To Know You Is to Love You

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I'VE GOT THE BLUES...

I lost him. Suddenly and unexpectedly. When my brother made the call, I thought at first he was playing a cruel joke on me. Then the shock factor waved in. I cried the entire plane ride home. After I handled my affairs though that's when I nearly lost it. My heart was broken. Hell, it still is. His death led to my estrangement from my family. They all turned their back on me. Some even betrayed me. I'm haunted by words left unsaid. And the pain still to this day is sometimes too unbearable to take. I miss his wistful smile and the sounds from his guitar. I miss our long talks in the car when we'd drive 'up North' to visit those we loved. I miss seeking his advice and him letting me cry on his shoulder until I soaked the entire damn shirt. I miss my father.   

I have my mother's spirit, but I have his soul. I love what he loved. Music, books, cars, boxing... German Shepherd dogs. When he was a kid my father had taken in a female German Shepherd that was abandoned and had named her Lady. But he lost her too soon when she was hit by a car and died in his arms. He was so crushed he wore her chain collar around his neck afterward, even leading some of the kids at school poking fun at him for wearing it and resulting in a fight. She was his everything. I respect this breed for the same reasons my father did; loyal, dedicated, courageous, intelligent and loving. They are the ideal family dog. Even at an early age, I begged my parents to have one, but my mother refused. Opposite reasons for what my father wanted, she had lost her Keeshond while living in California, and I think it hurt her so badly, she didn't even want to risk having me or my brother go through the same thing. Now as a grown-ass woman, I have to say, that getting my German Shepherd dog, MaQ, was one of the best things I have ever done in my life. 

One of our favorite films we loved to watch was 1979's boxing movie, The Champ. Even to this day, I still get all choked up when watching any boxing film. There is so much heart in the sport. I know some might not care for the violence, but that's not what it's about. In the boxing ring of life, it's not how hard you can hit, but rather how many times you can get hit and keep moving forward. That's what I see in a good fighter, in any sport for that matter. Someone who is full of adversity and still has the will to persevere. Whether in the ring or out of it, no one likes a quitter. And when anyone gives up, I guarantee you they don't feel good about it. 

What I really miss is hearing him play in the background growing up as a child. He had his own 'man cave' down in the basement, and once he plugged in the amp to one of his electric guitars, you could hear him jamming all the way up from the second floor. (I grew up in a duplex house) As much as my mother hated it, I found it to be rather soothing in a rollercoaster type of childhood. I had always encouraged him to try and make a demo, and I know I sound biased with what I'm about to say next because I'm his daughter, but he was very talented. When he played the blues, you could feel the pain. Guitars cry too, you know. It's kind of like opera or ballet, either you get it or you don't. I believe there takes a certain type of person to play the blues well. And my father was the epitome of that. 

My father has been without me for nearly five years now, and it was only last year since his death where I even had the courage to take out and look at the only guitar had left in his possession. It is a gorgeous ruby red Ovation Guitar, and I find it so fitting he chose such a color as him and I are both Aries's. Our element is fire and color is red, and our birthdays are two days apart. I'm March 24 and his, the 26th. I'm similar to him in many ways, some good, and some not so good, but I do take pride in who I am. Like my father, I can be stubborn, cocky, impatient, blunt, even sometimes slightly intimidating but I am also generous, kind, loving and true. I don't let my friends down and would give a stranger the shirt off my back if that's all I had left. And I too, can sometimes not have the guts to go after something because I fear I may not be good enough. I don't think this was entirely the case with my father, but his reason for never making a demo tape was his love for playing and not anything else.  

I think if you're passionate about something like my father was with music and playing the guitar, you should continue to pursue it and not just consider it as a hobby. So in honor of Father's Day on Sunday, I wanted to share with you some bits and pieces of him, like his guitar in this post, along with his Fender picks, amp plugs, written music notes, and cassette tapes he recorded his favorite songs on plus the music he'd make himself. And a lot of my readers have been wanting to see more videos like I used to create, and given this has been a project I've had on my mind and I wanted to make it extra special, I definitely had to make one in honor of my father. I hope he would have liked it, and I hope you do too with a tiny fraction of who he was. Thanks for stopping by and taking the time to read and watch something that really matters to me. And to all the father's out there, Happy Father's Day to you on Sunday. I love you, dad. Wish you were here, but I know you're watching and I hope I've made you proud. Until I see you when I see you, keep on keepin' on. 

Digging this denim maxi dress? It's from VIPme, you can use my code, 'Suzanne584' to get $5 OFF your purchase of any order over $50! 

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CREATIVE DIRECTOR: SUZANNE SPIEGOSKI

PHOTOGRAPHER & VIDEOGRAPHER: GILLES DECAMPS

PRODUCTION & STYLING: SUZANNE SPIEGOSKI 

{To Know You Is to Love You} In honor of Father's Day this Sunday, I finally created an editorial video after a long hiatus - come check it out & press play! :)

LOVE & XX'S,

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Keep on Moving Forward

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"THE TRUTH IS UNLESS YOU LET GO, UNLESS YOU FORGIVE YOURSELF UNLESS YOU FORGIVE THE SITUATION UNLESS YOU REALIZE THAT THE SITUATION IS OVER, YOU CANNOT MOVE FORWARD."

Moving sucks. You know it, I know it, we all know it. Hence, for my lack of social media posts and overall online activity as of late. I just packed up all my stuff and relocated to Union Square from the East Village, and even though the geographical change ain't too shabby, the process of any move can sometimes be overwhelming, let alone stressful. It can even trigger memories you've stashed so far in the back of your mind from many, many years ago. And because you guys have been so supportive of me opening up more on the blog lately, today's post won't be on how-to-move, or explaining the move, because who cares, really? Instead, I wanted to share with you more on my relationship with my father and my first-time experience moving... across the country.

I was originally born in the Los Angeles area but my time there was brief. As mentioned in previous posts, my parents fought like it was their full-time job. What made matters worse was the way they fought over me. Where to start? It all began with my father's tan Toyota truck. It wasn't anything special. It wasn't even brand new. But he and I rode in that thing everywhere. Anywhere he'd go, I'd follow. You know the arm rests that are located in between the two seats? I would sit right on top of the one nearest to my dad, just so I could literally be as close to him as possible. 

During one summer afternoon when I was around 4 or 5 years old, my parents were fighting again when my father asked if I'd like to go for a ride in the truck. Little did I know it would be the longest road trip of my life. He had tricked me into thinking it was a quick trip to the grocery store. For three days straight, he drove from California to Michigan. All I really remember was the miles upon miles of the empty desert and spilling a glass of orange juice from McDonald's on one of the seats of the truck. I remember that accident quite vividly as I had never seen him get that upset before. I believe that was the first time I really started to see his true colors. It took me until my teenage years to finally realize how abusive my father really had been. 

No, I was never physically abused. I once got hit a few times with a leather belt (let's just say I REALLY screwed up) but the kind of abuse I had endured was verbal; emotionally and mentally. It has taken me all my life to recover from this. I'm still working on it. I hate him for the damage he's caused. Not just on me, but on my mother, my brother, my estranged family... I almost want to say it's irreparable, but I also want to say I'm living proof that you can get through it. It can be pretty difficult, but with time, patience and the support from good friends, all wounds eventually heal. But just like a scab, you pick at it too long, it'll never have the time to repair itself back up.

Do I have issues with men & relationships now because of my father-daughter relationship growing up? Yes. I didn't have a father who was showing me right and wrong when it came to treating women. He not only verbally abused my mother but physically as well. And we're not talking some minor altercation where he's slapped her once or twice. (Which is STILL never f&%king okay!) We're talking throwing bows, even my mother chasing after him with knives and then some. All the while both of them screaming at me to call the police. I was just a kid and the idea of snitching on either of my parents, whom I both loved very much, was something I definitely didn't want to do. It was never about protecting them, but using me against each other. And therefore bringing guilt and shame into the situation. If I didn't call the cops, my mother would tell me I was a coward for not protecting her. If I did call the cops, which I did a few times, my father would tell me I betrayed him.  

I felt like a rag doll being pulled from both ends through most of my childhood. And no matter what I did, I just couldn't manage (or so it seems) to ever be completely accepted by both of my parents. They were constantly competing for my love (i.e; "Do you know what your mother did? She couldn't love you like I love you if she could just leave you like that..." - "Did you know what your father did to me? Even my very own sisters told me not to marry such a monster...") Talk about toxic! I never knew what was completely true or somewhat fabricated. 

But why stay together for over 25 years if it was all bad and nothing good? Well, I wouldn't say that either. My brother and I had the best birthday's, Christmas's, and every other holiday of every month because of my mother. She organized everything while my dad was the 'breadwinner' of the family. And even though we never had much, she made the best with what she had. And I truly miss those special occasions where she'd surround us with her warm, pure heart, making everything seem like it was going to be alright. And even though my father was far from perfect, he did manage to be present in my life, unlike some other father's I know. 

I guess what I'm trying to say is, despite all the pain and heartache that can go on in any kind of relationship, know that it can't be all bad, and it can't be all good. And when it's like that, it's even harder to walk away from the toxicity, no matter how much you may love that person. I didn't become estranged from my father until my late 20s when I finally said enough was enough when he began to emotionally blackmail me with suicide threats for over three weeks straight. I stood my ground and told him I wasn't going to take any more of his abuse and that if he wanted me in his life, he'd have to get his life in order and be more present in his kid's lives. Unfortunately, we never got around to that. 

The irony is the day he passed away was the day he finally was getting his life back on track. He has just left a job interview where he was hired on the spot, where while on his way out of the building, walking down the hallway, he suffered a massive coronary and died immediately after. I will always long to speak to him one last time, to reunite and tell him that even though he's caused so much hurt in my life, I still to this day will and always will love him. No matter what. Because love is about forgiving others and also, forgiving yourself. I still beat myself up for estranging myself from him because I know it hurt both of us too, but I had to do what was best for me at that given time. And I think he too, knew this deep down. So, don't burn every bridge you come across (even though some are meant to be burnt) because forgiving others is almost as powerful as empowering others or yourself. Without forgiveness, there is no compassion. No love. I don't mean to preach, but I've been thinking a lot about the best way to move forward, and to me, I think it all starts with the art of forgiveness. 

LOVE & XX'S,

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To All the Ladies with Style and Grace

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Happy International Women's Day! I could say the usual, such as how all women are beautiful, special and worthy of everything, etc.; but I'm not the usual kind. *WARNING* This post is not anger filled but brutally honest. Don't like what you read or see? Get outta my way. BYE.

There's a ferocious new trend-demic where women, but more so cliché-like cliques, that are parading around their 'love & support' for ALL women. Now, don't get me wrong. There are a ton of bad-ass ladies that are really about community and the idea of everyone getting their fair share of the pie with unity and togetherness, but then there are always the typical two-faced bitches (particularly in the blogger world) that are not only complete hypocrites, but also liars and manipulators and have no other motive than to cause drama because of their unhappiness and insecurities. Maybe they're not as terrible as it sounds because hey, I get it. We're all human. I'm flawed and complicated, and not in a light-hearted funny kind of way. But I'm in no way intentionally mean-spirited. 

My closest girlfriends, which have been in my life for decades, can be counted on one hand. Why? LOYALTY. TIL THE END DAWG. We have been through so much shit in life I don't even know where to begin. I'm not talking about childish high-school breakups or fights with the folks, I'm talking about life & death situations. Loss, heartache, violence – our trials & tribulations were sometimes extreme and I really wouldn't have made it out alive if it weren't for my babes. And we didn't become friends because of race, social class, and other ridiculously atrocious reasons why some girls 'clique-ify' their way through life. It's the same type of girl who can't STAND being alone and always has to have a guy around. Seriously?

I don't need a pile of so-called friends to waste time shooting the shit with over coffee anymore. It's so mundane and it makes me nauseous just thinking about it. On the same note, it is crucial to network and to connect in New York City and also the world. It's not just about how hard you work to get towards that 'pie' but rather, who you know and what you can do for each other. Now is having coffee with any kind of friend, close/non-close a crime? Of course the fuck not. Yes, I continue to make new friends and they're all truly AMAZING but again life is so short and there will be very few people in the world that will deeply matter to you. And you to them. I'm not here today to engage in any kind of battle but I see what I see and I have the right to express what I want to freely. Dammit, I hate being a writer sometimes...

It's unnerving to continuously meet other bloggers who are not in this game for the right reasons. Sure, everyone has the right to go after whatever they want. I remember having a conversation with a 'part-time' blogger, and even though she wasn't doing it full-time, she thought anyone can become a blogger. That's like saying anyone can become a writer, a photographer and so on and so forth. BULLSHIT. It takes so much hard work, PASSION, dedication and discipline. It is by far the most challenging work I've ever had and I wouldn' have it any other way. And yes we 'all have to start somewhere'. You pay your dues, you learn & grow (I PRAY), and you work hard and be kind to people. BUUUUUUUTTTTT, that doesn't give anyone the right to make you feel uncomfortable about yourself. PERIOD. The second anyone, not just a woman, wants to treat you this way: DISENGAGE. Don't even give them the reaction that they're just dying to wait on. Pathetic. Let them get even more pissed because of your lack of care or effort on the situation.

To all my bad bitches, I LOVE YOU. I cherish our friendships and you all mean to me more than you'll ever know. Thank you for continuously inspiring me, supporting me, laughing with me and enjoying the good times with before they all fade away. To my loving followers, I may not have time to reply back to every single comment on social media every day, but I SEE you and I can never thank you enough for your encouragement and love to continue what I'm doing. Today is for you, ladies. Keep it real. Always. NOW, to all y'all weak-ass wannabes, I don't have the time playing checkers when I'm mastering my strategies at chess. Boom. Signing off. One Love.

LOVE & XX'S, 

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Océane Chiaroni Interview — A Parisienne in New York

A commonality of interests we share: She's known my husband just as long as I have, however, she's known him longer, and yet she is only twenty-four years old. We've both lost a loved one to suicide. We too, are both very much involved in the artist's world. And if we were to be deserted on an island, where we had to choose only one kind of food to survive off of for the rest of our lives, it'd be mashed potatoes. She's not only my goddaughter, but a close personal friend: a part of my chosen family. Her sun sign of the lioness, Océane (Ocean) has a zest for life and a warm spirit, despite enduring hardships most 20-something year olds never have to face.

Born and raised in Paris, Océane grew up rather quickly and in a creative environment. Her mother, a journalist, and her father, an actor; the path to her own discovery of who she wanted to be was an easy one. Very early on in life, she had her heart set on becoming an actress. Her father, who, after she was born, owned a bar in Le Marais - a district in Paris where many famous French humorists of stand up started out, was friends with many of them and were in her childhood home often. Seeing her father act had a great influence on her. At five years old, she was the primary acting coach to her teddy bears and Barbie's while playing with them in her bedroom. She'd help direct them, giving stern but detailed corrections. But even then, she strongly believed in herself. When she performed at her first theater show at eight years old, the feeling beforehand was something she cannot explain. She was not queasy, but the butterflies in her stomach were palpable. The anticipation of performing was more of an exciting, adrenaline-pumping sensation, not a worrisome one. Nothing else in life has given her such hair-raising goosebumps. 

And so with her dream, her parents strongly encouraged her to pursue them, adamant in working hard toward your goals. Océane is following her passion. Now a student, for nearly a year, at the Susan Batson Studio in New York City, she is currently working on a number of projects, including a web series, but one piece of her is missing. One of her biggest dreams was to always be able to clown around with her father, forever thick as thieves, and furthermore, maybe even performing in a play or movie together in the future. This hope was shattered when he took his own life over three years ago. Her world suddenly stopped, grieved to the core of her heart. At first, Océane was naturally angry (one of the many stages of grief), with feelings of abandonment and unfairness; a harsh lesson in the cruelties of life at such a tender age. She took time to take it all in, wanting to understand the why's and how's of it, trying to sort through complexities one should never have to sort through. But she refuses to let this stop her from living her life, something I myself find very commendable. Courageous. A freedom message.    

Bright beyond her years, she's taken this painful experience and is subsequently making the world more interesting; a better one. I recently had the privilege of watching her perform at the Susan Batson Studio on her current subject: Jean Seberg. And Océane's deep understanding for life and death is clear. A little inside scoop: Jean was a very talented American actress who also happened to commit suicide. The correlations between her different worlds was remarkable. Disturbing at times, where even I was uncomfortable, I was also completely taken aback by her raw talent - pulling emotions out of me I haven't even tried to unravel. And she was capable of doing that from her 5-minute act. 

My cousin took his life in 2013. She shared her experience & beliefs with me on such a difficult subject. Ever hear of an old saying as such, "You can drag the horse to the pond, but you can't make him drink the water."? If one is in denial of a problem, no one can help them, not even themselves. No matter what you try. Regardless of what the problem may be, the first step is to admit to the problem and be willing to seek help. Océane did have a friend who confided in her earlier this year with suicidal thoughts. It is with a keen pair of ears and an open heart that will aid in being acknowledged and understood. Spend every chance you can with that person. If you can't be with them, make sure other friends or family members are there. Find a solution. See what they need to get better. If they want to see a doctor, offer your hand and go with them. Be a nurturer, but not an enabler. I admire Océane's strength and openness, especially after everything. The easy way is through denial and self-loathing, falling into the abyss one so easily can fall into, but the hardest is to never give up. To be aware and never stop believing in hope, to live and carry on, no matter what life throws your way. This is passion. This is living. This is love.  

If you are in crisis or considering suicide, please go to hopeline.com to chat online now or call 1-800-SUICIDE to talk with someone. Open 24/7.  #IMAlive 

FUN FACTS

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• Biggest fear: Being like my Dad.

• Biggest pet peeve: People who are judgmental.

• Greatest regret: Je ne regrette rien.

• If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?: My kindness because sometimes people take advantage of this. 

• Favorite movie: Pulp Fiction.

• Favorite actor(s): John Travolta & Jean Seberg

• Favorite place in NYC: The Highline

• Favorite place in Paris: Le Marais

• Favorite Restaurants: Balzem in New York & L'Arpège in Paris

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Kazman Blues

Four years ago today, (Kazman as some of his friends called him,) my father unexpectedly passed away. Since his death, I've had extreme difficulties talking about him, let alone sharing anything with anyone. I had brought back home with me several of his belongings, including his recorded cassette tapes, some from live radio but most of it is his own work, his guitar and all his picks, and his written words. He liked to write down his songs on paper, some songs are from the Rolling Stones, The Cure, Elvis, etc; but he wrote a lot of his own songs too. He was a true musician. And a very talented one at that.

We weren't on good terms towards the end of his life. So, I inevitably regretted this. I still do. I think that's why I have a tough time speaking or writing about my dad, because it didn't just hurt me to the core, amongst other predicaments like my entire family and I's estrangement, but because I never got to say goodbye. Ever hear the question of what's worse; watching someone you love die a slow and painful death, or a sudden, unexpected one? It's the latter, trust me. I lost my mother to cancer and it was just as heart-breaking, but the worst is not ever being able to say what you wanted to say. With my mother I was able to do this. I told her I loved her before she went, and knowing she heard me, it brought me a little bit of peace. Of course, I know my father loved me. We had a special bond before it all went to hell. And I will always have to carry this with me. I will always be wishing to tell him all of things I couldn't have told him, being the only one that actually mattered, is that I loved him. Deeply.  

Since four years ago, I haven't taken his guitar out of its jacket. Nor have I ever even opened the box of tapes or really took the time to look through his work. It's not that I never wanted to, it's because I never could. It was far too painful to see. Alas, I felt compelled to finally see everything today because I strongly believe it's part of the grieving process. And it's a forever one. Anyone that tells you a loss will one day not hurt anymore is full of shit. They don't know what they're talking about. When you lose someone you truly loved, you can never regain that love back, the loss will remain with you forever. As a photographer, I also felt the urge to photograph some of his most cherished parts of him, which was his words and music. I wanted to share with you another piece of me, of where I come from because with all that's going on in the world right now, which is something I have to acknowledge, I've always believed in spreading stories of love, hope & strength can not only inspire someone, but perhaps, change their perspective, and in turn, change their hearts. 

As part of my grieving process, I think breaking through people, things, even sentiments you may fear, can only help you. At least you're facing these fears. You might cry, you might get down, you might even get really angry. But this is all part of grief. So, I shed a few tears when documenting this, but it was a beautiful, moving experience. I felt closer to him. Instantly. And felt better than I imagined I would.

 This is the last photograph I ever took of my dad. Of course, he was playing the guitar. And it's the same one I have with me. I grew up listening to him play, mostly blues and some rock, but I was utterly fascinated with his ability to play. He was really that great. Even self-taught. I tried to persuade him into making a demo, but he never took his music seriously. It was something he just truly loved to do. An enjoyment and creative outlet no one could ever take away from him. Tell me, how many times has music saved your life? Music has always been like food or art to me, something I can't live without. And it has many times, pulled me out of the gutter and back into place. Stronger. Better. 

The pen is mightier than the sword. And so is music, art, and love. LOVE.

I know there's so many people in the world who are feeling the way I feel right now. And I'm sure it feels like no matter what you say or do, it won't really make a difference anyway. But it will. Because the more and more people stand up and tell their stories, the more we can understand one another and be united. Because without knowing, there is fear. And without fear, there is knowing. So I ask you today, in honor of my father, keep sharing your lives and stories. I don't care what or who you are. If you're the color purple like Barney the Dinosaur, it doesn't matter to me. What matters is to treat people with patience, kindness and fairness. If you're not hurting anyone or yourself, I love you. Do it for those who no longer have their loved ones around to hug tight and tell them how much we love and care for them. Because we'll be wishing for this until our dying day. Let's stop the miscommunication and get talking, people. If you haven't talked to someone you loved in a while, pick up the phone and check to see how they're doing. You never know how much this might mean to a person. Potentially, even saving them. Love. Love. Love. Just always, love. Until next time, L-O-V-E, LOVE. ❤️❤️❤️

LOVE & XX'S,

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