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[friendsmuseum]

A Love Letter to Darlene Tarte,

Culture, Innocence, Work,

I have never been very good at goodbyes. A goodbye when I was young meant that I probably wouldn’t see my father again because he needed to go find himself outside our family or at the bottom of a bottle. A goodbye meant another relative leaving my family way too soon just as I felt like I was just getting to know them the most. A goodbye always turned out to mean I was going to lose a small part of myself. Goodbyes have, historically, brought nothing but cold closed-fisted punches to an already down-trodden and tender heart. Darlene and I had dinner weeks ago. A goodbye dinner. There was so much I wanted to say or, I guess, so much more I felt I had a responsibility to say. I didn’t or more accurately I just couldn’t. Darlene, here is my goodbye for you, to you, in your honor, for your grace, with as much love and sincerity as you deserve. For the first time, this goodbye feels warm. It’s all smiles, open hands, with nothing but doggos and butts, because as we all know: #MartinKnows.

Darlene and I met my sophomore year in college in an exchange made of pure ethnic excellence. Fuck yeah, that’s what our friendship should be described as, Ethnic Excellence. Two hard-working, children of immigrants, success-driven people whose accomplishments have been used to push and motivate the other towards even higher queendom. Her power lies not in her innate beauty nor perfect makeup skills but rather in the drive and work ethic so easily lost amongst others her own age. Darlene is a powerhouse of ambition and is always pushing herself to be better than the woman she was the day before. She understands that her legacy should reflect that she took advantage of every opportunity and reward her parents fought so hard to make available to her and the ones she has made for herself. Darlene does not take anything nor anyone for granted. Darlene makes no excuses for herself. Darlene does not give into any patriarchal ideal of what a woman’s success should be limited to. Her future is in her hands and hers alone which should frighten any half-ass, jive-ass, pitiful excuse of a man who would limit her to her looks. Darlene is the new black and she’s always in mother fucking fashion. Hashtag that, spray paint it on the walls, read it to your children, die, rise from the ashes, get shake, get shook, and get with the program because Darlene is the new femme.

She’s just light isn’t she? Pure, warm light that rests its cheek on your shoulder. She shares a piece of herself with you and just like that you see how powerful and stunning her presence is. It is child-like, it’s sincere, and it has an openness that makes someone like me wonder if it’s a trap but that’s just it, it isn’t at all. To open yourself like that and bring others into your world so openly is a great way to learn from others. To learn what tricks and what stories power others in their journey to success is one of the greatest ways to live your life. That’s all I can say about Darlene, honestly. You get what you give her. Playful child-like sensibility? Here’s a dog meme. She has the best laugh to boot! Makeup-game-on-point-bitches-better-beware? Let’s drag Kylie Jenner for filth and talk makeup trends. Our government getting you mad and you need to vent? Honey, let’s spill some tea on You-Know-Who and discuss the model minority myth. You’re lost and you don’t know what to do next? She’ll share her stories with you and remind yourself you’re more than your situation.

Darlene, it has always been hard for me to express my concerns as a biracial minority in America. There will always be that gap where our white friends and family will never truly understand the minority experience in this country. The ingrained societal traps and hurdles placed in front of our brothers and sisters, the stereotypes meant to limit us to the ideals made by racist white men years before our time, and archaic ideas of what minorities should strive to live towards are all ceilings I can’t wait to smash hand-and-hand with you. You have shone a light on my inner queen and have made me realize my ethnicity, and my culture are not against the grain of being an American but an embodiment of the dream itself as its rightful compliment. This goodbye is light and warmth incarnate. Let us see who can make it farther in this life; not as competitors but as life-long friends pushing one another to be the best versions of ourselves. Ready, set… GO!

Christopher Ross DeSanto

[friendsmuseum]

A Love Letter to Courtney Rocha,

The Ocean, Mercurial, Loyalty

It’s really easy to dislike Courtney Rocha and even I am guilty of placing my lips on that cup and taking my fair share of sips. Courtney was the first woman I met that made me confront my own inner biases that I had towards women. Being a particularly effeminate gay man, I somehow harbored this ignorance on what it meant to be a woman in the early 2010s. There was this preconceived notion that somehow my experiences as a disenfranchised, biracial, gay minority somehow equated or held more gravity when compared to the struggles of women. I held an antiquated idea in my head that all struggle was equal. Suffering begets suffering regardless of color or creed. However, in my recent years I’ve learned to cast off this binary way of thinking and instead have embraced the shades of grey that paint a more realistic scope of the human experience. Through Courtney I have learned to see and respect the struggles of women. She is honest, she is strong-willed, she is the boss of her own life and although those represent the paramount qualities of any woman, to weaker minds it poses a threat. It posed a threat to me once, and I couldn’t be more upset with myself. Courtney, here is my love letter to you my dear, dear friend. To your strength, to your heart, to your trident.

You can tell how well a man or woman can ride the dick by how well they snowboard. In my years of shredding the pow (sexual reference not necessarily intended there but after reading it a couple times and consulting the judges, I will keep it there for comedic spice) there’s just a natural correlation between the groove of your hips and bend of the knees that links snowboarding to riding the D. Courtney is one of the best snowboarders I have ever seen. Interpret that as you may. That is the end of this paragraph. I started at a real serious and ominous tone in the first paragraph so I’m trying to counterbalance with something honest yet horny. Am I horny myself? No. Ok maybe a little, but something about my mattress, a new bottle of Jergens, and a new box of Kleenex gets the job done. Sorry, that was a tasteless joke about me fornicating with my mattress. However, remember this is no-kink-shame 2017 so instead of taking the blame, I will deflect it back onto you my dearest readers.

Courtney is not graceful. No one would ever say,” Look at that elegant gazelle, seamlessly gliding through the room.” A more common sentence would be,” Courtney, I found your debit card in the urinal upstairs and got some napkins because you spilled your drink all over the bar. Also, heres a band-aid for when you fell up the stairs… twice.” As a natural worrier, Courtney takes the cake in triggering my maternal anxiety. She is always slipping and falling all the time and I can say with one-hundred percent confidence that everyone who knows her can share one good Courtney being clumsy story. If you’re considering buying Courtney any materialistic thing, make sure it can survive a beating. Many a water-pipe have fallen prey to Courtney’s wrath. I can’t lie though, it made my heart warm when, after her stint in Hawaii, she came back to the Northeast and in the span of fifteen minutes actually spilled her drink, left her debit card in the Midtown Oyster Bar bathroom, and tripped several times. My girl.

Courtney Rocha is not made for weak men with weak minds. Those with no respect for women are easily intimidated and emasculated by her strength. She is a strong woman with no compromise and is the kind of daughter I hope to raise one day. Let me say that one more time so you understand the gravity of that statement,” She is the kind of daughter I hope to raise one day.” Courtney is a woman of the ocean. Courtney never speaks ill of anyone. Courtney is the first person you’d want by your side in your time of need. Courtney is forever one of the best friendships I could have ever made. I love you Courtney. Forever and always. 

Trident and all. Trident. Trident. Trident. Trident. Trident. And once more for good luck, trident.

Love you Court.

Christopher Ross DeSanto

[friendsmuseum]

A Love Letter to Michael Regan

My guide, My savior, Purity Incarnate

This post is brought to you by hooded warriors everywhere.

Writing this Love Letter entry has been a harder one than I’d imagine. Not in the way that I was scraping at the bottom of the barrel thinking of things to write, but rather not knowing where to begin and where to end. That’s a common theme with Mike Regan. To my readers out there who know of this man, and I’d be hella surprised if you didn’t know him, you will undoubtedly understand. The layers, the warmth, the storm, and the innocence of Regan is something only a fool would dare to try to capture in a single piece of writing. I am that fool. I am staring at this mountain with nothing but a big glass of water, soft orchestral music, and a heart full of memories. To fail him today in this post would kill me. He does not deserve mediocrity but if I can capture even a tenth of his essence in this piece, it will be a success to me. Here we go guys. One sentence at a time. Take a deep breath, put on your favorite jazz, pop open a Moxie, and let’s begin.

Fuck. I’ve started this second paragraph a million times and everything I’ve written so far has sounded so insincere. Compared to the other posts I’ve written, this one scares me. I’m intimidated, I’m hesitant, and I can’t lie my way out of this. I won’t. I’ve lied my way through almost everything that has scared me in my life, and it just won’t do today. Lying is my safety blanket. The child deep down inside of me is still trying to protect itself by hiding the truth with grandiosity, deflecting my short comings on externalities, and hiding my true feelings under showmanship. These are the blankets that I hide under in order to protect myself. We all have our own blankets because deep down we are still the manifestation of the scared child inside of us. What are your blankets made of?

The thing is, Regan is one of those special people whose blankets are few. He has this almost other-worldly quality to him because there is no facade. What you see is what you get, and isn’t that so fucking refreshing? There’s no bullshit with Regan because he is nothing but a loving, wide-eyed, ever-moving child. Even though he may have blankets, he wears them as a cape and instead of hiding his intentions under them he wants you to use them for a blanket fort. Mike understands the value of innocence. He knows that it’s a quick and dirty slope down the path of negativity and he chooses, everyday, to live in his happiness and to live in the truth of those he loves. Go ahead, do wrong to this man and I guarantee he will find a million more reasons to come back to you and love you even harder. Essentially, I’m pretty sure Mike is the human manifestation of a puppy. It’s the reason I am sure Demi, his girlfriend and medically diagnosed dog addict, is the perfect woman for him.

Across the world right now are a collection of fortunate men and women who have had the pleasure of living in the tornado that is Mike Regan. Men and Women who have been entertained by his larger than life stories, serenaded by his genuine love for all things music, and tortured by his incessant need to watch The Departed and The Shawshank Redemption. If you ever get to meet these people I dare you, ask them,” Tell me your favorite story about Mike Regan.” I guarantee the stories will run wild and run far. They may take you to Maine, cross country, God damn Dracut, Massachusetts, and even across the world. The stories might take place in a blizzard, at a bon fire in the woods, to a rager in Bonnet Shores, and maybe even a Jazz club. No matter what story you get from these people one thing will be very clear: There is no way, no motherfucking way these people will every forget Michael Regan.

Michael,

You are the cornerstone through which our family of friends is founded. In this video game called life you are the main protagonist and we are meant to protect you; the Yuna on a great pilgrimage. I love you. We all love you. You’ve been through so much and have denied the temptations of bitterness and resentment. The world, my world, will never be the same without you. Continue to remind us to live like we’re young again. Continue to remind us to live with our hearts and minds open. Continue to make guacamole but stop making fruit smoothies with ginger; no one likes that shit. Cheers to you: our north star, our light, our glue.

Christopher Ross DeSanto

[friendsmuseum]

A Love Letter to Trey Goncalves

My oddity, My challenger, My nigga

Every friend group needs an oddball. An oddball, to the ego, is an insult but it’s anything but that. Oddballs are a necessity to any functioning group of friends. They’re necessary for the group because they remind everyone,” Hey, stop taking yourself so fucking seriously. You’re not special and that’s ok. Now, stop pretending to be someone your not and lets talk about some weird shit for the next hour.” Trey is my group’s oddball. I’m not saying this because he’s black, though when your friend group is comprised of mostly white dudes it certainly helps.

Trey and I have this amazing non-verbal form of communication we utilize everyday. You see, with our friend group and just general living in the white America that is Newport, Rhode Island, it pains me to hear some entitled bullshit. Nothing is better than self righteous bullshit-calling-outing and what better way to convey this but through some sassy ass eye glances. Its simple, and you can do it as well. What I say to Trey usually is,” GIRL, did you just hear that entitled ass shit? GOD DAMN! White people man, I tell you one of these days I’m gonna lose my SHIET…” However, that sentence is way too long so instead I part my lips open in disbelief, raise one eye brow and stare at Trey blankly. Trey usually replies with,” My brotha, I feel you. I’m there. It’s ok. Calm down and lets go play some League of Legends.” This is usually achieved non-verbally with eyebrows raised, lips sucked in, and a soft rocking back and forth of the head. This is an essential skill needed if you are to master the under appreciated art of silent sass. Kudos to my readers who tried recreating these faces and thought,” Oh yeah, I do that!” If you couldn't do them or didn’t understand them you’re probably too white. Don’t worry though, this country’s system is literally built in your favor. Let us have this one thing please!

If someone were to describe me they certainly wouldn’t say,” Chris? Yeah he’s a very timid, go with the flow kind of guy. He is just cool with whatever happens and likes to play it passive.” The person who describes me that way obviously doesn’t know who I am because they have clearly mistaken me for Trey. That is a common mistake because we are both black males with humongous penises. Who am I kidding? My penis is a rock hard two inch long, six inch thick tuna can penis. I couldn’t dare compete with the monstrosity and angelic creation that is Trey’s schlong of destiny. Just joking, I’ve never seen his penis. This anecdote has been a self indulgent digression about penises. Oh god, what am I projecting onto this piece? Back on track Christopher, BACK ON TRACK!

Now where was I, where was I… oh yeah! Trey, is the kind of person who just floats through life. He’s the kind of person who would survive a plane crash and say,” Fuck man, I liked this shirt…” If a feeling or situation doesn’t serve his needs, he just lets it float by. This fact is the reason I am perpetually in awe of how genuinely cool Trey is at all times. Not only that though, because since nothing ever bothers Trey, he’s always down for anything. At all times Trey is the first person I go to if I have a last minute walk I want to go on mostly because I know he’ll shrug and say,”Fuck it, let’s go.” Trey is always there when you need him. I wish I showed him how much I love him more. He really is so special. It pains me that he doesn’t think so.

Trey,

Living with you this past year has been such a breath of fresh air. To have someone as authentic, as real, as disadvantaged as you reminds me that I am not alone. You understand my circumstances and vice-versa. You’ll have no idea how much that has meant to me. The next couple of months will be rough without you here not being my Dungeons and Dragons comedic relief and also forcing me to live a white-washed life. You’re genuine, you’re kind, you’re loved. Now clean the god damn upstairs living room. That shit smells and you know how I get. I CAN’T HELP THE FACT I’M BECOMING MY MOTHER!

Christopher Ross DeSanto

[friendsmuseum]

A Love Letter to Amandine Gatali

My safety, My inspiration, My Queen

If I had a dollar for every time I looked at Amandine, rolled my eyes, and uttered,” crazy ass white people…” I would have enough money to buy a ticket to Africa and bask in her presence. To those who do not know Amandine, while reading this if you think to yourselves,” Oh, this is too good to be true. No one person is this amazing..” You shut your traitor mouth! To those reading that have met Amandine, I hope I do her justice. She deserves nothing less and I know there isn’t enough lines in one post to convey the beauty and excellence that is our majestic queen. Here goes nothing.

First off, Amandine would not like being called a queen. She wouldn’t like being called a queen because it’s against her nature to put herself above anyone else. You see,  Amandine is one of those very rare people whose ego is almost non-existent. Her super power, as I like to call it, is to take everyone as they are and not as they pretend to be. She can look at a person, find a way to learn not only about them but from them, and open her life and her wisdom in exchange. It is this shameless ease through which she walks the earth that convinces me God just might be real. She’s that powerful. Oh, and back to that super power subject, she can also tank a bottle of tequila to her face. I don’t know what genetic mutation has occurred in her liver but tequila is to Amandine what spinach is to Popeye. I think its the water in Rwanda…

If you were to travel to The University of Rhode Island between the years of 2010 to 2015 there probably wouldn’t be a single person who didn’t know or know of Amandine. Amandine is who I like to call the Oprah of URI during this time period. Yes I chose Oprah because they are both black, but also because like Oprah, Amandine is probably our next messiah. You couldn’t find a single organization or group that didn't work or want to work with this woman. That’s because she has this genuine thirst for life. When Amandine sees an opportunity or a group to be a part of she goes for it. She goes for it like that small kid unafraid of the deep end learning to swim for the first time. Head first. All smiles. Hands open. Ready to take in the world. God, I miss her.

You know how some people ask the question,” Hey, what’s your favorite memory of <insert name of person here>?” With Amandine, I don’t think its any one particular event or night. However, I just remember being very scared and feeling very vulnerable my freshman year of college. I grew up very protected and sheltered, so being away from my home nest was something that really shook me. However, I remember if I was having bad anxiety, or needed to just put the stress of college on hold, I would walk two doors down, knock (though Amandine would say otherwise), and climb into bed with her. Not in any sexual way, but in this maternal, protective kind of way. Amandine is synonymous with comfort. If someone said they felt uncomfortable around Amandine I’d call them out for being a fucking liar. She has this warmth about her and she smells like home. Not specifically a house or anything, but hugs with Amandine feel like you belong. That you’re loved. That you mean something to someone. That someone is listening. How many people can you say that about? I’ll wait.

Amandine,

It’s funny, I remember right before you left the States to go back to Africa I said something to the effect of,” Shit, everyone needs to relax. People move back home with their parents after college all the time. Your parents just happen to be in Africa. We’ll see each other soon, don’t you worry. <insert generic Christopher vulgar joke about vaginas and boobs and sex>” The fact of the matter is life happens. In a perfect world, I would be able to afford a trip to Africa to visit you or vice versa. In a perfect world my career, my hobbies, and my love life would open enough time so that I could put everything aside to come see you. In a perfect world, you wouldn’t have left the states at all and you’d be just a drive away from me when I needed to recharge my Amandine batteries. Unfortunately life isn’t perfect. I feel guilty that I haven’t reached out to you regularly like when we were in college. I feel guilty that I took you for granted. I feel guilty when I send a Facebook message or text and I see how long its been since last we contacted one another. That last one really gets me. I typed it and my gut filled with the oh-no-nos.

However, whenever I am being an engineer at work I remember all the times we studied together in the twenty-four hour room. I recall the restless nights starting at noon with a RedBull and coffee, which lead to delirium post midnight, which lead to the dont-give-a-fuck-sies when the sun started to come out. Also, when I go out with friends I remember how good of a friend you’ve been to me and how I need to pass that on to others. Even now, as I progress through this writing venture, I can’t help but think,” Amandine would commit. She would give her all to the project and she would woman-up and get shit done.” Amandine, you live in each and every person thats had time to absorb a little piece of you. You live in the hearts of us that travel. You live in the hugs we give to others. You live in our smiles as we read this post. Hopefully smiles. Possibly cries. For some, both. Amandine, there doesn’t go a time where I don’t think of you, where we all think of you. This letter serves as a testament to the love and honor I feel being your friend. I am forever grateful to you.

Now, make sure to throw away that ugly ass metallic purple jacket you have. Actually, no, burn that shit. For all of us, please. I love you, Ama-mama. Shama-lama-ding-dong.

Hey guys, did this work? I hope I did her justice.

Christopher Ross DeSanto

[friendsmuseum]

A love letter to Nickolas Blenis.

My sun, my warmth, my smelly.

Nick smells. There’s no way around it. He is sweaty all the time, and his skin is the perfect combination of spliff smoke, 7 Eleven snacks, and essential oils. We met the beginning of my sophomore year in an exchange I recall going as follows:

Me: Hey, you got a lighter? 

Nick: WOAH! Hey, you smoke? *jumps off long board, pointing wildly in the air, going in for hug* Yeah of course, give me a second let me roll up a cig. Oh! You live on the floor above us right? Sweet, hey my name’s Nick! Wait, you’re the kid that plays League of Legends right? 

(I was sold) 

What followed that fateful day would be countless nights smoking cigarettes and ripping bong at all hours of the night just to come play League with me. In college, we would game whenever we were free and I would sit there, captivated, wondering why this ungodly beautiful man would ever dare want to spend time with me. The year following would have him and his tribe, my tribe at the time, and a tertiary tribe of obligatory women, move into a neighborhood near campus for our Junior Year of college. That year would be filled with some of the most memorable nights of my life; the parties movies like to film about, heartbreaks poets write about, and friendships people dream about. It was easily the best year of my life because I was injected with so much youth and the looming responsibility of adulthood hadn’t yet settled in. Also, speaking of injections we did a lot of shrooms that year. I know, you don’t inject shrooms  but fuck off. Also, if you just made a “butt-fuck” joke, I am both proud and annoyed at you. If you went back to read the “but fuck” part two sentences prior, I applaud you for reading this diligently and for your maturity. After junior year we meandered our way up the coast and across two bridges to the lovely island of Newport where we have been since and where we have made our roots. At least for now. Nick leaves in a couple days to move halfway across the country and I haven’t processed it yet. This post is helping. I need help processing this. It hurts, a lot. Its crazy looking back at that day now.  I had no idea five years ago that this strange, Mowgli, beautiful, spliff smoking, wannabe-good-videogamer kid, would be one of my best friends. I didn’t know someone could make me feel so warm, so happy, and so loved. Ok, enough about my emotions, back to Nick.

Nick is a hugger. Not a half-ass-hugger either. He gives these long, hard, top of the line hugs. (Its a common theme amongst my tribe and yeah, I’m boasting. They’re amazing.) Nick hugs are the kind that make you feel warm and loved albeit smelly and sweaty. You don’t even have to know the guy. He will come right up to you, hug, and hold. Hug and hold. That should be Nick’s slogan. 

His taste in music is also incomparable. Its weird and strange but you learn to tolerate it. He definitely isn’t someone who has a shallow or undeveloped taste in music. He loves nuanced sound, complexity in lyrics, metal, rap, classical, anything really. Also, and not to undermine his intelligence nor his wisdom, he is probably one of the most beautiful people I have met to date. His parents molded a Japanese, Native American, Euro-trash, and African mix into what I like to call,” The pinnacle of multi-racial creations.” I regret typing this paragraph right now. This shit is going straight to his head as we speak and I am afraid if I boast about his beauty any longer his head might explode. If that stops him from moving to Colorado... I might have to keep going. 

Nick,

I hope I speak for all of us here that you are one of the rarest forms of sincerity manifested in a person. You are honest, you are sensitive, and you are caring. I’m crying as I type thinking about how dependent I’ve become waiting for one of your hugs and how I’ve taken them for granted. When it gets cold, I’ll miss snuggling with you watching strange gore-y and dark movies. I’ll miss being an actual child because when I’m with you I feel like a kid again. You help people loosen up and feel. I’ll miss having someone who understands when I’m Chris, and when I’m a character. I’ll miss being naked and helicoptering you in the hall. I’ll miss our talks. I’ll miss you way too much.

HOWEVER, when your ass gets to Colorado you WERK. You have that spark to do whatever it is you want to in life. Your life is yours for the taking. Good luck. Actually, no, fuck good luck. You don’t need that shit. Good luck is for idiots and no friend of mine is a fucking idiot. Listen, when you get out there be the person who saves yourself. No one is going to be there. You’re your own safety net now. And if your net needs a little tighten, or if a few screws get loose you call me right away. No one harms one of my boys, especially not my smelly. Now go! GO BEFORE I CRY. Psyche, I have depression and haven’t cried in years. 

Nickolas, I love you. Forever. No matter what. Until the next chapter, yeah? 

Christopher Ross DeSanto

[friendsmuseum]

I’m OPEN now

A part of me didn’t want this site to ever happen. It would be work, it would be hard, and things would be so much nicer if I could just stay in my room playing video games in my underwear. I’m a shell kind of person. Its safer in my shell and if you aren’t in the direct vicinity of my shell you don’t see me. After all, I’m just a scared, small child hiding under a big personality, a web of lies, and charm. BUT, there are so many beautiful people I have the privilege to see regularly. Other little boys and girls in their big world shells who inspire me every so often to come out and be a better version of myself. People who have shown me how to decorate my shell, that sometimes its ok to take it off at the end of the day, and that my shell is just as beautiful as others. I can’t see myself unless I understand how others interpret me. Its that strange inter-personal part of myself that gets me going. To learn about others, to absorb, to be a life sponge. 

You might not get anything out of my site and that’s fine but know that this site isn’t meant for you. It is my selfish shrine to the beautiful people I get to share my life with. It is an unapologetic love fest to those I find beautiful. Come in, the coffee is warm, the hugs are long, and the love has made me the person I am today. 

Have fun, walk slowly, take deep breathes, and smile.