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#StopAsianHate is our fight too because the fight is against White supremacy.

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I’m from Brooklyn, so I quote Jay-Z like pastors quote the Bible.

I truly believe that there’s a Hov line for any occasion; if you can’t think of one, then your knowledge of his catalog isn’t deep enough. But, I don’t have that problem because I love rap. I’m a fan of the old and the new. I lament that Andre 3000 hasn’t blessed us with an album in years, yet I still appreciate the contributions of Lil Baby, Megan Thee Stallion, and Fivio Foreign. I miss the old Kanye but still bump “Closed on Sunday” because the chorus in…

After unlearning my own childhood obsession with the police, I’m giving my child the tools to shape his own worldview

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The year is 2020. As usual, the news is on in our home, providing a background ambiance for our daily lives. The reporter, a White woman who is almost in tears, describes the latest developments in the murder of Breonna Taylor.

Murder. I use that word deliberately because seldom is it attached to the deaths of Black people who have done nothing but exist. And that’s what Breonna did. She lived in a world that did not love her, a world that has never loved anyone like her.

I’m frozen.

I want to change the channel, but I can’t. Instead…

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From the moment that I leave my apartment, it’s a constant game of chess between me and COVID-19. If I touch here, I can’t touch this. If I touch anything, I can’t touch my face. A mask. I always wear a mask. Triple layered or KN95s. But, not the ones that are fakes. Check the list. Get the ones that are approved. Wear it in public and with others. Wear it with those who refuse to wear anything. Remain diligent. Remain disciplined.

I am both and I cannot catch my breath.

Soap. Lots of soap. Wash for twenty seconds. Double…

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

I sucked at online dating. Correct that, I sucked at dating. Period. Being a boyfriend was easy. Romantic dates? Check. Remembering special occasions? check. Surprises and fun getaways? Check and check, several times a year. But, leading up to all of that? You got me there. For someone who thought they had a way with words, my approach was lacking, and online dating only made it worse.

It was 2014 and Tinder found its way onto the phone of every millennial. I figured it would be easy; they literally built a cheat code. No more hitting bars every weekend (and…

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Dear Kobe,

I was only seven years old when I first heard of you.

The date was June 26th, 1996, a Wednesday evening in Rutherford, New Jersey. You and an assortment of other prospects were gathered in your best suits, waiting for David Stern to read your names. You know how it went. “With the 13th pick in the 1996 NBA Draft, the Charlotte Hornets select Kobe Bryant, from Lower Merion High School…” The applause almost drowned out the second half of his statement, hugs were exchanged all around, and you made your way to the stage to shake his…

I’ve broken many bones in my life, some of which required a hospital visit, and several months of physical therapy. My scars are like badges of honor and each tells a story about my life. To say that I was a reckless kid is an understatement.

I didn’t fear much when it came to physical harm, and I pushed myself to experience any thrill that I could. With age, my need for thrill-seeking has taken a backseat to maturity and responsibility. I have bills to pay and people who depend on me, so injuries are to be avoided. …

It’s about ten on a Saturday night and my friend and I are headed north on Utica Avenue, thinking about what we can get into within the next hour. He only has the car until eleven and just wanted to get out of the house and out of his neighborhood for awhile. He picked me up and we hit the local Wendy’s for some fries, burgers, and of course, a frosty. Still getting used to the rental, he spent a few minutes testing out the sensitivity of the pedal. Too much and we’d either die or surely get pulled over…

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

Dear friend,

I can’t come to your party.

It’s not entirely that I don’t want to go. To be honest, that’s only part of it. It’s that I simply can’t.

I can’t bring myself to do it.

Each and every day, I walk out of my home in East Flatbush and I’m surrounded by people who look just like me. I hear Caribbean accents that mirror those of my family. I pass fresh fruit markets and residences that are still owned by families who came here with nothing and worked hard enough to withstand the racism, classism, sexism, and other…

Jayson Kristopher

Social Worker | Storyteller | Expert Troll | Stories on racism and anything else that makes me laugh. Read more here:

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