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Today, I sit in silence, watching my daughter take a well deserved nap after our dip in Zias pool. As the memorial of my Nonnas’ passing quickly approaches, I find myself increasingly grief stricken, like a crescendo to a cord that was struck June 15, 2018, somber and heart-wrenching. My mind races with memories of my biggest supporter, cheering me on, holding me high when I was low- rejecting any idea that I was less than how she saw me. A reflection that I lost when she went to heaven.

Throughout my life I’ve realized what a rare and beautiful sight that was, a great fortune that I was exposed to- the epitome of wealth. 

 I miss the way her perfume smelled- notes of bergamot, orange and jasmine that took my sense of smell captive, a comfort that I am grateful to be able to harness. I can see her perfectly quaffed curls held in lifelong formation almost in defiance of gravity- needing only minimal maintenance from our next door stylist and a quality gossip session with her mother. Cumulatively,  with her unimpeachable gold loops, leopard print clothing and array of functional scarpe – she didn’t miss a beat.

I’m transported to my 10 year old self, stocky and uncoordinated, wanting to visit the local community club and take a leisurely swim. I can see her in her infamous straw sunhat, an inherited pair of sunglasses from one of her daughters, and white running shoes- ready to escort me down the road. Her generation of woman popularly shied away from driving and she was no different. With that said she willingly accepted the walk in the sometimes sweltering heat to make us happy, moments that I’ll never forget. As an added bonus, she always was sure to bring some “pocket” money as it was regular practice that we would also partake in a summer treat or 2, her only fault was her inability to say no to me. 

As a boy in elementary school, I would be eager to come home for lunch, where my best friend would welcome me time and time again. Regardless of the reason, the door was always open- a message that she could often convey by saying “this is your house”. In all of the 4 walls that housed me, my true north was always that 4 story back-split, winding concrete staircase and backyard gates warning of the once mythical dog- turned Ruger. I wouldn’t try your luck now. 

I remember Nonna as a very poised woman though I would add that she was multi-faceted. She was strong in every sense of the word and I’m sure at her apex before passing, having been tested and exceeding her entire life. As a young woman, she assumed much of the responsibilities in the loss of her mother and immigrated to a foreign country entrusting majorly in her husband with little family close by. One of her biggest accolades – the upbringing of her children and for us lucky few (her grandchildren), she also had a hand in directly parenting us, my second mother. To this day, I picture her resting her hand on my shoulder when I need to borrow some courage, with that red nail polish and modest gold wedding band. 

Atypical of many grandchild- grandparent relationships, I was always comfortable with speaking to Nonna. Our topics stretched a wide landscape, with really little to no stone left unturned. We would laugh and cry together, telling each other snarky stories, reminiscing on the the good and not so good times, all while maintaining that through good, bad or ugly- we were a team. 

My eyes swell up with tears, knowing that I can’t make my afternoon call to tell you how Marquesa is doing and that I think I’m doing much better….apprehensively.

Most of all, I wish I could come to you for advice on how to be the best man that I can, to embody that reflection that you always saw in me. 

I wish we could have had one last dance and am holding you to it when we see each other again. 

For now, I have our memories and though forever wouldn’t have been long enough – I pray that you’re happy.

Your actore, 

The topic of home is one that weaves in and out of my narrative, a place where I can achieve my true zen, a testament to the environment but more chiefly, the people who inhabit it. You may have guessed that my daughter is one of my most frequent and favourite cameos and you’d be right. My earth angel.

You might also think that the topic of my marriage is one that I shy away from but the truth is, this is one thing that I hold in such high regard, that I treasure integrally for its’ herculean backbone and perseverance and I am cautious of being exploitative, knowing that if she is the topic of conversation-I want it to be unaffected and hearty. 

Our story is imprinted in my mind and burns fervently in my heart, internalized and shielded- a form of security to any pernicious factor. Todays leading lady is the second half of my 2 part equation, a woman who’s resilience is rivalled only by her caring nature, charm and sheer beauty. 

Our journey began in what seemed to be separate borders, a fraudulent city slicked country stallion meets’ the suburban unbridled mare. Destiny would have it that these kindred spirits would meet through an unlikely mutual source, the Markham strumpet disguised as an auto receptionist. A near life long friend, I will tacitly admit that our perceptive harlot exercised sound judgement, having first handedly witnessed my romantic ricochets and filtering any prospects.

You know who you are. 

I can still remember the first picture I saw of you on Facebook, a line up of what I assumed were equally inebriated bar cohorts with you on the far right, tight jeans, exposed mid drift and caramel brown hair flowing straight down your arresting physique. I was baited. 

Our journey began as 2 pseudo adults, 2011, 21 and unsure of what life had to offer but sure that we saw something in each other that was worth pursuing. In spite of the distance, travel constraints, and the perspective blending of 2 euro-dominant familial empires, we’ve stayed the course. Perhaps this has something to do with my preemptive, pre-intro liquid courage though I’d prefer to chalk it up to preamble animal magnetism. The music was pulsing, our hearts were pumping and a declaration was made. A stuttering stumbling intoxicated young man testifying to the Sneaky Dees courthouse, “that is my future wife.” What is the measure of a successful not so blind date? I’ll call it two impassioned gemini aristocrats in need of perpetual phone charges to keep up with their incessant attestations of infatuation turned love and…a Belmont. 

Throughout the years, we’ve climbed mountains never intended for us, slopes so steep that Olympians would be apprehensive. Our youth is mischaracterized as immature when in fact our  experiences told a coming of age, coming of love story. You were there when my heart was deemed defective and needed to be ripped open, retuned and readapted. 

Together, we established a home, a lifestyle and a brand that I will triumphantly embellish on everything we own. I am so proud of the woman that you have become, the mother that you fought to be appointed as, our daughters best friend and mine. 

You were there to hold my hand through the most devastating news of our life, to tell me it would be okay all the while growing our baby, working full-time and filling in the gaps as a result of my diminished capacity. 

You were there in the happiest of times, our marriage, our beachfront moments and the conduit in which our daughter made her awe inspiring introduction.

We live in a world where love is trained to be shameful, affection a near criminal expression in a world enshrouded by stark dark contrasts. I struggle with why this is accepted though I suspect that our hearts are risk averse to vulnerability. What a tragedy.

Natasha, happy 31st birthday my beloved.

5 years married and 9 years since that stellar night, our story continues, an exquisite leather bound book, captivating and emotionally enthralling where we quash our villains and stand victorious, united. 

If I didn’t tell you today, I love you – always and forever. 

And they lived happily ever after.

There was a time when I preferred to close my eyes, escaping the reality that my sight vitalized, corroborating a medical testimony that would imprison me and undoubtedly persecute my body. The all consuming blood was found tainted, flowing through my veins, denatured, destructive and inescapable. The arraignment was pushed forward with brute force and blunt tips, using an absent and otherwise unequipped defence team. I characterize my sentencing as a perversion of our justice system, unpardonable yet lacking mens rea, a deterioration of our law letter turned crude- where victim is patient- the viral outlaw. The hospital leaves no room for appeal or the possibility of early release, good behaviour is encouraged yet rarely rewarded – a life long verdict, freed only by exsanguination.

For a blood cancer patient, the concept of blood as a life force is paradoxical – swinging at both sides of the pendulum, degenerative and progressive. Our life force is broken down into a series of compartmentalized counts, often below the lower limit, a judgement of sorts claiming immune-inadequacy. For me, it initially introduced itself as a vehicle, containing contaminated gore with a flashing dashboard signalling for a mandatory oil change.

I’m sure you can relate to the feeling of being dirty, whether it be mud stained shoes or smudged lenses, the satisfaction we get from cleansing is often powerful informing us of our ability to resolve, to recover. Unlike that scenario, I didn’t have the option to remediate on my own but a diffident hope carrot was dangled. I leapt for it…

If only I could apply a filtration device to boost my bone marrow, to mobilize cellular production at a palpable not palliative rate, I’d be unsullied and aseptic. Like a piece of farm fresh meat, I felt denuded and exposed, frigid from the cold intake of IV medicine and then left to radiate. Add some matched stem cells, a splash of anti-rejection meds and a quart of luck – that’s the recipe for rebirth. 

Now, let’s not call it a comeback, I got parole. Still far from free, my parole officer(s) are in close contact, watching my every move for any sign of my sanguine nightmare. Red stained and stuck to my soul, the Scarlett Letter reminds me of my stem cell adultery. Maybe I did jump ship when times were tough, our relationship had become annihilative and I chose life; however, frightening.

Punching another hole in my Everest belt.

These days, I prefer to keep my eyes fully open, taking in every aspect of my landscape, the people in it, the voices that echo and those that have gone mute. My existential discernment is on hyperdrive, absorbing every morsel of inspiration that is available, examining every angle, taking photographs, establishing a vivid mental archive – enabling the paragon of mental dexterity. Pivot.

In my mayhem, I conjure a calm from chaos, sitting in my home with family and friends, still prescribing to the idea that my future is boundless. Close your eyes, omit the noise, what do you see? What are the sounds, setting, voices? How are you participating? We spend a-lot of time wanting to be displaced, constantly yearning for other perspectives that seem all the more conditioned to our circumstances- deceived by delusion, diluted sentiment turned dissatisfaction. 

For now, my blood is flowing and bountiful, medicated and in commission for its’ various tenants

For now, that’s all I can ask for.

“If you’re able, please consider being a champion of the cause through blood donation. One average patient needs 18 people to donate each month. 

The treatment time for leukaemia, lymphoma and myeloma can last for years…

For more information, please visit: https://blood.ca/en“

Mio Corpo,

Way before our novel pandemic, trendy hand sanitizer and Kim Kardashian face-masks, I found myself in a 4 x 4 sterile field- a control bubble that my immune system (or lack-thereof)  deemed essential and my mind later adopted for relief. Acknowledging my addictive character, I long ago foresaw the development of neurotic coping behaviour declaring itself through compulsive cleaning and overthought turned stone cold neuroticism. In the mania of lost control, it is interesting what we will do to not feel control deficient, gasping for jurisdiction like oxygen. I look at this as a form of failed responsive design, adapting to a new environment while maintaining our content requirements. The content feels displaced, disregarding the preferred design scheme as long as the quota is met; however cheap, however different, however awkward.

My nerves are radiated, frayed and unreliable. My feet ridicule my psyche, reminding me of their role in meaningful active pastimes that I can’t yet resume. I know, I’m eager. Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine the heavy shuffle of my feet on the pavement, my face penetrating the fresh wind barrier, leaping 1, 2, 10,000 steps forward, liberated and progressive. I sink back to the eruptive feeling of endorphins encircling my mind, a surge of satisfaction that I had made it, mechanical heart valve and all. I keep that advert front and centre, working towards my release from this prison or even parole. Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful to be alive, I wish I didn’t take my anatomy for granted. I’m entitled to mourn my fallen authority, without prejudice, without persecution but with appreciation for where my legs will take me now…

Today, I chose to take a leap of faith and push beyond the limit I set for myself, to see if I could start to rebuild the trust that I once had with my body. I staggered my feet, one foot in-front of the other, quicker then faster until the familiarity of my activity instigated a tirade of cordial endorphins, rekindling a fire that I thought was long extinguished.

In my excitement I stammered, singing songs in a community of AirPods, enclosed and encapsulated in their own reality as my realm of possibilities broadened- with cautious optimism.

My mind echoes and reverberates with cynicism, a wild wolf that I cannot silence but that sometimes gifts me a reprieve from barking- those are the good days, today was a good day. If you’re anything like me, the noise is difficult to manage, at its apex, deafening and uproarious. What is the prescription to mute the resounding “What If?” or turn off the movie reel flashbacks, an ever-present electrostatic that imbues my gut, making me perpetually queasy. Perhaps, this is my new normal, another byproduct of a life transplanted, uprooted, and left to sprout- growing pains. 

From an early age, medicine has played a vital role, supplying tune-ups to my recurrently reanimated body. As a discipline, its’ directive is venerable, though in my experience, the principle focus is on the corpo (body). My evolving mental grit is what frames my experience and so I nourish it through this channel. It has become callused, capricious and chief to my recovery – the essence that separates the living from “the alive”.

The noise has gone down, the wolf rattles the house windows with its snore, promising to return tomorrow. 

I’m off to take advantage of some downtime. 

Frankenstein, thanks for being good to me.

Relationships demand of us a level of compromise, a life long balancing act of nature vs. nurture. I would be dishonest in saying that this is an easy task and life tends to provide its fair share of conflict & obstacles. I think that this makes the time we do spend all the more special, knowing that we’ve prioritized or in some way sacrificed and took action, an indirect valuation of our moments. It is in these actions that I see authenticity in a world polluted in plastic and saline tits. It is walking on the edge of vulnerability that makes us sincere, true to our values, a breeding ground for our moral fibre. 

The perception of our actions is subjective, forever analyzed, often scrutinized and rarely understood from our point of view. A lifelong venture that is conditional on the satisfaction of others is wasteful, tumultuous and futile. We’re deceived into thinking that we’re martyrs by expending our most precious resource, time; lurking in the shadows melancholy, unkept and no further ahead. The anxiety festers in my torso, a disgruntled tenant that my mind is forced to manage, itching at my temple, relentless in its’ torment. 

Let’s call it permissive use and in some way acknowledge a false sense of insurance though I’ve never been able to submit a claim. My mental premium is expensive and vanishes into the universe, a transaction that I do not benefit from and yet I elected to take on?. Cancel the policy. 

As time passes, I age, I falter, I rise to the occasion and if I’m lucky, I walk away with a little wisdom. Life is here- for us that are lucky enough to have our heart beat and lungs inflate, our destination is forward and full steam ahead. We will take stops along the way, hopefully taking a souvenir to showcase on lifes’ mantle, remembering that our memories are infinite and tethered to our souls. I’ve found a new calm, vibrating at a frequency that vaporizes expectations. 

Im working for her and her only and that means bettering myself according to my rubric, trusting in my moral compass. We’re all headed North so the question becomes, are you following your true North? I wasn’t, admittedly directionally challenged for years, walking, running, darting in circles but I hit a wall. For those of you that think you’re an exception, Magellan, you’re simply part of the illusion and need to pierce that vapid veil. 

I’m not judging, only prescribing a laxative of sorts – trying to sort out that moral fibre intake. 

As for now, an eviction may be in order to the expectation laden tenants – failure to pay. 

Family has always been the paramount support in my life, a fusion of spirits whos’ love you prize above all else, unconditionally conditional on their happiness. Family should be safe, an acknowledgement that you’re reflected in each other, infinitely soldered but revered as delicate in its’ breadth of influence. As a boy, I can distinctly remember nights of flash forward future sight trying to manifest my own family unit, my agape. At the time, a precocious sentiment that swelled in me until maturity, laying the foundation for my current reality.

We move through life in sinus rhythm, waxing and waning to test our confidence and aptitude to move on our desires. In 2011, at 21 years young, I grabbed the bull by the horns, seizing a near ten year relationship and the resulting safe haven that I envisioned so many nights ago. Then and there, I declared that I met my wife, however inebriated my mind, baby I was love drunk. As people, we begin as the raw building blocks of our reality, restricted by overthought and liberated by throwing caution to the wind cautiously. Predictability, however sound, is mute to lifes’ adventurous nature. Not to be confused with blatant disregard for the world we live in, simply a reminder that our bodies produce electricity for a reason. The existential impact of honing that energy resulted in my regal synergy, EST. on 09.05.2015. 2011’s premonition.

The prospect of being a father was one that I had always held in high regard, unwavering in my commitment to fill a generational gap, abandoned- but offset by my steady scaffold, my warrior mother. A woman of unparalleled strength, support and courage for her children, sometimes while walking on stilts- Evelinas daughter. 

Its funny how in my experience, devastation gave way to hope, a light that shines so profoundly that Ive been conditioned to harvest it where I thought nothing would grow. Geminis aristocracy had been infinitely complimented by the arrival of our daughter, life’s sublime focal point and treasure.

And if nothing else…

In the midst of lifes’ pitfalls, I maintained the course, explored uncharted waters, shattered obstacles, unrelenting and in refusal of letting go of my boyish stargaze that I pushed to fruition.

We affirm ourselves as masters of our own destiny, an inherent belief that our actions are an input to lifes’ output. Whos design scheme are we modelling to intuitively weave in and out of bad situations, bracing for our target impact? Is it common sense? Who is common, I’ve never met them. The purveyors of success will champion an elitist mentality, in support of warm blooded ideals, bare bone worth ethic and a pompous actuarial disposition. The puffed chest, broad shoulders are perceived as societally stout but do they actually believe that the levels of disparity between John and Jim were self actualized? I bet that Johns ego would like to think so yet at some point even John knows that he’s at the mercy of the matrix. 

If not our own masters, then we must be slaves, riding Destinys throttle – predetermined, pre-actuated, tuned and manufactured. I see a growing assembly line where production and margin rule- an illusion that manipulates us to devalue our stock “assembly”. None of the extras have done anything for me, they desecrate when illuminated, costume jewelry. 

Stripped naked, hypothermic, my body revolts with rigors, desperately trying to purge the poison from my veins. My core is locked and loaded, displaced from my mental record, input fraudulently, overexposed and disdained. I’m ready for some Demerol. Perhaps the designer and doctor are one in the same? Perhaps our own awareness is an ongoing evolution, a deep-seated mindfulness that ignites our enlightenment in opposition of our ego, in opposition of our hubris.

Who the fuck do you think you are? Seriously, because I’m not sure…

Life cycles, tumultuously spewing grandeur in the absence of a manual- my arms are reaching for the right lever, mounting the courage to crank lifes’ reset.

Lights out.

¹”I’m too sad to cry, too high to get up
Don’t even try ’cause I’m scared to fuck up
Don’t like to talk, I just lay in my bed
Don’t even try to go out with my friends
I lied to my doctor, she knew I was fakin’
Gave me some pills, but I’m too scared to take ’em
I try and I try, but I’m too sad to cry”

Equally as ambitious is finding the courage to reset the fuse- an arousal of sorts or panic inciting?

It seems to me that our spirits are mobilized for the betterment of our reality. We manipulate and form our piece of the puzzle at constant risk for over-execution, unable to achieve placement, without design. By this equation, we’re playing chess on the designers board, avoiding perdition and aiming for Olympus. We do the best with that we have, animate or inanimate, I’m finding it necessary to flex my unrealized potential in spite of all my losses which, lets not forget, have also given rise to the sublime. 

Whatever that means. My turn- knight to E4.

¹Sasha Sloan- too sad to cry lyrics

Our lives are intertwined in a net of preexisting knots, some stronger, some older, many supportive though all entangled. The incongruent relationship that is manufactured  can  give rise to fire, frictions child. We are in an era of human dissonance, turning a blind eye to harmony, coexisting inauthentically.

We live in an age of patchwork, delicately threaded quilts that we tug and pull at for lifes’ “comfort” in contravention of our own values, conceding to societal expectations. Why? However misguided you may think the notion, I have always thought of myself as a man that is inspired by the happiness of those around me. The inverse to this danger zone is the dejection I harbour by perceived disappointment – actual or imagined. Starting as a boy, evolving into a man and most importantly a father, I now understand that this is inherent to my very being. 

Being the best man, husband, father, son, brother, friend, nephew & grandson that I can be means that I need to transform, a change that is incumbent on me to continue, maintain and cultivate for my own happiness. A change that I will no longer ignore because despite the widely accepted misconception, we can’t afford to transact on our quality of life. Call me despondent which might be a fair assessment of my past – here and now I choose to rise from the ash. 

For 3 years, I’ve raised my wings ablaze, a heat that has burned with such fiery stripping me bare. My reflection is hollow and dull, ashen and unrecognizable from what my pictures show me, a grief that germinates in my soul, waiting for permission to let go and move forward. 

¹“I got way too much time to be this hurt

Somebody help, it’s getting worse

What do you do with a broken heart?

Once the light fades, everything is dark

Way too much whiskey in my blood

I feel my body giving up

Can I hold on for another night?

What do I do with all this time?”

I love strong and hurt hard, I will not be commanded nor will I pretend to be who you want. I am broken but have the stimulus to conquer, to be proud of who I am and all that I’m not. I’m not acting, I’m working – pursuing a life free of mental constraints and self imposed limitations.

That is what I want for you, Marquesa. Uninhibited and unapologetic to be exactly what you want. 

Everything I do or have endured in this world, mistakes I have made and decisions that I praise enable me to be your navigator – always leading you home, my triumph. 

¹ Lyrics from LANY- Malibu nights