The Patron Saint of Solitude

"Let me tell you this: if you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it's not because they enjoy solitude. It's because they have tried to blend in with the world before, and people continue to disappoint them." - Jodi Picoult


Growing up Catholic I became familiar with the Saints. A particular favorite of mine was Lawrence the Martyr. He was a Roman deacon who was in charge of the church treasury and the distribution of alms to the poor. After the death of Pope Sixtus II the Roman army demanded that in three days he should turn over all the riches of the Church. In that time Lawrence gave away as much of the Church property to the poor as he could in order to prevent it from being seized. On the third day, when he was asked about the treasure, he showed the Romans the poor and the sick in his care and proclaimed that these were the true treasures of the Church. For this act of defiance he was ordered to be placed on a gridiron over a fire. As he was being burned alive he said something along the lines of "Turn me over, for I am done on this side".

I have always admired that level of righteous sass in the face of imminent harm.

I loved the lesson of laughing through the pain. It was something I wish I had learned to do more of in my early years. When I was little I remember sobbing at my grandfather's house. He told me lovingly "Don't cry, or one day you will run out of tears". It was a good tactic. I rubbed my eyes naively trying not to waste this seemingly precious resource.

Later I learned that the average human body is about 60% water. I am literally made of tears. As, long as I am alive I remain my own personal, endless supply.

My twenties were an enormous struggle. I survived unhealthy living situations, disastrous relationships, a crippling lack of finances, and severe sleep deprivation. I couldn't wait to be thirty. I wanted the stability I thought it would come with.

I worked tirelessly because I always thought I was working towards my goals. One of my goals was to start a family. I didn't realize how lonely that would turn out to be. I put my heart and soul into everything. My work ethic has become my greatest achievement and my splintering cross. When it comes to love there is a tremendous void. It just doesn't exist for me.

Work pays off. I have a finished product, something to reflect on, something added to this world. Love burns me up. I give but get nothing back. Karma only rewards my industry and forsakes my heart. So I devote myself to the work.

Love surely exists, but for others. I have always been comfortable being alone. Silence is freedom to think. To bridge the gap between heart and soul. Resilience is my only virtue. Cloistered in my room I create. I have become the Patron Saint of Solitude.

Penance in learning how to go forward without answers. Letting go without getting bitter. To love without receiving and to keep fighting without a reason.

You realize that the darkest hours are always in the beginning of the day. You open your eyes with the knowledge that you still have to make it through one more time. You have to battle demons but you have no weapon, only stamina. You'll never defeat them. You can only survive them.

I have been told for years that I am "an artist and that means I must suffer". As if the sarcastic lack of understanding is somehow meant to imply that my talents are some prolonged sin. As though I could never hope to find myself until I see the world though teary eyes. 

This concrete heart is heavy and tough, but porous enough to crack. We'd all like to think we are able to withstand, but how many days could you go without food? Without water? Without love? The reality is we are all just a few precious days away from disaster. I have had to endure this lesson many times over. The only way to grow was to create. Work with the parts of the soul that are not often expressed. Learning to never shy away, even when the pain is unbearable.

My weakness swells from my heart until it falls from my eyes. I wish I could be more like my grandfather. It is so easy to say "move on", to pick up the pieces, but all I've ever had was pieces. I've been trying to make something out of this broken mosaic for years. How do you reclaim something you were so happy to give away? When did working on a dream turn into begging for scraps?

Born to love but forced to battle. I never wanted to be a martyr for this cause. I just wanted to work miracles.

Turn me over, for I am done on this side.

Brazil 2016

Some of my favorite pictures from my second trip to Brazil. 

Large moth on the hotel window. 

High tide at the beach access. 

Lovely flower blooming after the rain. 

Boys skimboarding at the shoreline. 

Another boy further down the beach was riding his bike into the surf. 

An adorable stray dog napping on the beach. 

The Recife skyline just after sunset.

Little Gem

This tiny frog caught my eye as I was walking into my apartment. At first it looked like shiny coin. It was smaller that my thumbnail, barely transformed from a tadpole, and completely adorable.  

Marked

The week after the shooting in Orlando was an emotional one. Going to Chris's funeral was not easy. The church was full of shocked people still struggling to understand what happened. I ran into a few friends from high school and we got to catch up and share memories of Chris. 

I have to admit I had some concerns about going. The Westboro Baptist Church had members that were going to picket the funeral. That would never have prevented me from going but it was upsetting to think that anyone would go so far as to disrupt a funeral. When I got out of my car I saw a crowd and prepared for the worst. Luckily, the crowd was actually people from Orlando who were counter protesting the Westboro Baptist Church. They were covered in rainbow colors and had signs spreading messages of love. Some even wore angel wings to block the hateful messages from the funeral goers. Between the large crowd and their singing of Amazing Grace I never saw or heard anyone from the Westboro Baptist Church. 

I found out later that there were over 300 counter protesters from the City of Orlando and only four people from the Westboro Baptist Church. Apparently they left after only one hour because they were completely overwhelmed. 

The following day the City of Orlando held a vigil at Lake Eola Park. 

The crowd beginning to gather. 

The memorial at the Dr. Phillips Center for the Performing Arts. 

People wrote loving messages in the sand outside the center. 

The memorial for Chris and his boyfriend Juan. 

In the wake of this whole mess I was immensely proud of my city. We had come together in overwhelming support of each other. As a whole, we had made it clear that we would continue to fight for LGBT rights. This is our City and we will not stand for hate. That left a huge impression on me. 

Between loosing Chris, struggling with the funeral and feeling a great since of pride in Orlando, I was a powerful mix of emotions. I decided I wanted to be marked on the outside the way I felt marked on the inside. 

The things that stood out to me the most were love, compassion, and the fight for equal rights. I loved the geometric heart design featured on hundreds of shirts around town.

I took my idea to Little Joe's Primrose Tattoo Parlor and they helped me come up with a gorgeous design.  

It was so much more than just loosing Chris. It was about the amazing person that he was. The way he fought for others. Spending the day on Amber's couch crying and eating mac and cheese. All the texts and calls I got from friends who were okay. Its about walking to a funeral surrounded by strangers willing to keep you shielded. It's about the way this entire city fights for equality in all its rainbow coated glory. Its working for two jobs and how they both embrace diversity unapologetically. It was about letting yourself hurt so you had the strength to make it better. So the inside can match the outside.

Christopher Andrew Leinonen

I met Chris back in high school. I had originally become friends with Amber who introduced us. The first memory I have of him is walking home with me and Amber. 

Tragically, Chris (or Drew as he preferred to be called more recently) lost his life in the Pulse shooting in Orlando on June 12th, 2016. 

What I remember about him the most is his distinctive voice, his phenomenal wit, and his courage. He started the Gay Straight Alliance at our High School. Amidst push back and ridicule he went forward with the group. Not only was he determined to be himself, he brought more awareness to issues within the LGBT community. He made it safer and more comfortable for others who were struggling with themselves or their families. He was a wonderful man and I have always been immensely proud of him. 

I scoured through my old high school photo albums and found my favorite memories of him. 

The first photo I have of Chris from Fall 2001. He is standing between Tricia (left) and Amber (right).

Hanging out in my room after school singing to whatever song we had on the radio. 

Chris and Amber at the St. Petersburg Museum of Fine Art. 

Chris and I posing in front of some sculpture. 

Shenanigans at McDonald's

One of my favorite memories of Chris. We went trick-or-treating. It was a spur of the moment decision and we scrambled to pull our costumes together. He randomly gathered a bunch of bright clothes together to make a clown outfit while I wore all black and witch hat. After we had been out for a while we got tired of telling people that we were a clown and a witch so whenever we got asked we jokingly told people that we were Elton John and Barbara Streisand.

After we were done trick-or-treating we felt like it was still too early to go home so we went to the Target in Largo Mall. We sat in the food court area and filled up on candy. We got one of the Target employees to take a photo of us. 

Before we headed home he took off his costume and I caught him off guard when I took this photo of him getting in his truck. I always loved his expression in this photo. 

After school in the courtyard with Chris, Amber, and Tricia. 

Chris, Tricia, and myself. 

Chris and I goofing around in children's playground at Walsingham Park. We were never too big or too mature. This has always been one of my absolute favorite photos from high school. 

On another trip to the St. Petersburg Museum of Fine Art.

Tricia, Chris, and Amber

Niasya, Chris, and my sister Jennifer at one of Amber's many amazing house parties. 

Chris and I somewhere in St. Petersburg.

Amber and Chris

Chris, Niasya, Amber and myself during another one of Amber's house parties.

Forth of July 2009 Chris, Amber and I went to downtown Orlando for the fireworks.

Chris and Amber laughing while he tried to take a photo of her. 

Cleopatra

Cleopatra's final words to Mark Antony as he lay dying in her arms.


I survived so much already. The things I've had to do just to be here.
I could have walked to the moon and back on a road I paved myself.
If only I could have done it alone. But I needed you.
I loved you.

We already had everything. We just had to keep fighting.
It was only the Roman Empire.
We could have taken it all. Why did you let go?

I know who I am and where I came from. I will not let them forget.

The Queen of Egypt;
I've been called cold and callous.
I've been called so much worse.
Oh, the desperate taunts of the weak.
They think their voices are going to haunt me but they don't.

I am only haunted by my efforts, by how much time I wasted.
That look in your eyes when you couldn't see the way out.
My mistake was putting my future in your hands.

I fought like all the powers of hell and loved twice as hard.
My life knows precious little peace.
I have nothing left to be afraid of.
I've always had venom in my blood.

Sprinklers

This photo was taken while I was trapped in my car in my friend's drive way. Her sprinkler system was on and instead of making a run for it, which I normally do, I decided to capture the lovely distorted mosaic of her front lawn.