My dad died today. 18 years ago.
I still remember the call in the shockingly early morning hours. To this day I’m terrified if my phone rings after 1am. I remember my mom’s voice and I remember hearing someone scream and thinking how primal it was. I didn’t know it was coming from my own mouth. I remember my roommate having to take the phone because I couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. I remember going next door and crawling in to my boyfriend’s bed and asking him to not say anything. The day before, a friend that lived on our floor in the dorm had found out her best friend had died of a heart attack at 19. My boyfriend just looked at her and said “that sucks.”. I remembered lecturing him on how callous that sounded and how god forbid anything bad ever happened to me, would he please just remain silent? Who knew it would be less than 24 hours before that request would need to be honored. Continue reading “Polyester Gym Shorts & Losing My Dad.”
In my mother’s garden are some of the most beautiful flowers you’ve seen. There are lush leafy greens and flowering plants in wildly vibrant colors. Hues you didn’t even know existed, exist there. The trees in her garden grow for her. For her. Not because it is what trees do, but because they are proud to be steadfast sentinels keeping watch over delicate seedlings, robust perennials and one amazing stone owl. My mother’s garden is her canvas. It is her ever-changing masterpiece. Her gardening gloves have seen joy and sadness and have touched the soil and shared in the earth’s secrets. Her hands and her gloves have welcomed new life in to the world, and softly said goodbye to one that left us too soon. A life that returns to us each year and reminds us that while they can’t be with us, they are always here. With each plant that she lovingly creates a home for, she plants a little piece of her beautiful heart along with it. She nurtures and calmly coaxes each tiny bud up and out in to the world. She knows the value of the sun and the beauty of the rain. A walk through my mother’s garden will ease your mind and calm your soul.
Continue reading “In My Mother’s Garden”
I remember when I was younger, my mom was the one who I played dress up with. She was the one that I had camp outs in the living room with. She was my best friend who I couldn’t wait to get home just so I could watch movie with. Even though I love my mom, I always felt some type of loneliness. I would see my friends with their siblings, and no matter how much they seemed to annoy each other, I was jealous. I wanted someone my age to annoy. Someone my age to laugh with.
Then came the time when my mom said I should live with my dad so that she could better herself financially. I was around 8 or 9 and was so excited. Not because I was leaving my mom, but because I would get to have my brother around (he is actually my step brother, but my dad had raised him). I loved the idea of having someone my age in the house. But not having been around each other for so long, it was awkward at times. We were two very different people, with very different interests. But no matter how different, he looked out for me no matter what. Something I came to appreciate more and more as time went by. I had my sibling and annoyed him as much as possible – as a little sister should. Continue reading “My Sister, The Potential Weirdo. (Myana Chimes In)”
I decided to hit “Send”. I shouldn’t have. It had been impulsive. I had written something stupid like “I’m the person you’re looking for.” or a statement that was equally lame. I instantly regretted it. I didn’t get a response. I started wondering if I should send her a letter. I was able to find an address. I started the letter and then I stopped. I put the pen down, walked away and that was that. Or so I thought. Continue reading “Nexy Jamin & The Summer of 2014 Part II”
On an evening in July 2014, while enjoying a bout of insomnia, I decided to do what any sensible person (aka actor), does in the middle of the night. I googled myself. Not just my name, but my birth name too. Nexy Jamin. I should note that this name lives on the internet. I have used if for a variety of things. A spam email address, as a password, etc… My looking up the name was purely a byproduct of wanting to know if MY name, Emily Agy, the actor, was connected to it. It wasn’t. Then on a whim I added the last name. Nexy Jamin Rodriguez.
Imagine my surprise when the top two posts were of someone searching for their long lost sister. Me. Continue reading “Nexy Jamin & The Summer of 2014”
Every day when you choose to use (the internet), you are bombarded by the latest and greatest in Health & Fitness. Whether it’s an article about Oprah and the 12 million dollar weight-loss tweet, or how to burn fat by eating only sponges for a week, you will see it on your feed. How appropriate that we call it a “Feed”. Sooner or later we all cave in and go for the gusto with a new diet, workout plan or both.
In the spring of 2014 I decided to participate in a program here in Vegas by a local fitness club. It was a popular boot camp program that promised to help you get in shape and the goal was to lose 20 LBs in 6 weeks. Continue reading “How To Lose $200 & Learn To Trust Yourself – Part I”
In the past year I’ve had some absolutely amazing experiences that have helped me find my way back to the path of shameless creativity. I say shameless because for a time (4 years), I felt as though what I was doing, what I wanted to do, was something to hide. I stopped saying I was an actor. Or a singer. Or anything creative that would make me look like a flight risk to what I refer to at times as “the outside world”. I moved from a city that embraced my diversity and all my quirks as an artist, to a place where I felt I didn’t fit the mold. I made that move because I was scared. Scared that as a newly engaged woman, people now had expectations of me and those expectations could only be fulfilled if I settled down. I felt pressure from myself and others. I wanted people to like me. I wanted them to know that I wasn’t a gamble. I left what I knew, what had made me successful up to that point, and what was familiar for the imagined promise of “stability”. Continue reading “How I Learned to Thrive & Other Tales of “Whoa!””