you know not that I think about it, the story isn't all that interesting.

I have written at least once a week for the past 2 years on xanga, and I made a few friends, learned some things about myself and others, and wrote alot of brilliance and BS, both not being the same for me and you.

I lost the urge to write anything. I don't have the drive or the want really anymore. of course I've said before that I would leave xanga only to come right back, but now it isn't based on frustration or anger, but more of just this feeling that I got nothing really left to write about.

my life is now based not on theories or contemplations anymore. writing about my life and thoughts makes me feel like I am regurgitating something that has no effect, no real effect, and no specific point.

I suppose saying goodbye to xanga is a promise that was just made to be broken, so I won't say goodbye. I don't read anyones sites, and when I do it brings me down, so I don't suppose I will be stopping by for that. I don't have stories in me much anymore, so if I ever do get a story it will probably be for myself, since I no longer wish to pursue the idea of writing for a career.

no, I don't feel bad I am not reading about your lives. if I knew you you'd be telling me about your lives and I'd be telling you about mine. no I don't feel bad I don't have the urge to write anything. It was a means of venting frustration, and I am no longer frustrated, seeing as I learned to actually place my emotions and hope in Christ.

so I won't be saying goodbye, because odds are I will write again if the muse so inclines. but as far as I can say goodbye without the curse of xanga looming over my head, I say goodbye.

you can email if I don't talk to you already, and you can always message me on AIM at the name Reinhard Rats.

God bless kids.

part 4 or my hasty exit... part 4... or my hasty exit....

hmmmmmmm..........

     Well it's been about a week. I suppose I should try to get this finished......

     Around the end of 8th grade I started getting into punk. I had one friend who was into punk like me. we hung out more often. Eventually, he asked me to check out his church, and I accepted because I knew people who went there and I liked the pastor.
     Going through christian schools all my life, I was subjected to chapel every week. Chapel is where you get into a room, sing songs, and listen to someone, a group or a speaker, talk about Jesus. being in christian schools for 8 years, I had seen everything from choirs, to people who were "bad" but became "good", to comedians, to people who sang songs, to people who came with puppets and skits. they all had things in common, those things being they were obnoxious, not funny, watered down, and always coming across like they were trying to sell something. Chuck was different.
     When I first heard Chuck spoke, he was funny. it was a confident kind of funny; not the kind where he was strainign, if that makes sense. When he read the bible, it was unlike how I had heard people read the bible before. he read it like it was a different kind of book; like it had something to it he saw that was real and living. I went to his church.
     I was raised catholic, but not devout. the kind of catholic that goes once to church every few weeks, eats the waifer, says the prayer, goes to confession, says some Hail Mary's, and goes about his way all nice and atoned. Chuck spoke about God like he read the bible. he talked about God like God was active and living, and not some guy I wouldn't ever see or talk to on a personal level. I was told that God loved me personally, and that Jesus loved me personally. after a month of fighting this conviction I felt I finally decided that I would accept this. 
     ahhhhh my conversion....
     I remember being between two guys that I went to school with. I remember that to be prayed with you had to go to this room on the side, and to get there you had to walk past the front row in front of everyone to get there. I dunno how but I told one of my friends to move, and I remember my legs walking me to that door. I also remember that I walked so much I walked through that door and through the room, and then through the exit. yeah I was nervous.
     I walked back in and sat down with a guy. I didn't know what to say but I knew I wanted to know God. we prayed, and I accepted Christ into my life. I remember the ride home. I felt different. I felt clearer, like a burden had been lifted and at the same time something new was in its place.
     This was the end of 8th grade, around summer. next comes my high school years.

     In fourth grade, I could not go to Sonrise because I forgot to give the enrollment money. I was sent to a public school near where I live. I knew no one and would sit at my desk quietly. at recess I would just sort of sit at this wall and do nothing. I remember I had lapses in concentration and would zone out for minutes on end. some of those times I would just stare blankly, and it just so happens I ended up staring blankly at a kid a few rows from me. he would call me a faggot alot. I also remember every answer I gave out, be it a math question, spelling question, anything, was wrong. I was so sure I was right; I went over it and knew I was right. 6 weeks of no friends, being called faggot, and feeling more alien than I felt before led me to me begging my mother to put me in another school, and so she did. I began to go to West Covina Christian School.
     West Covina Christian seemed alot like Sonrise, except it seemed smaller and less funded, of course I didn't use the words "less funded" back then. I adapted naturally. around this time homework started to become more and more important. I never did it, always forgetting that I had something or other due. I was still hyperactive, this time around being called both funny and odd at the same time. My teacher then suggested to my mom I might have this thing called Attention Deficit Disorder, and my mother was shocked that someone could make such an accusation.
     5th grade rolled by, and after acing the placement test, I was accepted back into Sonrise. About this time my grades began to slip. somehow I passed 5th grade and moved onto 6th. Grades became even more crucial now, and because I still would not do homework, combined with my now rampant disorderly conduct in the classroom, I was expelled from Sonrise Christian. I began seeing a therapist, I was given ritalin, and I was sent back to West Covina Christian mid-semester. I was placed in a class called ILC: Individualized Learning Center, or I Learn Can't to the other kids. It was a few classes for the kids at the school who needed "special attention" (read: the hyperactive, the obsessive compulsive, and the usual list of childhood fuckups). I was in this class from 6th grade until halfway into 8th grade.
     the ritalin stabilized my mood, but it also left me feeling inhibited. I can't explain what being on ritalin is like. It feels like things are gray. Like tasting food that has no flavor or odor, but still food. I was still different, and being in jr. high, I was unsure about myself and my place in the grand scheme of things. I felt like an acquaintance to everyone, but nothing more. I made people laugh, and I suppose thats what I was good for, so I tried doing that. I still felt different than other people, but it was a subconscious feeling. I grew angry during those years, as most people in jr. high do.
     during 8th grade I started listening to music different than what I had been listening to before. My sister loaned me a copy of Plastic Surgery Disasters by Dead Kennedys, Minor Threats Discography, and Operation Ivy. I started listening to this music called punk, and it made me feel good inside. It had this energy and uniqueness to it that I identified with in it's odd way...

more later.

     I was born on April 14th, 1983 to Rudy and Rachel Leyba. I was given the name Richard Jonathan Leyba for no reason other than my parents thought the names Richard and Jonathan sounded good. I learned recently that the name Richard Jonathan could be translated into "strong messenger of God".
     My parents met as operators at GTE, now Verizon, where my father now works as a switchman for Baldwin Park's Verizon building. My father was 23 when he had his first child, my sister Layla. My mother was 15 when she had her first child, my sister Evette. Both parents came from low income families. My father has 8 brothers and sisters, and my mother, 4. My father was a hippy in his teenage years, and my mother was simply a mother in her teenage years. Both parents are and were hard working people who have worked their way from the ghetto to middle class american life with no college experience and while raising a child. My father taught me, among other things, cynicism, sarcasm, never believing what you're told, and the need to be a man when life isn't quite right. My mother taught me, through her actions and through her life, the value and power of love, and she taught me very well that love was not an emotion or something so cheap as a way to feel good, but a state of mind that places others above yourself without anger or complaint. She is the strongest, most loving person I have ever met.
     My first memory was of me sitting on my sisters bed, looking at a heart shaped plastic piggy bank my sister had while also watching her sing along to the radio. I believe she was singing along to Oingo Boingo and the Go-Go's. I had a happy childhood. Because my parents were not well to do in their childhood, they made sure I had what they didn't. I had many toys and many comforts growing up. I was and am grateful for the things they have and still do for me, but I believe it spoiled me.
     Early on I was placed in daycare centers and various preschools. for preschool and half of kindergarten I went to a montessori school. For those of you who don't know, a montessori school is a school that allows children to learn how they see fit. One day I would draw pictures with crayons, another I could learn how to count to ten in Japanese, another day I could learn my ABC's, another I could learn about human anatomy. I was an energetic child, and now that I was equipped with a learning environment that stressed independence and versatility, my thought patterns that still gudie me today were set. I remember writing with my left hand, holding my pencil with my fist instead of my fingers. my father told me I was doing it wrong, but I did not change until I saw fit to change it. 
     Halfway into Kindergarten, my mother asked me if I would like to change schools to be around friends I made while playing peewee soccer. On a side note, I remember I would always try to kick the ball around the bleachers during soccer because I reasoned that no one would follow me, so I was free to kick the ball to the other side without hindrance. Anyway, I said yes, and I was enrolled at Sonrise Christian School.
     Sonrise was a very different school than the montessori school. it was a private christian school which had assigned days and assigned schedules. I was told that it took a while for me to adjust to the new structure. when the teacher was talking I would get up and walk around or simply leave the classroom. Because it was kindergarten these were not heavily punished offenses. I read at a third or fourth grade level in kindergarten and I was an extremely quick learner. I don't recall ever getting anything below a B in any spelling test I have ever taken.
     I continued to be a happy energetic child up until the end of third grade. my mother gave me an envelope to give to the schools office for enrollment next year. I forgot to give it to them and by the time my mother found out, I could not turn it in. I would not go to Sonrise in the fourth grade.