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Last year, I wrote a blog for  R U OK day   , about how a little hug could go along way. This initiative aims to raise awareness for suicide prevention by starting life-changing conversations with three simple words, four letters "R U OK?" Some wounds are really obvious, bright red bleeding things that you can spot from a mile away. Some pain you can hear, so loud and so soul shattering that you would not deny them their suffering. But there’s some sort of hidden trauma, some injury, some suffering that is misunderstood as just minor, "you'll get over it." It stands as tall as the highest, most insurmountable mountain to anyone in it's path. It twists your insides and wracks your mind without ever showing its face. It’s that nightmare you have where you open your mouth but you can’t scream, where you’re trying to run away but your muscles are frozen, where you think for just the shortest and eternal moment, wouldn’t it just be easier to quit? It’s those

You see yourself in the world all around you. Everyone says, “everyone else is fake.” The line came quit perfectly, almost as if on cue. It shattered a crack that had long been threatening to break. I looked for honesty, I wanted truth But I wasn’t willing to step outside my own shoes My cubicle, my walls, my computer screen It protected me from the people, the ones that were here and the ones that had been. I wanted to find myself in other people’s eyes. I thought they could see something that I couldn’t find But I was afraid of risk, the gamble, the dice I was terrified of what was in my own mind Did it make me human to feel anger, to feel hate? Does God allow me to feel those things? or does it change my fate? Heaven and hell, I've been taught right from wrong Am I evil for not being better, even after so long? What’s the point of rules and restrictions? Is it really  about love? Can you say that with conviction? They chain me, untie m

Individuals don’t win football games, teams do. Whether it’s the controlled steady nature of an old Spanish flame or the fresh and icy Italian breeze tossing the waves; rising and falling and leaping and bounding, wild and passionate. It was that day unlike any other day for many number of days that Spain lost a knockout game to Conte’s Italia. And I hope they may always be spoken of as Conte’s Italia , for the man with the volcanic personality shouting the wind into alignment deserves to be the man who is recognized for Spain’s defeat.   Spain were autumn leaves that night when they could have been the summer. La Furia Roja was a dwindling flame to their once all-consuming power. Don’t get me wrong, they were still masters at their familiar game, outstanding on a familiar stage - their control, their precision, their stillness. They had the best line up in the EURO2016 tournament. They were still where they once were. But that’s just it. That is all they were.   Italy we