MyAn's Truth (Chapter 2)

“Faggot.”

Yeah, that was said to me. “Faggot.” Just bright and simple. It was at a nice restaurant. Zye and I had stopped to get our grub on. We were holding hands while waiting to be seated and finally the not-to-nice waitress sat us down at a fairly intimate table in a little cove, so to speak. Zye flashed his smile and the waitress’s hard-as-nails look instantly disappeared. It’s rather amusing actually, seeing Zye’s affect on people. But I think it definitely hit me the hardest.

He and I were talking. Laughing at the waitress for one thing and then our convo settled into more abstract subjects such as our future as individuals and what not. Aspirations…dreams…hopes. All that good stuff was thrown over the table in between sips of this rather robust wine. Robust? Don’t exactly know why that describes wine but hell, it came out so…deal with it. Annnyyyywaaayyyss…the wine worked its way from my throat to my groin area (sorry for the graphics) but basically, I really had to go. Sort of like that commercial. You know the one? “Gotta go gotta go, gotta go right now. Gotta go gotta go gotta go.”? Yeah…that’s the one. I had to pee.

Being the politically correct and discreet guy that I am I announced this to Zye who gave me a look and sniggled at my “courtesy.” I slid from the tiny booth and headed toward the huge but rather artistic sign that flashed “Restrooms”. Hmmm…I wonder what that means?

Now…I know it’s not just me, but do you know that feeling you get when you are being watched or noticed or whatever? It’s that prickly sensation on the back of your neck? Or that uneasiness that pervades the entire atmosphere? Well anyway, I felt that. But, I’m a nice looking guy. Not as eye-catching as my man [did I just say that?] but definitely noticeable. Strange enough, though, the feeling never subsided. I walked into the door conveniently labeled “GENTLEMEN” with a rather detailed painting of a man in an expensive suit. My guess? It was Armani but I’m subject to be incorrect at times.

The door opened to the restroom and I had to look back to make sure I entered the place where people are supposed to urinate. The damn bathroom was so…so…clean and inviting. I almost felt like I shouldn’t let the rain fall in here for fear it might ruin something. Was there really a practical reason for having velvet and gold and other choice material in a place where people do one of two things? One of those things being very nasty and rude to the sense of smell? I think not.

As uncomfortable as it was, I still had to pee really badly. While I was standing at the stall someone opened the door. I didn’t check to see who it was. I had much more important things on my mind such as AIM. I did NOT want to be the messy individual to piss on the nice, marble floor. I did the magical shake that has become characteristic of men everywhere and fixed my clothes to bump into another guy. I smiled an “Excuse me” and proceeded to walk away from him. And that’s when I heard it. Barely audible yet brazen as a son of a bitch. He said, “Faggot.” Slowly I turned away from the direction of the sinks.

“Pardon me?” I said with a question.
“You’re a fuckin’ fag.” Said the guy whom I didn’t know from Adam.

I just kind of stared at him. You know those moments that are so small and short but they seem to be the most impressionable and memorable? The ones where you remember the fly buzzing around you and the scent of hand lotion in the air? Well, this was one of those. The guy wasn’t bad looking. He was Caucasian, maybe with a little something darker mixed in his hereditary soup. “Class” seemed to be written all over him from his tailored grey suit to his manicured fingernails and his snake skin dress shoes. He wasn’t a redneck or a wannabe thug. He was educated, “cultured,” business-like and he let that word utter from his lips…to me!

Its funny that I had been dating a guy but I had never considered myself gay. Zye and myself had been going strong for about two months when this happened and it never occurred to me that I was remotely homosexual. It was just another love to me. A warm body at night and a comforting voice on the phone. All of a sudden it was revealed to me how I was portrayed in the eyes of others. I was another “gay guy.” I was suddenly a “sissy” and it shocked the hell out of me. As sarcastic and mouthy as I am, would you believe what I had to say? I bet you won’t.

“Faggot?” I asked dubiously. Disbelief surged through every invisible wave of my voice.

The guy sneered and decided to brush past me snickering and silently whispering “Damn faggots.” I was left there. Slightly dazed and still in some sort of shock. My head was cocked to the side and I mouthed that word to myself and tried to imagine how it applied to me. There was no feminine sway in my step. I didn’t wear makeup. Hell, I didn’t even arch or pluck my eyebrows. I was not guilty of any of the things I considered “gay”.

Revelation hit me then. It struck me stupid for the second time in that five minute trip to the restroom. Dare I say it…I had an epiphany. People don’t just see mannerisms as gay. The fact that I was with a man, without any bold feminine attributes was enough to label me. I don’t agree with that word in any case but it just felt all types of wrong for me to be called that. I realized for the first time in the two months that I had been with Zye that I was considered a gay man by those around me. Who would’ve thought? Certainly not me.

My anger, as you can see, was not immediate in the least. But after a moment of reflection and shock my rage came. Who the hell was he to address me as anything besides a man? Who the fuck gave him the authority to attribute slurs to any damn body? Especially me? I burst out of the restroom, my urge to eliminate germs vanquished by emotion. I searched for the ignorant asshole. I saw him seated at his table with a couple of guys, all who had the look of businessmen. I made my way to that table, nothing else was in my vision but the blonde guy who had disrespected me.

None of his friends noticed me, his back was turned so he didn’t notice me either. For some reason that made me angrier. He didn’t think I’d react or respond to his asshole-ness. I’d be damned. I’m not that type of guy in the least. The last few steps to his table went by in a whir of thoughts. I nicely tapped him on the shoulder. By this time, I had the attention of the two guys sitting with him. He turned to me with a question mark tattooed on his face and then I saw a flinch of something else. Something remotely like terror. Let’s just say that that little flinch of fear satisfied the sadist in me.

“Mother fucker, I got your faggot.” I calmly stated as I took his plate of food and shoved it into his face. It was a wonderfully garnished plate of pasta with marinara sauce and cheese sprinkled on it and little slivers of chicken to top it all off. I was saddened by the fact that it had been sitting there for a while so it wasn’t all that hot. But it definitely ruined his face and expensive attire for damn sure. He sat there with sauce and noodles dripping from his chin. The same shocked look reflected on his face that I’d had in the little boys’ room. I walked back to my baby and noticed the appalled expression on his face. I grabbed my jacket and walked out with him behind me looking back at “pasta boy.”

“What the hell was that!” Zye said heatedly.

“That ass wipe called me a faggot when I went to the bathroom. I didn’t appreciate that shit at all. It probably won’t stop him from being an ass but it sure as hell will make him think twice before sharing his stupidity.” Tranquility was thrumming throughout my body. The recent rage disappeared with the satisfying taste of retribution. Am I a badass? No, but I sure as hell have my moments.

“And that excuses the way you acted in there? That was downright uncalled for. I’m surprised at you. I have been called that, among other things, and I didn’t react that way. All my fuckin life My, people have murmured around me or done stupid shit to me. You can’t fight ignorance with ignorance!” I was surprised at how angry he was. I felt embarrassed all of a sudden and that, of course, made me mad again.

“You know what? I don’t give a damn. I know I can’t fight everyone or react that way every time but it was a first for me. ‘Forgive me father, for I have embarrassed you.’” Sarcasm is my greatest friend.

We were standing at the car by now—quietly screaming at each other. I knew I was taken by him because even while he stared at me with disapproval and concerned anger he was stunningly beautiful. Again, this fed my anger.

“Him being an ass doesn’t mean you have to be an ass back. And you sure as hell do NOT have be an ass to me! You didn’t embarrass me so much as embarrass your damn self.” He sighed heavily while opening his door to get in the car. I stood outside for a moment longer, wondering why no one had come to stop me from leaving after what I had just done. I was prepared to pay the cost. I had expected to but no one had batted their eyes at all as we had marched out of the restaurant. Maybe they were familiar with his knack for getting on people’s bad side.

I breathed deeply as well, kind of mimicking what Zye had just done before entering the car. I decided to face this maturely. Maturity was always on the backburner to sarcasm but I loved him and I knew it and he melted my cynicism away by just staring at me the way he did. I got in the car.

“Look, I apologize for how I made you feel or look. I apologize for letting my anger get the best of me. But what I don’t apologize for is what I did to that jerk. Dude deserved what he got and I’m glad I was the one to give it to him. Yes it was rash. Yes it was immature, maybe. Yes it was uncalled for but I did what I felt and damn it, I don’t regret it at all.” There. That was my maturity speech. Pretty good, huh?

Zye turned away from the window to study me in the dark. Oddly enough, he was smiling. I was definitely not expecting a smile. And to top it off this son of a bitch burst out laughing. The frown lines in my face had to look like ditches.

“Why the hell are you laughing?”

More laughs. A couple of coughs then, “Oh my God. I can’t believe you did that!” Laughter spilled from him like a broken faucet. His laugh was like most of him—beautiful and surprisingly charming. Despite myself, laughter crept up on me and I joined in with him.

“You know, I guess I’m kind of mad at the fact that I never did something to at least one of the closet cases that called me shit like that.” The sparkle in Zye’s eyes was dazzling even in the shadows of night.

“What do you mean?” The funny receded slowly.
“I always turned the other cheek when what I really felt like doing was beating the hell out of them. I guess I’m jealous that I never did that. I always just let stuff slide.”

“No, I got that. What do you mean by “closet case”?” I asked more specifically this time.

“Oh. That. I mean that guy that you plated was really a man fighting his attraction to men. He messed around with one of my cousins, who is a guy, a couple of months ago. He probably said that to you because he wanted to deflect speculation that he was indeed a “fag” himself. That’s the reason that most of these straight guys say shit like this to men who like men or appear to.” He did the little finger quotations on the word “straight”. It seems my sarcasm was bleeding into him.

Well damn. Looking back at the moment when I saw the fear on him I realized, yet again, that he wasn’t afraid of what I would do to him physically but what I could do to his reputation. What I could do to his mental and emotional dilemma. I realized all this but I still felt no remorse. I hadn’t had to deal with this all my life. Zyiah is the first and only man to ever win my attraction. I don’t even look at other men in that way. But if that guy was really gay and hiding from it by being a bitch to others then he definitely deserved what he got. He’s a punk and punks should either lay low or get the shit beat out of them for trying to be something that they are not.

So…faggot or no faggot. I’m not the dude to fuck with and now, neither is Zye. He wants to make up for lost opportunities. He promises not to be violent or extreme in the way that I was but he aint gonna keep quiet the next time someone says some ignorant shit to him. That night in the car, after our first fight, we laughed and had a rather passionate kiss to make up for it. I wish pasta boy could have seen that. I bet it would have did a little sumthin’ sumthin’ for him. No, really, I am laughing hysterically at the thought.

MyAn's Truth (written by me)

See…I was the guy who always came off as the friend type. The “he’s cute and sweet but I don’t wanna fall in love with him” type. Do you know how freakin frustrating that is? Ugh…you can’t even imagine. To wear your heart on your sleeve is to get it snatched away and stumped on. Do I seem cynical? What the hell do you think years of being the “good but not good enough” guy will do to you? Don’t judge me for my pessimism and my lack of faith in human intention. But trust me…I’m not bitter. I’ve got great friends, a loving family, many events to occupy my social life. However, what I don’t have is the warm gushy feeling that annoys the hell out of everyone until they never ever can feel that feeling again. I don’t have that and I want it so bad…so bad that I’d trade almost all of it for that one person to tell me they love me and mean it. I want to be more than good enough…hell, I want to be exceptionally wanted.

This aint a sob story though. What kind of a story is it then, huh? It’s a story about me: MyAn Sample. Weird name isn’t it? Haha. I had to deal with stupid nicknames such as “MyAn Simple” or “Simple Sample”. Cruel ass kids. Its funny how those little names used to embarrass and hurt me so much but now, when I reflect on them, I wonder what the hell was wrong with me that made me so damn sensitive. Childhood…who needs it?

Anyway, I don’t want to continue to bore you with the “Biography of MyAn”. Basically, the gist of this story is this: I was living my life, enjoying my friends, the occasional bar adventure, the once-in-a-while party and what not when this guy [yes a freakin GUY] swept me off my feet. Now, I was never one to bash gay people but I was NOT a fag—I mean a homo—either. I was the guy who went after the girl and got pushed aside because I wasn’t a hard ass. I wasn’t a man clinging to the darkness of some metaphorical closet. I simply was…

Somehow, I guess all the rejection and disappointment opened me up to new possibilities. I mean, I think to a degree, we all have some mild attraction to the same sex. For some it’s stronger and it causes them to be gay and flamboyant and what not. For others it’s half-and-half or less even. And then for me, well, it’s dormant until the right person comes along and fucks with your emotions and catapults society’s ideals into oblivion to leave you all mushy and gushy inside. Even those words sound embarrassing as hell.

Some might argue that I was gay to begin with, some might say that love knows no limits [I must disagree, one limit is definitely species if nothing else], and still some might say that I’m some poor soul frolicking his way to some place of eternal damnation for choosing to like bananas more than oranges. To be quite honest…as I tend to be…I don’t really give a rat’s ass what “some say”. Because SOME did not bring me into this world, SOME isn’t taking care of me, and SOME sure as hell aint living the life I’m living. So those SOME can go straight to fire and brimstone in my humble, loving opinion.

Now…so the guy. What was so…so…alluring about him? Like…what kind of a guy could turn a relatively good looking heterosexual male into a fairy? Well, I don’t know what it takes for everyone else but for me it took Zye. Full name: Zyiah Johnson. This man, this dude, took me off guard. So far off guard that when my lips touched his I damn near wet myself from confusion. He’s gorgeous, Zye is, but I mean, he aint the prettiest thing. He’s just…well…Zye. Average build, loving warm brown eyes with a slight tint of green, and cappuccino colored skin. Our complexion is about the same but our auras...well, let’s just say if auras were different types of stars Zye’s aura would be a supernova and mine would be a brown dwarf. If you don’t know about astrology go look it up.

Zyiah is one of those people who commands attention not because of how attractive they are [though his fineness sure isn’t hurting him]. Zye’s power comes from his presence, his sheer force of will and determination. It’s the subtle intelligence in his eyes that seems to strip you of all the masks that life has designed for you. Instantly, Zye saw passed my cynical worldview and told me what I needed: someone to love me hard as hell and erase the years of rejection and shit that left me a shade short of gothic and cynical. If one were to just look at him…well…they wouldn’t know that he was a gay man. Women still molested him with their eyes but he never encouraged them. Hell, even some known and very comfortable straight men have found themselves lost in his luster. He was just one of those people. They probably wouldn’t quite understand why they stared at him so bemused. They’d probably even claim that it was his style or something. You know? It’d go something like…he had some nice shoes on or some other lame shit like that.

With all my strength and might I tried to hold on to my straightness. I tried my best to convince myself that I wasn’t “this way” and that I shouldn’t feel what I felt towards him but hell, all that talking to myself left me crazy and my throat dry. He took me, overpowered me with his gentleness, with the understanding in his eyes, with the magic in his touch, with…with his Zyeness (yes, I said Zyeness, get over it.)

I had a thread of control. I had enough power to deny him entrance to my undeniably heterosexual heart when suddenly the son of a bitch smiled. He smiled and that did it. He unraveled every chain, unlocked every door, demolished every wall, ransacked every single thing that he could to get to that small dwelling place known as my heart. Zye did it all with a smile and I hated myself for how easy it was. But the more I hated myself for it the more his ass loved me and as much as I hate to admit it—I couldn’t fight him anymore. I gave up, gave in, and sacrificed it all for the one thing that I never had: a hand to hold through it all and this one wasn’t going anywhere. I went from not good enough to “What did I do to deserve all this?” Who would’ve thought?

Intro 2 YouTube/ Tagged 20 questions!!!!

This is my bestie's first youtube video. Show some love.

After Life (What Will You See)

The incessant beep woke me up from that final sleep. The rest that many people pray for but aren’t really sure exists. Let me just say…I’m glad I woke up from that rest. While I was lying there fighting for my life, struggling to breathe past the death that forced its breath in my rebellious body I didn’t see my life flash before my eyes. I saw the life after my death and it wasn’t heaven or hell, it was sadness. Indescribable sadness because I saw the fact that my life had no impact on those around me.

I watched my friends carry on, taking life for granted. I saw my family forget about me with each deceitful tear. I observed face after familiar face continue on as if my life meant nothing. Lying there, in the hands of doctors and nurses, I decided that I was no longer going to give my life to the disease of self-denial; the plague of self persecution because of something that I could never change. Suppressing one thing about myself caused me to suppress so many positive, impacting attributes that God blessed me with. I’m funny. I’m caring. I understand to the point of empathy yet I buried it in a sea of self-desecration and denial. Who am I to judge myself more harshly than God himself judges?

I wondered, while I lay there reviving slowly, why did I hold the opinion of others so highly? Why did I take the word of supposed men of God over the word of God himself? How foolish I must have been to live my life, not for me, but for those around me. To be selfless is commendable and amazing in theory, but in truth it is painful. I do not suggest selfishness but never forget oneself in the matters of the world. This is exactly what I did. And in forgetting myself, I allowed other people to be able to forget me. By forgetting myself I disallowed who I am to shine through the muck and mire of life.

I did not see a white light or a narrow tunnel. I didn’t hear angelic voices or stand at St. Peter’s gate. I simply saw the truth. I witnessed the truth that lying to ones’ self will never grant. I’m twenty-nine and I finally had the epiphany of self. I have a mark to make. I have to imprint my existence on the plane of time because if I don’t do it then no one else will. I am a martyr. A living martyr because I died once with no legacy but now I choose to live only to create one. The next time I lie fighting to breathe past death the afterlife will look much more promising and I will enjoy the heaven of living my life to its fullest potential which is our basic duty as creatures of the Most High.

Vivian Green - "Damn"

Done By Artavious. Check out him out at http://www.youtube.com/user/artavius18

Tyrah teaching the Wendy Williams "How You Doing" LOL

I am too through!

Melanie Fiona - It Kills Me (OFFICIAL VIDEO)

Uh oh, I have been directed to another vocal queen to sit beside my other favorite queens Erykah Badu and Chrisette Michele. She's giving me everything!!!

Erykah Badu - Didn't Cha Know

I love Erykah. And I love this song!

Reflections: It WAS It

I was listening to my mp3 player and the song "Declaration: This Is It" by Kirk Franklin journeyed into my conscious. It reminded me of a very taxing time in my life. Fall of 2008 I saw myself in the mirror. I saw a reflection of who I was and it showed me that who I thought I was, was simply a reflection. Not a reality. I was a reflection of my upbringing, a reflection of the beliefs of my elders, a reflection of the thoughts that had become my own. But if anyone has ever seen a reflection before, they know that a reflection is not really "you". It's a reversed image of you. This is why letters on T-shirts appear flipped around.

I remember hearing the song and it said:

"Gonna cry now, go ahead and get it out of my system
I know I hurt now, but soon I gotta get back to livin'
Can't be here next year, givin' you these same tears
I hope you enjoyed it, 'cause it's the last time you will take a piece of me"

Let's just say, at that time, I did cry. I wept for that reflection that I tried to make the REAL me. I wept because I knew that some people would be happier with the reflection than with the reality. I had to get back to "livin" because the "I" that was real was dying quickly and then I had a rude awakening. It shattered the mirror and my reflection and then all I had left was the bitter reality of who I was. The shards of my image lying in front of me was one of the most painful things I have endured. It was a personal death. A death that I appreciate because it has made me live.

The line "Can't be here next year, givin' you these same tears" means so much because this is that "next year" and the only tears I have shed have been for those who passed in this particular year. They are not the same tears that poured out of me in Fall 2008.

Again, I refer back to the song: "I can't keep livin' like this, there's gotta be more than this"

There was more than what I thought I knew. There was more than my reflection. It took the demise of that mirror for me to be able to see beyond it.

I wrote all this to let anyone know that no matter where you are at the present moment, no matter who you think you are at the present moment, all this can change. Especially when you are unhappy. Don't let the mirror make you into someone you aren't, don't let mirrors such as family and societal boundaries tell you that you are this and that when you know you are not. Live! Live outside of the mirror and you will also be DOIN' JUST FINE.