I will leave this here and let this be enough for now. I will leave this with you as my witness and say that yes, there are things I wish I could see again. There are times I wish I could relive. If it were possible, there are memories that I wish I could change or readjust.
There are remnants from my past that are unresolved yet I have created a system of living and programs for my future because these are the steps I take to resolve the remnants of my past.
I am like you, a work in progress. I have a history and a present. If I learn to use both of them wisely, I have the ability to create a better future for myself. That’s what this is about. This is why I am up early, every day. This is why I work the hours I work. This is why I’ve tried to develop as a person and as a professional. This is it.
This is my purpose.

I know that I mentioned a few things about a bus ride in my previous entries. One bus ride in particular was a trip back home when The Old Man was dying.
I remember how cold it was yet the bus was warm. Maybe the bus was too warm but for the time being, it was perfect enough to let me lean back and absorb what was on my plate. 

But there’s another bus too. This bus ride is equally as important to me and impactful. I’ve never been on this bus before and hopefully this isn’t a trip that I’ll have to take anytime soon.
By the way, this is Robbie’s bus.
In case you forgot, Robbie was my cousin who passed away when I was in my mid-20’s. Robbie was much older than me. He was sick with cancer of the liver; moreover, Robbie was toughing it out in a hospital bed at the V. A. hospital in the Bronx.

Today is a special day . . .

It was 33 years ago when I stepped onto a bus out of Monticello, New York. I was young and scared. The ride was long and strange. It was Christmas Eve and the sky was gray. I chose to take a window seat on a mainly empty bus. My heart was heavy and my head was full.
I watched the scenery change. The sky was gray and there was snow on the ground. It was a white Christmas, which is otherwise known as a miracle for some.

I sat with my forehead against the plexiglass window. I was numb and at the same time, I could feel everything. I could feel the pain and I could understand the severity of the moment. But there was something that wasn’t real. How could this be real?
How could anything be real when it comes to life or death?

Suddenly, I am on a trip and, to put this simply, I am only a passenger.
But wait, let me explain.
There are choices to make like which train to go on? Do I take the train on the left or right?
Either way, both trains head to the same destination.

Both trains depart at the same time and move at the exact same speed and in spite of all of their cosmic similarities; the two trains are separate, Both trains come with their own unique experience.
Again, the question is which train do you choose? Do you go right or left?
Try to picture this if you can.

I want to take you now to an actual view of real life. This is not just my view or my life; but more, this is a view that will help translate and explain what it’s like to live with a certain mindset. Here take this.
It’s an envelope. Inside are the contents of the mind which you’ll understand more as we go along.
I offer this message as an explanation yet I offer this view as a means of expression. This is not just for me at all. No, this is also for those who either will not or cannot explain themselves. 
Either way, here it goes.

I am sitting here with you now, alone, in the dark, and writing during the early hours of morning. This is before the day breaks and the sun sets sail. It is cold outside and winter is about to take its place on the main stage.
I noticed the stars last night which means that today’s sky will be clear, at least I hope so.
Then again, I am a fan of the sunrise. I’m a fan of sunsets too.
There’s a reason for this.

There was a friend of mine who used to say, “I am as God made me.”
This means, I am who I am. Or in his case, this means he is who he is.
But this is me and in the version of myself, there are other parts of myself in which I say yes; this is me too. I am a mix of so many things. I am part combination of my past and part a mix of assumptions and perceptions.
I am who I am and though I do not discuss my choice of identity nor do I propose myself as a representative of culture; at the same time, all I know is I am human.
That’s all.
I know what I see. I know where I’ve come from and while I might not know (or understand) what’s in store for me, I know what I want to be.
I want to be happy. I want to be proud of what I see.
I want to look back one day and say to myself with the utmost esteem and say, yeah, I did that.
That was me.

There was a morning, cold as ever in the month of November. I was only about nine years-old at the time and the hour was early. I remember this was a morning at football practice. I remember the frost on the ground and the cold mist was rising up from the icy grass.
I remember the smoke from my breath as it left my mouth.
I remember the jumping jacks and our young little grunts as we counted out the number of jumping jacks and push-ups.
The team was holding a scrimmage because the coach wanted to see us at different positions. This way, the coach would know where to place us when the season started.

I don’t know what you see, at least not really.
I talk about this often but the phenomenon of sight is not provably the same from one eye to another. I cannot say that I know for sure what the color red or blue will look like to someone else. I can’t tell how yellow the dandelions are to someone else nor will I know if my experience with the smell from a honeysuckle bush is the same to anyone else. I bring this up because our associations and our experiences are different. Our views are not the same and neither is our experiences. Yet, we think and we feel and there are times when we assume people think, or see, or feel the same way.
Well, the truth is I don’t know what anyone else sees.
So for the moment, I’d like to offer an explanation of what I see with hopes that you can see your way clear to notice me and see that what I say is true.

I still think about this day, a Sunday morning, when I was back on the farm. I remember this because I had to go home for a day to see him. By him, I mean The Old Man.
I was taken home for a visit after learning that my Father had a heart attack. I was only home for a short amount of time yet I can remember walking back into my bedroom. I can recall standing at the doorway and looking in, as if I was returning to the scene of the crime – or should I say crimes.
It was amazing to me though; the way my bedroom looked. It was as if I was viewing a murder scene. You know the kind?
I mean the type of dramatizations where bodies were outlined in their last and final position. Only in this case, the bodies that were slain were more like the remnants of my past.
I had only been gone for a few months yet it was as if a lifetime went by.
I was different now. Everything was different.