Archive for the ‘Q.Whitening Short Stories’ Category




Every morning, right before work this man is standing outside of the corner store on Clinton Place & Hawthrone Avenue. When the store opens he’s usually the one to sweep in front of it, so more then likely he gets a couple of dollars for it. But  what sparked my interest the most is this mystery behind him for some reason. Honestly, every time I see him I have a different vision of what his life use to be, even if it’s the obvious poor, searching for the next buck downfall type of life.

Sorry for the long wait but I had a lot of work to do in my digital darkroom sort of speak. This is the first set of my documentation photos of the small island Bohol, Philippines. The experience of the island, the food, the culture, the people was mind blowing for me. When I got their it was obvious that I wasn’t from there and the Filipino stares made that very clear. Willma, my friend who brought me, told me that most of the people on her island had never seen a Black man only on T.V. She also added that they would remember this for the rest of their lives. It really hit home when she told me that. So my camera was ready as soon as I walked off the plane. Here you are!

I had a wonderful time and again I want to thank Willma and her family for welcoming me with open arms. I can’t wait to go back!! Oh yea much much more to come. Feel free to reblog or repost whatever you like.

Thank You!!



Island City

Jagna 5 a.m.

The Gym

Hut Sample

Jagna’s Transportation

Market Place

The Road


It Takes A Village

On The Water


Good Music

Posted: October 21, 2011 in Q.Whitening Short Stories
Tags: , , , , ,

I was Twenty-three with an attitude that could be described through the music I listened to; Gangster Rap. Rap was in entertainment’s forefront of lifestyle and I was proud to be a full fledge member of it. Then there was my daily, ghetto urban wardrobe. It consists of a wave cap with a white t-shirt that was two sizes too big coupled with a pair of blue jeans that was oversized. And to add to my hood attire, a fitted hat that I had to spend at least ten to fifteen minutes in the mirror fixing to urban perfection. The last piece to complete my style of wear was a fresh, crispy white pair of air force one Nike sneakers. There was only one way to ruin an outfit like this one; a dirt spot on my sneakers or on my pearly white t-shirt. And what clouded my thoughts even more was my regular precipitation of weed and alcohol. A daily diet of this paired with hood activity had my mind state shackled like a prisoner. At that time, the furthest I’ve been outside of the hood was North Carolina and Florida. A moment that best describes my mind state was when I went to my roommate’s family cookout. On the way to his family’s cookout, my stomach was having a conversation with me that could only be silenced by good food. As we get to the driveway leading to my roommate’s family backyard, a hunger satisfying aroma enters my nostrils. It activated my stomach like a lion seeing prey. The smell of barbecue chicken combine with collard greens and macaroni and cheese created a bright smile on my face. We enter the backyard as if we walked into a portal from our world to this one. It had a collage of past generations to present ones intermingled with future generations creating a backyard family tree. After my roommate introduced my friends and me to his family, his grandmother tells us something that is told at all cookouts. She says, “There’s plenty of food, help yourselves to whatever you want.” And boy did I do that. After I stacked my plate to my liking, I headed to the basement, where only in a good seat I could fully enjoy this plate. When I get down there my roommate’s cousin is sitting and eating. I say to her, “Hey what’s up.” But she was so into her plate of food that the best reaction I got from her was a wave. “Man, this food is that good? I can’t even get a word from you. Just a hand wave huh,” after my words, I give her a smile that indicates that I know exactly what she’s thinking. I sit down and start eating my food like a person who is reading a good book: full concentration. My friends come down the basement stairs with plates shortly after I settled in. The silence of the basement was interrupted with the sounds of chewing we produced from eating. No words were spoken until all the food from our plates was finish. Ten minutes after we were done, my roommate joins us in the basement. Then we all started to have a conversation about everyday events. The topics ranged from what star is dating who to who got killed and/or shot in the past week. But one topic that stood out like a pimple on prom night was when we talked about Jay-Z’s lyrics in one of his songs. I don’t have a full recollection of the lyric, but I do remember him saying something like, “I am a grown man, give me a fresh pair of jeans and a button up.” During that time white t-shirts was a uniform top I wasn’t going to change for anyone. So within this discussion, my roommate’s cousin was telling us how she likes to see guys in collared shirts and button ups. But my boxed thoughts didn’t have room for a collared shirt, especially when I felt like someone was telling me to do it. Using a vicious passion with my words, I said to her, “I will never change who I am! I’m not going to put a button up on because Jay-Z feels like putting one on. See that’s the thing, niggas are really doing this because he said so! To me, if that’s who you are that’s who you are, don’t change that because someone else said so. Basically, I don’t see me taking this white t-shirt off anytime soon.” Those words showcased my mind state in rare form at that particular time. The fuel for thoughts like this one was provided by the limits I held myself to at that moment. I didn’t understand that Jay-Z’s lyric only was his representation of him breaking out of the bonds of a limited world into a limitless one. But as time passed, new ventures in my life opened my mind like Malcolm X eyes after his voyage to Mecca. Years later, at the age of twenty-six, my perspective on the hood mind state was freed when I took all of my urban attire and gave them to a co-worker’s son. My change of clothes gave room to a mind state, now capable of shaping passionate limitless goals. Over that span of three years, my change of environment, friends, and conclusion of alcohol and weed usage developed thoughts that re-route my ignorance. I finally recognized, with the help of friends, that the world isn’t limited to the ghetto. And with this discovery, new forms of love were created for me. In so many ways environment, association, and even style of wear can shackle a person’s mind. It can be the difference between the future a person decides for themselves and a future determined by there limits. Critics say that hip hop is bad for this nation and should be banned. Well, I can reassure you that hip-hop is something that has helped to unshackle myself for a better living. If that lyric wasn’t used at that time, I may have never got the enlightenment needed for a better change. Breaking mental shackles is fight within itself, but when you finally break those bonds; your victory to mental freedom will open up boundless possibilities best described by the sounds of unshackled hands.

Written By: Q.Whitening

Posted By: Q.Whitening

Photo By: Q.Whitening

It’s funny how we can always lend a helping hand to the unfortunate of the world. But we get caught up in our own world that we don’t care, ignore, or just aren’t aware of the help we can provide to the unfortunate.  We walk by them everyday as if they’re apart of the street like an ad on a wall. I guess to truly understand there world we may have to live in it before we realize we can actually provide salvation to people searching for some.


Photos By: Q.Whitening

Posted By: Q.Whitening