You Can’t Bury The Past

In the late hours of Friday to the wee hours of Saturday morning, I’ve been at war with myself trying to figure out where everything had gone wrong. I recently published a video on YouTube, telling the story of a certain event: it was touching and relatable as it focused how a breakup turned into an event and future events that would shape my life for the better.

It was authentic.

On Friday night, I decided to check my YouTube e-mail and I noticed a YouTube claim. It was clear to who did it and for the first time in a very, very, long time I gave her a text – confronting the situation.

Usually I fold right away. If confronted and she tells me she’s bothered, I’ll delete the post right away, or some content, without batting an eye. But, I don’t know, not this time. I want to make something very very clear: everything I used in the video had been used before. I’m talking the phone conversation all the way to the actual clips.

I talked to my lawyer that night.

I talked to some of my YouTube friends.

and if I wanted to fight it and go to court, I could and I’d have a high chance of succeeding. But as my lawyer said, “is she worth it right now?”

She’s not worth it… but the story is worth it because it is a BIG EVENT of how my life has been shaped. It’s lodged in my head. The story is important to me… but my lawyer was right. I don’t have the capital nor the time to fight this right now.

I wanted to scream, “she wins again!”

I’m going to make it clear, I’m not going to be silenced from anyone anymore. My mouth has been shut for so many years.

Again – I’m not going to let a company, let a “friend”, let a person, let ANYONE especially not her silence me anymore.

So – I’m going to tell that story again – and many stories, one day.


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4:28am: never felt so down

My bags under my eyes have turned into luggage as I’m unable to fall asleep. The last few hours I’ve been contemplating if I should delete a certain video from my YouTube channel.

I don’t want to get into the entire ordeal, but I just feel sick. YouTube’s algorithm was finally rewarding my hard work. The video I just deleted, it took me a year to figure out how I was going to put it together and then an additional 6 months to finally film and edit it completely.

Hard work pays off because I was seeing an uptick… a climb. YouTube was saying, “woah. not only is Jonathan posting content again on his channel, but this video is actually pretty good.”

The analytics loved it too!


Just like the Fired video: I put so much time putting together a well-crafted story that I think can speak volumes to people… there is someone who deems it unworthy. The Fired video I made a compromise and deleted a crucial part of the video that brought it vulnerability… and what happened?

It wasn’t doing well.




It was shit because it wasn’t truly authentic.

Road Trip videos? Not authentic.

How is it doing?


As you can see I’m not putting any thought in my writing. I’m just spewing because I’m angry: the year, the months, the weeks, the hours, the late nights, the redbulls for the last second… to finish this video means nothing.

Dare I say it? I’m fucking crying.

I’m balling actually.

It’s my fault though.

I did this to myself.

You think you follow the rules and put everything together, get permission or use clips from the past. Who knows. But it doesn’t matter.

You messed up.




Breathe for a second.

Let’s solve this… shall we?

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The Most Romantic Breakup Story Ever

I was recently asked if I had a breakup story to share.
This is the story –

When I would close my eyes and think of her, I would see her smile. It forms ever so slowly to where her eyes squint softly, her cheeks begin to glow, and then the tiniest of dimples appear as if to remind you that there is indeed pure beauty in this world.

Angelic elegance.

Her smile more than plants your feet on the ground because it’s made up of empathy, compassion, and the type of selfless love that tells you that you are home.

If you don’t smile when she smiles, you have no heart. Her smile could make your heart ache with comfort.

In this moment she wasn’t smiling.

Her eyes looking down. I was in front of her as she was in front of me. The lady’s back leaning against the wall of her bed, while I sat idle on a stool in the middle of her room.

The only noise that could be heard was a sniffle from her nose, the pensive scratching from my nails, and the lamp’s bulbs radiating energy from being on for too long.

We were just trying to make sense of the last two hours.

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The Time I Stole

I was recently asked to tell a time when I stole something.
This is the story –

In my freshman year at UC Berkeley, I lived in a dormitory called Bowles Hall. It looked and felt like the gloomy structure of an exact replica of Hogwarts.

The only difference was the ability to find an amazing woman like Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson, or an Angelina Johnson to be walking the halls… because women didn’t exist at Bowles Hall!

No women.
No magic.

It was an all-male dormitory with men growing into their prepubescent bodies and their strides of deodorant sticks. It was less of a Harry Potter story and more of a Lord of The Flies type situation.

And on this particular day, like any other day, I found myself vehemently arguing with my roommate, Greg.

Listen, Greg is a great roommate. The only issue is he was (is) a very vocal right-wing conservative. And, to his credit, I can be a boisterous liberal lefty.

I loved President Obama.
He thinks President Obama is one of the worst presidents in American history.

We argue from pro-choice issues all the way to the fundamentals of whether or not systematic racism exists. Our debates get loud – and at the young age of 18… they often got violent.

That day wouldn’t be any different.


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