My Brother Kasim….

As I have grown in age, I have chosen to be very open with regard to sharing my personal perspectives of both joy and trauma, as well as stories of my life within the context of my family, in the hope of creating deeper human connections.

With that said, I’ve previously mentioned that mental health issues have been, and are prevalent in my family. Such issues as depression, bipolar disorder, and a multitude of different addictions have all affected members of my immediate family.

One example of this is my younger brother Kasim, as pictured here. He has lived with paranoid schizophrenia for most of his life.

He’s also homeless, and has been for most of his adult life.

As of today, he lives high above the hills of Pasadena and Altadena, in California, usually in a small tent, one that my mother helped him purchase.

Living this way is all he knows, and the only way he can feel comfortable.

As his schizophrenia is much too severe for him to be situated in proper government housing, being away from people and out in the forest gives him some sense of safety and serenity (even with the other dangers that homeless people encounter daily).

Although he’s officially in the California State “system” and has access to State provided shelter, as well as other benefits, he simply refuses most of this assistance.

The only item he will actually accept is a government issued debit card which allows him to acquire some food items when he desperately needs them. Otherwise, he would almost always prefer to panhandle for money or food.

Even as I write this you can usually see him wandering around the streets of Pasadena asking for change, that is when he chooses to come down from the hills. You may have even seen him or encountered him yourself.

There once was a time when we were very close, a time when he didn’t suffer as he does now, or at least pretended not to.

It was a time when we were deeply involved in the punk scene and would hang out, sometimes just the two of us, and would go see our favorite bands play at clubs near our house.

Ultimately, those days slowly faded as our family unit dissipated, as my father died, as I moved out, and as the pain and violence that our family carried and harnessed became too great of a burden to overcome.

These days, as I write my poetry, sometimes about joy and love, but many times about trauma, and as I create my art with much the same concepts and emotions, I think about those years.

I remember the times when we would pop open and share beers at a punk gig, bodysurf our favorite spot at Santa Monica beach during the hot summers, or just cruise around Los Angeles with our rag tag crew in my beat up, rusted Toyota looking for mischief.

Even those memories seem blurry and distant now, like an old faded Polaroid.

Their emotion and enthusiasm don’t carry the same weight today as they used to all those years ago.

Now that I live here in Thailand, and have no plans to ever return to the States, I know I’ll most likely never see him again.

He lives wherever he chooses in the Pasadena area, just aways from Los Angeles, with no address nor permanent location, so it is what it is.

It may sound glum, but these are the facts.

As it turns out, sometimes that’s just life and not every story has a sweet, fairy tale ending.

That’s the unfortunate reality of the situation.

Sometimes thinking about him and how his life has turned out makes me sad, it makes me wonder what could have been if he had received treatment early on, what he might have been able to achieve, as he was/is one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever known.

At other times when I think of him I feel as if I’m reading a tragic novel written by someone else about their family that’s full of heartbreak and fractured possibilities, and not mine.

Now all I can do is hope that one day, when his time finally comes, that he will find peace and stillness from the painful world in which he has had to live within for so very long.

I end this story with a poem I had written about him…

Star light, star bright

Oh brother, where art thou tonight?

In the hills up high?

Or on the streets?

Shall shoes shelter your tired feet?

Does your hunger grow?

Is your thirst complete?

Will your mind finally shatter?

Shall your illness repeat?

Oh how I wish truly

That you could retreat

And return to sweet youth

Where you may find peace…