Some days I wake up feeling like the rain has entered me intravenously. Rain should not be confused with water. I could use some water. I feel like throwing up today. I feel like I didn’t get enough sleep. Seven of Nine is sneaking into my dreams. I feel mechanical today. Like half android. Like half a human. Half fake, half feeling; all synthesis.
Sometimes I think I’m big meech.
At others, I forget where I came from.
Seattle, WA. HI-WAY 99.
ALASKAN WAY VIADUCT.
KENMORE AIRLINES.
Sometimes I forget that my first memories of America involve watching Cartoon Network to absorb the language and culture. I forget about seeing that first snowfall in Atlanta, 1996. Right after Pac died. Right before Biggie died. Right before I discovered Nas in Seattle, 1997. Before all of that.
I remember trying to soft-boil an egg in a pot of water. I cracked it, the contents came spilling out. The water became murky. My egg was neither hard nor soft boiled. My life is neither hard nor ease, but it varies. I remember, my grandma on the couch, staring off into the distance. Asking me what I was doing. I said nothing, grandma; just trying to cook. Yahoo, she said. That was her favorite word. Yahoo meant yeah, right. Yahoo meant whatever, dawg.
Sometimes I wonder if my life would have been better if I never saw childhood trauma.
Then I remember that my life is my life and its pointless to think of idealizations. It’s better to look at facts. To see what I have. Could’ve been worse. Could’ve grown up in Canada or Scandinavia or something crazy.
Keep writing bro, you know that I love you. It’s just very often, so very often, buried; deep, under layers of what looks like hate. I don’t hate you, Said. I am you. I love you. And I’m here for you. I wish I could say that more often bro. I love you and I’m here for you. Keep your head up, my nigga, you a soldier. Can’t nobody stop you and you know it.