When I Discovered I Was Black

My early days of being a child were filled with memories of me running in the field barefoot as we chased fireflies with a ready mason jar. Or swinging on the swing as high as you can trying your best to give God a high five. Better yet, standing in the cool waters of the creek ready to capture tadpoles as they swam past you. That was life for me as a kid growing up in the country of Oklahoma. It was such a different life of no worries, no stress, no having to go into work. It was all about being a kid and enjoying all the things the world had to offer you.
I never saw myself as a black kid. In fact I never associated any color to myself. In my mind I was just me, Aundaray. The concept of race had yet to come and make a visit.
If I had to think of anything associated to race or better yet my first experience, it was when I was at a stop sign with a car waiting for me to cross. I started to pass and as I did the car jerked as if to hit me. I looked at the driver and in my innocence thinking he slipped accidentally on the brake. Yet he wore a smile. Was that smile an acknowledgement of his action? He waved me to continue and as I did it happened again. He jerked the car as if to hit me. His smile was replaced by a laugh as he peeled off.
Even though he was white, I didn't reason his race into his actions. In my child way of thinking I just thought he was just being mean.
I learned I was black when our family moved to Minnesota when I was 10.
This was during the 70's and Minnesota then was 99.1% white and where I came from I saw people who looked like me as opposed to Minnesota where it seemed I was the 'other'
I slowly started to learn of race when I was in grade school at Phalen Lake. I can honestly say I was the only black kid at the time in the whole building. Yet still I thought I was the same as everyone else until one day when we were in the hallway lined up, instead of holding my pencil in my hand I placed it in my afro.
At that time, Micheal Jackson had his cartoon show and I wanted to have a big afro like he did. I don't think the kids at Phalen Lake looked at the same show because the minute I stuck the pencil in my afro, panic spread around me. The kids were looking at me terrified, amazed, scared and confused as they thought I was sticking a pencil into my head.
They formed around me and asked me to do it again. Like the man in the car, I did what they suggested and I'll never forget the screams of wonderment and even a scream of fear as this one girl shot down the hall getting as far from me as she could.
Even then I didn't think of race, but I started to learn about difference.
There's a point when young black kids move from the cute, "I want to pinch your cheek' phase to the "I see you as a threat' point of their life. It's a subtle shift that is not the same for everyone.
It was clear I made that transition when I started to be called 'nigger' as a carload of people drove by. Or when I walked down the street and being blinded by the lights of the cops flashlight as it shone directly on me as they slowly drove by. Or when I started to get pulled over numerous times for headlights that seemed to work even though the cops swore it wasn't a minute ago, or to have people clutched in the corner of the elevator as they rode down with me.
I was no longer living in a colorless world but one of color.
I started to see color. I was indoctrinated into the institution of what we call racism.
Now let's add HIV onto the plate and there's even room on the side for gay. Yet these are secondary because I don't have the luxury of walking out of my door identifying what's on the side of my plate. When I walk out the door I'm always identified by the color of my skin.
Some people of color may not always protect themselves during sex as they feel no value in what has systematically devalued them.
In this fight to reduce HIV the subject of race has to be included as well as any seeking help whether it's treatment of drugs, depression or any other factors that has you seeking social services.
People cannot be colorblind.
Now that I know about race my biggest pet peeve is when people say they don't see color. Now that I've been labeled with this color I recognize it's history, the culture that comes with it, the pain and struggles that extend from it and the contributions that are often quieted. If i had my choice I would want to live in a colorless society yet my eyes were forced open. Now that I know that I'm black I know that if you don't see color, you don't see me.
Maybe that's the problem. 

Brother to Brother

Hey Bro,
I know we haven't had the best relationship growing up and even right now there are still some strained parts. I asked myself why and the truth of the matter is that we just didn't get to know each other.

That's strange as we were raised under the same roof, but there were things about you that I didn't understand as I'm sure you can say the same of me. It's kinda sad as I see other examples of brothers and the closeness they have. Yet that type of knowing each other has eluded us. Most brothers have memories of playing together, going fishing or play fighting.

I think we just fought.

I remember some of those fights. And as we got older I want to say you really changed. You would try to harm me by throwing bricks at me or having me hold a firecracker in my hand promising me it was only the kind that sparkled knowing it was a small explosive. Then in high school you told me not to let other people know i was your brother.

I didn't know why, but even though it hurt, I still did what you said because you were still my big brother. If I had to go back to the most painful memory it was when you saw me walking down the same side of the street you were on and to avoid me you crossed the street and passed me by. I didn't understand.

I started to not see you as a brother but just someone who was another man in the house. I don't know what you saw in me.

Schizophrenia.

When we learned you were diagnosed with it, it still didn't make the clouds go away. If anything it made me more afraid of you. At that time I knew if you had it you were 'crazy'. In a way plenty of the things you did started to make sense.
It was so foreign to me and I was scared I was going to catch it from you if you touched me or shared the same items. I looked at you as if you were a walking disease and I wanted to physically not be close to you. i didn't even know how to spell it but i was glad it was you and not me.

Then I got HIV.

We both now had something that we were struggling with. Yet in my selfish world I wanted you to know what I was going through and what I had. I factored your ignorance of it as simply that, ignorance. I don't know what I was looking for from you but maybe deep inside I was looking for that big brother that was going to let me know it was going to be okay.
Yet I never asked about your struggle. I had placed you on a one way street. I wanted you to read about what I had so we could talk, but I didn't do the same for your condition. I wanted you to put your arms around my shoulder yet I didn't do the same for you. I wanted you to not stigmatize me, but yet I stigmatized you.

I didn't understand.

I'm writing this to say that as we get older, life is to short and not promised and now I have started to understand. Our battle is the same and just because it's described differently it has changed both our lives. But now I understand that if I want that close relationship I have to know the road you travel with your disease and hopefully you'll learn about mine. I finally understand that I can't keep running from you and that you're part of me.

I understand that you're my brother, my big brother, and even though we didn't let the words leave our lips, I do love you. You'll always be my big brother no matter how old we get. And I have faith we can find our way back to each other and not let our condition dictate our relationship. It's a good sign that we're now calling each other because for once I think we want the same thing.

Like the song says, "It's more than you. It's more than me. No matter what we are we are a family"

And just know I'm ending this post but never my love for you.
Sincerely
your little bro

There's an app for that

I was sitting with a friend and he told me about this new guy he hooked up with. I'm asking how they met and he states by the phone. No shit Sherlock I mean really how did you meet? Was it on the street, online in a chat room, doing laundry-what? He laughs and tells me again by the phone and proceeds to pull out his IPhone and shows me an app that alerts him to guys within his current walking distance. We're not talking about four or five guys, we're talking about pages of men looking for something. I don't want to assume it was just for sex but if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck...

Basically for those without a smartphone, this app uses your location based on the GPS on most phones and shows you other men who allow their smartphone to use their current location. It has a chat utility to initiate a real time conversation and from there whatever happens, happens.

To be fair it's not always about sex as some may see it as a form to meet other men for friendship since they themselves don't frequent clubs or other typical 'gay locations' and are looking for something other than a booty call. But on the other side it has the opportunity to allow men to connect for sex which brings me to the question of how do current HIV outreach efforts adapt to this new form of meeting? Especially when the current state of outreach for many agencies are not only keeping up with the times but also the technology on how people meet.

Just by the example my friend showed me, he can be waiting for a bus as the mood hits him or maybe if he didn't get lucky at a club and he's still got a buzz happening, he doesn't have to wait until he gets home, but instead can feed his impulsive nature and make an immediate connection right on the spot he stands.

Looking again at HIV outreach there are some agencies doing amazing work, yet like stated before there are those who take the simple way out and do what every other outreach organization does-go to the clubs. Yet by focusing on just the night clubs, there are so many people missing out on the education or ability to be tested based on the fact that not every gay man goes to the club.

Effective HIV outreach means thinking outside the box and making those connections in the most unlikely places. For instance here in NYC there are tons of free outdoor concerts, some in the hardest hit areas of people infected by HIV such as Harlem. You would think with all the people camping out to get a good spot before the before the concert starts that there could be a mobile HIV testing van on the peripheral to offer a way for people to know their status. Yet as far as I know there is none.

Another idea is to look at training a select group of barbers to at least know how to have a dialogue with their customers on getting tested and providing local resources of where they can get tested. It's a no-brainer that the barbershop is where men go to let their hair down and share the latest gossip (and yes men do gossip) or news that's happening in the hood.

To me, even when I had hair and went to my regular barbershop, it was a place where I could let down my guard and listen or join in the conversations happening around me. In an ideal world it would be excellent if there was a program where even barbers themselves could be paired with a social service agency to provide in-house testing on certain days.

Even churches can get in the mix and although some churches offer testing at off-hours, imagine if testing was provided right after a service on a Sunday morning.

Maybe that's what we need, an app for people who want to get tested but don't feel comfortable going into a clinic or social service agency known for offering services to HIV clients based on the stigma people may carry. Hey maybe we can get an app for removing stigma!

By showing me the new technology of meeting people by his smartphone, I have yet to think of a way to outreach to that new form of connection, yet its one that I hope agencies are looking at. They always say meet them where they're at and it's evident that not all men are going to the clubs but if we really want to do a cohesive HIV outreach effort we have to let go of the old ways and move into the new!

And unfortunately there's no app for that.

How Do You Say Goodbye

We spoke on the phone a month ago, me sitting on my stoop in Harlem, My friend on the other side of the country in Minnesota. I was planning a trip to visit and was making plans with him. Every time we met it was always filled with a walk down memory lane which would make us smile of all the things we shared. He had a great smile. The one thing you could say about him was that no matter how you were feeling, just go around my buddy and your worries would disappear in the shadow of his smile.

I wasn't prepared for the phone call from a friend that let me know my friend had suddenly died of a brain aneurysm. I was in denial as I just spoke to him and there was no mention of any ill health concerns. Yet no matter how much I wanted to deny it, it was true. My friend was called back home.

Along with the fun we had together we also shared having HIV. We would talk about how we were managing it as it was real important to have that one person you can be honest with and discuss the ugliness side of the disease without feeling judged or that you were burdening someone with a depressing topic. We were a great support system for each other.

We met when he saw an interview I did for the local paper discussing the HIV support group I was attending. Soon he was a member. We hit it off from the beginning and it was at that moment my memory banks were being replenished by his good spirit.

How do you say goodbye when you're never given the chance? When they are there one moment and the next they're not. How do you deal with the sadness of knowing that someone you loved as a dear friend is no longer with us.

How do you deal with the fact that HIV and death, although are in check with today's medicines-still have a relationship. Although my friend's death may or may not have been associated with his staus, there's still a reality check that tomorrow is never promised.

It's that reality that made me open my eyes to the life I'm living. Am I living a full life and am I doing everything possible to make sure it's a healthy life? Am I taking my meds everyday despite how sometimes I may miss a dose or two? Am I being honest with my doctor and telling him everything that's going on and not waiting for it to pass. Am I going after my dreams like my friend did-despite the naysayers who said you can't, you shouldn't, you won't.

How do I say goodbye.

I don't. I hold on to the memories, the smile and the good heart and I adopt it. I also deny myself the ability to be selfish and enjoy the friendships I've made on this earth and tell them how much I love them any chance I can.
I stop letting technology get in the way and stop sending texts and updates to my friends on Facebook. A easy way to say in touch but an impersonal way to stay connected. I've started to do it the old fashion way-making that phone call to hear their voice or knocking on their door to see them in person.

I say thank you to my friend and know that although on your funeral program they listed when your sun set. But I know in my heart your sun will always shine on me. And when that sun shine and I stand in its rays, instead of complaining about the heat. I'll instead appreciate the fact I'm here to feel that heat and most of all feel you always forever in my heart.

My friend- I'm not saying goodbye but I am asking you to do one thing for me. Save me a seat at the table and know I will always love you!

24

1, 2, 3, 4, 5,6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12,13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23,

24
I am HIV and I'm free. 24 years that I have been HIV positive. Yes I'm putting my bizness out there. You see for to long I have been living in shame. Shame of what was part of me. Shame of what was in me. Shame for who I was. Shame for turning my back on the one person who never turned their back on me, God.
All those years I felt like there was steel in the bottom of my shoes. Making it difficult for me to walk forward. My steps burden. Trying to catch up to my dreams which were fading into black and white before they disappeared altogether. what is a person without dreams?

24

24 years ago he saw me.

"I guess I should have know
by the way he parked his car sideways
that it wouldn't last.
You're the kind of person, believing making love once,
love them then leave them fast"

And he saw a person who walked with no self worth. No worth which was stolen by his cousin while who was supposed to be babysitting him. Self worth stolen by a mother who renamed  him, "IwishIneverhadyoustupidmotherfucker Jr. He saw my worth as I walked with my head to the ground not feeling I had that worth to look people in the eyes. Unknown to me he would see me walking home from school and I was his target.He fed off the dim light that shined from me

He was a smooth operator.

He was so smooth he got me to get into his car. He was so smooth, that I followed him into an abandon store, down a dusty basement to a dirty mattress. He was so smooth that when it was painful, I took it for affection as it seemed no one else cared. He was so smooth I never knew what he name was.

He didn't stay to watch me give birth to the gift he left me. Only instead of nine months I bared his gift for years.

24

24 years of finally reaching a place where I can say I no longer have any shame. Where I can name it and claim it. Of finally reaching my place of acceptance of what I had by walking through rivers of my own tears. Weaving my way through depressing clouds and finally seeing my refection in the pool of life and facing the demons I ran from.
I finally reached a place where I accepted God's open arms, arms that were never closed but there waiting for me to accept. Where I finally heard his message-Don't give up/Don't give in.
I am HIV and I'm free.
I repeat I am HIV and I'm free.
To be free of the shame you have to name it to claim.
There are those who say they have HIV but HIV doesn't have them. If you're walking around denying what you have or you have an online profile and in your status you say you're negative when you know you're positive.
It has you.
I now dream in color.
I once again have learned to laugh. To love and most importantly, to live!
To live!
I'm HIV and I'm free!
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Showing Our Pride

Gay Pride.

It has so many different meanings for many people. For some it means a gathering of various LGBT communities coming together to celebrate who we are. For others it may be the time to bring awareness of what's going on in the community such as the fight for the right to marry. Others sit on the sidelines grumbling that Pride has lost its focus and that it used to have a meaning but now it's just an excuse for people to get drunk and have sex.

For me Pride is a reflection on what we do have and a recognition that although as an LGBT person things are not perfect, we still have made advances. I could be a naysayer and look at the half empty glass of pride and ask;
'Why are we still treated like second hand citizen?'
'Why is there no outcry on the rising rates of HIV/AIDS in the minority communities?'
'Why has Obama not delivered on his promises?'

There's many more examples but then there's also another side of looking at Pride.
As this is being written New York has joined the small handful of states that makes it legal for gays to marry. The move shows the progressiveness of the state but more than anything it shows what can happen when we keep the fight as a collective even when it looks like the sun will never shine on the promise. It didn't happen overnight. Yet we kept pressing our step forward and those who were on the fence or against it at first saw the fruit we held. This alone is a reason to celebrate Pride!

If we look back to how things were ten years ago, we have to acknowledge that we have made many steps, they made have been small, but they were steps that were forward. Whether it's the media, such as television shows and movies that are giving more visibility to gay members or the mainstream now joining in the backlash against those speaking negatively of people in the life. You can also see it in the faces of our youth who are coming out and expressing themselves more than they did especially when I was growing up. They represent a growing flower sprouting up out of the spoiled dirt.

To really appreciate Pride we also have to look at those who don't have that same right to celebrate. In other countries, if people were to march and have a parade there would be violence. Berlin is one example yet they still march despite the threat of harm. Or look at places in Africa where the government can invade your privacy and monitor your actions or come into your home and drag you out in the middle of the night. Public beatings or killing of gay people in the West Indies territories seem to be sanctioned.  If we really look at other global places we can see more examples where the freedoms we have is denied to others.




Again I realize we have much more work to do but there's a value in giving ourselves a time to celebrate the small victories. A opportunity to renew our spirits, our energies before we head back on the front lines in the battle for our rights.

We're so used to everything happening fast whether it's our internet connection, our technology, hell even our relationships. We want it now!!

Sorry.

 And if I was a youngster today I know my mother would turn off my home video game system that I was playing for hours and she would look at me and say

"Go out and play"

The battle will be there when we get back, but at least we'll be rejuvenated!

Happy Pride!

Closed for Repairs

Closed for repairs
My ass is closed for repairs. You see I had to do it because it was damaged and not running the way it’s supposed to run. But first let me admit it’s my fault that it got in the condition that it did. I knew it as juicy and as they say, junk in the trunk, but I let those titles let it get in the way and it started to define who I was. Nothing but a piece of meat. An objectification for someone’s unspoken fantasy. For a while I knew it wasn’t acting right but I was in denial. I was thinking that everything was fine. But the shit was broke like a bad joke.
 I started to let it…lose its way. Like a hooptie running on a spare tire, you know the wheel needs fixing but you figure since it’s still rolling you can let it get by. Pushing my luck on whispered dreams. Yet somehow it came from behind, no pun intended and it started to take over. So people stopped seeing me but they noticed that ass.
“Damn boy you packin!!” “Back that shit up!” “Let me hit that papi.” “Yo my nigga let me holla at you.” It was encouraging languages of strangers whose names even today I couldn’t tell you and my identity was morphing into what my ass wanted others to be.
I’m telling you it was doing strange shit. Shit it never did before. It was taking pictures of itself and placing it on the internet, you know, the sex site where you can either order in or have it delivered. There my ass was with no discretion, “HarlemAssforit”. Get it? Yeah it took me awhile also. But I’ll be damned if it didn’t it work. And to show how selfish my ass had become, it never allowed the face to be seen because it didn’t feel the face had no value. The online mailbox started to become filled with other’s caught in my ass web. It started to put out offers to strangers and just strange people. When I was in control it was selective but when it gained power he didn’t care who came over…I’m being politically correct, I meant came in him.
It was becoming reckless and didn’t care what the other person had swimming in their ocean. He didn’t care that sometimes the waters were dirty. He didn’t care if he was getting dirty. He cared for the instant satisfaction. You can call me an absentee landlord as I was hoping my heart would have kept an eye on things, but my heart, had its own issues. It had placed a wall around itself so it couldn’t see what was going on. There is none so blind that refuses to see.
Unchecked.
That’s what my ass was, unchecked. And the many dirty waters it let flow into him started to contaminate everything else. My eyes, my sense of touch, my feelings. My belief in love. My trust eventually my health. It grew in me a bitterness that the only reason anyone was interested in me was not for me but for what was behind me. I was drowning and it seemed I was sinking faster than I could swim. I eventually asked him what the fuck he was doing and he told me
“Yo I’m a power bottom. I got control of all these fools. I got it.”
 Control.
I’m the one who was supposed to have control. How can you have control when someone asks, “Who’ is it and you say “It’s yours”. How can you give your stuff up to someone who treats you as if you’re a multipack. You know those choices of cereals where they can get what they want without committing. One day it’s Cocoa Puffs and the next day it’s Frosted Flakes. A city filled with choices and no reason to choose just one. I was trying to tell him that the only difference between a hooker and a hoe was the fee. Is that what I was letting it turn me into, a hoe? Because I never got a dollar for all those rides. Sometimes I didn’t even get a thank you.
The only thing it was getting was empty satisfaction and an anonymous gratification that resulted in unreturned texts and unanswered phone calls to the heart.
I let it take over everything but when it went for my soul that’s when I had to step in. Hell naw I wasn’t letting you take that over. My soul was my center. It was the thing that gave me peace when all this out there was fucked up. My soul was my identity which I was slowly losing. It was the one thing that let me look in the mirror and see a reflection. It was the only thing that woke me up and gave me the 411 on what was happening. It woke me up and told me I was walking around, damaged.
Closed for repairs.
A broken piece of precious china that I had to glue back together again, one by one. Waking myself up and placing my ass in solitary.  Not as punishment but to help it find out the connection it had with me. Helping it know the difference between love and lust and lost.
It took awhile but I repaired it and now if I’m ever in a situation where someone wants to get to know it, they have to introduce themselves to my heart which also in the process tore its walls down. And if it ever comes to a case of someone asking me, “Whose is it” I’m going to tell them. It’s mine.