excerpts
will on November 1st, 2008
Evolution of a Man…. New Beginnings
Jan. 9, 2004
After reading through previous journals that I have kept, I noticed that they are all incomplete. And by that I mean that each and every one of them is left full of empty pages. I began to ask myself, “Why do I always leave so many pages unmarked?” It’s not because I have issues finishing things that I have started or that I’m afraid of what I’ll do next once the pages are full. But the answer, I found, lay conveniently within the title of this entry. I love, and look forward to, new beginnings. I don’t know if it’s the anticipation of what’s to come, or if it’s the anticipation of not having to deal with what I’m leaving behind. Either way, for some reason, I love to start anew.
There are many reasons why I wanted to start a public journal or blog, most of which being the same reasons anyone would start writing in general. It’s very therapeutic to write your thoughts down, to get them out of your head and let them take up space somewhere else, even if only for a little while. Another reason is that I tend to over-think everything and thus need a place to put it all down and sort it all out.
But why a public journal? I can’t really explain it other than to say that I find it to be a tremendous opportunity for personal growth. It has become apparent to me that I walk through life as a man who feels he is constantly being judged. Expressing myself in this domain, knowing that there is a great possibility that others will read and possibly grow from and/or comment on my musings, helps me to face that head-on and hopefully begin to see what so many have told me time and time again. At the end of the day, you are all that matters, or as Jill Scott would say, “There’s just me — one is the magic number.”
In addition, starting a public, online journal means, to me, that (1) there is not an overwhelming number of unmarked pages haunting me whenever I log on, and (2) I’ll not have a “What’s next?” feeling when I am finished. All that exists is open space, which I can fill or leave empty at my own leisure. Call me crazy, but dammit, I find comfort in that.
Finally, I have read the public journals of others — friends, foes, and unknowns — and have learned a great deal not only about them, but about myself as well. I’m always ranting about something or trying to figure out what this journey we call life is all about, and I think it would be cool to express myself in a way that I have never done before. If someone else can get something out of what I have to say, then that’s awesome as well. Whether I know you or not, or whether you agree, disagree, or are indifferent, I hope you do enjoy reading this journal.
With this journal I intend to explore many personal areas relating to who I am as a person, as well as what goes on in my life. What I have to say will probably shock the hell out of me, let alone those of you who decide to follow along. All I know is that if it’s anything remotely close to the last 24 years, it’s going to be an interesting and exciting ride. For those of you who know me, you’re going to see Will growing up. For those of you who don’t know me, you’re about to witness the Evolution of a Man.
On Black History Month…
Feb. 15, 2004
This morning my mom went to church dressed as a slave. When I asked her why, she said, “It’s Black History Month. We’re singing old spirituals in the choir and we’re all dressing up as slaves.” When I told her how disturbing I found that, she replied, “You got a problem celebrating Black History? The Jews always celebrate their history. Why shouldn’t we celebrate ours?”
Yes, I do have a problem. I hate the fact that for many Black people, the only time they truly re-visit their roots, etc, is during Black History Month. “The Jews,” as she put it, do celebrate their history, however they celebrate it all year round. My problem with the choir dressing as slaves and singing spirituals for this particular service wouldn’t exist if it happened throughout the year. There are some choirs who dress this way on a regular basis as a way of worship as opposed to a once a year gig. I give my mom’s choir props for making an effort to really bring their point home (whatever that point may be …. I’m still in the dark), but it shouldn’t just happen once during the month of February.
I am not a big fan of Black History Month. Not because I’m not grateful and excited about my great history, but because I am Black 365 days of the year and prefer to celebrate that fact 365 days of the year and not just for one month. (The shortest of all twelve, I might add.) I do believe that it has a good purpose, primarily being education, but I really hate the fact that it has to exist at all. Not only for educational purposes, but as a means of joining together a people who otherwise would (in some cases, not all) be non-supportive of each other and tearing each other apart.
Black people seem to come together during the month of February in a certain “unity” that only lasts 28 or 29 days. Then we go back to hatin’ on each other because of our differences or perhaps what we see in others that we are lacking ourselves. For example, I as a gay man have never been (widely) accepted by most Black people, despite my intelligence and talent. Ridiculous. African Americans are a people whose lives and existence in this country are based on the fact that we have been (and continue to be) ostracized, looked down upon, considered less than, beaten and even killed simply because we are different. Yet we as a people are the last ones to accept or even attempt to understand those who are different, especially in our own race when it comes to “acting/being” Black. On the same token (no pun intended), we are the first to call out any act of racism against us, continuously seeking out reparations for what “we” had to endure during slavery. Now, I’m not speaking about all Black people. The Black people I surround myself with are very well-educated, grounded, and understanding of the fact that such is life and that it takes far less energy and is more beneficial to go out into the world and make a success of yourself than to sit around and complain about “how the man done did you wrong.” I am speaking of many others whom I have encountered in my short time on this earth. The ones whose “unity” is so prevalent during Black History Month, but whose dislike and hatred is even more so come March 1st.
I have also had to deal with the ignorance of certain educators during Black History Month. In both high school and college, my teachers and professors would only break out books written by Black authors/poets, or address “Black issues” during the month of February. Like our asses don’t have any meaning at any other time. I once took a course where the professor asked my friend and I (two of the few Black people in class) to give a presentation and field class questions on the subject of being Black and Black history. We were at first taken aback by this request, but quickly shrugged it off having both had this experience before.
The day came for us to speak, and my friend and I, along with a couple other Black students from the class talked about our getting admitted into Cal and any relatedness to affirmative action. We also talked about the communities in which we grew up, and how we got along with people from other races. When questions were asked of us, such as, “How does it feel to be a Black person?” or “What’s it like …?” I wanted to beat somebody with a stick. I was silenced, partly because of my tiring of having to answer such questions, and partly because I was being asked these questions by Berkeley students. I expected more. Luckily, my friend was right by my side to reply, “It’s interesting. For example, as African American students, we are often called upon to give presentations, answer questions and discuss the ‘Black experience’ to our peers and professors.” I should have interjected, “Oddly enough, always in February.”
I don’t know how we can make situations like this better, or even continue the spirit of unity past the month of February. I guess it all comes back to education. Educating those who are ignorant of Black History, and deepening the education of those who are knowledgeable by introducing them to contemporary Black culture; a culture whose diversity is far more intricate than is realized or accepted. Once this happens and an understanding and acceptance of the potential of all Black people despite their differences is realized, then come talk to me about Black History Month. But from where I stand right now, we have a long way to go.
Let Me Go!
Aug. 11, 2004
My mother said, or implied, rather, something to me that really upset me a couple of days ago. She asked me what I did for the weekend and I told her about my Noah’s Arc viewing and the issues I had with it, and also about Black Gay Pride weekend and the festivities I attended. Her only reply to my passionate argument regarding my Noah’s Arc experience was, “I wish you would put as much energy into Christianity as you do being gay.” That was strike one. This remark was followed by, “It doesn’t matter anyway, ’cuz I know that you’re not gay.” Yeah, sure. Whatever. And, finally, she went on a long diatribe about how I’m straying away from God, and I need to come back. Skirting around what she was actually trying to say, she basically threatened that because I “call myself gay” I won’t actually live the same type of Christian life as she, and because I “deny who God wants me to be,” I will never reap the full benefits of what God has to offer me. That’s bull!
I don’t know why I continue to put effort into getting her to know and understand me. She continues to think that I have made the choice to be gay and that I’m just rebelling against her and God’s will, when, in fact, I wouldn’t wish being gay on my worst enemy. Do you know how much crap I’ve gone through in my life just because of my sexuality? And subsequently, how messed up I currently am because of what I’ve gone through in the past dealing with my family, let alone outside in the real world? I love my mom to death, but she’s so closed-minded and one-sided it’s ridiculous. I’m tired of hearing all this stuff about how I can’t be blessed because I’m gay. I refuse to believe that God thinks any less of me because of my sexuality — something HE gave me, by the way. Sometimes I wish I could just cut her off, sever the ties between us and move on. But there are just too many ropes to untie and unfortunately, one single umbilical cord made of super glue that she will just not cut and throw away. I’ve tried to distance myself in order to form opinions of my own. Hell, I even moved three thousand miles away to do so and she still manages to call me, shower me with guilt trips, and proclaim my disrespect to her every time I try to assert myself. And unfortunately, having encountered and endured this all my life, it has left me submissive, brainwashed, and weak to the point where I can’t even stand up to my mother and say, “Leave me alone!” She is a very strong woman, but at the same time, very fragile. Everything you say to her she takes personally, and if it’s not of her same opinion, then it’s taken as disrespect or that you hate her.
I have several times attempted to just not talk to her about my sexuality or any other “touchy” subject, but it all comes back. In every conversation we have, God and the church come up in just about every sentence. And it’s not like I don’t believe or anything, but what I’m seeing happening is that I’m starting to resent Christianity and feel threatened by it, and that’s just not cool. I would write to her and tell her how I feel, but the last time I did that, this whole letter writing campaign started, and I began receiving three-page typed letters from her monthly about how I should be living my life. I so don’t want to start that madness up again.
I think that I’ll just resolve to not even attempt to get her to understand. Maybe she will, maybe she won’t, but I can’t worry about it anymore. The question still remains: How can I get her to stop feeding me all this scripture and morality every time we have a conversation and in turn get her out of my head and conscience? And how do I do that and not have her go the rest of her life in a state of “If I can only bring him back from the dark side?” I’m so damn frustrated with all of this!
Pick a Condom… any Condom
Feb 1, 2006
Having never had to actually buy condoms before, I decided yesterday to go out and make a purchase for my trip. Now, I don’t want to get my hopes up or anything about losing my virginity on this cruise, but at the same time, I want to make sure that I have the necessary protection should such wonderful penetration take place.
After work my friend and I took a little walk through the Village in search of condoms and lube. We found ourselves at Condomania, and I felt like I had just walked into the Century 21 department store downtown. It was sooo overwhelming. There were so many different condoms to pick and choose from. Thin, Extra Thin, Lubricated, Non-Lubricated, Warming Sensation Lubricant, Climax Control, Ribbed, Textured, Flavored, Pleasure for her, Pleasure for him, Pleasure for her and him … and a whole lot more.
I didn’t know where to begin! The thoughts running through my head were crazy, and moving at a mile a minute. “Can’t a man just get a regular-ass condom?” Isn’t there just like a Trojan Condom, period? No extra stuff? Just simple protection for the injection, with maybe some lubricant for easy entry?” I don’t know.
Granted, I don’t really need to go through all this. I’m almost certain that there will be plenty of condoms on the ship. After all, it is a gay cruise. It would be absolutely insane not to have them on board. But at the same time, I (a) wanna be safer than sorry, and (b) want the “Yes, I’m having sex!” pleasure of buying my own damn condoms. However, again, buying condoms sort of sets the expectation that I’m going to be having sex, and while I’m hopeful that it will happen, I by no means want to get my expectations up only to return to the mainland tighter than a military knot.
A friend told me that I should buy a variety of condoms so that I can try them out and see which ones I like the best as both a top and a bottom. I don’t know how much sex he thinks I’ll be having, but he’s got a good point. The only way I’ll be able to know and decide which ones I like best is to try them all, or at least the ones that sound the most appealing. I could give a damn about any “pleasure for her” condoms. And given the fact that I’ve never had anal sex before, I don’t even want to see a Magnum or a Magnum XL until my little hot pocket is well broken in!
So back to Condomania I go.
