the pack and see the white smoke blow out smoothly from her mouth. I notice the cancer stick in hand and the bright purple lighter in the other. Her hair is in a big mushroom bun propped to the side and she looks angry. Her mannerisms from afar remind me of a girl I used to know. Smoking a cigarette, smoking anything, popping pills, being in the wrong places at the wrong times, hanging out with all the wrong people, throwing crazy parties that the police had to stop and all while drinking to my heart’s content are images that flash forward from my not-too-long ago past. I've grown a lot since then but the old me is still resilient beneath this all. And when I see her it takes me back to the past that I'm all too familiar with. I've given up a lot of my old habits…
Finally the bus is here and I hop on. It’s already pretty packed with State students but I manage to find a seat. I try to let go of the images swirling around my mind and shake myself back to present day. The next stop takes me right back to three years ago when I waited at the very same bus stop every day for this same train. A gang load of Mercy girls hop on the bus. They're talking about school and teachers that I'm familiar with. One girl yells out ' Ms. Miner hexa doesn't like me and for no reason!' Hmm maybe she doesn't like you because the word hexa means six and nothing else in the English language like the way you’re stating it. They're talking at elevated volumes and my mind is in a daze. I can't wait for this bus ride back to my hellish life to be over. I look for a familiar face, someone to talk to about this agony tearing up my insides. And that's when I saw her. Sara, the first friend I ever met at Mercy. And the moment was as ironic as it could possibly get. Sara was Arabic, her family came from Jordan and although she was Muslim & I was Hindu-we clicked from day one. Maybe because we were both from similar cultures, maybe because we got our eyebrows threaded not waxed, maybe because we were public school kids who were forced to go to Mercy due to lack of better options. Maybe it was fate-the same fate that allowed me to run into her today on the M train as I contemplated on my high school years alone. She came up to me and the expression on her face matched mine. 'I don't remember ever being this loud and obnoxious and crazy!' Truth is we probably were and a lot worse. If anyone from class of ‘08 knew loud and crazy it was defined in Sara & I. We were made to sit on opposite ends of classrooms, our friends constantly had to shush us up so they could be heard in conversation and we were the most heard voices in the cafeteria on any given day. You'll be sure to read about this chick in my book but this blog isn't about her. It’s about the thing that encompasses her, the thing that brought me to her, the reason I recognized her face on this bus- Mercy high school.
Mercy high school built my character into the knuckle headed son of a bitch, or daughter of a bitch that I am. I was a public school child who was wrongfully placed in this hellish Catholic school with nothing but GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS. I always hated girls ever since my tom boyish days as a kid. I played with the boys, I was comfortable with the boys, and I befriended the boys a lot easier than girls. Why? Boys are straight up and real. Girls lie and deceive. I thought this way for a long time until I realized. Everyone lies. So much so that sometimes you can barely trust yourself. Coming to an all girls school was tough and although I made many friends, I’ve had many enemies. I’ve let them all go now and taken a more Zen filled path of life-trying to stay calm instead of blowing up and busting a head or two open, look on the bright side of everything versus sulking in darkness with nothing, be friends rather than enemies, and always make love not war. I’ve started to realize that I’ve turned into somewhat of a pushover. I took all the things my mother saw in me as negative like the violence, the aggression, the anger, the withdrawals, the pain, the brutal, the upfrontness, the direct and discontent and turned it into good like kindness, laughter, learning to ignore, calming down, talking and venting and keeping things to yourself. Only to sit here and realize I don’t know what I’m doing.
I kill them with kindness and they only come back to peck at my flesh some more. I mind my own business when my business is constantly brought up. I ignore your snide comments and remarks only to feel my heart rip a little more under the pressure. I calm down and don’t react when all I want to do is punch you square in the face till the blood runs down my fingers. It’ll make me happy to see that you’re in pain and can’t do shit about it. I’m fighting an uphill battle not only with myself but with the “friends” and their multiple identities around me. And I’m finally sick of keeping up with the Jones. I’m done with faking it and trying to belong when obviously I stand out like a sore thumb. I’m in the spotlight and your dragging me to the darkness where my mind sets free a different side of my being. My old friends look at me like WHAT HAPPENED. We all thought HyphyQueen died. We all thought La India Maria got deported. We all thought the Nikita we once knew changed up, switched up, and told us to bite the dust. I have multiple personalities too but deep down there’s only one Nikita, there only can be. And this is her quest in bringing it all together. It’s time to close yet another chapter. The chapter where I give too much care and put too much effort to those who aren’t as worthy as I assumed. The chapter where I’m the sucka, the low life, the disrespected, the look down upon and the one with nothing at all. It’s time to give up on the dreams and hopes that I had in you and me. It’s time to give up all the love I’ve got to give because I’ve given it all away. It’s time to get up off the floor, dust myself off and throw my hands up. It’s time for the flower on my back to wilt and for it to transform into the venomous snake that’s ripping through my chest. Don’t give me your stupid pity. I’m changing once more. And I really just don’t give a fuck. Something I should have done a long time ago. Because I remember the old me as crazy as she was, as scandalous as she seemed, and as troubled as she may have been – I was happy then. And I’m going to walk around with this real smile on my face and be happy now.

"Whose to know if your soul will fade at all? The one you sold to fool the world. You lost your self esteem along the way. " -Seether

Fraudulence.

When I told her I was only kinda sad that I was going home I really meant I was kinda happy to be going. Home is where the heart is. It is where the writer comes out from the wrath and it's a point in time where I, the menace, can finally breathe again. Living in the Tenderloin has never felt like a home but it's a place where I am comfortable. A place where I fit into my own skin. I can be anything I want- I can cry, kick, scream, and laugh. Sing like no ones listening and dance like no ones watching. Say what I want or not say anything at all. Act a fool and all without feeling an ounce of regret, without a criticizing glance or judgemental minds. It's a place where I can just be me. A place where I sort through my issues and see what my next move should be.

When I hugged each person goodbye I took part of their spirit with me because I know I'm gonna need strength to face this cold and dark lonely night. As I sat waiting for the bart train at Macarthur station I contemplated on the weekend and the confusion and anger burns through my body like hard liquor spilling down your throat. I don't like showing that I'm sensitive even though that's what I am. I can compose myself in front of the crowd for the sake of everyone's well being because NOT causing attention to yourself is the right thing to do. I've put the old Nikita, the one who did all the wrong things, in a grave six feet under but the ghost lingers on my shoulder and is waiting for its chance at revenge. The new nikita is the improved version but that Miss Nice Girl routine is getting tired. I'm sick of keeping it real while sitting in a boat with no paddle in a sea of phonies. I'm sick of trying to keep up with you when your tripping me purposely to make me fall behind this race. If feeling this way is being on your level then I'm taking off to the next page and closing the book on the chapter your still stuck on.

The emotions this weekend have finally spilt over the brims of my eyes. I've finally lost my words and feelings for just about everyone. My helpless grip of compassion remains in hopes of salvation from this insanity that I'm living in. Since when did the world fall onto my shoulders?

I've got some decent friends who until this point I've adored wholeheartedly. I've taken them as they are with their flaws and perfections. But my heart's been shatted by the knife you're secretly stabbing through my back as you lean to give me the last hug. It's a sucker punch, a blow from the backside, it's unexpected. It's also quite shocking to hear coming from your mouth.
I have a few good friends that I hold high against the world and who I'd do anything for. I'd stand next to you in any fight. I'd let you lean on me in times of need. I'll fly across the country to come visit or run my ass to catch your show. I'd leave you be if that's what you wish. I'll let you give me bruises and scars from random drunken nights. I'll give you advice if your not sure what to do. I'll plan surprise birthday dinners for you because I know it'll make you happy. I'll put your pictures all over the wall just to be reminded of you. I'll spend the night if your scared to be alone. I'll forgive you for any mistake. I'll take random anthropology classes with you just so you won't die of boredom alone. I'll let you confide in me your deepest secrets. I'll crash picnics! Heck! I'll even pack up your stuff and bring it to you with noserings in hand because I know you lost the last pack I bought. These are the ones I care about. These are the ones who I hold dear. These are the ones who mean everything to me and who I'm afraid to lose especially over stupid drama and jealousy. You simply can't measure the love I have for them against your own plain skin. [hint hint: Move On!] Recent months have made me a changed person. The old me still remains beneath the skin and some times her venom pours out as it is now. I'm trying to contain it as hard as I can.

It's sad to say that I let you have the power to break me down but like I said every little thing acts like the cherry on top of this sundae of my demise. And it's finally arrived. Here I am having a long and hard talk with you about how we need to stick together and be real with each other. How I care about your friendship and how concerned I am that you're not feeling well. Only to find out your just as bad as the rest. You're no different from those you say you hate. And your as quick to judge others as they are to judge you. Your envious, fradulent, and delusional at best.
Jealousy has never been a friend of mine. Growing up in a neighborhood like the one I'm from, it's hard not to be jealous at some point, wishing you had what others did and only dreaming of getting what you really want. However, you have what you have in this life because it is given to you or it's earned. You work hard to achieve what you recieve. Jealousy and envy are turn off traits and show that you have a lack of confidence and low self-esteem. I've put in alot of effort to get to where I stand today and I do it proudly with my head held high. You do so by talking shit and making everyone seem lower than yourself so you feel better when deep down your lousy. Friends that are envious don't belong in my life and can't be called friends at all. I've had a lot of run-ins with people like these and I just push them out of life so they don't even matter.

The situations I'm in have messed up my emotional pysche to the max. I'm unsure of where to turn to and I'm not sure who I can trust. I'm not sure whose jealous or envious but I'll say that I feel bad for them. The balance of my life is thrown off and it sucks but brigther days are comign soon. Through this "drama" that's been stirring- I've been upset for a good portion of my labor day weekend. I've been in a constant uphill battle of upset and anger with a good friend of mine and kept 'em in the dark with how I feel. It's just because I don't know what to say and I'm not trying to say the wrong thing. I realized now what is important. Our happiness being together with our friends or my anger for you trying to tear us all apart.

Revenge is sweet and karma's a bitch. I've got a lot more to lose than you do so learn the rules of the game before you start trying to play especially with me as your main opponent.

I got no time for haters and it's unfortunate that you turned out to be one. Hope you turn around from your shambled and shitty situation and find the truth within yourself.

The Sundae of My Demise

I packed up everything that you asked for.
As I was running up and down the stairs, the memories flying up through the carpet, whispering from the walls and embedded in the air, it slowly ate me alive. Ok that's just too dramatic! It was sad, period. It's not just the thought of you moving that's fucking me up. It's everything around it. Everything that's happening around me has become the foundation of my emotional overdrive lately. Each issue piling on high like the layers of a mountain high cake. And you, the cherry on top of the sundae of my demise.

I got drunk way too fast. Captain Mo chased down with a fabulously lousy Four Loco being my recipe for disaster. I thought it'd be awkward hanging out with old friends again but it wasn't. I thought it'd be weird walking into the building, going up the elevators, and chilling just doing my thing. But it wasn't at all. It was welcoming much like it always has been. Only thing was that a part was missing. I guess this is just how it's going to be. How it's got to be. I had a talk with a "more than just a friend" friend of yours. And I've come to a realization that you both have emotions that run more than just skin deep and compassion for each other that's been covered up by misunderstanding. I'm trying to be the guardian angel of all sorts and am attempting to bring everyone together. It's been alot harder than I thought. Apparently, we all have tons of issues with our EMOTIONS that we can't seem to deal with. Our ego's are the size of 18 wheelers and we can't seem to get around them. We act like we are the bigger person but really we're standing less than 2 feet tall. I'm trying to find the slivers of happiness between the thick lines of hate and the search is harder than finding a needle in a haystack.

We've got the lives of average teenagers. It's a cycle we all go through. A process everyone can relate to. And it's inevitable. We've gone through our break ups, lost friends, gained friends, had crushes, been rejected, got a fat pimple the day before a big event, and moved forward into maturity each and every day. We've turned the page and lived for the tomorrow that's coming. Soon we'll all be turning 20 (or 19)! We're getting closer to the "adulthood" we've been raised for. We'll be expected to do certain things and act in certain ways and treat each other different, maybe even better. Ultimately, we'll have to get over it. Over any hurdle that comes in our path, over the obstacles life sets in front of us, over the hardships that God challenges us to face.

I apologize for the tone of these entries lately. My mind is in a dark place. Due to my emotions and stress I feel unwell. And yes, I'm on the verge of a mental breakdown. I'm coming out of my denial and standing up to the light and letting it be known. The wrath of the menace is seizing a hold stronger than I thought and the demon in my soul has awoken with venom in its veins. I guess you have to hit rock bottom before you can climb to the top again.

I haven't posted pictures on my blog recently because yes there's been a change. The pictures and the memories that come alive through them don't mean the same thing that they used to. I've been assured by some that things are getting better slowly. Time is the healer of all wounds and only time will tell what's real and what's not. I hope it's all gonna be okay. For the sake of sanity.

"And some people got problems man. They got awful complications. Other people got perfect situations, with no provocation. But don't we all, don't we just got to give a little time. Maybe give a friend a call instead of making him confused. What a terrible thing for you to do. What an awful thing for you to say"

-Confused by Jack Johnson