Ask, and It Shall Be Given

During my teenage years, when it seemed like everyone questioned my every motive or aspiration, I decided to ignore the negativity and pessimism. When I was told that it was impossible, I proved that it was possible. When I was told that my dreams would remain a mere faction of my imagination, I made them manifest and become a reality.

With the attainment of these goals, I thought that every element of my life was balanced and complete. I thought that I had my world under control. I would soon realize that it was not my world. I would no longer see only part of the picture. I would see from a new perspective. I would see over the mountaintop, or as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. expressed, “I’ve been to the mountaintop…I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land.”

On a particular cool, February morning, when I would have usually been celebrating my birthday indoors sheltered from the Michigan cold, I found myself on a mountaintop staring at the promise land. This promise land was within me, an optimum state of being. Reaching the northern peak, Pico Norte, of the Cerro de la Silla mountain at 1,820 meters was thrilling, but also symbolically epitomized my experience in Monterrey, Mexico.

Awaiting me at the peak was an unexpected message, a sign staked into the bedrock, which read, “El Pico de los Milagros - Pedid y les será dado,” or “The Summit of Miracles – Ask, and it shall be given unto you.” If any, these were the words that could summarize my twelve-month study abroad experience. My goals were achieved and my desires were granted. I had gone to learn a new language, embrace a new culture, and embark on a journey of self-discovery. These things and more all manifested.

Upon my arrival on a sweltering, hazy July evening, I immediately saw the mountain, but I also knew that I would have to travel through a valley of challenges to reach my destination. The valley included the unfamiliarity of the climate, foods, language, and social norms that simply were not normal to me. At times, I grew weary and frustrated. Nevertheless, my eyes remained fixed upon the mountain of triumph.

The journey would not have been successful without the enduring, unconditional love of the people. Even when I could barely decipher the sounds rising from their lips, they embraced me and discovered ways to show me that I was a part of their people. I am a part of our people.

They are my family. Our appearances, native languages, traditions, and customs may differ, but we are united by a powerful force. It is an abundant energy that flows from all sides and corners of the earth. It is a force called love, and it is found in some of the least expected places. Each day, we should express love and dwell in it.

Meanwhile, each day is a new page, and each significant experience is a new chapter. If our every action and word were recorded with the stroke of a pen, would we be pleased? Will we allow a tragic or hopeless chapter to define and reduce the grandeur of our book? Too often our present-day page becomes a mere facsimile of the previous day’s page.

Our lives become so controlled and tainted by normality and tradition that we forget to explore new things. As young children, we explore our environment. As we age, our inquisitions subside. How can we experience the various thrills of life, if we remain in our familiar territories? To escape our familiar territories and see over the mountaintop, some of us need not travel the world. We can discover those things around us and even connect with those things already within us. Yet, for others, that internal mountain peak may be in another country.

I walked away from that mountain burned on the skin, but with a newly sparked flame for life in my soul. I emerged wiser. I walked away stepping onto a path that seems even brighter. I humbly expect great things to happen on this road that lies before me. Until the day that “my cup runneth over,” it will be at least half-full.

Lo que traigo es la esperanza

As the month of May closed, the tranquility and peace of Monterrey symbolically came to an end. The heavily armed Mexican federal police, the equivalent of the United States’ National Guard, began patrolling the downtown and the suburbs of this metropolis, once considered the safest in the nation. The corrupt guards, passing through narrow streets in humvees with fingers pressed against triggers, only added to the fears.

President Calderon has taken these measures after local and state police suffered great losses in the battle between the drug cartels that seem to have more authority than the politicians and officials. Since the beginning of the year, nearly 30 police officers in the city’s department have been fatally wounded.

The drug lords are not only going after the police and politicians, but they are attacking and gunning down the journalists that report the crimes. Newspapers no longer print bylines, the names of the writers, and journalists that once upon a time raced each other to crime scenes travel together with hopes of safety in numbers.

A short time ago, it was “their” problem, but now that the crime has shifted into this region, it is an inescapable fact of daily life.

The residents of Monterrey, known as Regiomontanos, have long been immune to the problems that have plagued the rest of the country. The poor economy, extreme poverty, and high levels of drug trafficking were just as foreign to Monterrey as to New York City. Now that such concerns are lurking at the borders of Monterrey, Regiomontanos have to work extra hard to ensure that their high standard of living does not spiral downward. Meanwhile, this metropolis can still rival, if not surpass, rankings for the quality of life in many American cities.

These ideas and concerns prompted me to prepare a speech for four classrooms of eighth-graders, with a theme of crime and hope for change, titled Las Esperanzas y Orgullo de los Mexicanos (The Hopes and Pride of Mexicans). I delivered an interactive presentation and the speech became more of a conversation. They expressed their concerns and we elicited solutions. However, we concluded by them promising to be proud of who they are. In spite of being bombarded with American media images of Mexicans being inferior, they were challenged to have hope and always remember their potential.

Upon telling them that I will leave Mexico by mid-summer, they begged me to remain and teach at the school. When I told them that I must return to my family, friends, and community. They requested that I bring the family here. When I said that my family does not speak Spanish, they replied, “teach them Spanish.” For every time that I denied them and gave negative responses, they countered me with what they considered simple solutions. It once again reminded me that as I return to one family, I will be abandoning another.

They are my cousins and siblings. Our appearance, native languages, traditions, and customs are different, but we are united by a powerful force. It is an abundant energy that flows from all sides. It is a force called love, and it is found in some of the least expected places. As I walked through one of the shopping districts, I bumped into it. Spontaneously, a group of teenagers offering “abrazos gratis,” or free hugs, rushed and encircled me. Where else can you receive free hugs from random strangers? And live to talk about it?

No matter how many bullets or drugs invade this community, it will never overtake the love that these people harbor in their hearts. Hope and love are forces that will endure.

Lo que traigo es la esperanza, y me voy con el amor. (I bring hope, and I leave with love.)

Ecuentro Juvenil: Veracruz 2007

Forgiveness, service, and acceptance were amongst the nightly themes of the youth conference, which was attended by more than 400 youths from throughout Mexico.

Centered in the city and state of Veracruz, the hotel and its conference room was the epicenter of a series of powerful events that changed the lives of many.

After the evening church service of Sunday, April 1, we embarked on our journey from Monterrey to the southern reaches of Mexico, which, with its necessary stops, would take nearly 20 hours. Upon our evening arrival at the upscale hotel, we dined and immediately delved into the Word of God. Contemporary songs of worship rose from the lungs of each one that filled the room, and a young, monolingual Oklahoman preacher named Jeff Smith gave the sermon, which was less sermonic and more interactional with some dialogue. As he spoke, the enthusiastic minister Brian Brown, at his side, translated the message for the predominantly Spanish-speaking audience.

He taught on the importance of forgiveness. He noted that many persons willfully sin, because they know that God is a forgiving God. They are “repeated offenders” that abuse their freedoms. It is true that each of us commit sins, but we must be willing to forgive in order to be forgiven. The idea of forgiving is heard so frequently that it has almost become a clichéd lecture. Nevertheless, we still fail to master it. Many of us still fail to release the bitterness and excavate the pain that is deeply rooted within our hearts.

We began our first full day by visiting Nanciyaga, a jungle that lacks the risk that I anticipated. Nevertheless, it is home to iguanas, turtles, crocodiles, and other reptiles. There we indulged ourselves in the drinking of mineral water directly from the pond. Though it had a strikingly, unappealing taste, the presumably pure water caused no sicknesses amongst us. Thereafter, we took a boat ride to an island, just off the shores of the jungle, La Isla de los Changos (Island of the Monkeys). As its name suggests, it is inhabited primarily my tons of monkeys.

The last adventure of our day took us to the base and top of the beautiful waterfall El Salto de Eyipantla. Though it lacks the grandeur of Niagara Falls, it is nonetheless spectacular. After the excursion, we explored the theme of servicing each other and the Lord. Smith said, “You are never more like Jesus than when you serve.” The earthly life of Christ was dedicated to serving humankind from his tedious labors as a carpenter and performing miracles to his earthly, sacrificial death and resurrection. When one serves another, he or she is serving God.

Wednesday we awakened early to acquaint ourselves with fish, sand, and wax. Yes, wax! Our first stop was the Acuario de Veracruz, or the Aquarium of Veracruz, which houses rare species of fish, sharks, turtles, stingrays, and multitudes of other creatures. Moments later, a quick indoor-walk led us to the Museo de Cera, or the Museum of Wax. This museum has more than four-dozen life-like figures, such as Gandhi, Elvis, Elton John, Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise, Nicole Kidman, the Beetles, and Bush.

Upon arrival at the beach, I coated my body with sunscreen lotion with SPF 30. If the vendors selling sunscreen with SPF 70 was any indication of the strength of Mexican sunrays, I should have known that I would still suffer sunburn. Somewhere between swimming in the salty ocean and sliding through the extensive water toboggans, I turned purple; as if I was not attracting enough attention by being the only black on the beach. Several individuals approached to question me about my cornrow braids. A number of Mexicans also expressed their surprise at my ability to communicate with them. Another girl approached me with a brilliant smile and asked if I played basketball and could rap for her. When I told her that I do neither, I broke her heart. These types of stereotypes can only be expected in a country where there is little racial diversity.

The next day, we traveled deeply through hills to find a small, hidden community of indigenous people that speak Nahuatl, an exception to the lack of diversity. These individuals gathered on a field as we served them with clothes, food, and inspirational songs of praise and worship. To witness the smiles of young children at the site of a pair of used shoes or a slice of pie was overwhelming. They displayed humility that is surpassed by none other that currently walks this planet. These people are of the lowest social class that exists in Mexico, but they still had a reason to smile.

As we entered the next service, shortly before eleven o’clock at night, we were soon to witness something that is nothing less than a miracle. After having been humbled by the encounter with the needy and homeless persons and the ways in which they are blessed, we were in store for our own blessings. An emotional lesson was taught upon acceptance. How many of us humans are accepted by our loved ones? How many of us accept others? How many of us truly accept ourselves?

Many in that room walked in feeling unaccepted, but before they exited, they knew that at least Christ accepted them. As we sung songs of praise and held the altar call, the presence of the Holy Spirit forced the room into tears. Mexicans guys, who are extremely protective of their machismo, wept and held each other. Streams of teenagers and young adults left at the altar the burdens and shackles that have restricted them all of their lives. We being a body of Mexicans, European Americans, and an African American, and speaking both Spanish and English, celebrated in unity, with one spirit. We actually forged a familial bond.

The night was so powerful that more than 400 of us remained until after four o’clock in the morning to share and listen to testimonials. A young gentleman that I met at the conference, and that had just gotten saved, approached me with a face dampened by tears. He expressed that I was one of few people that made him feel accepted. He embraced and thanked me for my acceptance. Little did I know that this reasonably extroverted individual who had been surrounded by ladies was battling such insecurities. It once again demonstrated to me that even those that seem to possess the world sometimes lack happiness. Sometimes the smiles that they wear are artificial. Thus, actions as seemingly insignificant as a smile or greeting may have great impacts and influences on others.

I walked away from this conference burned on the skin, but with a newly sparked flame for life in my soul. I walked away stepping onto a path that seems even brighter. I humbly expect great things to happen on this road that lies before me. I expect to continue to wake up to joy and happiness. I cannot expect to encounter greatness, if I fail to have an optimistic outlook. Until the day that “my cup runneth over,” it will at least be half-full.

Reflexion: Staying true to one's identity

Since my arrival to Mexico, some of my writings have been filled with impersonal, vague messages. Nevertheless, when I reflect upon the day at nighttime, I actually ponder more than impersonal thoughts. I really do reflect upon more than the next morning’s weather forecast.

During my teenage years, when it seemed like everyone questioned my every motive or aspiration, I decided to ignore the negativity and pessimism. When I was told that it was impossible, I proved that it was possible. When I was told that my dreams would remain a mere faction of my imagination, I made them manifest and become a reality.

The naysayers, pessimists, or henceforth called “haters,” gave me inspiration. [They unknowingly used reverse psychology.] Whenever they spat upon my ambitions and gave me a challenge, I achieved those things and proved them wrong.

When quasi-statistics said that an inner-city black male is likely to be a dropout, illiterate, hooked on drugs, selling drugs, dead, or otherwise a casualty of the reality of my society, I dared to fight the odds. I refused to succumb to the oppression. I will continue to fight the odds and fight for what I know is right until the day I die. The haters in society will just have to remain in a state of hatred.

I occasionally get frustrated when I see my friends and peers consuming the poison of society. They actually internalize the garbage in the media. They allow the television to dictate their appearance or the radio to dictate their vocabulary. They allow individuals with high levels of influence to “cap” or place a limit on their aspirations. They are tricked into belittling, oppressing, and killing themselves. They are victims of their society. They wear invisible shackles.

Meanwhile, I have noticed a similar, less recognizable trend in my own life. In the past, I have easily given in to assimilation in the United States. In Mexico, I have had to adapt to a certain degree, but I have not had to deny my heritage and culture. I can “rock” the ‘fro or cornrows without being hassled for looking like a gangster. I can speak “Ebonics” to the few English speakers without being told that it is “bad” grammar or “uneducated” speech. How can someone tell me that the dialect that I speak within my home is wrong?

In the U.S., I would wear long-sleeves and run to escape the sun, but here I have accepted my complexion and any tan that comes with it. In the U.S., I would get a haircut biweekly or try to find hair chemicals, but here I can celebrate any naps. In the U.S., I learned to reject Africa as my “motherland,” but here I have had positive discussions about it. [In spite of heavy racial mixing and a detachment of several centuries, the questioning of others has inspired me to at least learn about the continent.]

Mexico has taught me more than Spanish and hot dance moves. Amongst many other things, I have gained a greater appreciation for my own culture and heritage. I have a respect for all cultures, but I cannot be expected to assimilate into them all. No matter if I am on the block in the hood or on the sidewalks of a university, in Detroit or Monterrey, eating cornbread or corn tortillas, I can only be who I am. I can only be me.

Communication and Media Arts High School to close

I am studying in Monterrey, Mexico, but I cannot ignore the educational dilemma of my community in Detroit. The Detroit Public Schools district has continued its quest to close the doors of one of its most successful high schools. Sounds strange? Well, yes it's quite frankly outrageous. I have written the following article about the
situation:

DETROIT

Laws require students to attend school and society encourages them to excel.

Districts expect their schools to prepare students for higher education and provide education-friendly environments.

Taxpayers hope that schools will have both dedicated teachers and students.

What is the only expectation of a model school that exhibits all these characteristics? – to remain open.

During much of my high school career at Communication and Media Arts (CMA) High School, we were threatened by closures. Nevertheless, the persistent students, parents, and teachers fought relentlessly to keep it open. Never have I attended or observed another school with the determination and overall success-rate of CMA.

As an alumnus, I know that am I naturally biased. Yet I also know that education is the most powerful tool to prevent the poverty and urban demise that confronts Detroit’s youth on a daily basis.

Detroit’s population continues to fall, and subsequently the tax base will continue to shrink. Cutbacks amongst budgets throughout the city must be realized in order to ensure the city’s rebirth. Revitalization can be seen throughout the heart of the city. New construction has become commonplace. However, how have the lives of the young, urbanites improved? What hope will remain when their only source of advancement – their education – is stripped from them?

The students of CMA do not simply desire to attend school with their friends, but instead they are pleading for their lives. Lives are potentially at stake.

There are a few other model schools of D.P.S., including Renaissance HS and Cass Tech HS, but the reality is that the majority of the CMA students would be forced to attend mediocre to failing schools. In many respects, the success of CMA puts the school in a league of its own. The college-preparatory high school boasts a nearly 99% graduation rate amongst seniors, over 95% of whom attend institutions of higher education.

Moreover, the school is virtually crime-free. While students of other D.P.S. schools must endure gun violence and armed robberies, such crimes and even physical alternations are inexistent at CMA.

The mascot of Communication and Media Arts, the Pharaohs, is befitting. The school is a royal gem in the city. It has produced queen doctors and king attorneys. Detroit should pride itself for possessing this exemplary institution.

For additional information, visit

The Communicator of CMA

Detroit Free Press

New Year Note

Happy New Year!
¡Feliz Año Nuevo!

This January, I have begun the year like any other previous year – taking time to reflect upon the past year and pondering my goals for the coming year. However, this year I am only one time zone away from home, but over 1,500 miles and a nation away. A distance of that magnitude has certainly caused me to appreciate my family and friends more than ever.

During the December vacation, I abruptly decided to bus into Houston and fly into Detroit. I had completely surprised my entire family when I arrived at my mother’s birthday party. As my mother prepared to dine in the restaurant, I walked up behind her and embraced her. Apparently, my parents’ excuse for not recognizing me was that I looked a lot different.

Suddenly, my beloved Soul Food tasted richer, the normal harsh winter was mild, the smiles of my family and friends seemed twice as large, and my cup of love for them overflowed.

My friends have become members of my family. Anyone that knows me knows that I call my friends brother, sister, cousin, or even uncle. The variances of titles do not suggest friendship levels, but instead I randomly choose one. They are the amazing people that others can only dream of knowing. They are the motivational people that offer me inspiration. They are the people that are leaving or will leave their mark on the world. They are the people that have stuck by my side and just as close, even when I have gone lengthy periods without communication. And they are the individuals who I thank God for when I rise in the morning. They are my family. [You all have a special place in my heart. / Ustedes tienen un lugar especial por el corazón.]

Likewise, the Mexicans have welcomed me into their lives, and have permitted me to become a part of their families. The common courtesy phrase, “Mi casa es tu casa,” is frequently said, but it is also said with much sincerity. As I complete the remaining half of my yearlong stay, I recognize that I owe a debt to the people on both sides of the border. However, this debt cannot be paid monetarily, but only with my contributions to society. I will attempt to lead a life, which is pleasing to my friends, my family, my nation, and our God.

Mexican Chapter

Congratulations to Detroit and the fans of the Tigers for having such a successful baseball season.

It was amazing to see Mexicans in Monterrey wearing the Old(e) English D, which is the logo that has become symbolic of the entire Motor City. Likewise, Mexican Americans in Metro Detroit experienced a surge of civic pride within their communities as they watched Latinos lead the team to the World Series. Though the team did not triumph their final competitors, the story of the Tigers is still unfolding. The second chapter of their resurrection will be written next season.

Life is like a book.

Each day is a new page, and each significant experience is a new chapter. If our every action and word was recorded with the stroke of a pen, would we be pleased or ashamed? Will you allow a tragic or hopeless chapter in your story to define and reduce the grandeur of your book?

Too often our present-day page becomes a mere facsimile of the previous day’s page. Our lives become so controlled by normality and tradition that we forget to explore new things. As young children, we explore everything. As we age, our inquisitions subside. How can we experience the remaining thrills of life, if we remain in our familiar territories?

To escape our familiar territories, we need not travel the world, but instead discover those things around us. Dare to be different. Eat a new dish or new style of cuisine. Confront your fears. Listen to someone with opposing views. Live life without regret. Slow down because life will bypass you anyways. And lastly, before your pen has made its last stroke, ensure that your story is complete with a moral.

Nevertheless, others should not dictate your life. No story is more tragic than the story of living one’s life to please others. I believe that my deity and savior, God, has created each person with an individual purpose. The outcome of your purpose will be flawed, if others are allowed to tamper with it.

I embrace advice and wisdom, but would rather make mistakes than live life burdened with regret. Family and friends have questioned my motives. I have received suggestions that I should make my aspirations more “attainable.” Or others have said, “stop trying to take on the world, you have a lifetime to do these things.” However, I have not lived up to the climax of my lengthy, adventurous story. It’s only midway through the introduction.

The past cannot be erased. But the future is yet to be written.