Answered the Riddle

So I’ve been involved in a riddle and I think I finally found an answer.

In December 2015, my parents and I were relocated from our apartment for a sum of money. They moved to Llano and I decided to take advantage of staying in my dad’s Uhaul-like truck.

Yes, the answers of saving money and seeking this as a vicarious thrill in extension to my year and a half growth of independent living in New York were part of my start to mobile living. Along the way, Porter Ranch broke out in gassy tears and it would take months before its spice level would be safe enough to be habitable once again. During that time I basically dormed with James in hotels and a luxury apartment until the spice level had went away. It was again time for the truck.

Again, my thoughts of adventure were real and this time supported by a quickly calculated goal to become a firefighter. The first step was to enroll into an EMT program and now I’m well along the way to becoming an EMT. My ambitions still clouded any real reason to move out of my current living situation.

So the riddle was why was I so comfortable living in a truck?

The answer is this: I’m a model who has failed in the industry. My answer to suppress that failure was to become the bigger man and induce the humblest form of living to perhaps make me feel like I was never a model in the first place. Whenever someone calls me handsome now, I’d laugh it off and try to let it register with me as a compliment but the shadows of an insecure model would swallow that statement before it’d try to have a good effect on me. And when I’d utter that compliment over myself, it’d be out of pride, not confidence. I had failed and even though I would breathe words of His Spirit my lungs built up fluids of remorse and sullen anger.

I tried and I failed. I still have an incredible agency which is followed by 237k people but I’ve put my model comp card in my back pocket and will continue to sit on it. It’s taken a light bulb moment from “Stranger Things” to finally figure out the deeper meaning.

The truck hadn’t been a means of proving my survival instincts, it was a genuine attempt to become basic without basically acknowledging that I was emotionally stuck and my spirit wasn’t as limber as it used to be. But now, I understand and I promise myself that my mailing address and home address will soon be the same.



Stored for Avery

In my rest, I apologize. In reflection, I say, “Sorry”. In busyness, the chicken is force fed, then killed, and frozen. In rest, the owner apologizes and he puffs out, “I’m sorry” as he smokes his cigarette.

The guy sees the girl and forces her to be his superwoman. In rest, he apologizes and says, “I’m sorry”, but it’s too late. There’s no time for explanation- only time and prayer will heal. Lust will drift and the ounces of love will squeeze onto a pietry dish. It’ll be examined and stored away to be the precedent for the next discovery. Cancer may not be cured but it’ll get closer to face its own kryptonite. As more pietry dishes are stored, the original one that looked most promising to source healing and partnership is now in a cabinet locked away in a life lesson.

This scientist was in school- he learned theories and practiced them in a lab- it was just him and the strains of bacteria that wiggled under microscopic lens. His textbook was his guide and his professors were his ears. But as easily as he wanted to be a producer of change, he also felt something missing. He was forgetting that he had met Avery, a boy filled with tears and worry because he was going to bed as dark as the pietry dishes stored under the canopy of a dusting wish. Was his answer to this patient already stored away or was it something to discover?

He decided he need more time and prayer to figure it out. But with it, he would carry the weight of “What if?” He knew where to find her labeled with her name because if he needed her next time, she wouldn’t be an experiment to the scientist but a discovery for Avery.

To Dory.