Purpose Ain't for Punks

       
       






















      Let me first start this post by saying purpose ain’t for punks. When I decided to complete my first book in 2016, I didn’t know where the journey would take me. You have to do the things that you are afraid of and be willing to go places you’ve never been in spite of that uncomfort. I’ve probably started writing my “first” book about three times. In 11th grade, I started curating a poetry collection, but a few years into writing it my laptop crashed— now ain’t that some shit? I stopped writing for a

few years after that because I felt like I had lost many of the greatest poems that I had ever written at the time.

Around 19, I attempted to write my memoir, but the first story alone took too much out of me and now that I’m older, I realize that I just had way more life to live. All my life I’ve always been aware of my talent, but having so much effortless talent in different areas can make you lazy. I always did the bare minimum in school and sometimes in my extracurricular activities outside of school. I was praised for the bare minimum, but when I set out to really become a writer the bare minimum didn’t cut it. I had to go deep and give it everything I had. Sometimes when I write I cry— hell I write even when I’m angry, but throughout this journey I was forced to learn that I had to stop waiting for my “burst” of inspiration. I couldn’t just write when it was easy and I had to stop procrastinating with my gift because the longer I did, the more my life just passed me by.

At one time, I was convinced I was a photographer. It was something that came easy to me, but it was also something that allowed me to be in the background and hide who I was. All this talent I had, but I found comfort in the background. In 2015, I quit my job a Sprint and said I’m going to devote myself to my “purpose” and really give it a try. I was tired of not going hard for my photography and allowing jobs to take me away from my creativity.

I started getting my portfolio together and reaching out to people for shoots. One of the people that I happened to come across was Dyamond Taylor. We scheduled a shoot for July 5, 2015. My make up artist cancelled on me, but I told her I could do her makeup. In high school, I wanted to be a makeup artist so I figured how hard could it be? I always did make up on myself for work and it came out cute. I ran out to buy new foundations and extra brushes in preparation for our shoot.

When she came over she was initially kind of quiet, but she still had a confidence about her that spoke volumes. We chatted while I attempted to do her makeup. I didn’t do the best job as I was only used to putting makeup on my face, but she still thugged it out and bared with me. We eventually started talking more and I just felt like I knew her my whole life— it was weird. At one point, I thought she was fucking crazy because her ass told me something around the lines of “You want to feel my energy”. In my head I was like oh helllllll no she is tripping! In real life though my ass was just as crazy and went along with it. She held my hand then closed her eyes and no lie— I felt her damn energy. It was the wildest shit!

       After our shoot, we were inseparable and bonded for life. I would always go to her house or on some random mission with her. We went from shooting and filming things the first few times we hung out, to me not even picking up my camera at all. A few weeks after we met, she became pregnant with Marz. I eventually working the next month and put photography on the back burner since it didn’t take off like I hoped. While she was pregnant, we would always be in her room listening to her music being creative. We would have so many talks about the things we’ve been through and the experiences that shaped up as women. We would always share writing and bounce off creative ideas with one another.

       During one of our many talks about her daughter and how we would raise/guide her when she was born, I came up with the concept for my first book The Commandments of Womanhood. It was everything I wanted tell my future niece Marz, my future daughters, and the woman I encountered. My third time writing my “first” book and I was actually committed to finishing. I wrote the first manuscript in less than two weeks which eventually became a skeleton and outline of what is now known as The Commandments of Womanhood.

       A few weeks after writing my book and finally walking into my real purpose, I had to move out of my apartment. I was pissed. Here I was feeling like I was finally going after my calling and about to be homeless. I was furious with God because I felt like why would he give me the gift of writing a book like this if I was just going to end up fucking homeless. I went from staying in my own one bedroom apartment to living in a small studio with my friend at the time and his homeboy in Korea town. I’d be working from home for my customer service job and making provisions for my book with my graphic designer at the same time.

       On my off days, I would go to Dyme’s house to help with Marz and get away from my home environment because my friend and I started clashing. It’s true what they say “You never know somebody until you live with them”. Eventually after 3 months and no luck securing a new apartment, I moved out of my eventually ex friend’s studio into a hotel. I went to a few different hotels for about a month until I swallowed my pride and moved in with my Aunt. After a trip to Chicago, I found myself having to move again after my aunt kicked me out during one of her bipolar episodes. I came back to LA and was back to a hotel again. My older cousin told me to just go back to my aunt’s house while she was still in Chicago so I could save for a new place.

The night my Aunt came back, I went to my friend/old coworker’s house. I slept on her couch for 2 weeks. During my last week at my friend’s house, I prayed to God and told him I was losing faith. I didn’t want to have to quit my job and go to a shelter. I told God that I needed him to work a miracle out for me. I had been looking for apartments like crazy getting rejected left and right. I was so tired of feeling defeated. I needed things to get better.

Three days before I was set to leave my friend’s house, I still hadn’t found a place. I rescheduled a viewing for a place that I wasn’t really feeling for Sunday. Around 7pm, I got an email for a one bedroom apartment in downtown Long Beach asking to meet. I thought it was peculiar to show me a unit that late, but I told the apartment manager “Absolutely”. I ended up not even having to take an Uber because my friend came home and gave me a ride.

When I went to the apartment, I was blown away by how perfect it was for me. It was newly renovated and much nicer than my last apartment. It was even on the first floor this time which I really wanted so the move in was easier. I asked the apartment manager the qualifications and was surprised that I exceeded what they were asking. The apartment manager told me he could give me updates on my application immediately after I applied. When I got to my friend’s apartment, I applied and just like he said, he was giving me feedback on my application. I even sent him a letter of recommendation from my job as well.

I applied, got approved, and moved into that apartment in less than 24 hours only by the grace of God. The same apartment that I sketched in my notebook months prior while doodling. I didn’t even have a California ID because I’d lost it in my Uber going to my friend’s house. I didn’t know how I was going to get the move in money because what I had saved wasn’t enough and I wasn’t scheduled to get paid till that Monday. I never ever get paid on Saturdays, but my move in money was in my account Saturday morning. I had more than enough and everything aligned better than my wildest dreams.

A couple of months later, I attended an overnight event/conference at my church. In one of the workshops a minister taught on Matthew 5:14-16. “You are the light of the world—like a city on a hilltop that cannot be hidden. No one lights a lamp and then puts it under a basket. Instead, a lamp is placed on a stand, where it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your good deeds shine out for all to see, so that everyone will praise your heavenly Father.” She pulled me to the side after the breakout group and told me that I have to stop hiding my light. She also talked about not dismissing pain and pretending that were invincible when I mentioned having a high tolerance for pain during one of her questions.

During her group and her conversation with me after, I realized that if I was going to live my truth I would have to step out of the shadows and do it fully. I couldn’t “follow” my purpose if I only had one foot in it so I made the decision to give away all of my photography equipment.  I donated my camera and lenses to a church then I gave my friend who had a podcast all my backdrops and lighting equipment. God was taking me on a journey and I was dedicated to follow it wherever it led me.

A week before my Deceased mom’s birthday, I got a call that my first cousin died(my mom’s baby sister’s daughter). At first I didn’t even know how to feel because I had suffered abuse at the hands of that same cousin who used to sit on me and try to suffocate me when I was younger. When my mom was gone she’d push the pressure points on the back of my legs while stuffing her dirty socks in my mouth and sitting on me. I can remember being in the kitchen stirring chili while my childhood best friend and her God brother was over after school one day. I said something she didn’t like and she grabbed me by my neck against the fridge while feet dangled. Luckily for me, I had the spoon from stirring the chili in my hand and used it to splatter it in her face while breaking free. As soon as she released her grip, I ran as fast as I could to my mom’s room— knocking loudly on the bedroom door and screaming for her to let me in at the top of my lungs.

My mom took in my cousin after my aunt died of breast cancer while I was in middle school. She even gave her mean ass my bedroom. While my cousin was both physically and verbally abusive to me during her grief, she still took pride in me while on the phone with her friends for my singing. In the rare cases when she was nice to me, she would call me into my mom’s office and tell me to sing to her friends that she was on the phone with. Eventually my cousin, decided to move in with my mom’s best friend.

Over the years, I’d run into her in passing and we’d occasionally chat briefly. Even in those times she wanted to prove that she was always doing good. It always seemed like a competition with her. I never competed, but she made it a point to try to make me feel inadequate. Something within me could never be broken. There was this silent fight within me that could never let her or anyone break me.

After she died, the burden of making funeral arrangements fell on me and I was the youngest of the first cousin on my mom’s side. We were all the only children of my mother and her sisters. All three of our mothers were deceased and mine was the last to die out of the three of them. I found out that my mom put my name as the person in charge of my cousin’s policy when I was younger. Although my older cousin from dad’s side told me not to let this take a toll on me and do more than I could, I did.

Making funeral arrangements for my cousin felt like me planning my mom’s funeral when I was 15 all over again. It triggered so many dormant emotions in me that I previously dismissed. As mean as my cousin was to me, I felt nothing but compassion for her while struggling with mourning my abuser. I ultimately discovered that she was abused when she was younger and was also being abused by her husband. As much as she’d hurt me when we were younger, I was sad that she spent more energy into being in secret competition with me than asking for help. It made me sad that I thought that she lived in Moreno Valley when all the while she had moved less than 15 minutes away. Not once in all the run ins did she reach out to me for help. I struggled hard with processing my emotions. I was both sad, compassionate, and angry with her. I was angry with her because I knew her pride wouldn’t let her reach out.

My cousin who in my opinion was the toughest bad ass— the girl who tried to kill me on numerous occasions was letting her husband beat her. I believe she stayed for the sake of what a “family” represented more than anything. I learned that she had been looking for love in all the wrong places. I wish she could’ve read my book and learned to love herself more. When I reflect on the last time I saw her a few months before she gave birth to her last child, I can’t help but wonder why she didn’t speak. She saw me rocking my niece Marz to sleep after she’d gotten her ears pierced. Before she could even say hello she walked up on my and said, “Oh I know that’s not your baby”. I secretly thanked God that I got dressed that day so that wouldn’t be something else she could talk shit about. After I told her it was my niece, she proceeded to tell me that she was running errands with her mother in law and was pregnant with her 4th baby. I wished she’d ask for help in that moment rather than trying to paint the perfect fairytale image.

       The preparation of funeral arrangements and resurface of old acquaintances/family members was almost too much to handle for me. That shit almost drove me fucking insane and after I realized how much of a toll it was taking on me I had to say enough is enough. I ultimately quit my job and made it a point to start living for me. When I wrote my first and second manuscript for my book, I assumed I had addressed all my demons, but my past resurfacing at the worst time made me realize that I had so much to still heal from. I had to deal with unaddressed hurt and anger towards my mom. I spent many years mourning the absence of her when she passed, but there was so much more feelings that I dismissed. I had to address feeling let down by her death because I felt abandoned. I drowned in grief for so many years by dwelling without release.

During this time I was getting closer to God and going to church all the time. I asked God to order my footsteps and I ended up so many places while on the journey. I couldn’t explain my actions. Some friends wrote me off as crazy, but there was something that I was experiencing deeper than what I could interpret to anyone. God was calling me to focus on him so that’s what I did.

I remember having a meeting at my friend’s house for her podcast and hearing God’s call. I honestly thought I was about to die and I did, but it was death to the old person impersonating me. I went from talking about my future wedding, singing, and laughing to crying. I knew that where God was taking me I had to leave everything and everyone I know behind to give him my undivided attention. I asked her if she take me home. Her and her friends were looking at me like I was crazy as fuck and weird. While in the car, I asked her to play Focus by HER on repeat. I kept hearing God telling me to focus on him so that’s what I did. I told God that I’ll go whoever he wanted me to go and do whatever no matter if I looked crazy doing it. If I was going to look crazy, I felt like I might as well look crazy for God. My friend asked me if she was taking me to my Long Beach apartment, but I told her to take me to my childhood home in Compton.     

       At one point on the way there, I remember trying to throw my phone out the window, but her looking freaked out telling me not to. I ended up leaving it in her car when I got out. I didn’t want anything to distract me from God’s voice. She drove away and I was there in front of a place I hadn’t been in years. I looked at my childhood home and preceded to walk to the door. I knocked and knocked, but nobody ever came to the door.

      I ended up just walking to my aunt’s house after and singing on the way. I hadn’t sang since I was probably about 16. A lady stopped driving as I was walking to my aunts’. She told me I should sing in church and that I had a nice voice. I told her thank you and continued making my way to my aunt’s house. When I arrived, my aunt and I had the longest talk. Later that night, I went home and prepared a statement to resign from my job. I Ubered to my friend’s house to get my phone later that day and we had a talk. I told her that God was dealing with me and she told me that it was best that I didn’t help her with her podcast anymore. I agreed and we ended on good terms. When I got home I thanked her for her friendship in those years and wished her well.

2017 was a life changing year and I seen so much spiritually than ever before. God had me on a journey beyond what a sound mind can even comprehend. Spirit nudged me to release my book for free on my blog. I payed influencers to post my book using my unemployment checks. I booked a flight to visit my cousin in Boston, but on the way there during a layover I was hospitalized for 3 days. God was acting out the Bible before my very eyes and it started in Genesis. I found myself naked outside of the airport and in the moment, I understood what Adam and Eve felt when they ate the fruit that opened their eyes to perception.

I was taken to the hospital in an ambulance on a gurney. When I arrived at the hospital, I told them that I did not have insurance and I couldn’t afford to be admitted into the hospital. I told them my name and showed them that I was coherent. I tried to play off my spiritual encounter with God by telling them that I was just a nudist and I was sorry for being naked in public. I protested several times that I was going to miss my flight, but they ignored me. They gave me papers to sign that I was mislead to think were discharge papers, but they were really release forms for a 72 hour hold. When I tried to get off the gurney to leave, I was strapped down and I was poked with medication against my will even though I told them I had allergies. They just dismissed me like I didn’t matter. I later found out that on my discharge papers that it said I had “No known allergies” even though I told them several times to please not give me medicine. I even said I would cooperate because I thought I might be allergic to the medicine because I had bad allergies.

Even in the midst of everything wrong with this situation, I saw God in that moment. It was like God was showing me chapters of the bible, but only I could see them play out. I didn’t eat or shower for the 72 hours hours that I was there. The showers were dirty and the food looked inedible. I drank water and cranberry juice until I eventually stopped drinking anything at all because the mean nurse that gave me the shot kept making comments like she’d put more medicine in my water. She ignored me asking to tell my loved ones where I was so they wouldn’t worry and dismissed because she assumed I was too incoherent to remember. The first night, I slept a lot because of the medication I was given. I never knew what time of day it was because there were no windows. Eventually they allowed me to call my friends and family so I could tell them that I was in the hospital.

The spirit of Jesus took form in a patient. He came in my room and told me to ask for a Bible. I went to the front nurse and asked the head nurse named Mary for one. Everyday he came into my room and he told me what scriptures to read. Each scripture described my life and everything that I had been experiencing at that moment. In the beginning, I didn’t realize who the man was that I now know was Jesus, but when I was being released the realization hit me like a ton of bricks. He told me that I can take my time and go at my own pace with getting to know him for myself. I cried so hard... It was so hard to explain this experience because it was almost like I was in two realms at once. I was experiencing an encounter with God and also being shown the ways that people are being mistreated by the medical industry. I know what they were doing was inhumane and wrong, but how could I explain what happened to me without sounding crazy?

I wanted to press charges against the hospital and once I got to Boston I tried filing a police report and look for legal representation. The lady at the police station dismissed me so I had no choice, but to go back to my cousin’s house after rushing down there the day after I got to Boston. When I was outside I was approach by a police officer while waiting for my taxi because I was in pjs and a rob. When I looked in his blue eyes, I felt uneasy because they started looking weird like he was a demon possessed. His eyes started doing some weird shit and all I could think of in that moment was Sandra Bland along with the countless black Americans who have lost their lives at the hands of the police. In that moment I wished that I didn’t leave the house against my cousin’s protest. Eventually the police left me alone and I was able to catch a taxi back to my cousin’s house.

For days my body felt uneasy after the medication I was given at the hospital. My chest felt tight and I thought I was having a heart attack. I was so drowsy and I kept fighting to keep my thoughts coherent. I eventually came back to Long Beach to settle out my apartment before I moved with my cousin Jason in Boston. I gave away pretty much all of my belongings including my iPhone. I took as many childhood videos from my trunk of memories and my favorite pictures from the photo albums that my mom collected. When I got to Boston, all I had was the clothes on my back, my laptop, and a duffle bag of memories.

I stayed in Boston for about 5 months then I moved to Atlanta. While living in Atlanta, I also went to New York and Miami. Each place taught me different lessons about life and myself. I remember talking to one of my mother’s old friends while at the airport in Miami one night. I told her that I was pursuing writing and she dismissed me saying how she had wrote books, but there was no future in pursuing writing because they don’t really sell. When we got off the phone I cried feeling stupid for following my dreams, but I quickly brushed it off and began writing a book as a fuck you to her small thinking.

Eventually after all my self discovery, I moved back to California on March 14, 2018. I no longer had an apartment so I had to start all the way over from scratch. The first 4 months, I was real deal homeless. I thought I’d experienced homelessness previously through couch surfing and living with family, but this time I had absolutely nowhere to go. On my first day back, I applied for emergency food stamps and cash aid at the LA County Building. On my way out of the building, somebody offered me a free Obama phone so I took it. Another person was offering a good job that ended being just a trade program. They gave me a ride to the school and the girl who drove gave me some rapid rehousing info. Every opportunity that I was presented with, I took it.

I slept upstairs in the Long Beach airport for a couple of weeks until they kicked me out. While I was there, I’d write and post on my blog called Evoke My Thoughts. I would also use the Obama phone to apply for jobs and find housing. Eventually, one of the employees told on me and the police said that I couldn’t sleep there anymore. I was embarrassed and I heard employees talking about me on the walkie talkie. The employees looking at me funny when I walked out of the airport and I was crushed. Defensively I brushed the police officer off, but I ended up having to humble myself and go back when I realized that I left some of my things upstairs. I apologized to him for my previous attitude. I told him I didn’t know where to go and he gave me money then gave me a ride to the multi service center in Long Beach. They put me in a cheap motel for a couple of days then placed me at the Doors of Hope Women’s shelter.

When I arrived at the shelter, I was so scared because I’d never lived in a shelter before. After intake, they took my all my belongings to wash them. I had to wear donated clothes the first night. The shelter had a strict 6pm curfew because we were required to attend Chapel every night in order to stay and secure our beds. We also had to be dressed an out the door every morning by 7am. At night they would take our phones and lock them up. We could only take showers at night and only for ten minute.

I met a lot of different women— some with degrees and some escaping domestic violence. Everybody had a story and no story was the same. I lasted 13 of my 14 day stay. My case worker from the multi service center got me another motel voucher until I got into a longer stay shelter. The second shelter was a little more lenient, but some of the staff were mean. I lasted there a month or so until I got in trouble for wanting to go to church one night. I went to church that night and then I ended up returning the next day to get my stuff.

After I left that shelter, the LAX international terminal became my shelter. I was resourceful, okay— because I’d be damned if I was outside. I would write and go to different workshops while waiting for my housing to come through. I’d even go to job interviews, but it was hard with that big duffle bag of clothes and backpack. Eventually, I’d gotten approved for a nice 1 bedroom down the street from my previous apartment, but that place ended up falling through at the last minute.

       I had some dark days at that airport, but God always found a way to provide me with favor even when I began feeling hopeless. I had to shower in the family bathrooms using a container I got from dollar tree and drying out with the biggest towel that I could afford which was no bigger than a small floor towel. I remember this one time when all I had was a dollar to get a piece of warm bread from the sandwich shop and I shared it with this lady named Maya who was also sleeping at the airport. We looked out for each other and watched each other’s belongings. I was grateful for Maya especially because the first night somebody stole the block to my charger while I was sleeping. 

A girl named Celine who worked at one of the food places near where I’d usually sleep started giving me food and I’d share with Maya. I never asked or let her know I was hungry, but she started giving Maya food too. I finally got a place July 5, 2018. It was a two bedroom house in North Long Beach that I shared with a room mate. I was definitely against the having a roommate shit after my experience living in Korea town with my ex friend, but I ended up learning so much. I hated living with my roommates for the majority of the time, but the more I released my need to control my circumstances a place that I allowed to be the cause of many  headaches didn’t end up being as hard to deal with after the lessons were learned.

I prefaced this story by saying purpose ain’t for punks because if you look at my story you’ll see that it has not been no cake walk. You have to follow your path scared and even uncertain. You have to clap for yourself even when you have nobody to clap for you. You might have to walk through fire, but I’ll tell you one thing— there is a blessing on the other side if you just trust the process. You don’t have to understand it, but trust the flow of your life because purpose ain’t for punks.

(Authors Note: I pray you were able to get the message past the typos that probably linger through this story.  I wanted to show you guys all of me— imperfections included.)