When did you give up on living?

Life is made up of hope. Nothing exists or will exist without it. Your hope turns into a belief and your belief is what makes everything real. So, I walk these dark at five in the evening streets. This is a side note, but I have lived twenty four years and have never experience it being dark a quarter till five. I can't help but blame this on being a New York thing. And, while we are on the subject, I do not like darkness. I don't like sitting in it, I don't like feeling it. The only thing the dark is good for is sleeping. And, I don't want to walk through my day feeling like it's bed time. So, sun, please come back into my life.

Anyways, I am walking along these dark cold streets. Reminds me, I don't like cold either. It's not becoming on me. I have to bundle up in six layers, and womble around. I don't like to womble. And, I have to wrap my scarf around my head like I represent the Muslim faith. People look at me, and I wonder sometimes if I'm going to be attacked, but I do plan on explaining that I have very delicate skin that can't with stand such intense temperatures. Therefor, I do wrap this thing around my head and face, as not to represent or mock their faith, put purely for survival purposes. I mean, I don't mean to sound high maintenance, but I do wish they would supply personal heaters for walking time. It's just not right to have to be so cold all the time.

So I'm walking down the dark and cold street. Another day of trying to be a discovered actress or discovered something. I give up everything for this damn art form. I give up my money, my lifestyle. I eat damn canned food for my art. I mean why can't Broadway be on the virgin islands, or somewhere warm and pleasant. But, no such luck there either.

So, another disappointing day on the train ride of life. I climb into this familiar subway, that use to be a foreign concept, but now is a daily routine. And I sit next to the new crazy of the day. At first glance, she looks like me and you. She has a coach purse that looks real. The only thing suspicious on her is her eyeshadow. It is applied rather thick, and by that, I mean it looks like she did paint by numbers. The black was really thick in her creases, and the white was really thick. Words don't explain the application of this eyeshadow. I just thought, " Oh, wish I could give her a make over." Then I continue starring at everyone else on the train.

Suddenly, I see her litter. She was on her fourth little debbie cup cake honey bun, and she throws the wrapper under her seat! I told her with my eyes to pick up that wrapper, or I would snap, but instead she throws down another one! I didn't have anything on me to retaliate with, so it turned out it was her lucky day. I do want to say though, I would loved to have had a handy portable trash can in my purse, I would've lightly tossed it toward her head. Maybe an aggressive tossed toward her head, depending on my mood, but I wouldn't of wanted the trash can to hurt her, just a thump to teach her.

But, then in mid day dream, I notice she has passed out. I realize this woman is littering because she is drunk and couldn't hold it in her limp hands any longer. She then finds the strength to open her zest crackers, but through opening them she passes out again. The battle continues, of her fighting for the crackers and her sleeping. The final attempt, she managed to get the crackers, by bringing her mouth to her hand, instead of vice versa. I was glad to see her win the cracker fight, I was about to tell the poor thing to just sit there and I'll feed her. I felt bad for her bread crumbed cheeks.

At what point did she decide that that was who she wanted to be when she grew up?

The thing I hate about this story, is it wasn't funny. It was real. It was real and it was sad and it's everywhere. There are hers on every street corner and it's all her fault. I don't know what went wrong. But, at some point she decided to stop fighting. She decided to not have hope. And the scariest part of that, is I have had those moments too where I'd like to give up. She is in all of us. We all have power, it may come easier to others, but we all have it.

This is going to sound like an awful segue, but a lot of times I confuse talent with power. More and more, I think talent doesn't exists, just like power doesn't exists, both are created.
Some people are more inclined to be powerful in certain areas. And, while it is important both professionally and relationally to listen to your inclinations, it's also important to not be defined by them. Really, the most powerful thing against us and for us, is our belief. If we give in to thinking we have lost our power, that is when the pieces fall, and we are left with zest cracker crumbs all over our cheeks. We are left with girls that don't know us, but when they grow up, they point you out of the crowd as the person they don't want to be.

I don't want to be her. I don't want her to be her. I don't want to see anyone lose hope. I don't want to see anyone not fight for what they want.

Moral of the Story: We can't let each other lose hope in our power of choice.

Because we can't afford to have people not follow through with their calling in life. We can't let people just live and take up space. It's not fair to them or us. What would the world be like if everyone made a goal of giving someone hope each day.

I know I live in fairyland, but I do think that's a nice thought.