“So what do you want to do?”

I do my best to hold in a sigh. I’d figured we’d eventually get to that question, but had hoped that we’d somehow sidestep the topic. I stared up the ceiling with my hands clasped over my chest, uninterested in meeting my brother’s gaze. I could feel its intensity though, as he looked down on me from his swivel chair.

“Kid, did you hear me?” He asked.

“Yeah.” is all I manage, but he’d obviously want more than just that.

“Look I’m not saying you have to like to dedicate your life to anything right now, but could you at least start thinking about it?”

He doesn’t know it, but I’m always thinking about it. It’s odd because you’d think that I’d actually have an idea with how much I think about it, but it doesn’t feel that simple. It’s difficult because there are things I love, whether it be cooking or reading, and I know that there are careers that I can chase that’ll allow me to do those things, but what if that ruins my love of those things? What if I’m not able to keep up with those in my field? Will I really still enjoy them if I make them what I do for a living? But I don’t want to do something I hate either. I don’t say any of that to him though.

We could hear the harsh pitter patter of rain hitting the window of his room. I looked out, finding some comfort in the fact that the weather seemed to feel as jumbled as I do. 

“What are you thinking about?” He sat down next to me, legs crossed.

“How easy medieval people had it.”

He laughed.

I sat up so I could better explain myself. “I mean think about it! Like you know with the apprenticeships and being able to have someone to guide you or whatever for however many years. That’s literally so much less stressful don’t you think?”

“They still have apprenticeships.” 

“Yeah but it’s not the same. I don’t know…”

“So you want guidance?” He at last said, smoothing out his shirt.

“I guess so, I just…I don’t know where to start exactly.”

It felt a bit good to say it. Just thinking about the future can feel so heavy so finally admitting that felt like I’d at last pushed off the weight that had made itself home on my mind. I smiled to myself at the image of my brain sighing in relief.

He got up to head to the door, seemingly content with where we’d landed. “Alright, I’ll help you look into it, but you’ve gotta do some heavy lifting too. Do your research and settle on something soon, ok? Doesn’t have to be set in stone but try.”

“I will.” 

Around and Around and Around

I twirl an earthy colored straw

Rippling a soft rosy surface.

I chose a window seat as I 

Always do, tentative to the world

Outside this homely cafe and 

Eager to see a sign of you

It’s a bit late, but you’ll come through.

Excitement just isn’t the word

Zest. Euphoria. Trepidation?

All of it rushes around my body.

I’m impatiently patient 

And my straw circles my drink faster

Clinking loudly against stiff cubed ice

I had wanted to wait for you

But curiosity overcomes me

And I take my first sip of pink

An explosion of tartness bursts

From the tip of my straw and twists

And turns on my tongue quenching 

My seemingly invisible thirst

I push the drink away fearing the worst

The drink and I sweat as we wait tensely 

a few droplets pooling under 

The cool cup’s rounded base

Did something come up?

Did you change your mind?

Did I come at the wrong time?

Questions permeate my brain

Until I feel my phone buzz and hope wane

“Sorry, I got caught up in something.”

It’s not quite frustration 

As I down the rest of my pink lemonade

And try to reschedule this again

As I sat on a bench in a park a little ways away from my home, I noticed the branches of a grayish brown barren tree. They pointed in countless directions and got increasingly thin as they reached out. A shredded black plastic bag is wrapped around one branch, swaying during the few times that the wind started to pick up. I watched as groups of people passed, their shadows blending and parting on the sidewalk behind them. The ground is covered in black specks, colored only by a splash of red paint that had dried. Vehicles hummed, waiting for the stop light to turn green. The second it did they were off with buses creaking, ladders rattling atop a van and motorcycles revving to life. The motorcycle engines were especially loud. The smell of gas was faint, fortunately, but accompanied by the even vaguer smell of Caribbean food from a restaurant across the street. Besides the restaurant there was a vendor selling flowers. Roses of various shades of red and pink compose bouquets awaiting customers to indulge in their beauty. My attention was drawn away by the laughter of a woman waving off a friend as she crossed the street, a wide smile was on her face as she turned away from them. The white lines of the crosswalk were beginning to crack and fade. It was a bit warm even as the sun was starting to set and the shade grew. My eyes returned to the greenery before me. Tiny blades of grass move slightly, revealing two birds flitting about. This would go on for a few moments, but one would eventually fly away with something orange in its beak with the other following unyieldingly.

While I’m a bit unsure of whether this could be considered a social issue or not, a while ago I found myself more aware of how social media has allowed the flourishing of artists from all around the world. Recently there was a trend on twitter that was sort of started by an account called “Culture Critic” in which they tweeted “A 23 year old sculpted this. What’s your excuse?”  and under they posted an image of the Rape of Prosperina sculpture made by Gian Lorenzo Bernini. Now this post would go on to receive countless replies, some pointing out the fact that this person was trying to compare very different time periods, however something interesting would eventually happen. Many artists began to retweet this same post, attaching art that they’d made themselves with the captions “I made this when I was…”. I certainly had reservations regarding this practice considering it’s focusing on the age of these artists as though they were saying they’d surpassed Bernini in some way, but it did get me to think more about art and what’s given value in our society. The literal juxtaposition of these images made it clear just how far art has come considering that while statues like the one shown are still certainly held in high regard, they’re rivaled in popularity by works produced by artists from all backgrounds illustrating how diverse the art community in America has become. Paintings like those of Kehinde Wiley and digital pieces that have been produced by people of all ages from all walks of life.