the perfect son

I will never be perfect. I need to stop trying to be perfect or pretending that I am or I will just flush my dreams down the drain. I need to stop burying my head in the sand and face my own imperfections with dignity and embrace them with open arms. I guess its hard to do that when your mother who raised you tells you that she is disappointed in you for not being the perfect son and all you do is try to live up to those expectations. Now I have begun to think that those expectations are unrealistic and based upon the idealization of who I should be and not who I am.
I am sorry that I am not perfect by your son. But by own estimation I don't need to be perfect I just need to be me.

What is wrong with me?

What is wrong with me? Lately I seem to spiralling uncontrollably downward in to a world of selfishness. Can it be that I am so angry at the world that I have been blinded to my abject loss of morality and compassion?
Yes.
Now I have to wonder where this anger is coming from so I can let go of it and move on with my life. Until then nothing can get better things can only get worse. I am so angry that I often cannot feel remorse or regret or even sympathy until after the damage has been done and the words thrown back and forth like spears.

History brick by brick

I sit here at the Starbucks by my house listening to the music as it emanated from the speakers.
Still I love days like this when the weather is nice and the people are milling about the streets lazily strolling to their destinations.
This is my favorite part of my hometown Pomona with all of its old buildings and the history that binds the bricks of the buildings together.
I have recently rediscovered some of the old jewels in Pomonas downtown area which combines the old with the new.
Yet I cannot help but feel the history in the buildings in this rustic yet metropolitan area of the city filled with brick buildings, bistros, bookstores, murals and lofts.
It was here that the heart of the city was born with the theater and the packing houses and where it was buried when all the stores moved out after the mall was built a few cities away.
Now new life is slowly coming back to this city.
The Glasshouse is here and the Fox Theater is slated to reopen in January. On weekends the streets that were once dead now teem with the young as they make their way to some of the clubs. And every second Saturday art lovers meander down the streets swaying to the sounds of live jazz as they stop at the galleries along Third and Thomas Streets. Yet as they walk they may not notice the sign for the old Pomona Bakery which closed years ago. But the times being what they are new bakery has opened up on Second Street where gourmet pastries delight customers. Now in a telling sign new has replaced the old but things have stayed the same.

Realization

It just hit me like a lightning bolt.
In every persons there comes a time when you begin to see who your parents really are. They are not bad people with evil intentions. They are good people who only have the best intentions for their children. They are not perfect people so despite their best intentions they can make mistakes and completely fail their children. My aunt has made a lot of mistakes recently.
I suppose that is exactly what has caused all this pent up hurt and anger to rise to the surface after having been repressed for so many years.
These emotions have been buried for so long that they may just consume me.

more pledges

These just occured to me.
I vow never to give up.
To never lose hope.
To never stop at the world as beautiful.
To never stop seeing good in the eyes of evil men.
To never stop enjoying love.
"Love is life and life is love" is a phrase I have said before and vow to continue believing in.

A Pledge to Myself

I make a pledge to myself to never give up.
To never stop fighting for what I believe in.
To never stop cherishing each moment.
To never stop loving.
To never stop caring.
To never stop believing in something better.
To never stop striving for perfection.
To never stop being happy with my flaws.
This I pledge to myself that when the world buries me in the soils of its own dirty hatred and doubt I will not stop being me.

To My Friends...

To my friends,
I find myself at a crossroads as I get closer to the end of the semester. It has been a semester and a year of changes...lots of changes. Yet it has been one that I can look on and smile...perhaps because of all the friends I have made in this past year and a half.. Perhaps if it were not for my friends I might have found myself lying in a ditch somewhere alone and in the dark.If you are reading this...it is because you have had an impact on my life...even if I have only known you a few short months or several years. I would not be who I am without having you in my life...for that I feel blessed. Still I suppose that this is a thank you of sorts.At this time last year I was contemplating suicide, but what stopped me was knowing was that there was people like you to come back to when I got out of the mental hospital. It was because I knew there were people like you who existed. If I had not had friends such as you to come back to...I would be dead.Now here it is a year later...and while those days are in the hospital are in the past, they are not forgotten. Yet as time has gone by and I began to see that there was a life worth living because of the people that were worth knowing.They say that one can define himself by the people he or she associate with. They also say that you can choose your friends but you cannot choose your family. All I can say is that I cannot have chosen to know a better and more admirable and more honorable group of people to call my friends.I spent a long time doubting myself and thinking I was worthless, but then I realized I was not thinking those things about myself but about the people I knew. I could not accept their/your faith in me.I spent a lot of time wondering what people saw in me that I perhaps did not see in myself, but I realized is that I was not seeing those things in myself but in the people around me.It was at that point I realized that I had chosen to hang around the wrong group of people.Now I am with the right people. You.It was not until this past year or so that I heard people say that they respected me. The irony is that I spent most of my time up until last year trying to prove myself to others...when I never had to do it at all. Yet the people I used to know in years past...never would have said such a thing.I remember at the Daily Titan's Reverse Press Conference just this last week where David Carrillo introduced me to the people there as a respected journalist. I have to be honest I did not quite know how to respond to that. Or even when friends tell me now that they are excited about the possibility of seeing again or at some random place or event. In the past, it was not my nature to be happy to see other people.I always thought people did not like me, but I now realize that I was wrong. I always thought that I was a good person that no one else saw. I was wrong.You might think that I am being perhaps a bit cavalier in my usage of the word friend, but I would disagee. For me friend is more than just a word. In many ways my friends are like my family, so I don't bestow this title upon you lightly as is often the case nowadays. I say it because I mean it.Since a good friendship is based on reciprocity...all the good things you have given me, such as your love and respect I want to give back to you. I am not a rich man, so my heart is the only thing I have to give.Now this year is ending a new one with a bright future is approaching.Thank you for being who you are.Thank you for saving my life.
I wish you all a happy Thanksgiving!
Your friend,
Robert

Summer 2009

Well it looks like I will be spending the Summer of 2009 in New York City doing an internship at Fox News and if all goes well for my friend Joe and his internship interview with JP Morgan Chase we will both be out there at the same time. So good luck Joe I am rooting for you!

Verissimilitude

Verissimilitude the definition of which can be described as honesty is a word that seems to echo in my head quite a bit now and I am uncertain as to why. Perhaps because I am learning to become more honest with myself as time goes by but I cannot shake the feeling that even as I go through life there is a certain part of me that is not being entirely honest with myself. I went to the Rally Against Hate yesterday and I felt a certain sense of anger but there was something else there something that has been hidden inside of me so long that it has left me confused and wondering that if I said it out loud would I be lying or telling. As I am writing this the words are fighting to come out but my own disbelief in their veracity force me to hold them back. I mean could it be true could I be g-? God, as soon as I attempted to put that word on my page I stopped because I could not write it forse the shame and stigma that is attached to it.
I am a coward either because I cannot tell the truth or because I cannot tell a lie.

Writer's Block

Why is it that writers block has hit me right now? Is it because I have so much hate and anger right now that I am frustrated and bereft of the words that I can use to express my rage and dissapointment with the world. Could it be that I have come to the realization that some people while intending good things can actually damage or destroy something in their very efforts. Such is the irony of human existence from which humaniy's blind faith in its own perverse sense of morality is born. Can it be any wonder that as long as their have been religion believing in the God of love and peace that there has been killing in his name,
And His name used to spread hatred and bigotry? Not really.

Word River

 

Words once ran through my mind like a river

falling from the rains of Heaven

carving canyons of hope and love in their wake

washing away the layers of regret

and replenishing the soils of faith

so that providence may grow.

Now the river is dammed by anger and resentment

the bricks of the dam cemented with frustration

and teeming with rage-full bricks the dam stands firm

but every dam must burst as the waters build up behind it

and the words will flow freely once more.

Yet the words are still standing at the brink

slowly trickling over the side

with only the promise of what is to come

but such promise is sweet.

Belong

I don't belong anywhere. I often feel that way. Often when I am with other people I feel that I don't fit in…that I am different somehow that I am the puzzle piece that does not fit into the puzzle. I can't help but wonder if I will fit in anywhere. I think that no matter how much people accept me there is a limit to how far that acceptance will go. It does not help very much when organizations like TACA, Cure Autism now and Autism Speaks that claim to want to help autistics such as myself use words like epidemic and cure that make me wonder if autism is just a disease. Am I just some diseased individual that with a few pills perhaps even a vaccination or injection can be cured of who I am? What if I don't want to be cured? What if I am not diseased or sick?

It's very hard to fight such a belief about myself if the rest of the world thinks I am. It's no wonder I don't belong anywhere. I am made to feel like I need to be put in quarantine.

Today life sucks…sucked like the last version of the Mummy. I am not certain what is going on in my life but Murphy's law seems to be the law of the land right now. But rather than whine and complain like a little kid I prefer to think about what can be gleaned from each and everyone of those things. I prefer not to dwell on the negativity of life and look at each occurrence that is a challenge that must be overcome with grace and a bit of humor. Perhaps there is a bit of a Buddhist in me in that I prefer to laugh at tragedy and adversity rather than become angry. Such a negative energy created by such anger does not lead to anything good except to give the impression that you have a hot temper.

bullying

I have to ask myself when I became that which I hated? When did I stop being the victim and become the victimizer? When did I stop being the bullied and become the bully? I don't know. At what point of being treated like I was worthless did I start to treat people that way?
When do I stop blaming others and take responsibility for who and what I have become?
There is a part of me that still believes what I have been told about myself and rather than paying no heed I try to make those who would say such things believe about themselves what they are saying about me. I do not want to be that way but unfortunately the price of such behavior is loneliness and solitude. I know that I can be better. I have no pity for myself only regret for what I have done to others.

today

I am too tired to write anything today. So blahblahblahblah. I will post pictures from tomorrows festivities sometime this weekend. Right now my brain needs a nap.

Langston Hughes: The Slave of Modernism

Langston Hughes was the slave of Modernism. The works of Hughes' were in stark contrast ot that of other Modernist writers such as Ezra Pound. Hughes had more in common stylistically with the Realist style of writing that could be found in the slave narratives of the nineteenth century, while he had much in common with their writings there were some differences as well. Hughes wrote about issues that he faced and dealt with on a regular basis which is more in tune with the precepts of thought that governed Realism.

Still much of Hughes' work does bear the mark of Modernism in the way that it puts into question the ideas of equality and freedom, ideas that this country holds in high esteem perhaps somewhat naively and as such it can be said that since Hughes was writing when he did he was in a sense shackled by the constraints placed upon him by Modernism. It must be pointed out that Hughes was black, and the other Modernist writers were not, so their perspectives may have been influenced by their race, but that is not an easy argument to make. In order to fully understand the differences and the similarities that Hughes shared with both the Realists and the Modernists an in depth analysis of one of his poems that speaks about the reality of the world he wrote about and put into question the ideals that the world at that time held high.

The first line in the poem "I, Too" harkens back to Walt Whitman's somewhat self-indulgent if not racially naïve poem "I Hear America Singing." While some might debatewhether or not Whitman can be classified as a Realist is moot in the terms of this discussion, since Hughes' poem from the very onset is a reaction to Whitman's poem as evidenced from the very title of Hughes poem. The phrasing "I too," in the title denotes a reaction to declarative statement in the opening lines of Whitman's poem.

Hughes writes the poem from the narrative perspective of a single voice with the declarative statement in the first line of the poem, but it in the second stanza the poem shifts from Realism to Modernism through its use of metaphors, which is used to described an abstract idea, but at the same time the stanza includes a differentiation from Modernist writers as well.

"I am the darker brother.

They send me to eat in the kitchen

When company comes

But I laugh

And I eat well and grow strong"

(lines 3-7)

It must be noted this poem was written in 1929 and then reprinted in 1959 at time when the nation still practiced the doctrine of "separate but equal" which the poem alludes to in this stanza when the speaker says that he has to eat in the kitchen but still is able eat well and grow strong. This allusion points to the reality of the time, but at the same time begins to challenge the long held, yet abstract, ideal of equality.

As the poem progresses the challenge becomes more blatant, and causes the reader to question the ideal of equality which is more in tune with Modernism and its tendency to call things into question and often express their disillusionment with such things, while the Modernists achieve the goal of expressing their disillusionment through the use of abstract thought, Hughes approach in this poem is much more direct.

Still, unlike Modernist works such as T.S Eliot's "The Wasteland" which by its very title sets the stage for a work of disillusionment, there is a sense of hope in "I, Too."

"Tomorrow,

I'll be at the table

When company comes

Nobody'll dare say to me

"Eat in the kitchen"

Then."

(lines 8-14)

This hope that the voice feels contrasts with the disillusionment many Modernists expressed in their work, and can be seen as a challenge to the very real doctrine of "separate but equal" and the abstract idea of equality. Despite the contrasts with Modernism, the shackles of Modernism have bound this poem stylistically. The poem repeats phrases in the second and third stanzas. In fact the second and third stanzas as well as the first and last lines are almost mirror images of each other. For instance the first line of the poem "I. too, sing America" is almost identical to the last line of the poem "I, too, am America. Both are almost are almost identical in phrasingand are both declarative statements. The only difference between the two lines is the substation for "sing" with "am" in the last line. Still even such a minute substitution speaks of inequality. The fact that while there is repetition throughout the poem is not always exactly alike each time that a phrase is repeated suggests that while Hughes wrote in the style of the Modernists he used that style to speak of reality as opposed to abstract ideas.

The unequal repetition in the second and third stanza only serve to further the themes of inequality that become apparent with not only the usage of the Biblical metaphor of a family eating at the table in the first stanza and how the speaker is then asked to leave the table. While the third stanza talks about "the darker brother," a phrase (keyword: "darker"), which alludes to race if one was to put it in the context of the aforementioned metaphor. It also talks about how the darker brother will be eating at the table the very next day.

The fourth stanza also adds to the inequalities in the poem structurally and realistically. If one was to write the poem down on a sheet of paper and fold it in half, the poem would not be symmetrical. Also the stanza increases the poem from four to five stanzas, four being an even number that can be equally divided into two parts. Also the fact that the poem has 18 lines as opposed to 19 is equally important because 18 like four is an even number and the fact that it has an even number of lines and an odd number of stanzas cause to the poem to structurally become a statement of the incongruities between equality and the doctrine of "separate but equal."

Yet even more structural differences in the poem also highlight these incongruities. The first and last stanzas are of equal length, being that of one line each. The second and third
stanzas in the poem are also equal length, being that of six lines each. The already incronguous, for the aforementioned reasons, is only three lines in length and is unequal in length to any of the other stanzas in the poem.

The fifth stanza itself also differs from Modernism by further imbuing the reader with a sense of hope that is very much instilled with anger. "Besides,/They shall see how beautiful I am/and be ashamed—". Modernists would not have made such a statement of hope. The last stanza speaks of tomorrow and the perhaps a possibility of change in the future.

The usage of the Biblical metaphor is important to note because of its abstractness, and thus is a representation of the idea of equality. But as line by line the poem progresses the idea begins to diminish through the references of the darker brother and the idea that soon people will be shamed. Even through the shackles of Modernism, Hughes was able to effectively paint a picture of reality albeit in a very abstract way through his use of metaphor. Yet slaves can often bear the mark of their masters, and despite the shackles placed upon them find a measure of freedom to escape those shackles and become free of them. If Realism was the Promised Land Hughes poetry as evidenced by "I, Too" would safely and securely be there.

The Advocate - Love and loneliness

The Advocate - Opinion
The column for which I won second place for best personal experience story from the Columbia Scholastic Press Association.

THE ADVOCATE: Rational insanity - Opinion

THE ADVOCATE: Rational insanity - Opinion

structure is a must.

I guess i never thought of mentioning this before before, but being autistic I am just naturally rigid and inflexible. Autistics live in a world of predictability, repetition, and order when it comes to their behavior
I am still learning how to be more flexible.

Retrospective

If I was to look back on my life and look at all the mistakes I have made I would not do anything over again. For the first time I am happy and have no regrets.

retraction

I wrote in an earlier blog that people make no effort to understand my condition.
I realize that was wrong. Its not other peoples responsibility to ask. It is the responsibility of people like me to tell people what it is like even if they don't ask.
It seems that we have been lax in that area for quite some time...until now. Now it seems as if all that silence has given way to shouting.

One of the ironies of autism is that many autistics are non-verbal but through facilitated typing they are able to communicate
Just because a person does not say anything to say does not mean they do not have anything to say. Give someone the means to communicate and they will tell you what they think.
As a collective all autistics capable of communication are, to quote Howard Beale from the movie Network, shouting we are mad as hell and we are not going to take it anymore!

journalism association for the disabled

I think it is time that we had a journalism associated for the disabled. I would call it the ADJA the Americans with Disabilities Journalism Association. I however do not want to be president there are more qualified people for that.
I just have to ask if anyone would support me on this?
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

Weird is as Weird Does

I am tired of people calling me weird. Here's a fact I am autistic and think you are weird too. Its not so much that I pay attention to how people treat me because I don't anything less from humanity's myopic vision. As much as people want diversity the less they can accept it. To me the rest of the world is a strange place full of strange people due to the very nature of autism. What I consider to be normal behavior you consider to be abnormal. I can learn what you consider to be appropriate behavior but it is like a second language to me, which has to practice and utilized with deliberateness because it is not natural to me. I had a friend of mine call me fucking weird one night in the pub in the TSU. All it did was remind me that no matter how much I make an effort to learn about your world there is little or no effort on your part to learn about mine. Why should you? You might ask. I am here and I exist. I am as human as you are I expect of you what you expect of me: understanding that as weird as I am to you, you equally as weird to me.

Truth

I have to wonder what this thing called truth is. Is it as objective as people say or is it as subjective as some want it to be? I honestly have no answer. In a world where lies masquerade as truth and truth wears the mask of deception, the answer to such a question can itself seem like a lie. But how do we know what is truth? Is it found in a book? Or is it found in the commandment I am the Lord of your God. Thou shalt have no God but me. If that is true, truth is subjective. It is how we define our relationship with God and what we think his message to be. But if it is not subjective, it is the objective truth that God is Love. Still the question remains, if truth is God and God is Love, what is truth? Is truth Love? If so, what is Love? And how can be the truth be objective if Love is not? It can be both. This may sound like a dues ex machina resolution to the question and thus not answer but it is the only one that circular logic can come up with especially when the question is the answer.

Republicans and Democrats

A true Democrat takes the ability to say what he thinks very seriously.
A true Republican takes the ability not think about what he says very seriously.

The Last Day

Of the year

Of work

Of class

Of war

Of peace

Of damnation

Of tribulation

Of salvation

Of air

Of light

Of the world

Of the beginning

Of the end

Of the Omega

Of the Alpha

Of virtue singing

Of vice cawing

Of love rejoicing

Of hate recoiling

Of truth lying

Of villainous good

Of beneficent evil

Of fullness

Of malcontent

Of happiness

Of sadness

Of nothing and everything

Of birds chirping

Of life beaming

Of the sun shining

Of the world turning

Of your life

 

 

5 am

Some might be wondering just what the hell I am doing writing this at 5 in the morning. I have two words for you: final exams otherwise known as the scourge of humanity. I hate final exams, but like most rites of passage they must be endured if the next level of advancement. I wish I had something insightful to write right now, but after being awake for nearly 24 hours and having consumed enough caffeine to power Long Island for the better part of year my brain is understandably fried.

I do have to say that I wish I had gotten involved with ASI much earlier, but at least I have gotten the chance to hang with all the cool cats in ASI that have made studying somewhat fun.

A dream deferred

I am never one to give up my objectives but one who will divert from the original plan even if only briefly to make the quest for the end result all that more successful.

After some discussion with my good friend Peter I fhought it might be prudent to do an internship prior to interning at Fox News. The reasoning behind this is to make sure that I stay on track for graduation next year. Doing the internship in the fall would delay my graduation by a semester or more...and I just want to get the hell out of dodge as quickly as possible. I am thinking on applying for an internship at ABC to hone my skills as it were. Although I having worked at the Daily Titan for over a year and a half I am accustomed to the stresses of a daily deadline environment, broadcast is a lot more intensive due to the fact that there can be multiple deadlines in the same day due to multiple newscasts.

Also I seem to be facing the dilemma as to whether or not I should tell the people at Fox that I have Asperger's Syndrome. While the advice I have gotten is that I should tell them, I am afraid that I might shoot myself in the foot in the process. I have no doubt that I will be successful at Fox when I do the internship, there are still a lot of misconceptions about the disorder, and I bear the burden of being quite possibly the first person with Asperger's –at least that has been diagnosed-- to pursue a career in the media. That is a heavy cross to bear even with the support of my friends who came out in support of me doing the internship after I had questioned their faith in an earlier blog.

The First Blog

This is the first blog that will be writing. As a student at Cal State Fullerton I felt it necessary to write one and document to the best of my ability the life of a student here at CSUF, right now my computer is as tired as I am because I have to type the keys several different times just to type one letter. I think its time for bed.