Monologue

What do you think when you look at me? Probably that I’m stuck up and don’t like talking to anybody. That’s funny.  I’m from far rock. Yeah it’s the hood. Whatever that may mean. Do I fall under the stereo types that have been labeled on me since prehistoric times? What do you think? Black male? Yeah. Father not in my life? Yeah. Living with a single parent? Yeah. Got a part time job trying to help momma out? Yeah. Dropped out of High school? Hmmm I don’t think so. Though there are many stereotypes that have been placed on me since birth, I tend to stray from the norm. I am a black male, head strong, sarcastic, nonchalant introvert, and son of a no college degree single Trinidadian immigrant turn nursing home director mother who has instilled her workaholic traits inside of me. That’s a lot to take in, aint it? I honestly do not want to be here and when I say here I do not necessarily mean Baruch. I mean I no longer want to be bound by the strains that the “hood” has put on me. Living in Far Rockaway though I’m accustomed to it often becomes a fight for survival. Whomever said this is a dog eat dog world wasn’t lying. It’s rough out here. These days there isn’t much for kids to do but fight, sling drugs or go to jail. I mean since when is getting chased by the cops fun. SMH! For me there’s only one solution, dribbling a basketball. That’s the only way I can relieve my anxiety of wanting to escape. Some may call it an obsession that I stress on the small things and constantly blame myself for every mistake when playing the game. But it goes deeper than the game. The game only symbolizes relaxation and comfort. My only pathway to sanity. There’s honestly nothing else in Far Rock for me. So you may wonder why I’m so quiet and to myself. I don’t have anything against anybody. This is just me. I’m just thinking. I’m wondering what else is out there for me. But for Far Rock let’s just say, I made my mark, I left my stamp. Now it’s time to move on.