Angels and Demons

All of us have good in us. All of us are also filled with flaws. Between the line of black and white sits the murky gray that blurs our ability to see ourselves with clarity – who we are, who we want to be, and who we want others to see us as. We float around in the spaces as we sometimes do the right thing, sometimes we do bad things, and most of the time, we hide our darkness, hoping that the world sees us as an angel rather than a demon. So let me tell you a story about angels and demons.

I met Luis Bolanos Jimenez when a colleague in Computer Science, Nery, introduced us a little over six years ago.

“Hey Thao, can I refer a student to you? He opened up to me about his struggles, and he’s formerly incarcerated. I know you work with that population. Maybe you could talk to him and see what kind of support you could offer?”

“Of course, please connect us. Thanks so much for taking the extra step for your student.”

There was a soft knock on my office door. I opened it and saw dark haired young man with brown sunken eyes, dark rims encircling them. He looked tired.

“Hi, are you Luis?”

His yes had an enthusiastic tone. “Dr. Ha, it’s a pleasure. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.” His handshake was warm with a slight tremble.

He looked up at the artwork on my wall and fixated on a collage of my dog Pork Chop that a friend made for me.

“Is that your dog?”

“Yeah. His name is Pork Chop but my neighbors call him El Pork Chop-o”

He chuckled, “That’s clever. He’s really cute. I like all the art on your wall.”

I proceeded to tell him about the others. The painting of an Oceanside sunset that I won during a raffle. The stitch art of a Vietnamese girl on a canoe that was gifted to me by a student. The stick figures of me and my niece that she drew in school.

The stories seemed to relax him. His leg stopped jiggling. His arms, once crossed, were now open and at his side. He then opened up.

I learned he had tried to go to college many times but never succeeded in completing any goals or degrees. I told him it took me multiple tries and long years to reach my goals and earn degrees. He smirked as he inquired, “Really? How so? Excuse me if it might sound weird, I’m not tryin’ to ya know, stereotype, but you look like someone who is a straight A Honors type.”

I burst into laughter, and he joined me.

“Ah, Luis. Don’t let this professor title fool you. I’ve been through a lot of challenges to get here. I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.”

He told me chilling details about childhood abandonment, heartbreak, drugs, incarceration, and even an attempt at suicide by cop – heavy experiences that pulled him into the darkness of where demons lay.

He paused, and then in a quivering voice, he uttered, “I don’t know how to get over my street identity and being a convict. It’s like pretty much all my life that’s all I’ve been.”

“Why do you need to get over it? Street life provides street smarts, ya know? And when you were in prison, I’m sure you learned a few things or more, yeah?”

“What you know bout street life?”

So I opened up to him about my dark past.

“Damn, Dr. Ha, that’s crazy. You were livin la vida loca!”

We burst out into laughter again.

“Look, Luis. Let’s get you back on track, ok? What you need is a community of people who’ve been through what you’ve been through. You need to be around people who’ve gone through what you’ve gone through. You need to be there for them like they can be there for you. You interested?”

“Hell, yeah! Oh excuse language.”

“Nah, it’s all good, Luis. Ok, let’s fuckin’ do this!”

MiraCosta was still in the works to establish a formal program for formerly incarcerated students. Across the state of California, numerous colleges had started this program. We had piloted a very successful one, but the iron cage of bureaucracy and the administrative handcuffs of “institutional processes” had held us back from the college legitimately funding one. But the neighboring college, Palomar, had started one – the Transitions Program. My homegurl, Nora, was the coordinator there. I gave her a ring.

I introduced Luis to Nora. Luis was worried because he had been suspended from Palomar on a gun charge. Luis didn’t know what I knew though. Nora is a robust woman – a badass roller derby gal with a sassy tongue and a bullish spirit. She and her team were able to get the college to make an exception. Luis joined the program the following summer. And that is when the shadows that lingered in his heavy heart seemed to dissipate, evaporated by the light that was about to catch fire in Luis’ soul.

Fast forward six years. In that time, Luis seemed to have conquered his demons. He was one of a handful of students who banned together and protested loudly for MiraCosta to establish a Transitions Program. It worked. He completed two AA degrees, one at Palomar and one at MiraCosta. He was accepted to UCLA with a full scholarship. He always had troubles with the mother of his two boys, but he was able to negotiate custody of his sons. He secured on campus housing, and as a single father, he took his kids to school and picked them, helped them with their homework, and took them around Los Angeles to experience life in a fuller way than he could have ever imagined. He drove them to Escondido regularly to see their grandmother. He had a dog named Hershey. He earned a McNair summer research position. He was featured in a documentary film called “Almost Home” (February 2023) that chronicled him and three other formerly incarcerated students at Palomar. He traveled to Sacramento to speak to politicians and governing boards. In a suit and tie, his smile was wide and his eyes bright, so shiny compared to the dark ones I stared into six years ago. He was an excellent writer. He penned an opinion piece for the Daily Bruin, “CAE’s punitive response to addiction furthers exclusion of marginalized students” (July 23, 2023) and the San Diego Union Tribune, “I went from prison to college. After setbacks, Rising Scholars helped me get there” (September 22, 2023). He completed his UCLA bachelor’s degree. And just a week ago, he spoke with his counselor at Palomar, Hossna, to get help applying for a PhD program. He told me he was going to do it. I was so sure he would.

What a success, right?! What a shining star! What a bright future ahead!

I sent him a gift every Christmas so he could get things for his sons. Last year, he said he bought them clothes and shoes. He was on my mind as the semester was coming to an end and the holidays were approaching fast. It was time to check in with him and send him a gift. The last time we spoke was in early September. I called him after he text me a picture of his McNair Research Award. He wrote, “You got this with me! Would have never gotten to this point without your support!” Ever since Thursday morning, I have stared at that text and cried. I cried because I learned that I would not get to send the gift. I learned that I would never get a text or call with him ever again. I learned that he would not get a PhD. I learned that he was gone.

Nora gave me the devastating news. I had to give Nery the devastating news. I then called Ashley and told her the devastating news. She was also very close to Luis since Ashley was also a Transitions student with him, had graduated, was applying to a PhD program, and is currently the Specialist for MiraCosta’s Transitions Program. Ashley came right over and we cried together, holding each other as we trembled, wondering what the hell went wrong. Why would Luis do this? What about his boys? What kind of deep, inconsolable pain was he enduring that would lead to this?

Only a few hours after, I received an email from a current Transitions student.

“Dear Thao and Ashley,

I would like to be removed from the transitions group. I no longer want to be a part of transitions. Please remove me my name from the group members & email from the list to contact. I have noticed throughout the months That majority of the people in transitions are still in their drug addiction. When I joined transitions, I thought it was more than transitioning out of incarceration and into college. I thought it was a transition of out of criminal self-destructive lifestyles. I do not have any desire to be a part of any group or linked to people who are actively using drugs. They are being enabled, supported to continue in their addiction. Money being given to them, for being a part of transitions, and for being students is being used on drugs. I don’t believe in it therefore no longer want to be a Be a part of transitions. 

I know transitions is not supposed to be the way it is at Miracosta college, but that is What is going on and the way it is. I cannot possibly be the only one that can see the women sitting in the transitions room high on Meth and when they are coming down. But since they are From familiar neighborhoods and friends they are allowed to do so. It is seriously disgusting and could possibly lead other transitions members back into Drugs because Bad Company corrupts good character.”

It was painful to read this. I couldn’t respond just yet. I was in the abyss of shock from losing Luis. Ashley and I decided to meet up with Sam, also a successful Transitions student and a campus aide for the MiraCosta program. After we spent some time processing together, I went home, walked Pork Chop, stared at the sky wondering why, got home as dusk was settling in, laid on my couch, made a few more calls, and sobbed the rest of the evening.

I slept a few hours that night, and the next morning, with so much to be done, and so many emotions I needed to manage, I decided to do a deep meditation. But the student’s email was constantly on my mind. The first task of the day was to respond.

“Dear _____,

Thank you for sharing your concerns and feelings. We will honor your request.

I would like to address your concerns by sharing something very painful with you. Ashley, myself, and the Transitions team experienced something very heartbreaking yesterday so we were not able to respond to you quickly. Very tragically, yesterday, we learned that we lost someone who is a former Transitions student. This is someone who would be viewed as truly a success story. Someone who had a past that included childhood trauma, depression, addiction, and incarceration. They failed many attempts at higher education. But one day, it turned around for them. They said it was because someone finally cared about them and supported them without judgment. Along the way, they completed their AA and transferred to UCLA with a full scholarship. They were a single parent who fought to have their 2 young children live with them in campus housing. They took their kids to school and picked them up everyday, helping them with homework, and driving them back to Escondido regularly to see their grandmother. They completed their bachelor’s degree, was chosen for a McNair research program (very high honor), was invited to speak to the governor’s board in Sacramento, was featured in a documentary film, and was applying for PhD programs. Amazing, right?! And yet, because of the struggle that many face when it comes to depression and addiction, they were still haunted by their demons. They relapsed a few times along the way. When they shared this with us, we told them we understood and as long as they wanted to continue their transformation toward a positive light, we would not abandon them. Yet, their surroundings still came with conflict as they interacted with other people who hurt them, deceived them, failed them, and abandoned them. We learned yesterday that they are no longer with us in this life.

Losing students is not new to us. We have lost many while doing the work we do. We understand and accept that we are here to support some of the most vulnerable people in our community. We do it with love and care, and without judgment. We know people try to do their best, but they can still make mistakes as they do good things. When you express to us your perspective, we understand why it seems that way to you. But to us, we have a different perspective. We do not enable. We have removed people from the program for various reasons if we do not see them making progress. But making progress from a life that is filled with pain and suffering is a slow and non-linear transition, one that happens with many pitfalls along the way.

We hope you understand our perspective and why we support people without judgment. When we witness people relapsing into bad behaviors, we intervene and try to steer them in the right direction. We don’t abandon. But we do have boundaries and enforce them. You witness only a small part of what we deal with everyday. I hope that you will someday see with a bigger picture like we do.

I wish the best for you and your loved ones. May your holiday be filled with love and joy. And best wishes for your success in achieving your dreams and goals.

With Care Always”

The student is an angel with demons that haunt them, and I understand where they’re coming from. Luis was an angel with demons that haunted him even as things seemed so beautiful and successful on the outside. There are so many of us who walk in light and are also held back under the shadows of our demons. There is good in all of us. And we are all filled with flaws.

I choose to remember Luis as he was. To honor him as the star that he became and to never forget that he also walked in the shadows. Will you do the same? Will you see people with compassion and support? Will you forgive them when they fail to live up to their full potential? Will you be soft on yourself with your missteps and mistakes?

I worry about his boys. What will happen to them? Luis was guiding them to a healthy and happy future. And now, they sit without their father and without their North Star. Will they now be trapped in the generational trauma that will always haunt them in their dreams and waking days?

There is much to be done. I remember when we lost Stephen Dykes. We tried our best to honor him with a special memorial. We will do the same for Luis. What will come after, I don’t know. I just know that Luis is not the only one. I just know that this could, and probably will, happen again. Life is beautiful and also fragile. How many lessons of mortality will it take to learn the “right answer”? I suppose there is no formula, but there is the spirit of “memento mori”, which means “remember you must die.” It’s a Latin phrase from Stoic philosophy that is supposed to remind us that everyone will meet death, and no matter if it’s sooner or later, if it’s expected or tragically a shock, it will always be devastating. So, for now, I sit with devastation. And if you knew and love Luis, it’s okay if you sit with it, too.

Many loving people have already donated to help Luis’ family with funeral services and to support his two young boys. If you would like to help, too, please consider a donation to his GoFundMe.