The Last U.N. Conference

  I remember riding the 5 train back uptown on the last day of taking finals. Nine semesters with thirty plus credits next to my name I should feel positive right? The exact opposite should be excepted. Being a forbidden walking artifact was getting on my nerve's in the toxic atmosphere of the Financial District ( also known as the F.D.). Oh the irony of the New York City subway transit system. Carrying the humiliation of riding the 4 or 5 train and being scold by those riding the 6 train is down right depressing. Hey if your not from NYC you won't get it.

  Sounds a bit frustrating doesn't it? Well try being a young man of color trying to exist in a world where fingers are constantly being pointed at you for your own problems not being giving any explanations. Knowing the type of person I am you could never tell a lie because I'll shoot you down with some truth. To put it in a more simple term I became too "woke" for some to handle.

  It was hard to think of it than but I had stumbled. One professor I had success with but he wasn't the best. He spent more time repeating pervious terms from pervious chapters to the point that we didn't learn anything most of the time. There's only one term that defines my other professor, "horrible." I could care less about where this woman taught before heading to BMCC (Borough of Manhattan Community College) the only thing I know is that she couldn't teach if her life depended on it.

  Battling the odds with these two professor's I knew a pitfall was on it's way. The minute the train approached 86 Street my stomach started to turn and my head started to pound. Trying to ignore the pain I looked to the most high to seek help. In that very moment I discovered that the most high couldn't throw a rope or lend a helping hand.

  On that cold December evening sitting on a 5 train battling possible cold symptoms I knew that the last U.N. conference just took place. Besides the professor's back peddling on week old chapters that delicious gumbo of a class was going to be missed. On top of emotional and physical torment the judge I would have to face was my mother. What will I say to her? How will she respond? These questions were no longer the office of registrar's.

  Continuing to stare at the most high stuck in a delay I asked one simple question what now?