As far as I can remember, the environment I grew in was packed with lies. My elders believed that my uncle, who was not perfect but was a good man nonetheless, was not suitable to go to heaven because he was gay. Another said he loved his partner but his actions said otherwise. People all around me would deal with matters on the surface, but not touch the core. It was a confusing and frustrating time to try to find a foundation of things to believe in.
The only place I found refuge was sports and art, particularly the commercial ones, meaning books and movies. You cannot argue with sports and there is no refuting the honesty you find in art. Sure there was a lot of garbage out there, but if you search long and hard enough you will find true, honest art. Akin to finding a flower in the desolation of a desert, it is pure and usually the most beautiful of all.
