I was a proud twenty and five and wasn’t gonna grieve some misspoken awkwardness in a common beehive. The world then was an accident before it got taped off, a natural intoxication, a Dionysian dream. How could I turn away? I wanted to be out on the streets and not miss a thing. Only when confronted by the sadness of financial insecurity in a large American city, would I submit myself to a nine to five, pushing papers like a mule. I was young and full of pride. I skipped down the sidewalk, afternoons away from work. Whatever I witnessed I either photographed or wrote down in my journals, then took home to type up — only that which had captured my heart.
I no longer have the pride of my youth, but I stand tall as ever. I no long carry the false promise of an imaginary future in my head, where all problems have been solved and challenges overcome. I face the rising sun and realize despite its powerful light and growing heat, it has no edges and cannot cut me. We can therefore have a dialogue over our three course meal. Hardship will never be just a memory and the sun has no gender.