Every 11 pm, when I leave the law library, I pass through an adjacent building that is typically vacant by this time of night. Typically, there is nobody there, except for the elderly janitor. He’s about 50-ish and he’s Latino – from Mexico or Central America from the accent I heard from him when he was speaking with a co-worker one night. And every night as I pass through the lonely building, I see the classic yellow mop bucket with a mop in it. Or I hear the floor buffer. Or I hear a vacuum cleaner. Most of the time, I see him cleaning the glass doors. He cleans the glass on these doors, glass that is never smudged through out the day. He cleans an already clean surface. And as I pass through the glass doors, he pauses to let me by, and all I can do is give him a brief flash of a tepid smile. It kills me.

He reminds me of my mother. My mother who spent years in this country cleaning other people’s messes. Serving as a maid for people of a higher income bracket. Doing menial labor so she can provide for her children.

My mother died a little over 9 years ago. It’s unfortunate, because she was never able to benefit from the seeds she sowed. She was never able to quit those bullshit menial jobs. She never saw me graduate college or heard me gain admission into law school.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel when I pass the elderly janitor. Sometimes, I can barely look at him because I see the tragedy that is life. A grown man who shouldn’t be doing this type of work, relegated to cleaning already clean glass doors because this isn’t his country and perhaps he doesn’t have the language proficiency or the educational experience or the network to not do that damned job. I see my mother. Sometimes, I want to talk to him, to find out where he’s from, why he came to the U.S. and what his life experiences have taught him. Sometimes, I want to talk to my mother.

I can’t explain it.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I won’t be able to go home, but I’m still thankful for so many things.

I’m thankful for the life that I have. For the ability to breath, to drink, to eat, to smile, to sleep (and wake up), to ponder, to wonder, to feel. So thanks for my life. Thanks for my yesterdays, my tomorrow, and the rest of my days. Thanks for the hope of a better day. But thanks for the day that you’ve given me now. Thanks for the food that sustains me, the clothes that cover me, and the place to lay my head. Thanks for the pain and regret that I’ve felt throughout the years. Thanks for the understanding that comes with the passage of time.

Thanks for turmoil and for peace. For solitude and loneliness. Thanks for my emotions – my up-and-down heart. Thanks for my reason, for giving me the ability to see through the fog of life. Thanks for giving me faith. Thanks for hope. Thanks for love. Thanks for my family – my father, my mother, and my sister. Thanks for my father’s life, and the peace of my mother’s death. Thank you for my sister’s support. Thanks for my brethren, my friends, my associates, acquaintances. Thanks for those people who I will never see again – fortunately and unfortunately. Thanks for confrontations and for battles. Thanks for my foes and enemies through the years.

So many things I can thank You for… my country, my countrymen. The struggle, failure, and success. Thanks for the opportunities taken and for those lost.

Most of all, thanks for giving me a mind and a map to decide where I want to go. But thanks for the one-way ticket to Heaven.

Happy Thanksgiving Day.

It dawned on me slow yet strongly
The thought and longing – the hand of God is upon me.
Despite the wrongs that I spawn, seeds
That grow into scrawny long green weeds
The hand of God is upon me.
It moves me along like a rook or a pawn
Or a knight or a king, in dreams and in songs.
Despite the words and thoughts, and the emotions in which I’m lost
I take up my cross.
The hand of God is upon me.

-Nalej Bonz

Going through it right now. Sometimes I get the feeling that life is just slipping through my fingers. But I’m confident that things will get better – even if they have to get worse beforehand. I know that God has a plan for me.

After my two exam periods this 1L year, I’ve noticed that I get the same thing that happens to me – the post-semester blues, or as I like to call it “Post 1L Stress Disorder.” What does this label that sounds curiously similar to now familiar term of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) actually mean? Well, IMHO it’s the irregular manifestations of emotions that crop up during the 1-2 week period after the madness that is first-year law school exams.

So, after fall semester exams, I was so thrilled to have about 2 weeks off with nothing to do. Instead of planning a trip out to NYC to visit some friends, I decided to recuperate in town. Big mistake. Because instead of getting away from the place where I had memories of toiling over legal work, I stayed there to “relax” – ‘cept everybody else had left. So what ended up happening? Well, I could not sleep at all – which is very strange for me. I would sleep 3-4 hours a night and just wake up and be up. That’s at 3 o’clock or 5 o’clock, essentially whenever. I did not want to be alone at all, but I hated hanging out with people or talking on the phone. I couldn’t find the motivation to handle items on my to do list. So you know I didn’t even want to go to the movies or work out. I felt lifeless and disillusioned. It was really, really strange and disturbing to me. I didn’t feel comfortable until I had started grinding and slaving away in the library.

Well, after spring semester finals, I knew what to expect. So I chucked the deuces (i.e. said goodbye) and dipped out (i.e. left lol) back to my hometown. And since I had forgotten how to relax, I forced myself to 1) get some full nights of sleep and take a lot of naps, 2) work out a bit, 3) watch more TV than I normally do, 4) hangout with my friends and family, 5) go to the movies and 6) go outside. I definitely feel better as a result. I did have some of the listless symptoms from the previous semester, but it wasn’t as bad. I’m glad for that.

So nothing is cracking out here at all really. I’ve got some things I want to write up for whoever reads this blog lol. We’ll see if I can get it popping.

Where is the life we have lost in living? Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?

T.S. Eliot (Time 100, Wikipedia)

T.S. Eliot is a literary monster.

Yea, that’s it. My “One” wristband broke. I had been wearing it for about a year straight – almost never taking it off. And I was playing with it today and it broke. I’m sad.

But I’ve got a strong feeling that it means something. That’s it’s symbolic of something I should be concerned about. I don’t know. But that feeling makes me even more sad.