Stone Him to Death, They Shout

It took me fifteen minutes to blur and upload this screenshot. Technology is not my strong point…

I took the above screenshot about three weeks ago, from a Facebook thread about suspects of the Boston bombing. The irony strikes because the comment was not directed toward the actual bomber, and thus this person’s violent sentiment was wasted (as well as the support he/she got from five other people). However, it does serve its purpose in allowing me to smoothly transition into my oh so subtle argument against a practice we all know and love: the death penalty.

We all get emotional sometimes.

Things Change

My fists beat against the couch. Tears sting the scars on my face. Nothing matters anymore, now that I’ve failed. I didn’t get in. I didn’t pass the test. I didn’t get in. It’s time to say goodbye. I’ll never see my friends again. The bonds I’ve made, the lives I’ve touched, the games I’ve played – gone, forever.

I was only eight when my life changed.

Letting Go

“You are my perfect grandson,” my grandmother says. It comes out as a whisper, like everything she’s said in the past few weeks. Gray hair finally starts to show, a delayed indication of her old age. It’s hard for me to hear her, even harder to think about her more visible mortality.

There are different versions of perfection. Mine entails that every action I take has a purpose.

Heteronormativity: I Kissed A Girl, Didn’t Like It So Much…

I remember sitting after school with a female friend of mine. I was helping her with some trigonometry homework and decided to bring up another problem – one unrelated to the unit circle and pi.

“So, comparative government has been kind of crazy lately, don’t you think?” I asked, turning to look at her.

“Yeah, with the election and everything everyone’s been kind of politically charged,” she replied.

I ventured on, “Do you mind if I ask for your opinion on a couple of risque subjects?”

She put down her pencil and said, “Sure, no problem.”

Let me make myself clear – I’m not the type of guy who makes assumptions without evidence. But, to put it bluntly, I thought that maybe – maybe – this female friend of mine might have had a teeny crush on me. Me, as in, a homosexual. From inviting me to Homecoming, to casually consistent brushes and touches, to other questionable remarks, the evidence added up. I wasn’t sure, and I’m still not sure, but after months of waiting I wanted to establish the firm boundary of friendship before things got ugly.

“What do you think of abortion?” I asked.

No Normal Life

I’m seventeen and I don’t know how to drive a car. Every time I see two parents talking to one another without screaming, I gaze in awe. I haven’t gone to Prom and I doubt that I will.

Sometimes I wonder how my childhood would have been if not for my mom. What would it have been like to grow up in an environment entrenched in caring as opposed to cruelty? Which friends might I have met, who might have I turned out to be, what might I have done? With only a few months left before my eighteenth birthday, every chance I have to experience an average life is slipping away.

Personal Update: Progress

The year isn’t even over yet and I’ve already won! Victory.

Two nights ago I submitted all of my college applications. I can’t pinpoint the feeling that followed – it was a mixture of hope, anxiety, euphoria, and relief.

I remember that at the beginning of high school, I had no idea who I was. I didn’t know my passions and I had no plans for the future. Self-deprecating thoughts consumed me and my fear of my mother  made me anxious to escape, even though I had no idea how I would do that.

But I’ve made it so far, as cliche and conceited as that sounds.

Flamingly Feminine and Unapologetically Gay

I hold the phone with my right hand, and grasp the cool, smooth surface of the bathroom sink with my left.

“They said what?” I whisper.

“She said you’re the gayest guy in our grade,” my friend says, “he just agreed – he didn’t say anything.”

“What?” I say, even though I heard her clearly. I just don’t want to believe it.

“It was on the back of the bus,” she says, “I sat there and listened to them.”

“Oh,” I say. As a fourteen-year-old, I don’t want my friend to think I care about what my classmates think about me. But curiosity quickly kills my desire to play it cool.

Gay Rights and the Big Picture

I am aware that this tweet was taken before the election, it’s great that President Obama won!

Lately, I’ve heard a lot of people say that gay rights isn’t a “big picture” issue. They say that things like the economy or foreign affairs matters more, and that being gay only affects a limited amount of people – so, it should be shoved aside until our country can resolve other problems.

I understand that people have priorities and certain things that affect them. Everyone is supposed to care about different subjects, and people are supposed to disagree, otherwise, nothing new would arise. I understand that money has a huge effect on our country’s prosperity and its overall position in the world – it’s truly unfortunate that so many people are struggling to make ends meet.

But I do not understand how anyone can assume that gay rights isn’t a key part of the big picture.

Sweet City Lights

It’s 12:45 AM, and I feel my feet pound on the pavement.

Thirst took me here, outside of my Chicago hotel room, and onto the street with a friend. We tried to obtain water through room service, but they stated that they wouldn’t have any until 4 AM. When my friend and I asked where the nearest location we could buy some was, a helpful employee told us that there was a gas station five lights down.

So we left. Outside, the frigid air forced my arms to clutch across my chest, and the black skinny jeans and sweatshirt I wore were not enough to keep me warm. I wasn’t freezing, exactly, but the cold made me want to cover myself with a ton of thick blankets. My friend who accompanied me wore nothing but jeans and a white T-shirt, and he managed to muscle through without complaining.

As we walked, completely alone – aside from a few cars passing by – he began conversation and I followed.

You Can’t Be a Princess

It’s not every day you see a video about parents who purge the identities of their children.

When I was a child, I wanted to dye my hair blond.

I wanted, like every child, to explore the possibilities of my person – whether it be my physical or my mental characteristics. I doubt that there’s a single person out there who can honestly say they did not try something new as a child, that they did not crave for change or something exciting. Childhood, in essence, is about discovering the depths of your world, and who and what inhabits it.

I remember telling all of my friends in my fifth grade class that I was going to dye my hair blond. When I got home that day, I looked up at my father, eyes wide, and exclaimed my wish. He looked at me, amused, and told me we would have to ask my mother.

Of course, she shot it down immediately.