What a specimen of a 21 year vintage I am. :) tehe

What it means to be a man:

I think being a man means being honest in all you do, and always striving to be better. Being knowledgeable about the local and global affairs. Having an educated opinion, standing by it, and always being able to rethink it. About being passionate about life, your interests, your family and friends and your gal. Being a man means living life, laughing, and loving. These are The Things I see, live, do, think, read, watch, love, like, want and more.

Cheers, Jared

Saturday, March 27, 2010

An Email at 1 in the Morning

I apologize if anything I have written offends anyone, or hurts anyone. That was not my intentions. I want to be honest with people and that starts yesterday. So, please, come to me if I have done any of the above.

I hope you can read this for what it is and nothing more. I'm sort of lost, but I'll find my way, I just have to find my map and compass. 



I'm sitting in my room, alone, aside from a six pack.

I don't know what to do now. I feel pretty lost here, after...

I tried reading through my notebook, I couldn't.

I almost started laughing, or crying...I'm not sure which one...when I got to the part when I wrote that I had pulled down Sam's shorts, I wrote zozo, or something...I think it means...in Creole.

I stopped then.

I started writing. I wrote a bit...I posted it on my blog.

My mind doesn't want me to detail these things out. It doesn't want to go there.

This is a selfish email. Look at how many lines start with "I".

Hmm... Christy, I don't know if I can handle America much longer. I don't know if I can handle people here, much longer. I need an escape.
Is that cowardly? I think on some level it is. Somewhere I just don't want to take the challenge. Strange, I've always been fueled on challenges. I like to push myself, but I don't want to for this. I want to though.

This is really going no where. This is more writing than I have done all night. Maybe it's a good thing I can't buy alcohol. I would probably be drunk right now, not on my second beer, of six.

Meh. You know what I like about you? Your actions are honest. That's one trait I do my best to continue. Despite what I may say, how I may speak, I always try to make what I do honest. I think that's important, people need to be able to trust you.

I've been thinking a lot about what people like to tell me is wrong with me. Hah. It makes me smile, because they think that I don't know. I know damn well, no one can criticize me more than I do myself. That's why it doesn't bother me. Except for the people that matter to me. Jani likes to point out that in conversations I always find a way to connect the topic to me. I'm at a loss as to why that is bad. I'm tempted to hit the discard button right now.

Who cares? Transparency. Like I said, honesty is good, so, I'm being as honest with you as I can be. You know what? I was glad I didn't have to deal with anyone today, or tonight. I wanted to be by myself. It was nice. All that mattered was what I was doing right then. I shut my phone off. You know how I know I'm lucky to have the girlfriend I have? Because she didn't freak, she didn't try and find, she gave me my space, and she found something to do for herself. Damn. I don't deserve that. You know how often I think about breaking up with her? Almost every day. Why? I don't know? You know how often I miss people when I am away, rarely. I haven't seen my Dad since I graduated high school, meh. I hadn't seen him in a year before that and I missed him once. That was on Senior Night of soccer my Senior Year. I had forced the doctor to take my boot off my ankle and forced my coach to let me play, even though I had to fight back tears of pain. It had only been 3 weeks since I broke my ankle. I took 20 ibuprofen before warm up, and then 10 more at halftime. When just my mom walked out on the track I was a dual person. I was happy because my Mom was there, and I love her, I owe everything to her, but I wanted my Dad there, and he wasn't. Hah. I just got a tear in my eye. The last time I actually cried was when my Grandpa died. He was a man I respected a lot more than I realized. I wish he was still here. He had a lot to teach me that I never gave him a chance to teach me. My mom misses him and my Grandma. I never cried when my Grandma died, I felt like I had shed enough tears. I felt very little when I was in Haiti, except anger, at the elite there. There aren't very many emotions I feel anymore, ever. I'm not really sure what it means to love someone. I know loyalty and mine for my family and friends is unwavering. Is that love? If you don't mind, I'm going to post this on my blog...Transparency. I laugh, lots of things are funny, I smile....What is true happiness though? I do really only what I want to do. Rarely do I have to do things. I make exceptions.

You don't even need to respond to this, but I didn't know who else to email, who to say anything to, what to say even.

You know, as I learn more about the world, about myself, from experiences, from school, from family and friends, from traveling: Two things happen. 1. I want to do more and change more and help more and really make a difference. 2. I get pissed! Why the fuck do people fuck up so fucking much!? Seriously. It frustrates me to all hell that everyone is out for themselves! Even me! I like to think that I won't use any power I get just to get more power. I like to think that I'll use for greater good. There are very FEW people who have done that.

I forgive my Dad and my Mom. I don't know that I have ever told them that, but I forgave them a long time ago. I don't know if my brother and sister have, my mom sure, but I don't know about my Dad. I think it's because of me. They weren't angry at him leaving them, they were angry at him leaving the younger one. My sister: Daniel & I. My Brother: Me. That's why I don't hold a grudge with him. Everything takes time though. I think they have slowly begun to forgive him. I love my family, no matter how fucked up we all are.

Hmm. I can't stop writing and thinking. I wonder what you're going to think about this whole email...I guess we'll find out. Maybe give me a call when you're done. Or respond like wise.
I don't even know where I should, or how I should....end. Maybe I shouldn't...just stop at some point.

I remember that boy running along our bus. Remember the guy that was with us gave him our can of Pringles. It wasn't even any of us. It was the guy that was with the driver. He had maybe 1/5th of the can left...he opened the window and gave the kid them. That kid was so happy, he ran along our bus so far. Posing, laughing, smiling, dancing...I have a picture, where you see him sitting, posing, smiling, but all around him is chaos. It epitomizes Haiti. The willingness to find happiness in the small things, the resilience amongst all the despair, destruction, poverty, violence, et. al.

What are you going to do? I want to leave America, and not come back. I want to leave the world and not come back. Forget all my friends here, my family...I want to be selfish. That doesn't mean I don't love them...it means I love myself more. Which is better, to be able to admit that, or to try and convince yourself it's not true?

I have to get out this summer, even if I'm still technically in America, I need to get out of it.

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