A case of…

So, I got up this morning…reluctantly I might say and it’s cold outside. After hitting the snooze at least 41 times, I practically crawl out of bed and into the bathroom. I quickly shower, get dressed in my favorite charcoal colored suit, with my favorite all white Calvin Klein button up, Charcoal, Navy, and White Nautica Tie. A few runs of the Sandalwood oil and I sprint to the kitchen, grab and throw a blueberry muffin in my mouth, grab my keys and power walk to my ride.  

An easy thirteen minute drive ensues; more so due to traffic being a non factor this morning than mere convenience, but nonetheless, I’m at this ‘place of employment’, parking in the same spot I have for going on six years, two months, 9 days, and a second or nine.  Turning off the ignition, I take a supremely deep breath and begin over-dreading what’s ahead of me for the next 8 to 10 hrs. 

Inside on the fourth floor, I’m standing at the water cooler listening to more idle talk than one can attempt to comprehend this early in the am. One of my co-workers, Doug, is going on and on to Marie about his fat dog, Rufus and how he seems to not be as personable this week as he was last week. Another co-worker Latasha Tims and her friend Alize’ Jenkins (who would name their kid after an alcoholic drink, though??) are SO excited because they saw Keith Sweat in concert this past Saturday nite and for some unreal reason, both keep stating every nine words or so that, “he still got it, gurl” after talking about whatever number he did after the number he completed. 

Allen Jones and Timothy Peters are discussing why Biden was better Vice President than Mike Pence will ever be. They are seriously talking about how ‘wearing a tie in a certain manner is emblimatic of a leader’s stature’.  Seriously!? I shake my head and focus on this cup of water I am holding in my right hand which tastes as if it came out of one of those warm/hot water fountains found in all of our public schools growing up. Man, I don’t like this place. 

To the left of me stands a seven foot nearly natural ficus tree. To the right of me, a dingy, badly hung announcement board, replete with different announcements, emails, advertisements for things and events they couldn’t pay me to attend and you know, the stuff practically no one reads. Directly in front of me in all of its open depression, are rows and rows of cubicles… I hate work day. Yes, I am calling it work day because giving it a singular name makes it seem as if we have a relationship, even though Id prefer to have one with, super rich, but I digress. 

I’m standing there just a drinking my water, checking my watch, wondering why the time seems to fly as it approaches 8:30, you know, when the work day starts, but once I log in, those same seconds act as if they are carrying Moby Dick upon its back and ticks away so slowly and then here you come slogging in.  Uhhh!  

I hate work day. Just like I hated school day from elementary through high school. College was cool because I had freedom of my schedule,  but ahhhh, this is annoying. 

Look at Work day, sliding in as if he owns the place. Always following me every single day I come here. Seeing you seems to make my blood boil at a temperature mirroring 209 degrees. Why do you have to be that way? 

I mean, you can be brash, kind, heck, even funny from time to time, but no particular emotion seems to outweigh the other. Umph! The feelings you stir up in people…you really think this is funny don’t you?  You think you know how to get under my skin, aye?  You don’t have control over me! Well, I mean, I have to be in the midst of you, but it doesn’t mean that I like it. 

For me, it’s not a case of the Monday’s, it’s a case of the Everyday’s, primarily, Work. Day. It’s 8:30 now, and so, it begins… 

The Man/Woman in the Mirror. 

Building a better You starts in the mirror. It’s not about fancy books, scholarly articles, high-end, big named doctors, etc, it begins and ends with you. 

Sometimes when at the airport or even as I sit at a traffic light or at the park with my kids, I find myself drawn to humans. I study them just as I would a book for a big exam. Humans reveal so much about themselves from their actions, which is a direct result of their respective Cognitive Structure. 

Why do people feel the need to run to anyone and anything as a form of escapism and/or blame release when all that they need to do is look in the mirror? It’s for the same reason people have to turn on music as soon as they get into their vehicle or the feel the need for validation from others-be it social media, family, friends, professional colleagues, etc: they don’t want to get to know themselves or they hate what is looking back at them and feel incapable of changing what they know harms them. 

You would think it to be easy for one to look on the mirror and say, “hey, dude, you are a screw up and we need to change a few things,” right? Or, “Hey, put down the bottle, man,” or whatever the ailments of the heart are.  Why don’t we point the thumbs more instead of the forefingers? As much as people complain about society and all of its ills, they seemed not only inslaved but beholden to it. 

Why are the same ones complaining about one particular aspect of “societal” influence that is affecting them, yet embracing the same entity in the very next breathe?  Unreal. 

Here’s some quick advice: learn to accept that you are flawed, but here is a secret *looks to each side* EVERY other human on earth is flawed too. There isn’t a single one that is without sin nor fault, so, stop trying to please and appease everyone and stop for a second and get to know the reflection looking back at you. You never know, getting to know said individual may be the beginning of discovering a new individual. 

With peace, 

Hassan Tareef

A boy…

I wanted to tell the story of a young boy that couldn’t find his way. He seemed lost at every turn, unable to differentiate the days. 

He couldn’t tell you how many flavors of ice cream there are; or the feeling of lying on some grass and gazing upon the stars. 

He can sense the incoming fire from an M-16A2. The sound of an F-22. He can feel when death is approaching; can see it in someone’s eyes and voice when it maybe their last day. 

There were some in which hunger was the overriding theme. I mean, shelter became secondary because food was necessary and to find fullness in the belly was the golden mean.

Can’t lie, there were days when shelter seemed more important than even air;  trumping a thirst describing water’s constant escape, it seemed more important than any other care. 

Why does someone so young have to endure this pain? Why does someone so young have to endure hunger pangs?

Why is death his expertise at such a young age? Why is he unable to play and be a kid as so many others at this same stage?

There are summers that are cold, winter’s even colder than that; is that hard, no, try playing baseball without even a semblance of a bat. 

Do you care? Only if this boy is from America? What if he were from Aleppo? Do you feel a little different feeling now, yo?


I feel strongest when I am weakest. 

I feel strong when I am weak. 

I feel strong when…

I feel strong…

I feel…



I has to be me, right? 

Do I have an enemy?

Inside. Outside. Is it the world?

The world cannot be my enemy, when everyone is in the world along with me, no?

Do I have an enemy?

Someone or somethinf creeping in the shadows-after my pride, my love, my destiny? 

What does it want? 

Or is it…. me…my only and true enemy. 



Point the thumbs