Bank has many definitions, but the one that applies to all is: a supply of something held in reserve. I’ve got bank. I have money in my account but more importantly I have absences to use. Not waste, use. Wasting absences is not showing up to class because you want to go out instead of attending to your responsibilities. Wasting absences is missing the first week of school because your not mentally prepared to go back to school. Wasting absences is not showing up for school for any reason that doesn’t leads to productivity. Wasting absences is like wasting money, spending all of your money on a weekend binge of fun. Fun is fun, until your fun gets in the way of your funds. You have funds to have fun but the purpose of funds isn’t fun. Money is meant to take care of responsibilities. When the debt of responsibility is fulfilled doesn’t mean that the rest of the funds are for fun. One has to consider the unexpected; when something unforeseen arises and demands your funds, but you don’t have the funds because you spent all your money on fun. That’s what the bank is for, to store your funds away from fun so that when the unexpected arises you have the funds.

I have absences in the bank so that when something unforeseen happens I have enough absences in storage that my grade isn’t effected by my absence. I have been given four absences in a four month period which is more than enough funds in the bank that I can take one or two for fun. The class is at 8am, so how much funs can one have at 8am.  However, the night before is the night before. The time to have fun is at night and that is usually when people need funds because fun at night demands funds. But like most people that use their bank funds for fun there comes a time when something unexpected arises and they have to tap into their bank funds for something not fun. If these unforeseen circumstances arise, often people will curse themselves for using their bank funds for fun instead of using their fun-funds for fun.

I’ve choose to sleep in twice for this class because sometimes I just need a break from getting 5 hours of sleep. One of the two times I was pressured to go out after work and the other time I was exhausted. Half of my funds are gone but I was at the halfway point in the semester so I still had funds in the bank. Until an unforeseen circumstance arose, my alarm didn’t go off. Well it went off but I turned the sound off the night before at work and forgot to turn it back on when I got home. I woke up at 9 and realized that I missed class. That’s why I have absences in the bank, but now I’m low on funds and have no room to use them for fun; which is ok because the purpose of funds isn’t fun.

How long can someone go without the proper amount of sleep? Sleep is essential to quality time. One can always be awake, but being alert and productive is more important. Woody Allen once said that 90 percent of success is just showing up. That’s not true. One can always be on time and never miss a day, but eventually people will demand contribution, useful contribution. Otherwise you might as well not be there because even though you are physically there you are not there.
I work at least 40 hours a week on a good week. Well a bad week. As an hourly employee the more I work the more I get. If I work over 40 hours a week I get overtime; time and a half pay for each hour of work. That’s where I want to be because I work off tips so my weekly check usually isn’t worth a trip on my off-day to pick it up. When I do 50-65 hours a week, I’ll make the trip, but that usually isn’t necessary because if I am working 50-65 hours a week I’m at my job every day.
Between school and work I don’t have much time to do anything else, even when I want to. I usually don’t want to do anything because I’m tired. That last time I didn’t have any responsibilities for the day, no school or work, I sleep and laid in the bed all day, all day. I wanted to go out and run errands, but I couldn’t my body needed a day off. Caffeine and nicotine is a short-term cure for tiredness, but the long-term cure is rest.
But when do I rest? When I have responsibilities to fulfill, when do I take time to have 8 hours of sleep? The answer is when I cannot go any longer, when my tiredness turns into exhaustion. I’m young so I have the belief that I don’t need 8 hours of sleep, and I don’t. I can do a double shift at work, get home at 1am, toss around in the bed until 2 am, and then wake up at 6am-7am and make my way to school for my 8am class. I knew that I would tired for class and subsequently at work because of my limited amount of sleep, but I never considered when I would reach exhaustion. The point when the body aches and the mind can’t focus on anything but day dreams because ultimately the mind wants to dream; being unconscious while conscious.
We all have are limits and usually we don’t know them until we reach them. I’ve awoken to my limits. The point where your health is at risk because your not taking care of yourself; drinking coffee and Redbull chain smoking cigarettes to complete a task while taking your body to task. Sometimes you need to shut down. Instead of constantly being on the go, slow down and rest. That may mean that you show up less than 90 percent of the time, but when you are there you are there: alert and productive.

(WARNING) This is a very inflammatory piece. It will offend some.

Too fucking bad, because you have to read it. Enjoy bitches.

People are a product of their environment. That has been the truth from my experience working in the restaurant business. I’ve waited tables for a long time but just recently I have realized that I have become more judgmental than ever before. I use stereotypes and racial remarks as if they were acceptable adjectives in life. I am not a racist. I am a waiter.
If you have ever waited tables there has been a time when you prejudged the people sitting in your section. It doesn’t affect your service to them until they give you a cue that they won’t tip.
“Is there free refills”? Sour cream is an extra fifty cents? Does it cost me to have water? Do you take EBT? All cues that your guest is a bad tipper and a broke/cheap son of a bitch. I’m not being judgmental. If you want sour cream, but you are unwilling to pay an additional fifty cents then you are a broke/cheap son of a bitch. That’s a fact.
I’m not racist but colored people don’t tip. You don’t. You may tip, but your people don’t. Talk to your people. Asians may be the exception. The better your English the better the tip. Americanized second generation Asians typically know how to tip. Broken English Asians are like foreigners of all races, bad tippers. I don’t know if they are bad tippers because they want to be or because they don’t understand, but either way they need to get it together.
Arab people have a decent tipping average. Good job. You should tip well considering how much your charging us for gas. And 9-11.
Women typically tip more than men. Maybe it’s a domestic thing. They can relate to my job and the lack appreciation I receive for doing it. Taking food to a table with a smile is one of the hardest jobs in the world. First I have to pick up the food, walk about 5 yards and drop it off. Tough work. Getting napkins and refills don’t get me started. I don’t know how housewives can do it. To me it’s impossible. They don’t even have busboys, or a kitchen staff or a slave, excuse me I mean a dishwasher. Most dishwashers are ex-convicts or illegals so screw them. Let them clean the vomit from the floor and the diarrhea on the walls.
Let’s go back to more racism. Black people don’t tip. They call each other nigga’s for a reason, because they don’t know better. They especially don’t know how to tip. When I get a good tip from a black person I surmise to what they do for a living. They must have a good job, degree or work in the restaurant business. That’s it. At the very bottom of the tipping hierarchy, no surprise, Hasidic Jews. They don’t tip. If I see a Yamaka and curls I’m giving you bad service. They say Jesus was a Jew. If I ever find out he didn’t tip I swear to God I will worship another religion. Maybe Buddhism because I know that bill will be high. Or maybe the Greek gods because that automatic gratuity.
White people congratulations once again you are at the top of the totem pole. You are the best tippers. Not all of you tip, but as a people you are represented well. When I see white people in my section I become the perfect house Negro; dedicated to serving every request hoping that they’ll get comfortable enough to hand me there credit card.
(Side note; if you have an American Express card and you don’t tip then you are cheap; because only people with their shit together have American Express cards.)
I’m not racist. I’m a waiter. Judge me if you want, because I am certainly going to judge you and your people. At my job they call me the Mexican, and I feel proud every time I hear it. It means I’m hard working and willing to work when ever and where ever. I’ve got a deep respect for Mexicans now because that’s my nickname; until they sit in my section.

What is behaviorism and why do we study it? Behaviorism is the belief that humans learn through observing and experimentation. It is the idea that all human events and reaction are described by circumstances and controlled by discipline or a prize without free will. There are two ways in which behaviorism can unfold: Classical Conditioning and Operant Conditioning.

Classical Conditioning is when the conditioned stimulus makes a second stimulus respond towards a specific behavior. For example, John Watson and Rayner conducted an experiment with a boy named Albert. In his experiment he paired a white rat with a loud noise that was made with a hammer. Watson conditioned Albert to fear the rat, so every time he hears the noise now he becomes frightened. Operant conditioning is the understanding of the procedure where the effect of the outcomes comes after a response and it decides if the behavior will be repeated or not. For example, if a child gets good grades and his mom/dad buys them a pair of shoes, the child will keep on getting good grades in order to get more shoes. This example can also be known as positive reinforcement. One of the differences between classical and operant conditioning is that it focuses on the behavior. Whether is involuntary or voluntary. Classical conditioning requires making an alliance between an involuntary response and a stimulus, while operant conditioning is about making an alliance between a voluntary behavior and its effect. In operant conditioning, the learner is rewarded with incentives, while classical conditioning involves no such enticements. In addition, classical conditioning focuses on the involuntary part of the learner and gets automatic behaviors, while operant conditioning requires the learner to contribute and conduct some type of action in order to be rewarded or punished.

Working at a daycare most children enrolled tend to behave based on rewards and punishments rather than trying to avoid fear. In other words, the children don’t behave based on classical conditioning; children behave based on operant conditioning. For example, if it is cold outside and the children choose not to wear their coat the parents simply punish them. Parents take away their favorite toy in exchange for cooperation to the orders from the parent. If the child listens to the parent’s orders, the parent usually would give their child a candy or satisfying comments that make the child feel happy. Next time when the children cooperate, they expect the toy or the good comments from the parent, which then eliminates the bad behavior for a long period of time. On the other hand, classical conditioning does not allow the same behavior to work as operant does. With classical conditioning, kids change their behaviors because they’re trying to avoid a fear. To me that is not a good way to teach children how to behave because their fear sensitivity decreases as they get older.  Another disadvantage that classical conditioning has is that it doesn’t focus on learning. Classical conditioning makes an effort on instilling a temporary learning process. As for operant conditioning, the focus is toward long-term learning.

A child’s personality and trait depends on how their parents react to their behavior. Parents should take varying measures in different situations. Every so often, it is necessary to reward children and encourage them, and in other situations, parents should choose to be strict and punish them as well. Classical conditioning does not do this and even adults like to be rewarded and compensated for our actions. To motivate children to behave well, it is crucial to praise and inspire them to do this kind of activity more often. Therefore I believe that although both classical conditioning and operant conditioning are good when correlated with child behavior, operant works better.

The moment I died, was the moment I began to live. A reincarnation or maybe perhaps a metamorphosis of some kind. I still wonder how this rebirth came about, yet I have come to realize that it was a destined manifestation. My reincarnation occurred in February of 2012. There was no funeral although there were many tears shed and feelings of sudden sorrow and hurt. There was no celebration of life anew either unfortunately, but I already figured that there wouldn’t have been one. That day, for the first time ever, my spirit had joined in holy matrimony with my evolving physicality. It was similar to the emergence of a butterfly from a cocoon. I was now completely one; mind, body, and soul. I became a special girl, much different from other girls.

Living day to day in a world, a place, a society became uneasy for me being that I belonged to a certain species of women, transgender women. Although self-content, I felt like an alien in the world around me. Like a mutant from the X-men series, I was special, but I was ashamed of myself. Even though I felt complete, I had trouble accepting myself as a special girl. I was living with fear in a close-minded world. I was a witch during the Salem Witch Trials; a Jew during the Holocaust. I was a strange yet special girl; strange in the sense that I was not the same as most girls, and special because I had a special physicality which was slowly evolving. I belonged to a class of special women, yet the world saw us in a different light. Most people don’t understand my kind due to the prejudices media and society have forced upon them. Among those people were my parents. My mom distanced herself from me for three months; my father, well, he was in Trinidad at the time, and he didn’t care to acknowledge me at all. Who am I? What am I? Why am I? I often feel that I’ve been banished to a cold and lonely world where I am all by myself. In the real world I am a penny on the ground, someone who has little to no worth. In the streets, I am spit at like a peasant or like the ground itself. I am publicly degraded like a worthless inhuman object. People call me “a man,” “a nigga,” “a tranny,” “a transvestite,” etc. Most of the time people can’t tell that I am a woman of transgender experience, unless they find me attractive and try to see through to my soul.

I have come to learn my place in society as an individual belonging to a species of cursed women. Women who desire to belong and matter and live normal lives. Women who wish to blend into humankind. To pass. Although many of us do indeed pass, myself included (for the most part), passing has its own complications. Passing is like being in the closet. I often find myself trying to hide my trans identity in order to eliminate being the center of negative attention and to protect myself physically and emotionally. I am afraid to leave home if my hair or makeup isn’t up to par or if I am wearing clothes that accentuate the wrong parts of my body.

I have often felt cursed; never to find true love, or have a family like my sisters. Never able to find stable employment or fit comfortably into society. Passing may defer these things for some time, but the problems never seem to go away. And because of this I am forever internally oppressed. Love and family does exist for some, however, it is rare indeed unless these things are established pre-transition. Although my species of women include straight, bisexual, and lesbian women, I feel attraction towards men only. They are my weakness. I have a misconception of love. I fall in love very quickly because I never had unconditional love. Men charm me with their words easily and steal my heart under false pretenses. They use me physically and abuse me emotionally. In the daytime they ridicule me, and by nightfall they hypnotize me like an incubus and inhabit my flesh. We are often over sexualized and thought to trick men into sleeping with us, but the truth is we search for unconditional love in private and in public alike. We share our secrets with them before laying with them, or else it would be like committing suicide. They pretend to be disgusted with us in public, but in private we become their mistresses, sort of like an inter-racial relationship in the Jim Crow south. I often fall prey to their incubus-like nature. They are demons in disguise with a purpose to annihilate  women by preying on their emotionality, something I would never want to be. Internally, I’m just like any other girl. Our spirits unite into a sisterly bond. Yet, my existence is dual by nature, but seen as unnatural in the eyes of the ignorant.

I learned that no one understands me as much as I understand myself, and therefore I choose to walk alone. Apart from family, apart from friends, apart from the world. I live with my spirit now, and I’ve come to accept the lack of love and consideration I receive from mankind. I am learning to control my emotions and to shield myself from emotional harm. I’ve learned that even though I am different, I am me. Every individual has their differences, a certain uniqueness that complements who they are as people. Some are forced to hide and feel shame of their differences; others embrace their differences gladly. Ultimately society dictates one’s place in the world. Or does it? Either way, I am beginning to feel that I am not cursed after all. I am, rather, divine; godlike to possess a dual nature. Living as a boy for 21 years with the mind of a girl for 23 years has given me the complete power of yin and yang. Although I am a different, yet special girl, I can proudly say that I have had both worlds in the palm of my hands.

 

Primary Objective

When an individual fasts he/she refrains from consuming any sorts of foods and/or drinks for a period of time, about 16 hours. Hunger is the greatest obstruction for a Saa’em (Arabic for, a person who fasts).  When an individual overcomes his/her hunger he/she promotes a greater discipline for themselves. Hunger is a powerful tool, it is utilized by protestors to arouse guilt in others and it is exercised by religious populations in return for God’s love.

There were 6 seats total at the 6 person rectangle dinner table and all except 1 was occupied. The quiet atmosphere at the dinner table portrayed the unhappy faces of each person. I was fortunate to see that the best seat at the dinner table was unoccupied; therefore, I claimed the middle seat. The middle seat was a quiet space which allowed a cross-table diagonal conversation. Observing the dinner table, the entertainment laid on what was on the table itself and not the seats. In the middle of the table was an oven roasted chicken and around the chicken laid an abundance of food. The table was similar to a traditional Thanksgiving dinner table but without the turkey. A loud malicious growl! Noise aroused and was heard by the other members of the dinner table. The noise became unbearable, the growl noise continued to repeat in a pattern just like an ostinato in music.

Every time the growl noise evoked a burning sensation befell. The burning was produced by the Hydrochloric acid hitting the stomach wall in a fierce manner just like fierce waves hitting the shore. It was obvious that the acid was looking for a prey. Every time the acid hit the stomach wall, the growl noise echoed to the esophagus in which the noise became louder and more painful. No one at the dinner table was disturbed by the unbearable noises because they too had the same issue and were focused on something much more important, the clock. Tick tock, as 1 minute passed, one person stood up from the dinner table and shouted, “Everyone the time has come to break our fast! The 1^st day of Ramadan is fulfilled.” The person who shouted quickly sat down then swiftly began stuffing his face on the food on his plate. He ate so fast that he looked like he would eventually choke.

The man continued to eat so fast and so much that he demonstrated that his fast was valid, even though no one asked him to validate it. No one spoke at the dinner table; the people all seemed like strangers even though they were close family members. All that could be heard was munching noises. The growling noises dissolved as the food entered their empty stomachs. The people at the dinner table became full within a matter of 5 minutes. They seemed awkward about how a person can become full within 5 minutes after not eating for 16 hours. They enjoyed their time by drinking tea and conversing with each other. One traditional individual looked at me and stated, “Hey, do you know the story of the Turkish tea?” I looked at him and replied, “Not really, I just like to drink it everyday.” He scrunched his eyebrows together and asked, “You drink the tea everyday but you don’t know its importance?” I felt my cheeks getting hotter and hotter, I replied, “Please explain.” He stated, “The teacup is the household, the tea leaves are the parents and the liquid of the tea is love. The sugars are the children, when you mix the elements you get a good taste of peace, which every men desire.” The man revealed to me that everything has a meaning in life. After he finished explaining the story of the tea, an old man with a hunch over from years of gravity pushing down on his spine interrupted him and carried him into a conversation about his time in the military in which the wise man turned to him and listened carefully, removing me from their space.

There was a positive atmosphere at the dinner table; everybody felt relieved after getting their most important desire to be fulfilled, the desire of eating food. Each person understood the importance of discipline and the importance of food. The people at the dinner table spoke highly about giving food to the poor as they felt in their position for a moment of time. Ramadan is the month of observance. Muslims who fast during the month of Ramadan not only become closer to Allah but, also become more aware of their environment. The people at the dinner table were blessed to have food in front of them as it was a type of luxury for them for a moment. The house became like a teacup filled with tea, everybody was at peace until sunrise.

 

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD!

 

 

Television shows are a tricky matter to deal with. You have to be able to attend to the needs and pleasures of your audience in order to keep the show going strong. Although not all shows can be proven a success story and last as long as ‘Seinfeld’ or ‘Friends,’ but they all have their own opportunity to leave the fans with a feeling of satisfaction and gratitude.

Having a certain time frame for a shows run allows the producers and the writers a chance to flesh out the stories and tie any loose ends that the show has created. When knowing ahead of time that a show will end, it can either be a good thing, like ‘Breaking Bad,’ in which most aficionados thought was really good and it tied up loose ends very nicely, or a not so good thing, like ‘Heroes,’ a show that had so much potential in the beginning and immediately flat lined.

Most recently, another hit TV show just went off the air, ShowTime’s ‘Dexter,’ a drama series about a blood spatter analyst for the Miami Dade Police Department that lived a secret life as a serial killer. He was taught a morality system that was referred to as “The Code,” a set of rules that his deceased father created that allows him to suppress his thirst to kill by killing people that deserve to die, such as criminals and murderers.

The eighth and final season had the tagline of “The End Begins” in all of the ads that were created. But did the final episode prove worthy enough to be in the ranks of other great shows? The problem was that one does not want to see a vigilante like Dexter have a happy ending. Even though he had a difficult life growing up, being adopted and his mother being murdered in front of him, he was still considered a villain of some sorts. This isn’t like in Bryan Singer’s ‘The Usual Suspects,’ where Kevin Spacey’s character was the mastermind behind all the deaths and robberies, and his lying and manipulation allowed him to work around the feds and escape without them even having a clue. A twist like this was possible because it was done in a way to give the audience mystery and suspense, something that no one saw coming. Dexter lived by the code, but the fact still remained that he was still a serial killer. Albeit he was doing it for the right reasons, it can be considered immoral and unethical.

Although the show had a troubling season, by introducing characters that we thought we should have cared for but were killed off an episode or two later and bringing up past characters whose story arc ended just fine. It was starting to close every part of the show, up until the final scene. After a very gratifying ending that left Dexter running head on to an upcoming tropical storm, giving the allusion that Dexter was done for and dead. They decided to pull a bait and switch and have him fake his death so that his son can live a normal life, something that he was afraid he wasn’t able to provide for him. Even though he left his son, Harrison, under the care of a wanted fugitive, Hannah McKay. Not one of his brightest moves.

One of the smartest things that the writers did with this show was how they handled the death of Dexters adoptive sister, Deb. She was also a part of the police department, first as a homicide detective then, as the show progressed, the police lieutenant. She eventually found out about her brothers secret life and that was the beginning of the downward spiral that was her life, especially since she realized that she was in love with him. She was finally starting to make amends with herself as a person, but then ultimately she was shot and taken to the hospital in critical conditions. The doctors told Dexter that her vitals looked promising but unfortunately, moments later, she was induced into a coma. All signs during the episodes leading up to the finale looked promising for the conclusion of her character, but that sudden twist was a strong emotional connection that reached out to the audience.

The final season of Dexter was a roller coaster of highs and lows, especially with an ending that left the viewers thinking to themselves “what the heck?” It had a beautiful conclusion with Dexter holding his beloved sister in his arms and then throwing her into the water, as he did with all his other “victims,” this in a way brought the show full circle. Disregarding the final scene and how they let Dexter live, he shouldn’t have deserved a happy ending, arguably enough since he put himself in a state of isolation that proved to be questionable.

 

 

I would consider myself a prune because I would always organize everything in my life. I would never do anything that was not on my list or in my planner. My friends and family would ask me to do things but I will always say no. My friends would ask me randomly if I would like to go out with them to dinner or something that they planned spontaneously. That day was no exception to them. It was December 15

My response would always be the same. “I can’t I have home work to do tonight.”

Melissa, My best friend: “ alicia come on its only one day.”

Me: “Melissa you know I can’t, I planned to read the Five chapters of Dorian

grey for hw”

Melissa: “just move things in your schedule”

Me: “I cant, I am sorry”

Melissa: “okay, bye”

This would be one of the many incidents that happened with my friends and Elizur, my Fiancé, was no exception. He called me not long after. I was frustrated because people didn’t understand my predicament. If something was to be moved from my schedule to another day I would have an overload of homework.

Me: “I have homework, tonight”

Elizur: “you always have homework, you can’t just do it another day”

Me: “ely you know that I can’t do it, if I do I will have too much homework. I

am not like you that does not get a lot of homework”

Elizur: “you can’t make an exception with me. Lets go out to dinner, or out

clubbing.”

Me: “no means no, if you want I can check my schedule and make some time

for you.”

Elizur: “I hate when you do that. You are always planning things.”

Me: “I can’t help it. I have room for you next week on Saturday.”

This would be our typical argument. Especially the topic of the future, he would ask me when would we get married or when would we have children or move in together. I am not afraid of commitment I just have to be prepared ahead of time. I don’t like surprises.

Elizur: “ when should we set the date? To send out the save the date.”

Me: “ ely setting the date now is too early.”

Elizur: “if its too early to do that, tell me when would you like to get

married?”

Me: “ maybe 2015”

Ely: “ that is too far from now”

Me: “it will be enough time to plan, okay.”

Elizur: “I thought being together for six years would be enough time. What about having children?”

Me: “ely I have told you many times, I am not ready”

Elizur: “ali no one is ready to have children, people take it as it comes.”

Me: “no means no, I am busy. Bye.”

 

Those were the conversation I would usually have with people. My mentality would not change; I would not allow anyone to change my schedule. I like to have a routine, to be consistent. I would consider myself a prune because I would never make any exceptions in my schedule, I would constantly plan something in order not to have any surprises.  I always had a plan. Until later that day Nancy, my sister, called me. She called me on December 15, 2012 at 8:00pm. I remember the exact moment because that is the time I turn on the tv to watch the big bang theory.

Nancy: “hey alicia, what are you doing?”

Me: “ just turned on the tv, watching the big bang theory. What about you?”

Nancy: “ I wanted to ask you, what are you going to do tomorrow?”

Me: “why”

Nancy: “for no reason just asking.”

Me: “Nancy there is a reason for every question, if there was no reason you

wouldn’t be asking a question in the first place.”

Nancy: “ come on, just tell me do you work tomorrow?”

Me:” yeah I do. Why?”

Nancy: “okay, forget it bye”

 

I was confused as to why she would call me to ask me a question and then hung up the phone. In that moment my mother called me.

Me: “ hello, mom what’s going on why did Nancy call me like that and just

hung up on me.”

Mom: “Alicia she didn’t want to bother you, but it’s time”

 

I was surprised of the news my mother had told me. While I was getting ready to go pick up my sister to take her to the hospital, I was overwhelmed with feelings. Deep inside of me I didn’t want to go. I kept thinking this was not plan. I have a set schedule. I had to drag myself in to doing something I was not used to. I felt my body shaking while I was getting dressed. I felt as if I was out of breath. I felt that way on my way to pick her up and on the way to the hospital. At the same time I felt uncomfortable because what I was experiencing at that moment was not normal to me. I felt as if I was in a movie theater watching a movie, everything was moving too fast.

Who would have imagined that labor could last 12 hours? I heard about it, but never thought I would actually experience that. The entire time I was with Nancy and Rafa, her boyfriend, I kept looking at the time. The time on the big round clock on the white wall, time moved so slow. I grew impatient to find out what the baby would be. But the baby was not ready to be greeted. I kept looking at that clock every moment to know the time.

Until it was morning at 9:00am I was impatient, tired, and frustrated because I stood awake the whole night waiting to greet the baby. I was frustrated because I had to leave by 9:40am to go to work. I tend to plan any moment in my life, this moment was something I did not have any control. I was sad because I was going to leave soon, not being there for Nancy to support her. The doctor came in the room, greeted everyone and walked towards Nancy to speak to her about the baby. The doctor look so calm, I wonder how can she do her job and still smile. Even though all the labors that she has experience that could last up to 12 hours or more and deal with the frustrating mothers. I admire the patience that she must have in order to deal with the screaming mothers in labor. She told my sister it was time that the baby had to be delivered now or she would have to start doing a c section. Something my sister did not want, she planned to have a natural labor. When I heard that the baby would come, I became overwhelmed with feelings because I would be there to see the baby.

The moment when the doctor told Nancy that she would have to breath in and push that way they baby could come out. I saw Nancy’s face, she looked exhausted and tired, but she looked determined. At first I believed I was strong enough to see my sister give birth until she started pushing and then I started to feel uncomfortable. And then pushed back to not see how the baby would be born. Until one of the nurses saw me and said where are you going? Just grab her leg and assist us. I did as the nurse asked and I tried not to look. But while I tried not to look I guess I was not holding her leg right because the nurse said “look at me and keep her leg in this place.” I moved the leg, but when I did I could not look away, but just look at my sister and when I did, that is when it happen. My sister was pushing and I saw the baby’s head come out and then the body. The labor that people see on television is nothing compared to a real life situation. I can admit I was traumatized, disgusted, and happy. The baby cried and was filled with mucus and blood. The time she was born was 9:29am. I was making sure I had the correct time. The nurse took the baby away to get her clean and ready. When the nurse was done she brought back the baby and gave the baby to Nancy she carried her for 10 min after that Rafa was holding the baby for 10 minutes.  My turn came up; I was so scared because she was so small and vulnerable. I was holding her for one minute or less and then I felt in love. Not only that but I felt a warm feeling in my chest and then my legs. I was not sure what I was feeling, I then touched my legs and guess what? She greeted me by peeing on me. We all laugh that the baby peed on me!  I was holding her for less than 5 minutes and then the nurse said it was time for them to take her away to get a checkup and shots. I was saddened because I wanted to keep holding her. While I was carrying her I was filled with emotions I never felt before. I felt in love, I wanted to be with her and protect her.  At that moment I check the time and I had to leave to go to work, I was late.

The time I left was 10:00am I said bye to everyone and left. At that moment on the ride to work I thought about what had happened earlier. I was tired and happy. When I was holding the baby I was filled with beautiful emotions. I wanted to stay with her. I now understand why my sister decided to keep such a precious gift.  She was willing to accept the baby without a plan, something opposite from my mentality. She was willing to accept what came to her in life.  This is when I stop trying to plan every single moment in my life. Because of her, I now make exceptions.

Verse One:

This song is dedicated to all the happy people
All the happy people who have real nice lives
And who have no idea whats it like to be broke as fuck
I feel like I’m walking a tight rope, without a circus net
I’m popping percocets, I’m a nervous wreck
I deserve respect; but I work a sweat for this worthless check
Bout to burst this tech, at somebody to reverse this debt
Minimum wage got my adrenaline caged
Full of venom and rage
Especially when I’m engaged
And my daughter’s down to her last diaper
–Eminem

Verse Two:

I wanted to start this with some fancy line that lives up to ‘the preceding paragraph’ – but I couldn’t. My grandmother doesn’t like rap. In fact she despises it.
“I’m going to cut off MTV and VH1 and BET! I can’t believe they show such foolishness on TV!”
I’m sure her opinion is a popular one. If I asked you to describe rap, what words would you use? It’s a popular misconception that all rappers do is talk about money, sex and drugs. However, even if this were true, wouldn’t you look deeper into it and wonder why?

As I was utilizing dictionary.com, I clicked on rap music: a style of popular music, developed by disc jockeys and urban blacks in the late 1970s, in which an insistent, recurring beat pattern provides the background and counterpoint for rapid, slangy, and often boastful rhyming pattern glibly intoned by a vocalist or vocalists. (I apologize for this side note, but the definition of glibly is ‘readily fluent, often thoughtlessly, superficially, or insincerely so.’ I wonder why this adjective was chosen. Aside from other problems I have with this definition, why should one conclude that rap is done in a ‘boastful’ and ‘thoughtless’ manner? The generalization seems almost detrimental to the words reputation.) After I looked up rap, I looked up slang which was defined as: very informal usage in vocabulary and idiom that is characteristically more metaphorical, playful, elliptical, vivid, and ephemeral than ordinary language. I don’t know about you, but I think those two words just contradicted each other. How can something be thoughtless and metaphorical? I don’t think it’s thoughtless, I think it’s brilliance that’s incapable of being measured. It’s an innate brilliance that a chosen few posses. I think I’ve made my point… but hey, that’s what happens when you try to define indefinable words… Anyway, that’s the story of how I looked up hip-hop and ended on elliptical. “Pretty accurate, huh?”

If I were to define the concept of rap by comparing it another form of art, I would compare it to Virginia Wolf’s stream of consciousness. When you hear a person speak slang, do you think of how intelligent they are? ‘Obviously, not’. When someone speaks slang, we all make an assumption that the person is uneducated, or doesn’t know any better. Is this true? If a person chooses to switch between two different “language codes”, is it wrong? Are teenagers who speak slang communicating in a dialect, or are they simply a group of ignorant people consistently making grammatical errors (according to the ‘standard language’, of course).

Rap music breaks convention, and this is what makes people scared. What happens when a minority group actually creates a form of art? What happens when this art form happens to be beautiful because it encompasses the pain and sweat brought upon its’ creators by oppression? What happens when people listen? What happens when the minorities influence popular culture?

Eminem is not only a rap artist, but he’s a person with a story. He grew up in poverty and in his raps, he often tells the story of a person who has been oppressed by society. The above Eminem verse comes from a song called “Rockbottom” from his first released album. When some people hear this song, they only hear the violence, the drugs, and the curses instead of the ‘ugly picture of reality’ it paints. I hope I helped to place this paintbrush on the canvas…The person in “Rockbottom” doesn’t have anything of his own. He works endless hours to earn a paycheck that isn’t enough money to support him. All of his life, he has been chasing success- but he never quite gets there. His child is born and he can barely afford diapers. Sometimes, he has to sacrifice his own meals so that his baby can eat. Rap music is the voice of the minority, and it needs to be heard.

Verse Three:

It would be disrespectful of me to the hip-hop community not to mention that Biggie and Tupac were two of the greatest hip-hop legends of all time.

 Ironically they were both shot and killed.

-Krystal Temple

“One, two, three, four..”  “Make sure you have 18 altogether Nani”, my mother interrupts my thoughts as I exasperatedly drop my pills into my medicine holder.  “It’s important that you take these meds Nan.  You don’t want to end up needing a kidney transplant like Kereece.”  Kereece is some really angry adult in my church–who I think probably, hates anyone who’s happy–who has a kidney problem just like me.  She kind of reminds me of the crazy scientist villain from The Incredibles. She’s the woman you wouldn’t allow even your worst enemy to have the “pleasure” of meeting.  I shun the thought of needing a transplant–and the blunt affirmation of how sick I can become–and decide to lie down.  Maybe it will help with this arbitrary dizziness I’m feeling…

When I wake up I’m told I had a stroke.  Huh?  I mean last time I checked I was barely eleven.  I think back to the salty Ramen I remember eating the night before.  Great.  Thanks Ramen noodle I nearly died.  I try to speak but they’re tubes everywhere: an oral, a naso-gastric, a urine catheter and a ventilator.  I’m talking places I didn’t even know tubes could go in.  I’m told that I had been in a coma for almost two days.  Jesus Christ, I think in my head, Ramen can do this to people?  It wasn’t until 10 days later was I discharged from the hospital.

Ok so maybe the Ramen was an exaggeration.  A turn out Ramen makes killer salty noodles, but they are free of charge when it comes to what sent me to the hospital…

In July 2004, the start of my middle school year, I was diagnosed with a disease called Membranoproliferative glomerulonephritis (MPGN).  Yea I know right.what?? The fuck is that?  Believe you me, to this day, I still can’t pronounce it let alone explain it’s horrendous role in my body.  From my doctors (and a little WebMD) I’ve conjured up the most watered down version of my crappy disease.  I have a kidney disorder where the cells in the kidney become inflamed and allow blood and protein molecules to pass through into the urine instead of being retained in the body for use.  I was put on medication after medication, which challenged me physically, emotionally, academically, and most important religiously.

At the onset, I was taking 18 tablets per day.  The medicines made me listless and the steroids in particular caused me to gain weight.  I’m talking swelling of my limbs, tightness of my skin and a weight gain of 15 pounds kind of weight.  Emotionally, it wreaked havoc on my self-esteem.  For months I only wore loose fitting clothes to hide the giant I was slowly becoming because of the steroids.  The disease impacted my education because monthly (or anytime I felt dizzy), I had to miss classes for doctor’s appointments or even hospitalization.

I guess I can say High school proved productive and rewarding.  I joined the cross-country and track teams that helped me to shed the excess pounds and to gain control over my weight.  To this day I cherish running any chance I get, just to ensure I don’t slip into the blimp figure I once was.

I could say that my life is normal and that MPGN is no longer a factor.  I could say life is great and enjoyable but it would be untrue.  I am reminded of it by the now, nine pills that I take every day.  If I bend or stand too quickly, I feel light-headed and must take a few minutes to recover.   Oh and the worst, you know those salt and vinegar chips?  Yes I know you know, the UTZ flavored bags of joy?  Yea I can’t eat those.  So much for those killer Ramen huh?  Actually, I can’t eat staple kid’s foods like chips, French fries, cold cuts or anything with high sodium.  The salt will cause me to retain water and to increase my blood pressure, which is already elevated due to that long M-word disease.

Now I could babble and ramble on how screwed up I am and how much I wish I could start over, a new slate, new body, new life, the works.  But it wouldn’t change a thing.  You know what they say, if “wishes were horses, beggars would surely ride…” What has really been on my mind is the role religion has played in my life after I found out about my disease.

See I grew up in Church.  I mean eat, spit, write and read kind of Church.  My dad—oh you’ll love this—is a pastor.  Yea so parties, those cute sweet sixteens in High School, boyfriends, a life?  Um, yea no.  Completely non-existent in my house until your at least of age.  Yet no matter how many times I’ve gone over the answer in my head, I’m still dissatisfied.  When I was in the hospital, with a tube escaping every opening…I asked him, “Daddy, why does God want me to die?  Can’t he just tell me why he hates me so much?”  His answer was a typical Tyler Perry cliché, “God is not trying to kill you.  And remember, he would never put you through anything you can’t handle”.

But see this is my problem.  Because guess what… this, this I can’t handle.  I could handle the accident you put my mom and I in, 2003, I could handle breaking my arm, I even handled my grandmother’s death—quite well if I can add–.  But this, is too hard.  Every morning when I shove four pills in my mouth (for blood pressure, protein calcium and who knows what else) I talk to him.

Now I’m not going to deny the presence of a higher being.  I surely believe in God.  I’m just so lost on his reasons for picking me.  The Christian God is said to be “omnipotent, omniscient and wholly good”.  But from the day we learn to read and write, we are able to distinguish good from evil.  More importantly, we are able to realize that the amounts of evil in the world hold a stronger presence than the amounts of good.  Things like Haiti’s earthquake in 2010 or even New Orleans’ disastrous hurricane in 2005 cause me to question my own faith.  MPGN is a chronic disease with no known cure.  It is not hereditary or caused by anything specific.  It just appeared, out of nowhere, that summer before I started middle school.  I can either outgrow it, or in its degenerative state, I will need kidney dialysis or a kidney transplant.  This means I have no timeline of what my life will entail.  I just long for a little more information.  I am well aware of the delicacy of life but many times I simply wonder if God is on vacation in the Caymans somewhere when certain events occur.  People like my dad would like to clench on the Soul-making defense that God has good rewards for us in a distinctive afterlife.  Now if this is true, why torture us so much on Earth?  To the starvation in third-world countries to the newborn baby born into the world with Down syndrome to even murders that happen everyday.  If this is what I have to experience on Earth, then quite frankly, I’m not too sure I want to go to Heaven.  I know any individual can easily identify a time period in their life where they lost hope, confidence and faith in what people call God.  If God were truly trying to show his creation that they are enduring pain to experience joy in the afterlife, there is no reason for the pain to be so vast.

MPGN has ignited my rising doubts in my religion.  It’s made me asked many “why” questions now that I’ve grown older.  Church and religion were things that I accepted to past time on Sundays.  But now, that I’m older, and an evil has hit me personally, my faith, sad to say, slowly dwindles.  When I greet Kereece with a crooked smile every Sunday, I can finally understand her anger.  She’s already had her kidney transplant but her daily life is almost worst than when she had her own kidney.  Her questions in Church, to my father spark questions in my own mind.  If God is such a good God, there is quite a lot of fixing that need to be done in his world.

I am ever mindful that life is subject to change without notice so every day is precious to me.  I live my life to the fullest by participating in as many activities as I can and generating smiles anywhere I go.  I surely don’t want to become a spit-image clone of Kereece in the latter years of my life.  But forthrightly, I can now understand her.  Through this condition, I have become even more positive and determined.  But when it comes to religion and God’s hand on my life…boy do I have a few questions.  Matter fact I’m sure, me Kereece and the rest of the world have a few questions.