And Still I Rise

The streets were an essential part of my life. They helped me make my mark in the world without the benefit of a traditional education. Hanging out with my friends made me feel more secure and loved than I felt with my foster mom, my biological mom, my always-stepping-on-you step-mom, my legal mom (the one who adopted me and who the authorities claimed was my mom), and everyone else in that system who tried to tell me who should be my mother.

I'll tell you something, every time I stood on the 7th floor of my building with my boys Junior and Ray, college was not the topic we smoked. Being able to inhale a shoty through our lungs without coughing was all the intelligence we needed to officially admit ourselves into the University of Ignorance.

I always wanted something positive to do, like change my life around. But there was rarely anyone there to give me direction. And even when there was, I ignorantly got lost. I dropped out of high school at age 16. Becoming an alcoholic at the same age brought me closer to my father. But seeing the world through an alcoholic's lens became a barrier that didn't allow me to find out who I was or who I could be.

I never really wanted to drop out of school or corrupt my life, but I figured the only way to get people to pay attention to the pain I was in was to get myself in so much trouble that they'd have to. That state of mind made me drop out of school, smoke weed, drink liquor, hit my foster sister, argue and threaten to kill my adoptive mom, steal, not eat, and become this kid who just wouldn't give a f-ck about anyone until someone gave a f-ck about me.

After dropping out of school for about eight months, the decision to go back was not one I made in the blink of an eye or a snap of a finger. It took me seeing my own blood on the tip of my enemy's knife to realize that this street life was not working.

It was that and the endless essays and poems I'd scribble on my sister's construction papers and loose leaf papers, which I'd steal when she was sleeping. I wrote so many thoughts but I had no one to listen to them. It took endless nights of dreaming wonderful dreams of success for me to get up one night and say, "I want to succeed."

I went back to school. Many people there noticed the talent I had for writing. That gave me inspiration to keep working. I want to become a writer. A poetic mastermind. I want to travel across the four corners of life and blow words like the wind that will give strength and poetic inspiration to those who need it.

I am now eight credits and two high school exams away from doing something never accomplished in my family before: receiving a high school diploma. Although it will have taken me five and a half years to graduate, it will be five and a half years worth the smile on my face.

Once I receive my diploma, I'm hoping to get into Hosftra University in Long Island, N.Y., though I'm applying to other colleges too. My dream is to work hard, improve my skills, and after four years, apply to Columbia University to be part of their "best in the nation" Masters in Writing program. It's kind of hard to say that after struggling so hard in high school, but honestly, to be the best you must defeat the best. I yearn for the challenge.

But this story isn't all about me. Right now I live in a form of transitional living called Independence Inn. The program allows you to gain the skills necessary to begin the road towards independence. We all know that it takes more than a year to gain total independence, but that is all we have. There are 19 residents living at the Inn, including me. Residents facing the same issues. Poverty. Despair. Strength. All of us also have strength in one form or another.

But one thing I've noticed about the residents of the Inn is that most of them take advantage of what they get for free and ask for what they want, but forget about what they'll need in a few months when they're on their own-like the knowledge and responsibility needed to maintain their own apartment; a decent savings account in case they find themselves a little behind; a plan B along with a plan C; a resume; self-esteem; a job, etc. College is the last thing on their mind.

That's not true for all the residents. My boy Anthony already has his mind set up to where he wants to go in life. I wouldn't be surprised to see him as my roommate in college. Then there's Jose. He is also seeking for some good, going to school and holding down a job. His problem is that he spends all his cash rather than remembering to save, but he's getting there.

But a lot of kids don't seem like they're going in any direction. There's one, whose name I won't mention, who's a bright kid who passed his GED with a high score. But he comes in almost every day under the influence of liquor or weed. He looks for his late dinner plate, then goes straight to his room and just lies flat on his bed wondering where he is and what is next. He'll lie all day light-headed and dazed while the rest of the residents make fun of him. He seems trapped in his own little world. And every night he gets up and looks into the mirror, like he's seeking some answers in his reflection, like he's trying to find his own self-image.

He has nowhere to go, no job, and hardly goes to school. He needs some serious help. Instead he's on the discharge list.

Then there's another boy, whose name I'll also leave aside. He dresses in black, with black nails, like he'd rather hold the devil close to his heart than the one who created him. I like to talk to him, but when I do, I notice the anger he holds toward the world. He's another one on the discharge list, and I fear for him, because he also has nowhere to go. He tells me, "I don't have a plan. I'm waiting for a plan to come to me."

Whose fault is it? There are so many answers to that question. Our parents, the system, our own. The fact that at 17, 18, 19, we live in what's basically a homeless shelter is for many of us enough concrete evidence to prove that life sucks and make us want to give up.

Now that I've begun to pull my life together and see college as my next step, it hurts to see some of the guys I live with give up on opportunities. Opportunities that they are blinded to by anger and hatred and despair. The type of anger that chokes you until you suffocate, obscuring everything that's true and exists.

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