• Let There Be Light!


    A long overdue love letter to the woman I have become, and the God that made her.

    ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊


    There is an episode of Frasier (the exact episode escapes me), when a listener calls in with a problem. The joke was that the caller was obviously robotic and seemed to be reading from some sort of script. When questioned, the caller reveled this to be true, reason being he was afraid of public speaking. Frasier attempted to ask the listener a question in attempt to help. Being unprepared for the inquiry, the caller fumbled and read Frasier a prompted goodbye message and hanged up the phone. I found this joke to be funny on a level higher than it was meant to be received. (Like my father says to me all the time, I over-analyze everything). It sets in my mind this fact:

    There is the most truth in jokes.

    When words form in my mind on the way to my mouth, they somehow get lost in translation; Fearing of saying something tactless, too blunt, or revealing my true feelings. I stumble over my words, talk fast to try and cover up my mistake, or outright pause in mid-sentence. Being bashful and sappy doesn’t help either. Most days I choose to say less, I wouldn’t call it selective mutism, but a simplified way to navigate life. If my prepared words could be read from a script, I would traverse even easier. Like my grandma always said:

    Be seen and not heard.

    Writing makes me seen, more importantly, heard. Whenever it be writing notes on random pieces of paper (I don’t have a special notebook) or typing on my laptop (This is my primary medium). I feel like I am reciting I Have a Dream. In which, I do. The dream has always been to write, the spark just had to be ignited. That spark came on a dark day in June, June 4th. when the rain engulfed the world into a flood not seen since the times of Noah. 40 days became 365. To the man that though he left a void, it actually became filled with light. I would thank you, as I convinced myself in the past you leaving me be was the spark. Gravely mistaken, there is a different He I need to be thanking. The only thing I have left to say to you is:

    Go with God.

    My name is Sunshine, and I am many things:

    Woman.

    Artist.

    Lover.

    Daughter of the Sun.

    Mostly, I am loved by God, who gifted me everything!


    Sunshine Signing Off

    Until We Meet Again!

    ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊

    . . .

  • Public Service Annoucement: Artists Change The World !


    Outside of this blog, I have been writing just fine, excellent actually. Incorporating more reading into my writing process has opened my mind to strive for more, to be more. Currently I am halfway through Toni Morrison’s ‘Paradise’. One thing I can say about her is that she knows how to synthesize language with imagery in order to get the maximum potential out of a narrative. The Seneca chapter in the book was much longer than the previous three. In one night, I had completed Ruby, Mavis, and Grace. With Seneca, it took me four nights. Truthfully, it was a hard read to follow, and gave me an even harder pill to swallow. In order to be a good writer, I must be a good reader, and in order to be a good reader, I must fully comprehend what I am reading. This past Wednesday at work, I found myself overhearing a tutor teach his little attendees who Mya Angelou was; poet, author, woman. Its March after all. What was poignant to me was his lesson about reading comprehension:

    In order to answer questions correctly, you must fully understand what they are asking.

    The tutor sent his students home with an assignment, asking them to record their conversations with their parents about books they have read. Sitting at the front desk, I to, was a student that night. Rereading portions of the chapter again and again with the question that Morrison has asked me, and other readers to answer: In your own words, what do you think?

    Fast forward to the low hours of Friday morning, the news of Akira Toriyama’s death rocked the world not seen since Michael Jackson’s passing. My X ( formally known as Twitter) feed was akin to a memorial wall of thousands upon thousands of adoration, grief-stricken posts from fans, critics and onlookers alike. Even if you didn’t read or watch Dragonball, you knew who Goku was. You knew what a Kamehameha was, you knew what a Super Saiyan was. I too, am a Dragonball fan. The Kai dub on Nicktoons was my “in” to the franchise and other anime. Viewing the scene of Future Trunks debut on screen and obliterate Frieza and his father King Cold in five minutes singed itself to my brain cells. Surprisingly, my father as well:

    Is that the Super Saiyan who hurt you my son?”

    He says it occasionally to this day and probably forever.

    There is something ethereal about Toriyama’s legacy. Only once gifted to very few individuals over lifetimes. A man’s vison for a comedy manga now spans a 40 plus year legacy of generational acclaim. Funnily enough, he didn’t expect, or better yet, worry about making it big. He just wanted to make a few people laugh. Toriyama’s question to us was; Did I succeed? Yes Mr. Toriyama, you did. You made us laugh, cry, dream, and awaken. Thank you! I am saddened, as well as many others probably are, to know that he was still working on projects, like Dragonball Daima and Sandlands. 68 is young. We may never be able to see his full vision, but he did carry it with him into the heavens. That is the knowledge we as fans must hold on to, for goodwill.

    Akira Toriyama, Toni Morrison, Mya Angelou, and Michael Jackson were all artists. Drawings, books, words, poems, songs, and performances alike shared a common goal. A quote from one of my favorite books, ‘What Do You Do With An Idea?’ by Kobi Yamada sums it up perfectly:

    “You change the world.”

    Please, check that book out from your local library. You will not regret it.

    To all the artists out there, me included. Put your ideas in the atmosphere, answer questions to the fullest, always go for greatness, and remember the only failure is when you give up.

    Rip Akira Toriyama

    Rip Toni Morrison,

    Rip Mya Angelou

    Rip Michael Jackson


    Sunshine signing off. Until we meet again!

    . . .