Believe in the person you wish to become.

Although capitalism demands people ought to love the holidays, they have a tendency to depress me. The narcissism, another year passing, slowly creeping towards the inevitability of death, consumerism, consumption, greed, debt, facades of happiness.

Perhaps my weariness stems from the way the year's conclusion asks me to take inventory of my life, the way it forces me to ask what I did well, or more haunting, what did I fail to achieve? How effectively did I apply ointment to my internal itch, the one that screams "JUST GO" in the silence that lays between life's songs? And, for failing to listen, am I naive or wise? What is the fault in being in a constant state of transition, always going from one place to another? No matter where you arrive, there you are. Am I running from locations or from the truth that is myself? More importantly, does it even matter?

My 2013 inventory exists as a cocktail of both under and overwhelmingness. New health. Old mistakes. Apologies. Amends. Falling in love. Falling out of love. I broke up with friends and built new ones on more stable foundations. I lost inspiration and found it tucked deep within the corners of locked drawers. Rewind. Repeat. Replay. As if fantastical relationships are excuses to not go out and live the life I dream of, love grew into a crutch. Maybe I should go, would go in a past life, but my happiness here in this moment is too sweet to abandon. I'm so in love, right here, precisely in this instance. Will a time in which I am not ever present itself? How could it, with such a sincere appreciation of the idiosyncrasies of the world? Such peculiarities leave me with a desire to kiss all the worry away, there, in that moment, of whatever it is that exists within my field of vision. Crying. Laughing. You for simply being you. The faults and strengths of each embodiment, every existence worthy of knowing and understanding. My ability to see humanity in such blatant awfulness and terror is what scares me most about myself. My fright is nothing compared to my fascination. I feel too much. I'm concerned and then I am left with a choice: feel nothing, turn numb, apathetic, disenchantment or feel nauseous from all the back-and-forth tugging, all the spinning in circles. So, I sit down on the floor, do nothing, catch my breath, but then, then, I rise. I fight because that is my only response. My sole survival tool.

Will 2014 be yet another year of so much nothing and yet so much everything? Of spinning in circles, overexcitement, a perpetual imbalance of whelm, of catching my breath fearfully, only to respond with an invented humanity, my addiction to change, and an unquenchable thirst for justice. Oh, most certainly. Most certainly.

If Only.

If the average straight white male

grew as disgusted with slut-shaming as he does Taylor Swift's new single or teenage girls setting their profile pictures to "duck-face" selfies,

was as enraged with men who think having sex with intoxicated women is perfectly legal and justifiable as he is with his hometown's star athlete upon signing with another city's team,

or turned his back to rape jokes as quickly as he does overweight women,

spent half as much time as he does fixated on sports educating his friends on how to respect females,

were as eager to participate in protests addressing the consequences of victim-blaming as he is to lose his virginity, 

were as humiliated to belong to a sex in which 58% would "force a woman to have sex" if they could get away with it as he is when someone suggests he is homosexual

viewed treating women as his equal as "manly" or "masculine" as he does guns, fishing, and hunting

or associated sexual violence and assault with the same weakness he transcribes to crying in public and "chick flicks"

the perpetuation of rape culture would cease to exist. 

Note: Statistic taken from Margo Maine's Body Wars.

Human Rights, not Native Born Country Rights.

Illegal immigration is not limited to Mexicans. Crime, including drug trafficking  is not limited to Mexican immigrants either. Don't complain about those fumbling through the language. Have you ever tried to learn another language? If so, I'm assuming you never went beyond high school requirements. Let us not forget that Spanish and French, the two languages most commonly offered in American high schools, are romance languages, thus meaning they are two of the easiest languages to learn (romance languages all derive from Latin). English, a Germanic language, is one of the most difficult languages to learn. Many of you will never even master a romance language that you begun learning in middle/high school, so if you, with all your American opportunities unavailable to these "illegal immigrants" fail to learn a second language, why do you feel that they should learn English the second they set foot in this country? Many immigrants are much older than junior high, thus making language learning even more difficult. 

So why does the common man bicker about immigration? Are they really taking careers that you would ever even consider? Do they desire anything immoral or different than the natural born rights that you take for granted daily? Does their native country give them less of a right to opportunity or freedom? America, however cliché it may sound, is a land of immigrants. Those clenching onto the belief that America is "their country" must realize how ridiculously ignorant they sound. America is a stolen land, but that's beside the point. Many of us don't have to trace our ancestry back more than two or three generations to see immigration in our own families. If it weren't for your ancestors you must likely would not be an American citizen. Perhaps you would be residing in a country with not even a fraction of the freedoms we have in America. Perhaps you would want natural rights. Perhaps you would want better for your children, your lover, yourself. Perhaps you would come to America. Perhaps you would be an "illegal immigrant."