Alex Villamil Calendar Tears

Life's not about what happened in the past. It's about how you respond to what happened in the past, Lessons Learned, and how to apply those lessons going forward. Struggles are meant to learn new skills to overcome defeat. The past is exactly that. I know that now. You can use your past as an excuse or a building block of your character.

I'm not an angel but I like to think I'm not a demon or Monster anymore. I've chosen to trade my excuses into building blocks but my temple isn't yet complete. My name is Alex but most people call me Kilo. I was born March 27th, 1987 and grew up on the south side of Chicago where it was rough but fun. I come from a family of humble means but happy. My grandma, mom, and her siblings immigrated from Mexico and settled in the Pilsen area. All around me was poverty, crime, and suffering, but to me, it was home.

I remember as a kid playing with my friend in a vacant lot we called the hood. There was this hill we sled down in the winter on broken lids from garbage cans, ghetto sleds. In the summer we ran down that same hill trying to get away from the law AKA our parents when we fucked up. Then there was the spot where we served the imaginary zombies we saw on the streets.

Then when all the work was gone, which was really just Penny Candy we got at the corner stores, we sipped on our 25-cent juices and smoked candy cigarettes we got at the same store as the work. LOL. It was our take on where we lived and what we really saw. Life In The Hood. We tried our hardest to be like those g ’ z on the corner, I guess you can say we were practicing. To us it was the thing to be, what we strived for. Heroes or villains, I'll let you decide.

Little did I know I would become one of those cool guys one day. If only I knew what really came with that life while I sat in that vacant lot with my friends idolizing what one day would become the nightmare I called a life. But first let's take a ride down memory lane.

My mother and Grandma were my protectors, providers and best friends. I am the middle child of six. I have four sisters and a brother but me and my mom stuck together through all the struggles. We were there to wipe each other's tears. My father was locked up, so I don't have many memories of him before the age of 9 when I started to visit him.

All the men in my life were in one way or another in the wrong steps so all my fond memories are with the women in my life. I have four sisters and a lot of girl cousins. I was like their pet.

Then I seen my mom, sisters, and cousins cry over the things men did, so I felt like I needed to be a protector at a young age. I was mad at the men in our lives for being fuck ups and judged them. “Fuck do they think? Why are they like this?” Many questions flew through my mind in the midst of the madness. “Fuck them. Who needs them anyway?” We better off without them.

Little did I know something I would learn a long time later was I needed a dad. I needed a figure to teach me right from wrong. Shit I needed someone to wipe my tears. But I didn't cry real tears. I cried with the bottle, I cried with my mistakes, and now I'm crying with my calendars.

I used to be scared of the monster in my closet, and one day I woke up and looked in the mirror and was terrified to realize I became the monster I was so scared of.

I always looked for a father and wanted so desperately to tell him I'm not mad anymore. I just want to see and know the older version of me. My father was released from prison when I was 13 but I felt like I was 5 as I was waiting in that van for him. I was all over the place. I was excited and nervous. Will we have those moments I've been dying to have?

Will he do those things he's been promising all these years? Fuck it. Even if he don't, I have a dad now. I have someone to hear me, teach me, understand me, but the dream didn't last. Sadly, he returns to prison and shortly after decided to end his struggles.

By now I have already been hanging out with the wrong crowds. You know the Misfits, the dopers, the brothers, the cool Crews. It was all good fun, but things started getting serious.

I started hanging out with older guys and started drinking, which I found out I really like. My new friends were a bunch that grew up together on the same blocks, wore the same colors, and represented the neighborhood. Since I was new to the hood I wanted to belong, I wanted to be accepted, I wanted to be cool, so I did what no one in their right mind would do. I joined my brothers in arms.

I was finally that cool guy, I made it...or so I thought. We had fun like I used to back in that vacant lot but now we ' re playing a far more dangerous game and this time it was for keeps. It wasn't all fun and games anymore, things started to get out of hand fast.

One day we were drinking and having a little get together at my house with some of my friends and cousins. Me and a friend were in front of my house when we noticed a car driving slowly by the corner. I decided to investigate to make sure it wasn't the ops.

When I got a few houses from the corner the car pulled back up and began firing shots. As I seen the spark from the barrel, I felt the blow to my stomach. I had no time to think, just act. “Is this really how it's going to go? Is it all going to end?” I said no. I know I was hit but if I fell here I'll give my shooter a chance to finish me. I decided to run. As I'm running, I can hear the bullets breaking wind around me. Bang Bang. It was like Call of Duty in real life. I was hit twice and was lucky to be alive.

After months of recovery I was angry and ready for war. After this point things started to get real, but God gave me a gift Sent From Heaven that put the brakes on plans for revenge. I had my first son Jayvin Alexander. He was so precious and perfect that I wanted to be everything my dad wasn't to me.

I remember playing with him and just seeing how precious life was while he slept so serene and innocent, lying there with his favorite blanket. Life was perfect at that moment in time watching him sleep. Too bad I was far from it, and because of my life choices and weaknesses I wasn't part of his life.

This is where I restarted the cycle and became victim to the same actions I judged. I started selling and using drugs and started doing real time. I was really active in the streets now and just as active in my addictions. I wasn't into hard drugs like heroin or crack but I was drinking and getting high everyday, running the streets with my brothers which was to me the most addicting of it all.

I say Brothers cuz then we said we were family and the streets was our father. At the time all I had was the streets and my brothers. So I thought. I chose to remain in the streets. I chose to remain the monster in the mirror. I chose my trials and tribulations, I chose my pain. I was lost and didn't know I was broken but felt complete.

Then God had pity on me once again and sent me another gift Jaylani Alexandra. The day she was born I held her in my arms crying at how beautiful she was and sang her happy birthday in the corner of the hospital room. Just me and her lost in each other's eyes. I swear I would never hurt her and always be there for her.

I wasn't there for my first son and God knows that was my greatest mistake at the time. I wish I could go back and change it but I can't. I said I wouldn't make that mistake again. A year later another Angel was sent to save me Alexander Jr. My white twin, LOL.

When I say twin I mean it. He is a tiny devil like his dad. We were living in the suburbs now. I was no longer in the streets and was working, trying to be a good father and better person but I was lost in my life of drinking and partying with the brothers. I had good intentions but I didn't know how to be a man, a father, a human being. All I knew was chaos and the monster in the mirror.

I didn't know about virtue. I didn't comprehend. I'm not saying I was dumb. Far from it. I was very knowledgeable but knowledge is only potential wisdom.

Wisdom is knowledge put into action, but I was so lost, rebellious and in denial that I chose the wrong tools, the wrong knowledge, the wrong side of the brain. I thought I was so smart and on the come up. I landed myself in a maximum security federal prison.

I left my kids and partner to fend for themselves. While in jail I realized that the movies were not made up. I was put in Big Sandy Federal Penitentiary, a disciplinary yard where the most violent offenders from across the country were placed. I was around gang leaders, killers and people that will never come home, but sadly this became my home.

There was no help, no programs. We were left alone to do hard time. My first week there I was on the phone talking to my mom when ten feet away a person that was hot, meaning he told on someone, was standing in line for the kiosk, and two of his own guys started beating him with locks and stabbing him with shanks.

No one reacted, everyone remained calm like nothing was happening. The assault lasted for 5 minutes, this became a regular thing. All we had to do there was work out, play cards, shoot a little ball and conspire how to create chaos and prey on fellow inmates. But the most popular thing to do on this mountain was drink, shine, and get high.

I lived this life of chaos for years. Not really living, just surviving in a big dangerous playground, a place where everyone wanted a name for themselves. Where if you made the wrong move or pissed off the wrong person, you will become someone ’ s stripe and will be the next one being airlifted off that mountain, while the guys you call friends talked and laughed saying how dumb you were for getting in the way.

I seen men stabbed 70 times, heads caved in by heavy locks tied to ropes. I heard big strong men scream at the top of their lungs for mercy and none was found. I seen three men take their last breaths on this mountain, while still being stabbed and beaten by the man they broke bread with.

I thank God to have made it, but I had no tools to survive in the real world. I have been numbing my body and mind to be able to function in chaos, to be able to sleep while still hearing those screams. My Dreams and Nightmares grew to be the same.

I remember coming home but I was a nervous wreck. I couldn't understand why and still don't, my freedom was very short lived. I broke those same promises my father made. I broke those same Hearts. I let the same people down. I cried the same calendar tears he did.

Above all I let my kids down. I broke their hearts like I had mine broken. I never meant to become my father. I never meant to take this road. I want to go back in time and not judge my dad for his mistakes. I wish I could have tried to help him heal cuz I bleed from the same wounds. I tripped over the same stones. I made the same mistakes and I'm being judged the same way.

I wish I could tell you I love you, dad. Dad, help me heal the wounds that were fatal to you so I can heal my kids the way I needed help. Jayvin, Jayla, and Alex apologies are changed actions not words. I hope one day my actions will speak louder than these words, but my words are meant to show a picture of how I became broken, not an excuse or just fiction but an explanation.

Lasting changes are not made overnight. I have shattered my foundation with my actions but it's a blessing in disguise because now I am rebuilding and I'm starting by tearing every broken part of me out. I can now build a solid foundation for the rest of my life. I love you but actions will prove.

I've been judged for always restarting, but I ask you not to judge cuz I haven't given up.

I hope my story finds at least one youth that can relate to the beginning of my story and hope to prevent them from one day relating to my downfalls. If I can do that my struggles will not be in vain.