Paul Vergara... (The Status Updates)

So a nifty Facebook application showed me all of my status updates for the year.  It also told me that I could make a picture of these status updates, but I decided against it.  Instead, here are some of the ones which really characterized my year.  The year isn't quite over, but it's dwindling down, and I really need to reflect on it.  As I read all of these, I was overcome with memories of the past year, all of which I am happy to have had.  There are a billion quotes, a lot of words of wisdom, and miscellaneous crap included on here.  Apparently, I thought these were all interesting enough to share with all of you once, so here it is a second time around.

Here's to another year of statuses just as interesting as these.

-“Everything’s more expensive at Wegmans.  Even the air costs more!” –Pit Worker

-New Dream Profession?  Football Commentator

-“I ain’t got no dollas.  Somebody come pay fo’ dis!” –Krystine Allison Hall

-Beyonce brings out the best in me.

-I ASPIRE TO BE AS GAY AS JOHNNY WEIR.

-“Why is it that as a culture, we are more comfortable with seeing two men holding guns than holding hands?” –Ernest Gaines

-Is your friendly neighborhood dyckryder.

-Taught six-year olds today in East Harlem how to play Bach’s Musette on the piano.  Amongst other things.

-TILT.  WAS.  SOOOOO FUN.

-Just sang Lady GaGa to three girls on ChatRoulette.

-Wants life to be like a Pixar movie.

-OH MY GOD I JUST TALKED TO Tyler Oakley ON MANROULETTE.  DON’T ASK ME WHY I WAS ON MANROULETTE.

-Why do all the prospies look like Justin Bieber?

-“A Venti Cocaine, please?”

-Is completely revamping his college ambitions.

-“You got this.  It’s anthroPAULogy!” –Amit Jhaveri

-Let’s play a game.  It’s called, “Guess Who Should Have Gotten Home an Hour Ago but Is Stuck in the Rochester Airport for an Undetermined Amount of Time?”  The answer is Paul Vergara.  Oh, and Jonathan Peralta.  I think fate is telling us that Rochester can’t deal without us.

-“OD, mah baby!!!”

-“So y’all can figure out how to make a live feed from underwater of the oil spill that I could watch whenever I want from wherever I am, but y’all can’t figure out how to stop it?  Absolutely ridiculous.” –Krystine Allison Wilder Hall

-Thinks that the next episode of Glee should just be close-ups of Mr. Schue’s butt.

-“It’s blazin’ Africa!” –Isabelle Tavas

-Loves man dates with Eric DeMeo.

-Gots himself a job.  Thank Jesu Christe.

-“One day, all of you are going to be gone.  And all of this, all of us, will be nothing but a hazy memory.  It will take you a second to remember everyone’s name.  Someone will have to remind you of the songs we sung, the solos you got and didn’t get.  Life only really has one beginning and one end, and the rest is just a whole lot of middle, and I love you guys too much to let you not make the most of it.”

-Wants a Southern Boy.

-“You’re the kind of guy I’m attracted to… it looks like you can throw a football AND a tantrum.”

-Kim Kardashian came to Dylan’s Candy Bar.  THANKS FOR CAUSING A RIOT, KIM.

-PICKLES & PIES SURPRISE!

-WHY AM I WILL TRUMAN?

-I HATE Eric DeMeo.

-Assaulted suburbia.

-“Gurrl, she deadass look like a thumb.” –Liz Greenman

-said, “Hello, Welcome to Dylan’s Candy Bar!” to James Marsden.  Apparently.

-Is Holden Caulfield.

-Got dirty hipster glasses.

-Is in JFK and will be in the Roch in a matter of hours.  This still makes no sense.

-I guess the third time isn’t the charm.

-Is celebrating the return of Uncle Dicky.

-Is dropping out of college to make dresses out of meat.

-“We accept the love we think we deserve.”

-“I don’t create drama.  I just make it bigger.” –Henry Macias

-My amygdala is beastin’.

-Is the Orgo Fairy.

-Is the Official E-Mail Sender Extraordinaire.

-“My residents love my cock of knowledge.” –Eric DeMeo

-All I want right now is a box of Cheez-Its and a man to share it with.

-Is a Noble Gas.  Preferably Xenon.

-There never seems to be enough ramen in the package.

-“So what does this ‘Meloria’ thing mean?” –Theo Hoffman

-I feel really important when I walk through the stacks in the library, and the lights turn on for me.

-Is the fiercest gay lumberjack this side of the Genessee.

-Eduardo Quinonez: Your music is really loud. / Henry Macias: No.  It’s Demi Lovato.  She just screams hard.

-Wants to see your peacock

-T. Swift knows what’s up

-Doesn’t know if it’s worth it anymore

-May or may not want to get Bronx on several bitches.

-MISSION: FPMPCF… COMMENCE!

-“You know what?  I’m done being single, I’m not good at it.  Look, obviously you can’t tell a woman you just met that you love her, but it sucks that you can’t.  If a woman… were to bear with me through all this, I think I’d make a damn good husband because that’s the stuff I’d be good at.  Stuff like making her laugh and being a good father…  Being a good kisser…  I’ve got references.”

-Was just called “The Gremlin of Starbucks.”

-Wants to go back in time and shoot Richard Wagner in the face.

-The two things I want the most right now are a tan and a boy to compliment me on it.

-Is SO proud of his peeps in Rochester Bhangra and ROC the Raas for their fantastic 1-2 finish at Muqabla!  THE TURBANATORS LOVE YOU.

-“I could just stare at myself for hours.” –Roshal Patel

-Is still Jenny from the Block.

-Home, sweet Starbucks.

-“I came to win, to fight, to conquer, to thrive.  I came to win, to survive, to prosper, to rise… to fly.”

-Zonies is my lifeblood.

-“When I look at my eyes in the bathroom (y’know, cause it has really good lighting), they, like, shimmer.” –Roshal Patel

-When I wake up from this nap, I want my fever to be gone, all my work to be done, and a cute boy snuggling with me.  Is that too much to ask?

-D FOR DIPLOMA!

And that's it.

Scatterbrained Thoughts at 6AM: "Normal"

I only write when I’m at home.  More specifically, I only write on the subway… for the most part.  If you know anything about me, you should know that I write primarily about the people I see on the subway (usually attractive men) and the rants that follow as a result of seeing them.  One of my dreams is to publish a selection of these accounts in a book called “The Subway Stories.”  But that’s beside the point.

I really don’t know what it is that compels me to write on the subway.  The past three months have not been void of thought; if anything, it has been the complete opposite.  However, I have just not been inspired to write anything down.  Until now.

I sit on this 1 train at 3AM on a Saturday after a hilariously spectacular night out on the town with wonderful friends.  This is how all of my New York City nights end.  And I wouldn’t have it any other way.  Tonight, there are an unnatural amount of couples in my train car.  Actually, there are only 3 in my immediate line of vision, but those three are very touchy and close.  There’s one couple in front of me.  They look foreign.  There’s just a look to people when they look foreign.  I assumed that they were French.  Or maybe Scandinavian.  Or a French-Scandinavian mix.  I’m not sure how often those two groups intermingle.

Anyway, the girl is resting herself on the male who is cradling her like an infant, delicately and lovingly.  She is knocked out.  He is more alert.  He opens his eyes every now and then, and they look absolutely bloodshot.  He could possibly be drunk.  He is visibly distressed and exhausted.  We found each other staring at the other, and he just gave me a look of pure pain.  But then he just nestled himself closer to his girl, and it just looked serene.  Their hair became one jumbled mess of blonde-brown strands.  It was beautiful the comfort they found in each other.  I wanted that.

But then I got to thinking.  If I were to do this with another man on the train, would it be weird?  Awkward?  Yeah, first I’d have to find a man to hold me like that (or vice versa… I’m not trying to be close-minded at all).  But once I did find one, would it creep people out?  I’m sure it would.  I know I’d be very curious if I saw it.  I think I could easily be the only person noticing the “typical heterosexual” couple in front of me, but if two men or two women were to do the same, it would probably cause a silent commotion and induce feelings of shock, awe, or disgust amongst my other passengers.  I know I’d be staring.  And I’m pretty sure that it would probably make other people significantly more uncomfortable than if it were a straight couple.

I would love to see the day when we don’t give gay couples this weary second glance.  Gay love is the same as straight love, isn’t it?  So why do we look at it like it’s such an alien concept?  I want to see the day when it’s not appalling or confusing or provocative.  Just normal.  And I’d love to be normal on the train with my hypothetical man one day.

Shit I Learned This Semester (So Far)

On my long journey back to the Bronx, I had a lot of time to reflect on the past few months.  It has been a true roller coaster ride, and this Thanksgiving, I am thankful for having some great experiences.  The best way I could sum up these past few months was through this abridged list of 50 things, in no particular order, that I learned this semester so far.  Enjoy.

Shit I Learned This Semester (So Far)

1) Taylor Swift knows everything.

2) Panda Express fortune cookies are clairvoyant.

3) You gain more when you expect less.

4) You’re probably not fucking up as badly as you think.

5) It gets better.

6) The joy of embracing something new overshadows the pain of letting something go.

7) Late night heart-to-hearts are completely necessary.

8) When in doubt, he’s probably gay.

9) I’m still really dumb.

10) I’m okay with still being really dumb.

11) Planning and Doing are two completely different things.

12) The best friendships are unexpected.

13) College meal plans are not unlimited.

14) Having too many dreams sucks as hard as having none.

15) Nothing is definite.

16) Post Secret should be a religion.

17) I’d make a really good receptionist one day.

18) Indians are absolutely great.

19) The first line of the Mexican National Anthem.

20) Jared’s Law of Physics.

21) Everyone’s just as fucked up as you are.

22) The limbic system does not involve the limbs.

23) Art history is a bunch of bullshit.

24) Homesickness is a legitimate illness.  And so is mononucleosis.

25) Don’t blame yourself for other people’s mistakes.

26) Never trust a hobbit.

27) Sometimes you need to shut the fuck up and listen.

28) Friendships, like plants, need tender love and care to survive… and attention.

29) Tie-dye is repulsive.

30) Colon cleanse is super effective.

31) Pepper spray burns like hell.

32) Never drive a bus full of students into Canada, especially without a driver’s license.

33) Cars are completely capable of carrying more than twice their recommended capacity.

34) Homosexuals don’t have genitals.

35) “The Perks of Being a Wallflower” is a great book.

36) The Lion King was not written by Shakespeare.

37) Drag queens are really strong.

38) The children of Uganda are truly inspirational.

39) Comparison is pointless.

40) There’s nothing wrong with being lame.

41) Fruit is infinitely better with peanut butter.

42) Communication is key.

43) Jay’s Diner is a haven for greatness.

44) All movement, and lack of movement, can be considered a dance.

45) A donor can save very many baby lives with one pint of blood.

46) Gingers indeed have souls.

47) You can never have enough scarves.

48) I can climb a tree.

49) Cyclo-hexanes make beautiful crowns.

50) There are a million more things to learn.  And I’m excited for it.

Cheers to a great rest of the semester.  And Happy Thansgiving.

It Gets Better

My name is Paul Vergara.  I am 19 years old from the Bronx, New York, and I am currently a sophomore at the University of Rochester.  And I am gay.  And trust me.  It gets better.

Now I’m not really sure what to say in this video other than the fact that I’m proof that it really gets better.

I’m pretty sure I figured out that I was different when I was around ten, or maybe even earlier… I’m pretty sure, if I can recall correctly, that I had a crush on a Puerto Rican boy in my first grade class named Jeffrey.

I grew up in a pretty ghetto neighborhood that most people would consider dangerous, even though I considered it home.  I was already an anomaly being what seemed like the only Asian person in a predominantly Hispanic and Black community.  I always stood out.  And looking back on it now, I’m happy that I did because it helped me develop into the person I am now.  I know for a fact that I wouldn’t be the same if that weren’t the case.

Anyway, I never had really close childhood friends with whom I confided, and I wasn’t the closest to my family, so by the time middle school came around, I really turned to books to find solace.  I came across the book “Rainbow Boys,” a gay teen novel, in the library, and that inspired me to find other books on the subject and other sources online.  I think it was then when I realized that I was gay.  At the end of the seventh grade, I came out to my class.

The thing is, I was never shameful.  I never hid anything; I never tried to pretend.  I know that for most people, this wasn’t the case.  I was very fortunate.  I’m still kind of against the whole “coming out” thing, and I never really officially did to my family.  It was just kind of generally accepted without any big hoopla, and I think that’s the way it should be.  And apparently my mother suspected it all along, anyway. I think that being gay, as important as it is, is such a miniscule part of my identity.  I’m still a nerd.  I still like to sing.  I still really enjoy peanut butter and nutella sandwiches.  And I’m gay.  It’s not a big deal.

I know I’ve been teased.  Every person who is “different” gets teased.  But I know I’ve always used it as fuel.  Yes, I’m different.  And that’s what makes me so interesting. As much as I was teased, I had so much support, and without this support, I know I would have wanted to harm myself.  I know I’ve cried myself to sleep many a time, but it’s all part of growing up.  I didn’t think it was because I was gay.  It was because I was a teenager.  I didn’t think that anything was wrong with me.  I was just as fucked up as any other person my age… gay or straight.

In high school, I was even more privileged.  I went to the Fiorello H. LaGuardia High School of Music and Art and Performing Arts in the center of New York City.  The school was a haven for artistic, misunderstood children, and it was a place where I was truly embraced.  There were so many other “weird” students, and I found many other gay people who were proud of who they were: other students, other teachers, and so many other different kinds of people in the middle of the big city, who became my friends, confidantes, and role models.  It was a beautiful four years because I was able to be myself in a nurturing environment, and I wouldn’t trade those experiences for the world.

I’m pretty sure that the greatest moment of my young life thus far was when I was chosen to give a speech at my graduation in front of all the people who helped me become who I am today.  In front of 3,000 people, I gave a speech where I was able to be myself and be praised for it.  I will always remember that moment.

I know that my own experiences growing up gay have been a lot easier than most, and I know that it’s usually a very, very difficult situation.  But my own story is proof that there are people there who will unwillingly give you support and who will accept you for who you are.  My personal journey is an example that there is hope out there.  There are people out there who love you and understand you, and you are not alone. 

I know that people have become so much more accepting, and I’m happy to see that shift.  People are really seeing that gay rights are an important issue, and that the injustices must be overturned.  As a society, we are more tolerant than 5 years ago, and significantly more tolerant than 5, 10, and 20 years before that.  I see so many strides in the right direction, and we can’t give up our fight.  Think about how much we can achieve 5 or 10 years from now.  Think about how much we can change our world.  Your voice can be part of that movement… as long as you make your voice heard.

We all have our own stories, each worth telling.  Each has its share of joy, pain, happiness, and hardship.  Most importantly, we will all find love.  Each person has the right to pursue love and find it in whichever person they choose.  We all must realize that love is out there waiting for us, and it is a bumpy, fucked up road to find it, but it’s out there.  And it’s worth the wait.

I would like to leave with this final thought.  It may suck.  But that’s what makes us persevere and it’s what makes us stronger.  There are so many resources out there like the generous people at the Trevor Project who are more than willing to help through times of trouble.  After all the struggles, you will surely come out being a better person because you will be yourself.  And it gets better.  But only if you stick around to make it that way.  We’re on the way to something magnificent, and it’s our job to get there.

Take it from me.  As I look back, I’m so happy to be standing here a proud, gay man waiting to take on the world one day at a time.  And trust me.  It gets better.

Thank you.

New Notebook

I bought two Moleskine notebooks today to see what the hype’s all about.

Turns out there’s nothing too special about them.  12 bucks down the drain.

Anyway, I just love breaking in a new notebook.  It’s like the birth of my new child which I will cultivate until the pages run out with all of my ideas.

But yeah, that’s all for now.  I just haven’t written anything in a while, but there are things in the works.  Trust me.

What Home Is

I have become too obsessed with PostSecret.  Honestly, I thought they were dumb when I first heard about them, and now regret ever thinking such blasphemous things.  Trust me, this will not be the only mention of PostSecret in this blog.

I am currently sitting in Terminal 5 of John F. Kennedy International Airport.  I am waiting for my flight out to Rochester back to school.  For the past four-ish months, I’ve been back home in the Bronx where I had some well-needed rest, reconnected with friends, disconnecting with others, and making completely new connections with great people.  It has been a great summer.  I finished my freshman year of college with flying colors.  I had my first job.  I organized myself and my life better.  I started to like my family a whole lot more.  And I found a teensy, weensy bit of direction in life, too.

Here’s where the PostSecret comes in.  I have a folder of postcards that I have saved over the past few months, and one that I can recall like the back of my hand says, “College has made me lose the sense of what home is.”

At this point, I’m feeling a tiny bit antsy about going back to school (but being at the airport has made it better, and I’m sure that by the time I actually get there, I’ll feel better about it).  I feel like a freshman again.  A crapload of new obstacles are being placed in front of me, and I’m not sure how well I’ll deal with them.  And just as I feel like I was getting settled back at “home,” I’m jetting back to Rochester.  Actually, thinking about the situation again, I feel like a sophomore.  I’m stuck between home and school, and I don’t know which I like more, and I don’t know... a lot of things.  I just don’t know enough right now.  I know more than I did as a freshman, but that’s why it’s even more daunting to return to school than it was to go for the first time a year ago.

As a freshman, I had no expectations.  I was leaving everything that I thought was home behind and being put somewhere completely new.  And it was great.  And now, after going back home, I see how much I love being there while missing what it was like to be at college.  And now, I’m straddling between the two, and I’m just confused.

It’s a little too early for me (and I had far too little sleep) to really think of something profound to say, but there’s definitely a point to what I’m writing.  I hope.

I think my flight will be boarding really soon, so I’ll cut this short.  But I hope that I’ll be able to figure out what home is.  For me.

A Fortune Cookie

The other day, I ordered Chinese food at work (General Tso's Tofu... it was good).  It was the first time that I had indulged in some in a while, so it was nice.  Anyway, it came with a multicolored fortune cookie.  The Chinese take-out places around me are stingy with their fortune cookies, so it was a pleasant surprise.

For some reason, I take these things really seriously.  Fortune cookies, dreams, palm reading, horoscopes (occasionally), and all that crap.  It's a bit of an obsession.  I smiled as I read it and stuck it right in my wallet.  If you've seen my wallet, you'd know that things get hidden in there for safe-keeping and stay there for a minimum of roughly two years.  One day, I'll be going through my wallet and come across this fortune and smile in the same way I smiled when I first got it.

In the matter of a few days, I'll be heading back up to the University of Rochester for my sophomore year of college.  This fortune couldn't have come at a better time.  I've been very excited and anxious to go back, but I'm a bit nervous to leave again, and I'm scared of what will come to me this upcoming year.

Cheers to not getting too comfortable.

No Idea.

He had no idea.  I saw him from the platform as the 1 train pulled into Columbus Circle.  I entered through the doors nearest to him even though they weren’t the ones nearest to me just so I could take a better look at him.  He was very handsome.  I tend to do this a lot.  It’s a dirty habit.  I scope out attractive people on the subway.  What else is one supposed to do for forty-five minutes?  Read?  Oh, please.

He had no idea.  It had just struck midnight, so there weren’t very many people on the train.  Well, there were still enough people that some were standing up.  There were a few of the mustard/tangerine seats from which to choose including one all the way at the edge of the bench, which was prime real estate on the subway, but I decided against it.  Instead, I sat across from him.  It gave me more to look at.  There was a seat next to him, too, but that wouldn’t have been very conducive in my efforts of taking a good look at him.

He had no idea.  We had the same shoes.  Well, they may not have been the same, but they were very similar white canvas sneakers.  Like Keds.  Except mine weren’t Keds.  Mine were cheap Keds knock-offs that I bought for seven dollars at Target.  His shoes probably weren’t seven dollars and from Target.  I didn’t care enough to investigate further.  I was just happy that we were wearing similar shoes.  Well, I actually wasn’t wearing them at the time.  I was actually wearing my new Birkenstocks.  A lot of people raved to me about them, so I bought myself a pair.  They hurt like a bitch when you first wear them, but they were getting better.  My pair of white sneakers were in my bag.  I wear those at work.  They don’t allow you to wear Birkenstocks where I work.  His sneakers, like mine, were really worn out.  I only like them when they are brand-spankin’ new and sparkly white or when they’re downright disgusting.  You could hardly tell that his were white as one point, but that’s what gives them character.  They can show where a person has been.  I always wanted to display an art show like that.  I wanted to give a whole bunch of people the same white canvas sneakers, and a year later, I wanted them to give them back to put them on display with the wearer’s portrait and biography, and people can see what they’ve done and where they’ve been for the past year by looking at their shoes.  I have a lot of ideas for art shows.  I think I’m an artist sometimes.

He had no idea.  He was biting his nails.  It’s kinda like a subconscious thing.  I wonder if he saw me biting mine.  I’ve been biting my nails ever since I can remember, and the farthest back that I could remember is when I was five.  Maybe I was biting them even earlier than that.  All I know is that I’ve been biting my nails constantly ever since.  Well, except for that one month during my sophomore year of high school when I started chewing a lot of gum to get me from biting my nails.  Except I started biting my nails while chewing gum.  It didn’t really work.  I wondered if he had as much difficultly trying to break the habit as much as I’ve had.

He had no idea.  I was writing about him.  I always wrote in my sketchbook on the train.  It’s where a whole bunch of stuff is stowed away.  Especially stories like this.  There were reminders, mementos, fashion drawings, doodles, and everything under the sun in that sketchbook.  I bring it with me everywhere.  I always think about whether or not the people I wrote on the train realize that I’m writing about them.  They often see me looking at them; we often exchange glances for a split-second until we awkwardly turn away from each other.  But I wonder if they’re thinking that I’m writing about them.  I usually am.  I wonder what their reaction would be.  I wonder if they’d like to read about themselves.  People always love to hear about themselves.

He had no idea.  I existed.  I really don’t know if he noticed me at all.  That’s what it’s like on the subway.  I’ll probably never see him again.  I probably won’t recognize him if I did.  And I’m sure he wouldn’t recognize me, either.  I guess that’s just the way it is.

I have no idea.

(Painting by Gerard Boesma)

For Erica

First of all, Happy Birthday to Erica Press, one of the most hilarious, artistic, and Un!qu3 (that says "unique") people I know.

We talked about this last night (or rather, this morning when we celebrated her birthday with Red Velvet cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery).  This was my college essay, and I realize now that I've never shared it.  I realize now that: 1) It's terribly short, and; 2) I haven't looked at it in more than a year.

Here it goes.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

            I see her almost every morning.  The complete stranger, a petite Hispanic woman no older than thirty-five, is probably a single mother.  Without fail, she accompanies her child to school every day.  Her young daughter often yanks on her left hand as they share frivolous banter.   Her casual work attire and matching high heeled shoes provide a high contrast to her daughter’s denim outfit and bright pink sneakers.  She always kisses her daughter on the cheek as they approach the school gate, and she watches her child run ebulliently into the building.  This is just the beginning of a long day for a hard-working Bronxite.  She is merely one of the many forgotten heroes of the Bronx.  She embodies the attitude and values that I yearn to possess.  She inspires me.

            I live in the Kingsbridge Heights section of the Bronx in New York City.  It has been my home since my family immigrated to the United States from the Philippines when I was one year old.  It has been a truly unique experience to grow up in a place that many consider an inner city ghetto.  Nestled between the housing projects, the graffiti, the makeshift fire hydrant sprinklers, and the bodegas, I found solace.  I seemed out of place, yet I knew it was where I belonged.  As physically and intellectually different as I am from typical Bronxites, I identify most with these people.

            Bronx residents understand that there is so much more in this world past the borders of their neighborhood.  The Bronx is a place to dream of what is to come while being able to look out the window to see the harsh reality one must overcome to get there.  My neighborhood has always been full of hard working and dedicated people who never give up because they know that there is always more to be seen, learned, experienced, and seized.  They have an undying curiosity for the future.  Interacting with these people has led me to adopt the virtues that they uphold.  I share with them an insurmountable perseverance.  Like the mother whose undying love for her daughter inspires her to work hard to support her child, I am motivated to better myself for the benefit of those around me.  It is enlightening to know that I embody the spirit that continues to shine brightly in the hearts of those in my neighborhood.

            The dedicated single mother is just one of the inspirational Bronxites whose influence may be overlooked.  Her daily routine is not the most glamorous way of life, but it is one that is very respectable.  She is inspirational because of what she represents: the remarkable men and women of the neighborhood that has shaped me into the person I am today.  I see myself in her because I know that I am inspired to become successful on my own terms.  This woman lives a modest lifestyle, but her aura is far from demure.  It continues to shine brightly enough to inspire even the most random of strangers.

I am Holden PAULfield.

I think that I just may be Holden Caulfield.  Well, to be witty, I think that I may actually be Holden Paulfield.  Get it?  That's my first name.  Ha.  Ain't I the most clever person you've ever met?


Anyway, I know that just about a million and one people have also identified with the protagonist of J.D. Salinger's classic The Catcher in the Rye, so you're probably thinking, "What does this guy think makes him so damn special?"  Nothing, really.  I'm not insinuating at all that I am special or that I have anything remotely special to say.  If anything, I'm acknowledging the fact that I am quite cliché.  That's usually never the case, or at least I would never admit to being very common.


I'm pretty sure that the reason why the novel has become such a classic is because we all can identify with Holden to some extent at one point in our lives.  I'm also pretty sure that every single high school English teacher in America and abroad has said that exact thing to his or her class.  I'm not trying to delve into that discussion right now because, to tell you the truth, I'm pretty bad at discussing matters of literature.  I'm not really trying to write some sort of scholarly analysis or make some profound statements.  I'd rather just rant.  I'll save the analyzing and the being profound for another day.


So I finished the book in a matter of a few days during my daily commute on the subway and sitting in Central Park and such, and it's probably the first book that I chose to read (and finish) in a very long time.  I don't often willingly read books, and it's truly a shame because I really would like to.  Most of the time, I just can't get myself to do it.  Only now, I felt different.  The Catcher in the Rye stared me in the face the second I walked into Strand Books, and I couldn't resist picking it up.  I had no real idea how I had avoided it in the past; it seems like everybody read it in the ninth grade.  Except me.  But now, I'm very happy that I read it now as opposed to 5 or so years ago when I doubt that I would have appreciated it, understood it, or even read it to begin with.  I was never good at reading assigned books.  And hell, I don't even completely appreciate or understand the novel right now.  I have no idea how confused to would have been reading it as a 14 year old.


Merely hours after I finished reading the book, I was off to the subway station heading to work when I had my first real "Oh my gosh, I'm Holden Caulfield" moment.  On my block, I passed a wooden lamppost that had the words "FUCK YOU" written quite menacingly in chalk.  I began to think of how many kids must have seen it.  If you know anything about the book, at one point near the end, Holden visits his younger sister's school and sees the same words on the wall of the staircase, and he tries to rub it off.  Part of me was very determined to wash the obscenities off the lamppost, but I was in a bit of a hurry.  The weird thing is that I've never been a stickler for not cursing around children.  I absolutely hate it when parents ask me to stop swearing when they have kids around.  I don't give a damn.  Your kids will hear them eventually.  These are the same kinds of parents who blame people like me when their little angels start rebelling and hating them.  It wasn't my fault.  Blame puberty.


Anyway, when I saw this big-ass "FUCK YOU," I started having this internal dialogue which sounded far too reminiscent of that which Holden had in the book during the same predicament.  I thought to myself, "Fuck.  I'm Holden."  Maybe I'm just pushing it a little.  The character of Holden is kind of like a well written horoscope.  He's so universal and can apply to anyone.  It's kinda like how my horoscope said that I shouldn't worry about my finances and that my love life will clear up.  That can apply to absolutely anyone.  Whatever.  Let me think that I'm just like Holden.  This blog will eventually prove just that.


I have tried many a time to start up a blog.  I've had numerous attempts (I even tried making a video blog about a year ago), and all past endeavors have not necessarily been very fruitful.  So here I am for the umpteenth time, trying this again.  But now, I have Holden on my side as inspiration.  Let's see how this turns out.