Waking up to snare drums, cymbals, and harmonious piano melodies, the jazz hop sounds of Nujabes stir me from my dreams and raise me from my slumber.
Walking into the kitchen to the strong, pleasant aroma of black, freshly roasted coffee, toast and grilled vegetables and scrambled eggs, a hearty breakfast with my beautiful mother and wonderful sister.
A warm, relaxing shower, the gnarly, raw sound of power chords and baritone yells of Iggy Pop playing on the Bluetooth speaker connected to my phone.
The pleasant smell of gasoline and the leather of the car's steering wheel as I race through the main roads and back roads to work, with soulful trumpet, saxophone, bass guitar and drums and the howling cries of Charles Bradley blaring through the speakers.
Pulling up the school I work at, the laughter of children as I walk into the library. Pleasant conversations of day-to-day plights and unimportant little vexations with my coworkers as the keys to the next shift are passed on to me.
Noon begins and the kids bustle in, scanning in their books and responding to cute, innocent little queries and strange, naive little observations and wonders of their paradoxically tiny, vast worlds. The smell and feel of old pages as I peruse through their books before placing them on the shelves.
Small talks and exchanges with other staff before I end my day there and hit the road, listening to the soothing melodies of Dolores O'Riordan and the Cranberries as I make my way home for a late lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches and homemade Minestrone soup before getting ready for my second job.
Sun begins to set and colors of blue, purple, pink and orange color the sky, sitting through traffic with the hi-fi beats from Queens and deep, insightful inquiries and lyrical geniuses and Phife, Q-Tip, Ali Shaheed and Jarobi bleeding through the speakers.
Night sets as I finally arrive to Burbank from Pomona, as I enter the offices of the film school and make my way to the equipment room. The hustle and bustle of college students in and out of classrooms as I begin to set up gear for the class I am sitting in for this evening.
Artificial lights are put up and the whirring of the camera starts as I begin to film and record aspiring actors spit out heart-wrenching soliloquies, tear-jerking dialogues of conflict, heightened emotions and drama, the dreams and ambitions of young adults from around the world earnestly practicing and honing the tools of their crafts, their contribution to an industry that weaves dreams and produces stories of triumph, horror, beauty and wonder for all to behold.
The class ends early for the day and I count the rest of my time there away by writing poetry and pondering stories and story ideas for later this week, random musings and outlining as words begin to flow from my pen onto the page of my notebook, my own aspirations and yearnings for the future preserved as I write feverishly and frantically these fleeting thoughts that enter and leave my head.
Night ends there and I’m back on the road again. Bowie sings of starmen waiting in the sky as the lights of the city and freeway pass me by and I get lost in memories and reveries as I continue my drive. Past, present and future collide in my mind, thoughts of friends, family and her bring slight tears to my eyes until at last I arrive back home, where I wash my face and get ready for bed and for the end of today at last to finally come.
My life is a simple one, my world is small, but still too often for granted I take the things that make my life wonderful, my soul feel well. I want to cherish this, all of this, this collection of simple, beautiful little wonders that make it all worthwhile.
Let me never forget the things that brought me here, let me never forgot what takes me where I am bound to go next; life is a wild, fantastic journey, a long and winding drive, and I am just a passenger, and I ride and I ride.
