What Am I Afraid Of?

This is a good question. Not only that but it’s the kind of question that I actually don’t like running into because of how much this thought, or fear, affects me. Now, before I say what the fear is, I just have to say that I like living my life without knowing when it’s going to end. Not because I’m afraid of death but because I have always felt comfortable losing myself in what I enjoy, and for the most part I do enjoy life– for the most part.

It’s kind of like watching a movie without knowing the running time; you lose yourself in the storyline. You get caught up in what the characters are doing and when it finally ends, whether it’s a nice or tragic ending, you appreciate it; without knowing you embarked and became one with the creative journey told through the lens of the director. In other words, you leave the theater satisfied.

It’s one of the reasons I enjoy films more than books, that’s not saying I don’t enjoy reading. I just have always preferred watching a great film over anything really. You see, with a book, you’re always aware of the length. Sure, you can get lost in the story, but no matter where that story is taking your mind, once the remaining pages get thin, you know the end is coming. By that point, you either hate the book because of where it’s taking you, or you enjoy it because of how well balanced it is; then appreciating the end for what it is.

Well, my fear has always been being diagnosed with a terminal illness. The thought of being told that your life is being cut short really terrifies me. There’s nothing else that frightens me more than that. Now, I know death is a part of life and it can’t be avoided, but like I mentioned before, when you lose yourself in the story, you allow yourself to become the journey you set out to embark. I find that beautiful in a way. It’s like spending time with someone you love. You know you’re going to have to drive that special someone home when the day comes to an eventual end, but you enjoy the shit out of the moment; losing yourself completely in time until you look at your watch and realize a few hours have passed.

Once you’re given that kind of bad news, there’s no going back. I suppose you become aware of every little thing, losing yourself in the journey through life is no longer an option. You begin to not only countdown but rush through the experience. It must be horrible, and I honestly can’t fathom the idea. Nothing could be worst than being part of a beautiful moment in time and being pulled out of it by the thought of it all ending soon.

I’ve experienced that once to an extent, and that’s probably what added to this fear of mine. You see, when I was a lot younger, I had read an article about the world coming to an end after being hit with an upcoming asteroid. The article gave a specific time, which completely left me nerve-racked. I remember my entire summer being ruined by such an asinine thought. I would be running and playing outside but as soon as my mind was at peace, that fucking thought would quietly crawl into my thoughts and taint whatever peace I had with this bullshit-fear. It was ridiculous. I would spend countless hours wondering if there was anything left to do before it all came to an “end”.

Towards the end of the summer, my sister invited me on a trip to Arizona, at first I thought maybe this was what I needed but as the time came, I bailed simply because I figured the person I wanted to be with when it all came to an end was my mother. Well, eventually the time came for the world to “end”, and what’d you know? The article was full of shit. Since that moment in time, I vowed to never waste time whatsoever. And I hate it when people do it. Especially when it’s my time they waste.

So, going back (I know I drifted a bit from the point there. Sorry.), once that kind of news is given, there’s no ignoring it. No matter what you do from that moment on, that shit-thought will always find a way into your head. No moment will ever be silent or peaceful until the end, and I find that heart breaking, and truly terrifying.

However, in the end, it truly depends on the person. For me, it would be the worst thing possible but for someone else, who knows? It may just be like reading a book; even if you’re aware that end of the story is near, that someone might be okay with how their life played out. I just know I have much to do in this life, and that’s probably why such a thought terrifies me.

Be at peace with yourselves,


P.S. I wasn’t really sure if I wanted to post this. In a way, I was a bit uncomfortable, but I figured, “Fuck it. Why not? Someone might enjoy reading this.” To that someone: Thank you for taking the time to read the words my mind had to offer at this moment in time.



What does getting old mean to you?


I’ve always enjoyed celebrating my birthday for obvious reasons; everyone is celebrating me. When I was younger, it was all about the gifts. This was the one time of the year that every gift in the house was for me and no one else. However, as I got older, the thought of gifts began to bother me. I don’t really know why or how that feeling even came about but it did. All I’ve cared about since is being surrounded by family and friends. I do enjoy their company. I could honestly say that I’ll take dinner at my house with a couple of friends and family over any expensive gift. Like I said before, gifts bother me.

Anyways, that doesn’t answer the question, does it? Well, let me say this then I enjoy getting older for many reasons, one of them being that I’m still here. I have never been against aging, or getting older, I’ve always accepted it. Getting old is just that, there’s nothing really special about it. I wish I can say that the older you were, the wiser you became, but I believe being wise is a result from living a life full of experience, and trust me not every soul out there is full of it. Many, in fact, lack it.

Getting old means earning days. It means waking up and having another day to fulfill something. It means getting closer to death; it means beating the odds. That’s what getting older is… beating the odds. I think.

We live in a world so crazy most of us don’t even know it, or refuse to know it. The fact that we live another day to tell the story is insane. It’s an amazing gift itself. One we should all cherish. I mean, the fact that I have outlived many people, including some of whom I went to school with, is a huge eye-opener. I beat the odds. I’m getting older and time is becoming a story worth telling. That’s what it comes down to really.

The older you get, the more you begin to wonder, “Is my life worth telling?” That is huge. Sure, there’s nothing wrong with living a quiet life but you have to make an impact at least for your loved ones. After all, in the end, that’s all we really become. A story. Maybe that’s what getting older is: collecting stories until you become one. I like the sound of that. I can live with that. It sums up everything I mean. Getting older should mean growing as a person, both mentally and physically, but the only way to do so is to experience the world you fought so hard to be a part of. I mean, remember, we were all once the most eager, hard working, goal oriented, and fastest motherfucking sperm cell of the bunch. And we made it. Life is the prize. And, maybe this is just me, but I believe a prize is a made to be cherished. So, what does getting old mean to me???


It means understanding that question.





Welcome, you.

So this is it. These are the words I have chosen, the lucky ones that are getting the chance to be the first of many to represent me. How cool is that? Take a second or two to really think about how lucky these words are, and how they might even hold the power to change a life or two. I’m telling you, if enough thought is put into it, it can be mind-blowing…

Okay, so now that we have taken the time to breathe some life into the words above, let’s turn our attention to these new words: I have decided to write everyday.

I have. I think it’s for my own good. See, when I was younger up until my first year in college, that’s all I ever did. It was non-stop writing for me. I remember I wrote my first 100-page story (I should call it a draft but whatever it doesn’t matter) when I was in seventh grade. I was so proud of myself. Looking back at it, of course, it sucked, but at the time it was an accomplishment–– Well, it still is. It’s my first finished story. Regardless if it sucked, I still finished it. That’s more than I can say with my current projects; all of them are unfinished or lost somewhere in a different hard drive.

So yes. I don’t think, I know this is good for me. Especially if I am taking the time to work on a new story that I’m growing quite fond of. The theme is simple enough to explore and the story is special enough to write about. The theme for those interested is learning how to accept yourself for who you are and allowing the past to be the past so one can move forward. That’s it. If you ask me, it’s cute and simple.

Everyday for the past few weeks, I’ve been taken the time to write for at least 15 minutes. Though to be honest, I usually end up writing for an hour, and if I’m working on my story, I usually end up writing for 2-3 hours. Time flies when you’re exploring a brand new world, or manipulating time. I have always believed the price we pay for manipulating time is losing track of it. That’s why music and film editors spend countless hours working on projects. I can tell you that I have first hand. In case you’re wondering, probably not, but just in case you are, I’m an aspiring filmmaker, and words play a big part in what I do.

So yes, I know this is somewhat of a random first entry but I’ve wanted to start a blog for quite sometime. To be honest, I don’t know how the world of blogging works but I promise you, I’ll start getting it in no time. So yes, if for whatever reason you find this interesting, you can rest assured that there is plenty more to come. I will be sharing stories of all kind both fiction and non-fiction. I think it should be interesting. Anyways, always remember to keep it real.