easy does it. @mhdvn - Tumblr Blog

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sunlight peeks through the bottom of the window. when i pull the shade up, light floods the room. it's different here than in chicago, where my apartment feels like a warm cocoon.

here, the sky stretches endlessly over the missouri river. here, everything is more open. from my window, the trees are still bare. my brother lives in a cul de sac with four other houses - the outer facade of his home brick with black shutters and white trimming. i can hear kids playing basketball outside, hear their parents clapping. the wind hums and shakes the branches; my brother's dog barks.

my asthma and bad knee prevent me from being a runner. but when my feet hit the pavement, i feel a release; i feel my body working. it's one of the few things that silences the nerves in my stomach. it's weird when something you've avoided your whole life makes you feel free. maybe it's me focusing on another, more solvable pain.

i let myself think about the gut-wrenching shit i've done. i let my head sow seeds of doubt. i do it without texting you endlessly - instead, writing it down. sometimes i think my journal is just one long text message to you. i'm teaching myself patience, trust, and love. that sentence originally had the word "trying" in it but i suddenly remember what you said - that we should stop using the word 'try.'

some radical clarity

been thinking a lot about how we often inherit our family’s values. they’re ingrained in you, you carry them with you, perhaps they become yours. maybe all, some, or none. there have been many moments where i’ve made decisions that don’t fall in line with my familial and cultural values. every time has been a test i didn’t see or didn’t want to see. i knew but didn’t want to admit that i was figuring it out. i felt shame and guilt wanting to do things differently. and along the way, i wasn’t holding myself accountable for my actions.

i’ve been holding a mirror up to myself for months now. i’ve realized i subconsciously hold myself to impossibly high standards that i can’t reach. because i believe i *should* be doing/should have done shit this way, not that way. i beat myself up, then set myself up for failure.

i‘ve made myself jump thru hoops. caught comparing myself to others, which constantly reinforces the idea that i’m not enough. forgiveness and accountability are key. the two can coexist.

the comparisons - the imposter syndrome - the anxiety and nerves are exhausting. it’s led me to ruminate on the connection between mind and body. physical activity, prayer, meditation, writing, affirmations, connectedness. checking in on myself. a daily effort to be a whole person/lead a full life and not just bury myself in work.

i think about this moment often.

when i was just a little bird, in the backseat of my mama’s car. the leather seats sticking to my legs.

as the word “bitch” rang out through the carphone. spiteful. in our burgundy lexus, with its beige interiors, cigarette lighter. the black car phone in the middle console. i would play with it often - try to dial my friends, gingerly pressing its wide, rubbery buttons.

my mama hanging up the second that word left his mouth. clinging to the air, hot and stale.

you’ve left new york, and somehow - even though i left new york too - i can feel your absence. even though time has passed, we still ebb and flow; we’re inextricably linked. that’s the only way i know how to put it.

#london

dark entangled shape shifting swamp thing nets ensnare hands graze trace cheekbones outline minutes since we were we stairs and arguments raindrops six floor walk ups pieces of something remembered and left

#writing #poetry

the hours pass by quickly.

i can’t take care of myself.

“i don’t know what i like,” he says while staring at the ceiling, his big brown eyes glazed over. i don’t know how to respond, so all i say is, “okay,” in that way that i say okay. “what do i change my phone background to? what do i like?” his eyes flick over to me as he asks, and i just lay there. i don’t know if he’s actually looking for an answer.

it’s been a long night, phone tagging and text tagging and me telling him to come home. finally he’s back, in his bed in all the clothes he left in last night. he refused to take any of it off. he falls asleep for twenty minutes and i wake him up to tell him i’m leaving. “already?” he asks.

he rolls over and hugs the bottom half of me from his bed. i place my hand on his head and tell him to drink some water. he lays back and i sit down, handing him the bottle from the side table. after taking a few swigs, a flood of information pours out of him: where he was last night, vague recollections of weird situations he had to deal with, who he was with. i want to reach over and stroke his hair, but then again, i’m not the most affectionate person.

“i need to see my mom. i need to get out of here. there’s too much history. i don’t even know what i like,” he repeats again.

i tell him he’ll be okay. i tell him he’s resilient. i tell him he’s smart. i tell him he has goals, and he has ways to get out of this place. these are true. i wouldn’t tell him anything that wasn’t.

fader and billboard have both contacted me within the last week -____-

#nini's deli #Chicago #New York #noble square #humboldt park #yung noodle cup #mhdvn #Instagram #vsco #dumbo #downtown brooklyn #Brooklyn

lately, pt 2.

#vscocam #New York #Zeemuffin #home #Chris black #Harlem #photograhy

lately.

#akira Kobayashi #Vince staples #vscocam #los angeles #palm tree shawty #photography

A New Yorker's First Time in Los Angeles

Disclaimer: I don't actually consider myself a New Yorker — it was just the most succinct headline. But I do have family in New York, so I grew up visiting the city on an extremely regular basis. I went to school in New York. I have also been told that I have an attitude that is quite evocative of the city, which is just a nice way to call me bitchy. But nah, I’m from St. Louis. A true Midwesterner.

I’ve lived on and off in New York for three years but have never been to Los Angeles. Most people were surprised when I told them I’ve never been to LA. Others told me I won’t like it because everyone's fake. As people told me more and more things about LA, I created a mental collection of my impressions, which included:

- Everyone is extremely fake with many fake body parts, as previously mentioned - No one wears black except for leather jackets - Everyone’s an actor or wanna-be starlet, and they all do coke - Everyone’s skates or surfs - Everywhere smells like weed - The traffic is terrible, the city is epically spread out, and transit sucks - If you aren’t a superficial, stuck-up person, then you’re a hippie - Lots of Asians - Palm trees and vegetation on fleek - A much slower pace compared to New York - Sushi, tacos, and donuts run rampant - But people still eat hella vegan food and green smoothies

I knew I couldn’t keep amassing these misconceptions with no proof. When one of my good friends moved to LA, I decided I had to see the city for myself.

Indeed, California is beautiful. I stayed in Burbank my first night. When I walked out of my friend’s house the next morning, I saw streets studded with palm trees, and a backdrop of sprawling mountains. It was warm but dry, devoid of the east coast and Midwest humidity. Obviously a stark contrast to living in East Harlem, where there’s barely any vegetation in sight, and where, upon leaving the house during the summer, I will likely get assaulted by a blanket of clammy, heavy sweatiness.

I hopped into an uber to Fairfax Avenue — that one really hip area I heard about — and hung out in a coffee shop before my meeting. Down the street from the coffee shop was the Kayo Store, which I noticed has its own gated skateboard area. I mentally checked off, ‘Everyone skates.’ (Later, in Koreatown, I would see kids getting filmed while skating. Yep.)

Everyone on Fairfax immediately felt famous and glamorous. I still can’t put my finger on the reason why. Just that California-palm-tree glamour. And then, lo and behold, I saw Rachel Leigh Cook at the coffee shop with her kids. I put on my sunglasses so she couldn’t see me staring. I wanted to tell her how I wanted to be her in She’s All That but I bit my tongue. ‘That red dress doe!’ I wanted to shout. After that sighting, I felt like I was scanning every face to catch another celebrity.

I told my friends that everyone in LA felt famous, to which a homie responded, ‘Everyone dresses like they’re one day away from being discovered.’

Later on, I slid through another coffee shop, which was a combination cafe and comedy club. The owner told me he teaches acting classes in the club. Check two for, ‘Everyone’s an actor or wanna-be starlet.’

That night, I went to the Hundreds’ Spitset, which felt like I was back home at a Brooklyn warehouse party. You know, the ones that are in bumblefuck Brooklyn, where everyone’s freely smoking weed, wearing five panels, and the line-up is comprised of one marginally famous rapper and an array of very-less famous rappers. However, the Hundreds' line-up was infinitely better and the atmosphere was far less whack. The party was also my first foray into LA’s hip-hop scene, and yes, a majority of the people were Asian. Check three for, ‘Lots of Asians’ (sidenote: this is only a slightly offensive thing for me to mention because I’m of [South] Asian descent, jsyk).

Perhaps Spitset was full of ex-New Yorkers. I visited Vice’s LA office a couple days later where the vibe was similar, very I-used-to-be-a-New-Yorker-but-now-I’m-an-Angeleno-and-lead-a-very-relaxed-palm-tree-life. I finally felt like I fit in because I had my backpack and there were lots of backpacks (apparently no one carries backpacks in LA). Also there was lots of black, and not just leather jackets. #TYBG.

But it still hadn’t hit me how spread out LA is. That first day, I went from the Valley to West Hollywood to La Brea to Mid-City to East Hollywood — with a quick, drunken pitstop at California Donuts, one of a million donut shops I saw; check four for, ‘Donuts run rampant’ — and back to the Valley.

It was kind of like that for the rest of my time there: Koreatown, West Hollywood, Venice, Beverly Hills, Downtown LA, Hancock Park, Culver City, Chinatown, Porter Ranch, and Larchmont Village. I went all over. Check five for terrible traffic and transit, and endless ubers. I managed to walk along the Venice boardwalk, saw how crazy it was, and immediately dipped. I peeped a menswear shop near the beach and saw a wall lined with surfboards, something I know absolutely nothing about. To be honest, surfing scares me: I come from the people who use the beach just for sun. Another check for, ‘Everyone surfs.’

I sound really cynical but that’s just my New York skepticism talking. There are good things about LA. The city’s slower pace is seductive, a veritable paradise in comparison to the hustle of New York. And yes, everywhere smells like marijuana, and that is definitely not a bad thing. I went to the famous Chinese restaurant Yang Chow where a whole family walked in reeking of weed. 'Yas,' I whispered to myself. I didn’t see any prima donnas do coke, and I actually didn’t see that many fake-looking people. That was my biggest worry, but I think that has more to do with who you surround yourself with.

I saw a lot of bohemian-inspired backyard decorations, especially in Venice, which made me laugh. I saw a lot of really nice homes with legendary water fountains and landscaping. And I did develop a penchant for green smoothies (but not vegan food because pizza with real cheese). And yes, sushi and tacos galore. The only other famous person I casually saw was Russell Simmons. Shouts to you Uncle Rush.

I know the debate of LA vs. New York rages on and I’m still not sure where I stand. I do know I wouldn’t mind skipping New York winters. Palm trees stay nice as fuck.

But I do have to add, LA: You have zero cute boys. Fix that.

#los angeles #new york #travel