Giving Up Never Brought Anyone Back

By the time you read this article, my family and I would have laid my brother’s body to rest. The funeral would be over and all of us would continue adjusting to life knowing he’s not with us. I would continue to cope knowing that I’ll never see him live the life and career I’d encouraged him to strive for. I’m force to accept not uplifting him, to convince him to see his value and talent.

As an aspiring writer, I’ve believe in the power of words. They have been the greatest means of communication. Words caused wars and maintained peace among people and civilizations. Words have been the driving force of different ideologies. Personally, the right words have change how I perceive myself and the world around me.

My brother had joy in his life, especially when he was younger. He’s been the go-to person for small mechanical issues we had such as an unreadable cassette or DVD player, washing machine, a couple gaming consoles, and dozens of battery powered toys. Til this day I’m baffled as to how he fixed any of those things without proper education. My brother was smart in the way every engineer began. My brother had an under developed passion for designing. Heck, thinking about it HE was the reason I wanted to take up Architecture; the senior trip Orlando, Florida was only a reassurance!

But that not the life he ventured in. My brother never pursued life as an engineer. He never completed middle school. Nor did he try to attain his GED despite the few people who encouraged him and offered to pay the exam cost. He never made a decent living taking up a suitable trade to support himself. I can assume he had good times, but a good life remains to be proven.

There were so many times we’ve talked to one another. So many instances we agreed, disagreed, and just shared jokes and personal revelations. So many times I’ve used what little I knew to express what I believed about him. I’ve tried to be a decent example.

In hindsight, I believe that I was too late to make an effort. He was already old enough to determine his own lot in life regardless of how detrimental his future would be if taken that direction. I also know that I was not enough. In a social condition where hundreds of people are enticing you with short-term gratification, one voice of reason will always get drowned out. The world is hard enough already, and it’s easy for anyone to pick the road with little resistance. He’s become another victim of that faith.

I did give up on him. I can’t lie about always believing in him. Yet he didn’t know. Our last long calls was him being thankful that I haven’t given up on him. He mentioned – and I do believe he was exaggerating – that no one really made the effort to help him the way I had. Even after our most verbal altercation, there were still times I would help him despite knowing I’m being conned. It took a lot to give up, knowing so much about him. Living with someone since childhood and being one of the older siblings grants you that ego. Maybe I just have…HAD…high hopes. But one day I just force it. He was a man with his own view of the world and I had to respect him enough to make his own choices regardless.

There may have been a reason he thought I had faith in him. Maybe what I have done was so much so that it was hard for him to accept that I have. Yet, that’ll never be enough. No checklist of any size could convince me that I did all I could to help him. He is still gone. He still had so much going for him.

I’m not good at coping. I still have the regret of my mother’s passing still looming my thoughts. But life goes on and giving up completely won’t help since giving up never brought anyone back. I’m a failure with words, but right now it feels like all I have to remember him by. And I want to use these words.

You may know him by the short dreads or the nappy hairstyle he sported. You may have seen him in the baggy cloth style I’m glad to know is phasing out of style. His clothing style fumed with tobacco and mild cologne would have veered anyone off that didn’t know him. If not his tough guy persona would have. He would be classified as a hoodlum, cool ass dude, or thief depending on who you asked. Some may say he’s a hopeless cause or one of the smartest young handyman you’d come to know.

To me he would always be the kid who ran with me to mother to let her know there was a roach spotted. He would be someone who would stay up with you to play the game if you got tired of single player. He is another sibling I could make fun of the neighbors with and devise ways to finish supper without eating mother’s terrible boiled squash. He is the reason I love LEGOs and still have a sparkling desire to finish my Architectural Degree. He is someone who stood up for me when I was bullied, and corrected anyone who had the false notion that I was gay. He’s someone that was worth all the effort even when it felt like talking to a brick wall. He is the boy who was given the name Big Bird because of the yellow outfits he dawned in grade school for some ridiculous reason. No matter how many times I’ve said he wasn’t just to make him mad, he has always been my brother. And I will miss him dearly.

I might have to rethink this writing thing.

I need to read more. BADLY!

Can’t precisely explain how badly, but assuming I have close to two hundred books in my collection and only enough space to house eighty, I have to determine which are worth keeping and discarding the rest to another fortunate soul who’ll find more value in them. And how else can I do that than reading through those two hundred towering books?Even though space is the most important reason, my creative bank account is another. With illustration I have developed a terrific library of both digital and book form to help curb my creative block. My writing lacks that. What I have for crafting stories has done wonders with forming a cohesive concepts and armature, but starting the drafting phase is a boss fight I’m not equip for. And I feel that reading more novels and short stories could combat that.

Reading more isn’t a new concept. I’ve first came about it reading BAKUMAN, a manga about two artists who try to start a career as Japanese Comic Artists (define as mangaka). Several story craft books has also mentioned it, but Brian McDonald’s Ink Spots resonated with me best. One of his chapters express how important mentorship is in developing your own artistic talent.

Do I have one? A real art mentor I could interact with, yes and soon to be two. Virtual mentor, and for comic writing, it’s Alan Moore hands down. I only have his Watchmen story as a reference point. Mind you I read that book at least once every year. For illustration I have too many to count but I gawk at Kim Jung Gi’s live artwork daily. I’m two books into his collection slowly saving for the other six.

Literary? There was a time I was inspired to read the works and essays of Ralph Waldo Ellison, but his intelligent way with words intimidated my small cranium. For the life of me I can’t remember the short story I read from my college Literature class, but afterwards I grabbed every book the public library had with his name on it. So yeah, I should try him again. He’s only published one novel during his lifetime and three other novels were published afterwards, collected from his notes for his unfinished second one. There are also four essay books I may have to borrow if they’re no longer being printed (I will force myself to get through Shadow and Act this time, notes in hand).

…Hmm!
The more I type the more insignificant the books pictured above becomes. I didn’t really have a plan prior to writing this other than getting something on my blog. Those books are recent purchases and checkouts that I’m enjoying.

One Year to a Writing Life by Susan M. Tiberghien is a book that aides you in exploring many styles of writing for month-long periods. I’ve only gotten through the first chapter and I’ve decided to go the original pace the writer intended. The book is short enough to read in a few day sitting, but again I need to start taking notes from the books I read since my memory is that of an eighty year old with brain damage.

Art Money Success by Maria Brophy compiles alternate avenues other artist could use to boost the profitability of their art. The book is written by someone with twenty years of experience from a husband who art niche is paintings on surf boards. Yes, that was more than enough to convince me to try this book out.

Ready Player One by Ernet Cline, the movie trailer! Also envy.

Finally, The Working Writer’s Guide to Comics and Graphic Novels by Nick Macari. The content of his articles convinced me. And he was very punctual in answering a question some time back. I owe him a review too.

So yeah! Off to a good start. I’m not thinking of how long it’s been since I last posted (self worth contained) and I have a few other mentions reserve for the next post. If by some miracle a person is reading this on the day it’s posted, you are a patient kid. Don’t make my mistake of waiting to start something out of doubt. Plan while you go.

Til next time!