You know, if I was ever told that I'd be running with the mafia or a gang or whatever this organisation is I would've laughed at you but really and truly, I would be excited. Although, the books that'd idolised mafias/gangs and their lifestyle had left out a minor detail. Or maybe, the detail is just overlooked and seen as insignificant. No emphasis is put on the fact that this is real life. Real lives and real human beings. But that's just my opinion.
For some, this lifestyle is for fun. They're chasing the adrenaline rush it gives them, hunting for the next high and sense of invincibility. The boldness and toughness that's associated with these gangs. Searching and wanting to be a part of something that is bigger than them that provides the undying want of security and love. But when a deal goes wrong and they find themselves tied up, in a puddle of their own blood, wreaking of piss, hands shaking while they plead, there comes a sense of awareness that maybe this wasn't a joke. It never was. This wasn't something that I could join for a few months and then leave. This wasn't something that I could reap the benefits of and then return home unscathed. And with their last sight staring down the barrel of a gun they come to realise that this is actually the end. That is, if they can open their eyes.
They choose either a or b. A, accept that they could have made better decisions while also accepting the consequences of them decisions. You made your choice and now you should stick to it. You may have been a good person but good people still make bad decisions.
B, blame others for their choices. Blame their friends for their influence. Blame their supposed brothers for being in this situation. It's usually those that don't take accountability, that are quick to snitch. They've been the 'yes' man to everything while trying to be someone they aren't. Whether they think it or not they had the opportunity to make their own choice. It's a right that they were born with. And yet they somehow make it into someone else's fault.
For others this lifestyle is their means of survival. They've tried the typical 9 – 5 job and are barely getting by. What else can they do? They have 6 mouths to feed, have been given multiple eviction notices, bills to pay and loans to repay. There's nothing else to do, nowhere else to turn and definitely no one who'd help. Except the mafia. You do this and I'll give you that. If you collect this for me, I'll give you 10%. If you work for me, I will pay you. Employee and employer. It would be the same really. But not quite. Money would solve all the issues but at a risk. A risk that is downplayed.
For the rest they've been born into it. It's their life, was their dad's life, was their grandad's life and the ones before. And if that's not the case, then it's their neighborhood and something that they've grown up with. But in some way shape or form they are surrounded by this violence and then it is then eventually embedded in them. The streets. The fast money. The females. The crowd. The chase. The drugs. You instantly acquire popularity and publicity but with that you are depressed and stressed.
Many regret their choices, many don't. But as I walk by the massacre of bodies strewn all over the place my heart cries out for them. All of them. All of the men who chose and didn't choose. I can't help but wonder how many relatives they have waiting for them back home. How many sons and daughters will have to live with the unexplained death of their father? How many of these families will end up homeless? Do they even have someone waiting for them? I wonder what they were thinking as they were left to bleed out on the cold floor. Would they have had any regrets? Epiphanies? Embarrassment? Shame?
My heart goes out to all of them. But as they say mind over matter.