Someone Like Me: Finding Solace in Solitude

So it’s about time that I write something about being lonely.  I will warn you now that this is quite the scatterbrained piece, so bear with my madness.  Anyway, I know you’ve all heard before: being lonely is different from being alone.  I can assure you now that I do not feel alone.  Even if I did feel that way, I’d have the amazing song “Not Alone” by Darren Criss from “A Very Potter Musical” that would immediately take me out of my funk.  This is my point precisely: we have strong emotional relationships with music.

I can go on for days about emotion and music and the powers of music therapy.  I even took a class called “Music and the Mind” which I’d be able to tell you more about if I actually paid attention in it.  Nonetheless, I know we’ve all had our days where we just wanted to listen to music, shut off the world, and create our own alternative reality.  I know that I have an extremely strong kinesthetic reaction to music, so dance has become an additional way for me to release pent up feelings.  Altogether, we translate emotional ideas into sensory and tangible elements, and the product of this process is what we like to call art.  I can also go on about how this has all shaped my major, what my goals are in life, and all that jazz, but this is not about my educational pursuits or my dream career.  It’s about loneliness.

So we all have strong relationships to music, which is what I just attempted to establish.  I know, for example, that I have been enamored with the entire Adele album “21” for the past year (note item number 5 on the Post-Thanksgiving Post from a few weeks ago).  Jay Brannan, Duffy, and even (embarrassingly enough) Taylor Swift are some others, amongst many, with whom I have also grown a strong emotional tie because of their music.  Many of their songs, and others regarding loneliness, lost love, heartache, sadness, what-have-you, appear on my sarcastically, but aptly, named iTunes playlist “The Worst Playlist Ever” which I put on when I’m feeling a bit down in the dumps.  

One of the songs on the playlist, Adele’s “Someone Like You,” has been blasting in my ears for the past year, and even if you hated the song, you were bombarded with it everywhere you went.  It played on every radio station, there were remixes of it that blared when you went out at night, and I even just heard a Dominican lady with a thick accent singing along to it in a store in my neighborhood.  I gained a strong affinity toward the song because it explained exactly how I felt in a much better way than I could ever express it, but I can understand how it can concurrently be excruciating for somebody else.  Regardless of your feelings about the song, I can assume that you’ve probably felt that way before.

Now this whole time, I was feeling bad for myself and getting sad and nostalgic when I heard the song.  I felt just like Adele.  I always thought, “Y’know what?  I WILL find someone like you.  Or someone better.  I will persevere and get past this bullshit.”  But then I thought of it in another way.  What if I were on the other end of these lyrics?  What if the person she was singing about were me as opposed to be being the singer?  Was I the one that got away (shameless plug of Katy Perry’s “The One that Got Away,” another song on the playlist)?  I sat here thinking this whole time about how depressed I was and feeling sorry for myself, but what if these roles were reversed?  How about if I were the mythical “you” that was being pining for?  How does this change the meaning of this song and the feelings that I associated with it?

With that in mind, somebody out there may actually be singing about me.  Or wishing for “someone like me,” but I don’t even know it.  We’re all so busy crying about “you” and finding the new “you” that we don’t realize that we are someone else’s “you.”  We are “you.”  

Now that’s confusing, but what I’m trying to say here is that we are as much the victim as we are the perpetrator.  Yes, we’ve all had our hearts broken, but I think we fail to remember that we’ve been heartbreakers ourselves.  Even without knowing it, we could be breaking someone’s heart.  Tell me the last time you’ve hopelessly been in love with someone, but they didn’t even know how you felt in the slightest?  You’d probably say approximately five minutes ago.  It’s embarrassing to think that I had to watch the terrible gay movie “Eating Out 3” on Netflix at 2AM last night to realize this.  However, “Eating Out 3” had a point if you took out the grotesque jokes, numerous gay culture references, and the gratuitous sex scenes.  We are all so self-conscious that we are not good enough that we create lies to cover ourselves up even when unnecessary.  We try so hard to be that "someone like you," even though we may already be just that.

We have enormous self pity, and we sit here feeling bad for ourselves thinking about how much happier the person must be who has caused us this pain.  However, that person is just as sad as we are, probably not at the moment, but has, at one point, been right in our place.  In that sense, we are not alone, we are just human, and all humans have these universal feelings with different ways of expressing it.

So as I think of why I’m sitting by myself in Starbucks sipping on my grande hazelnut iced coffee deciding where I want to third-wheel on New Year’s Eve (cause it always seems like everyone else is dating someone except for you), I think, I’m a great fucking third wheel.  Yeah, I don’t have someone else next to be balancing it all out, but I’m still keeping this tricycle upright on my own.

Everyone is too busy searching for that “someone like you,” that they don’t realize that this person is already within themselves.  You  must start thinking that this “someone like you” is actually someone like yourself.  So as much as I’d appreciate someone to snuggle with at night or someone I know I’ll be giving a New Year’s kiss to once the ball drops in a few days, I guess I’m fine with not having that.  I know that I’m incredibly stubborn, so when people say the generic crap like, “You have to love yourself in order to love someone else,” or some variation thereof, I don’t believe them because I’m fucking sad, and I just really want a boyfriend to come to my rescue and hold me until I shut the fuck up.  But we have to realize that we already have that capability within us to heal ourselves.  It’s an awkward notion to think that the best way to ameliorate our loneliness is to stay lonely, but it is within that solace in our solitude that we come to terms with the fact that we are not actually as alone as we may think.

So go on finding that someone like you.  That person’s actually much closer than you think.

Shit I Learned This Semester: Fall 2011 Edition

This past semester has been a roller coaster.  That's probably the best way to put it.  Physically, emotionally, and psychologically, I have had both my ups and downs.  Now that I am going to embark on my new 9-year cycle (based on my numerology personal year number, refer to my previous list from the Spring 2011), it's even more important to reflect.  Unfortunately, I never published my list of Shit I Learned This Summer, and I have since lost it, so this list is representative of time from late-August until now.  Anyway, here goes.  Cheers to a wonderful new year.

1. Always be thankful. 
2. There are Brown people in even the most obscure places, and they’re all named Shivani Patel.
3. Jazz is horrible.
4. Your heroes are closer to you than you think.
5. The slightest of seconds can change your life forever.
6. You can begin to love somebody instantly.
7. Everybody has a story, and it is your responsibility to tell it.
8. No one person needs as much clothing as I own.
9. Never spread yourself too thin.
10. You realize who loves you when it matters most.
11. Forgiveness is crucial.  Especially to yourself.
12. The quietest people have the best things to say.
13. “Prom pictures” are the only suitable pose for photographs.
14. It’s okay to fall on your face as long as you get a good laugh out of it.
15. The Megabus is late when you’re early or leaves right on time when you’re late.
16. Hobbits are well aware of their hobbitdom.
17. You are part of a movement.
18. I may or may not react badly to the Yellow Fever vaccine.
19. This is not to be confused with Curry Fever (of which I will never be cured)
20. It’s okay to quit, as long as you do it nobly and intelligently.
21. Grades are not a reflection of your person.
22. The gay freshmen are reckless.
23. Virginia sucks.
24. The best study break is making memes of your friends.
25. La-Tea-Da/Sugar Mountain Bake Shoppe has the best soup and the sweetest staff on the planet.
26. Semi-permanent hair-dye may be a little more permanent than you think.
27. Nobody at Starbucks knows how to spell the word “protein.”
28. Dandiya sticks are not bedazzled nunchucks.
29. Do not lose your prescriptions for anti-malarial pills.
30. The Pass/Fail option exists.  Take advantage of it.
31. People can very easily interpret things differently than you intended.
32. Not all those who wander are lost.
33. Make stupider decisions.
34. A one-way flight to the Bahamas can be as cheap as $113.
35. You always make the worst wishes at 11:11.
36. BLK brand water tastes as if you licked the wall of a cave.
37. Look at the world as if you know nothing.
38. If you think you’re missing out on something, you’re probably not enjoying yourself enough.
39. People remember things you never noticed in the first place.
40. For good luck, it’s customary to say “Rabbit, Rabbit” on midnight of the first day of the month.
41. The post office is not my friend.
42. People are entitled to their secrets
43. Go into things with no expectations.
44. People often believe in you more than you do yourself.
45. My biggest dream is to become a Louvre girl.
46. Someone you knew at one point in time may currently be becoming famous.
47. It’s a small world.  And it’s getting increasingly smaller.
48. The greatest joy comes from the greatest sadness.
49. You can always make up a reason to dress up.
50. I can’t wait for next semester.

A Post-Thanksgiving Post

It’s that time of year again.  Well, it’s more than a week after Thanksgiving, but I like to think that I’m just fashionably late.  Anyway, the year just seemed to fly by and I am, yet again, provoked to reflect.  As always, the past twelve months have been harder than the previous dozen, but it’s safe to say that all the hardship has been worth it as a result.  I know... it’s typical.  But this year, and most especially the past semester, has been one of the toughest, if not THE toughest, in recent memory, and I am truly thankful to have gotten through it in one piece.  As difficult as it has been, it has also been astonishingly rewarding, because it has helped me see things in a different light and to re-prioritize the things that I hold dear.  It has brought me experiences and opportunities that have changed and enriched me in ways I have yet to discover.

Yeah, I can go on about all this generic bullcrap, but it really would not be anything remotely profound or of any substance whatsoever.  Instead, in true Paul fashion, I will write a small list of things that I am thankful for.  Trust me, this is not an exhaustive list, but the few things on here seem to encompass so many of the other things that I will be thankful for this holiday season.

1) Lemons

-Now, let me explain.  I don’t mean literal lemons, though those are nice, too. However, I’m leaning towards the meaning implied in the age-old saying, “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.”  We know that lemons will be pelted at us constantly, but only making lemonade each time that happens will inevitably get boring after a while.  Instead, you gotta think of some new recipes while you gather the bushels of the bright yellow citrus that the world just seems to have in abundance.  I am thankful for the obstacles we have to face because it gives us new ways of dealing with those situations.  I’m thankful for fate because we all know that shit happens, but how we deal with that is how we grow.

2) Hair Dye

-This year has brought a lot of hair color changes for me.  It seemed like every month, the shade got lighter, from black to bleach blonde (and a brief stint of purple) and back again.  I guess the reason why I’m thankful for hair dye is the fact that it symbolizes the ability to constantly, systematically change while staying, at the core, the same. Re-invention may not be the right term.  Maybe transformation would be better.  Yeah, it may look different, but it’s still the same hair under a different guise.  It also represents how fortunate I’ve been to have the freedom to do the things that make me happy and to change my mind about those things.  This constant transformation is something that hold dear: I am indecisive, and I must embrace that.  So don’t be surprised if my hair’s a different color in a few days. 

3) Accessories

-If you’ve seen my wrist (especially during the summer) and/or my left ear, you would see that I’ve had a fun time accessorizing this year.  I’ve accumulated a bucket full of bracelets and a slew of earrings (many being gaudy feathers).  I’ve also tried a hand at bow ties and am amassing a growing shoe collection (though Rohini keeps taking them).  These things represent variety.  You need some spice in your life to keep things exciting.  I’m happy that I can take a plain outfit, throw some bracelets on, clip a flower brooch on it, and rock a beanie, and apparently become the coolest looking guy in the world.  Nonetheless, these accessories show the importance of collaboration.  You can’t just throw shit on yourself willy-nilly and expect it to look good.  Each of the elements of the outfit should complement the others, and that’s how one must see his or her role in their families, groups, and communities.  Take my bracelets for example.  I have a few dinky, weird ones that look like I ransacked the jewelry box of a tween who shops at Claire’s profusely.  However, when I match those with some other bracelets, it no longer looks like I’m going to a Miley Cyrus concert; rather, I look like a pretty stylish young man.  You, as a single component, may feel useless or irrelevant alone, but when in the right company, you change your self-perception.  That, in turn, affects everyone else around you, and creates a cohesive unit of badassery.

4) Bad Grades

-Now everyone thinks that getting a 4.0 GPA is necessary for everything in life, but it’s really not.  Now I’m okay with my not-so-stellar grades, and it’s cause I realize that things matter so much more than letters and numbers on a transcript.  I’m sure I’ve said that a million times to myself, yet I still get disappointed when I see a B on my paper.  Instead, I am trying to think of how much I’m actually getting out of these experiences, and the other experiences in which I’m not receiving a grade.  If my GPA was a true reflection of my effort, I would be on academic probation by now.  However, the things that matter most to me have nothing to do with whether or not I followed the prompt for the 10-page paper or answered all the questions correctly on the test.  My life and my passions cannot, and should not, be dwindled down to arbitrary numbers.  It took me a few fumbles on my transcript to realize that these fumbles are necessary.

5) Adele

-Since the 21 album came out, I’ve been listening to it non-stop.  The songstress has made me an emotional wreck, and y’know what?  I’m okay with that.  We’re all emotional wrecks, and we are all subject to a battery of feelings.  Most importantly, we must realize that these emotions are much more universal than we think.  C’mon, how many people do you think identified with “Someone Like You”?  Basically everybody who’s ever liked anybody ever, and that’s just about every fucking soul on this planet.  I’ve realized that it is these emotional experiences which make us human and which links us to others.  Our emotions make our relationships meaningful, so we should not shy away from expressing them.  I am grateful to have a great support system of people who are also unafraid to lay it all on the line.  I am also thankful for those who don’t open up as easily, because even though they may not say it, they just as human as you are, and we must be cognizant of this.  Everyone’s fighting their own tough battles, and together, we can win the war.

In this final month of 2011, I will continue to look back at what has taken me to this point.  Of course, as much as I may have regretted certain decisions or was disappointed that things didn’t happen, I would not change a single thing.  That sounds like such a beauty queen answer, but everything that happens to us gives us a clearer understanding of what our purpose is in our world.  This is exactly what this post-Thanksgiving post is about.  If I could give a small bit of advice, it would be to keep being thankful.  You’ll have more hope in the world if you do.

For UCHS

The school is absolutely glorious.  

Today, I visited Uncommon Charter High School to sit in on a meeting of the school's Gay/Straight Alliance.  The school is located in the middle of Crown Heights, but you completely forget where you are upon walking inside it.  It is located in a brand-spankin'-new building with great facilities (including a turf soccer field on the roof which has a beautiful view of Brooklyn), and even though it only houses two charter high schools as of right now, it has the capacity to accommodate so much more, which is ultimately the goal.  UCHS currently comprises of a mere 71 ninth and tenth graders, all clad in uniform.  Their second floor home seems unnaturally tidy; it still smells as if it were painted yesterday.

As I walked into Sr. Baker’s Spanish classroom, the LIRR train passed directly alongside the window, almost as if it were coming at me.  He greeted me with a hug, and several students recognized me from a video he showed a week before about how I deal with stress.  The room was charming; only 11 students were in the class.  The sight was so odd because all of my high school classes were about three times the size.  A soundtrack of Spanish music was playing softly in the background.  Each student was using a netbook computer to shop for an outfit and were assigned to write about said ensemble in Spanish.  It made me smile because I reminisced about 5 years ago (and I can’t believe that 5 years have already passed) when Sr. Baker nervously introduced himself to my Spanish 3 class after coming into the room late because he was misinformed about which one to be in, and I just remember thinking that he was the most adorable dork I’ve ever seen walk the halls of LaGuardia.  I remember his hands trembling as he asked everyone in the room the simple question of “¿Cómo estás?”, and I remember talking to Sophie Howes about it once class ended.  I remember his style of teaching (and his style of dressing) and the fact that he seemed to be the only person in LaGuardia who knew his way around a SMART Board.  I remember his practical assignments.  I remember his distinct handwriting which will always be ingrained in my mind.

As I just stared at the quaint classroom waiting for the meeting to begin, I just thought about what I would be like if I were a student here.  They had bright, smiling faces.  They carried themselves with immense dignity and pride.  They spoke eloquently, and their interpersonal relationships with both students and faculty were mature and refined.  I thought back to when I was in the 10th grade, which I keep forgetting was not very long ago, when I was aloof, I had very little concept of the world around me, and I was terribly awkward.  I still think similarly of myself even today.  I’m sure these fourteen and fifteen year olds probably think the same of themselves, but I could sense none of that as I sat there.

Once the meeting began, the depth in which these students spoke about how they see the world reminded me of my own classes at college.  Even though they were five years my junior, I still kept thinking that these kids are more grown up than I am.  As I watched the friendly debate unfold, I had no desire to chime in because I was too busy hearing these young people speak instead.  I remember being in the GSA at LaG where we couldn’t even hold the most simple of discussions.  I just was in awe.

Anyway, to Uncommon Charter High School, you are doing amazing things, and I am genuinely inspired by the nurturing environment which is being built at your school.  I’m excited for the future growth of the school because it would only mean that more students will be exposed to such a great place.  From the point of view of a possible future educator, this school is a dream.  And as for this afternoon, thank you so much.  I really appreciated it.

Shit I Learned This Semester: Spring 2011 Edition

            So I’m sitting at my Starbucks reflecting on the past semester, and I thought, “Well, maybe I should write one of these lists again.” For reference, here is the link to last semester’s list: http://holdenpaulfield.blogspot.com/2010/11/shit-i-learned-this-semester-so-far.html

            A lot of these are a lot more advice-like than the last set of things I learned, but that was really the essence of what this last semester has been for me.  A lot of these things stem from happenings from the last month or so, probably because it was such a tumultuous past few weeks, especially in terms of my study abroad plans having to change completely.  (For those who don't know yet, I am planning on being in Rochester in the Fall, Ghana during the Spring of 2012, and in India for the remainder of that year... so be prepared to deal with me for a few more months, I guess.)  It is times like these which make you think long and hard about everything.

            Anyway, here’s the good, the bad, and the ugly.  As for the next few months?  Bring it on.

1)  The most excruciating, unbearable feeling is impatience.

2)  Intimidation is all in your head.

3)  Tumblr is my downfall.

4)  Numerology is frighteningly accurate.

5)  It’s not that it won’t happen.  It just hasn’t happened yet.

6)  Straight men are a lot better than straight girls make them seem.

7)  I am completely incapable of taking my own advice.

8)  A cartilage piercing doesn’t hurt as much as people make it seem.

9)  Things happen for a reason, and plans are always subject to change.

10)  People depend on you more than you think, and it’s okay to depend on them, too.

11)  Lactification has nothing to do with breast milk.

12)  It often sucks being on the outside looking in, but it definitely provides a unique perspective.

13)  I have absolutely no doubts about the strength of my college community.

14)  You never actually lose touch with anybody.

15)  Learn to play the game, and be okay with losing it.

16)  There is no shame in being a loner.

17)  I am Kurt Hummel.

18)  You are continually being watched.  Except when you want to be.

19)  Father Cool does not appreciate when you booty-dance in the sanctuary.

20)  Hobbits come out of cupboards, not closets.

21)  Sleeping is for wimps.

22)  Don’t allow others to make decisions for you.

23)  They’re not shot glasses.  They’re cups for really tiny people.

24)  Thai people have ridiculous rituals for their New Year celebrations.

25)  I have a costume for pretty much any occasion.

26)  It is so much more fun to do things on a whim.

27)  “Katy Perry on Crack” is addictive.

28)  Darren Criss is a godsend.

29)  Be more cognizant of the snow.  You may just find a camera in it.

30)  Do not underestimate the gifts of other people.

31)  I was born this way.

32)  It is only after experiencing the truest sadness that you can experience the greatest joy.

33)  Yesterday was Thursday.  Today, it is Friday…

34)  “Friday” is better when it’s a D-Day parody.

35)  You can easily steal burritos from The Pit by putting them in large cups.

36)  Cawkward.

37)  The big gay waiter at Jay’s Diner makes his own assorted jellies which can possibly make you pregnant.

38)  You have no idea how much somebody is actually hurting inside.

39)  Wal-Mart isn’t the worst place ever.

40)  If Taylor Swift knows everything, Adele knew everything years ahead of her.  She also knew it better cause she learned it all in a British accent.

41)  It’s important to open up.  But it’s equally important to keep some things locked up tightly if you’re not ready to let them out.

42)  Do not try to impress Indian parents by coming to dinner in a Bhangra outfit.

43)  Everyone has a worthwhile back-story which has shaped the person he or she has become.  Take time to listen to it if they tell it to you.

44)  The GlobeMen are an underserved minority.

45)  Your stories can be misconstrued into meaning something even better than you intended.

46)  You are never forgotten.

47)  The chase is completely worth it even if you don’t get what you were chasing for.

48)  It is absolutely necessary to repeatedly reflect on yourself and your actions.

49)  Vulnerability is a strength, not a weakness.

50)  This is becoming a ritual.  And I really like it.

On Selfishness and Problem-Solving

I just sat in the library for an hour after doing linguistics homework not doing anything in particular.  I stared aimlessly at my surroundings and not thinking much of them.  I was really just pondering about life.  Y’know, the typical stuff… what am I doing, where am I headed, what the fuck is wrong with me… same old, same old.  Everyone thinks about that shit.  I’m at a point where I am completely uncertain about everything, I feel like I have accomplished not even a single damn thing, and nothing is seeming to work out.  My life problems are impeding my judgment, and I really was paralyzed by the thought of my existence.  Basically, a whole bunch of philosophical bullshit.

Concurrently, I can bet that there’s a man across the world in Japan who has no idea where his family is.  He sees that his house has no remnants whatsoever of what it used to be.  He is thinking about what he could have possibly have done to have changed his fate.  He has no idea how he’s going to feed himself tomorrow, let alone whether or not he’s going to have the capacity to even bear living another day with all the grief, guilt, and sadness.

Reading that, you’re probably thinking, “Clearly, Paul’s problems are completely insignificant to that dude in Japan.  C’mon, that guy’s life is in shambles.  Now Paul’s gonna write about how you should feel bad for that Japanese guy and that you need to stop thinking about yourself for once.”

You see, a paragraph ago, that’s probably what I would have done.  Not amymore.

Now this may sound a little selfish, but who’s to say whose problems matter more?  Honestly, I think my problems are pretty damn important.  Does that mean that people should pool their resources and help me out instead of the other guy?  I’m not saying that you all should do that, but clearly, my problems are more important to me because they are what’s plaguing me at the moment.  Do I have to consider the other guy’s life in trying to solve what ails me?  Yes, I acknowledge that this Japanese guy’s life is currently miserable.  I have no idea what I would be doing in his situation.  But what does he have to do with me?

I feel like people want to stone me right about now for saying that my problems are more important.  We all know I’m the queen of wanting to help people.  I’m hoping to dedicate my life to helping African children, for Christ’s sake.  And we all know that one of the concepts that I live by is that each person on this world affects each other person for the rest of eternity (I know, it’s fucking daunting, isn’t it?).  However, don’t act like you have never thought that your problems are the only thing in the world that matters.  If that weren’t the case, you would never get anything done, and you’d be absolutely selfless.  Which you aren’t.  Don’t try and pretend that there was never a time where you didn’t give a fuck about anyone else, and you did what you wanted to do.  Just admit it, already.  You’re a little selfish.  But you have to be in order to survive.

But also remember, that you and your choices are part of a larger scheme of life.  What you do and how you solve your problems is ultimately going to affect the next person in line.  It is bound to create a dilemma for someone else, and for that person, it will become the most important thing in the world.  It’s like passing a baton of shittiness in the relay race that is called life.

I don’t necessarily know where I’m going with this at all.  Maybe what I’m trying to say is that it’s okay to be just a little bit selfish.  Not all the time, though.  That’s not good either.  You just have to keep a balance, I suppose.  And take that as you will.  Do what’s good for you.  But do what’s good for everyone else, too.  In an ideal world, those would sync up, and the world will be jolly, and unicorns would fly alongside all the rainbows.  But it just doesn’t work out that way.

Goddamn.  I’m at a loss of words.

I’m going to sleep now.  Sorry, I just abruptly ended my thoughts, but I can’t fathom thinking anymore.

Control

A lot of things have been on my mind recently.  And thinking hurts.  It’s pretty damn stressful, really.

What work is due when I get back to school? When will I finish this study abroad application?  What do I want to eat?  How am I getting back to Rochester?  Why was this Venti Soy Chai so damn expensive?  Did I ever get vaccinated for yellow fever?  What am I doing with my life?  Why am I so lonely?  Am I even lonely?  Am I chilling with Erica tomorrow?  What can I do about global health equity?  Do I have enough money to buy a new pair of jeans?  Do I have to completely change my major when I return to school?  Why is Tony Bennett playing in Starbucks and not Sarah McLachlan?  How the hell does Tumblr work?  Am I gonna have a job this summer?  Why does this man sitting next to me look so dirty? 

Yeah.  The questions don’t stop.

So I wanted to sit in Starbucks for some Paul time, and so began my search for a seat.

I went to the immediate Starbucks in my neighborhood, and as always, the tables were filled with people.  Note that I said that the tables were filled, not the seats.  There were plenty of empty seats.  People were sitting alone at tables set for two or three.  Either way, I couldn’t sit there because it would be awkward if I just went up to a stranger, sat there, and took up all the table space with my cumbersome computer.  So the search continued.

I thought of just giving up and going back home, but I wasn’t that faint of heart.  I kept going.  I thought about taking to the bus to the only other Starbucks that I knew of in the Bronx, but I realized that the weekly unlimited Metrocard in my wallet would take me anywhere I wanted to go in this godforsaken city, so might as well get on the train and just go.

So I did.

I always talk about this freedom one has to explore in the city, especially with little resources.  All I need is $2.25, and I can go wherever I want and just walk around (I was gonna say $2.00 because I keep forgetting that the price changed a while ago).  In Rochester, I can’t say the same.  “Hey friend, wanna drive me to so-and-so place?  No?  Well, I’m shit out of luck.”

Anyway, like clockwork, I got on the 1 train and got off where it was second nature to get off: 66^th St- Lincoln Center.  Every time (or, at least most of the time) I pass this stop on the train, I think about my morning commutes to high school, and I think of a memory of those four years, and then the train keeps moving, and I think of something else.

I’m almost pretty much over reminiscing about high school at this point.  I’m almost in a sort of denial that it even happened.  Don’t get me wrong, going to LaGuardia High School was a magnificent, life-changing experience (yeah, but what isn’t?), and I’m glad it happened.  However, I would never consider in a million years going back.  It was great while it lasted, and it’s not like I dread the experience, but I would never re-live it knowing what I know now.  Yeah, it’s been two years.  How much could I have learned?  A lot, mi amigo.  I’m pretty damn different (and a hell-of-a-lot weirder), and I’m pretty lost.  I can’t really say I like it, but I’m better off now than I used to be.  I was so sure of myself, or as sure of myself as a seventeen-year-old could have been, and now I realize the naïveté of being sure of anything.  I would hate to think that those were the glory days because who says the glory days can’t be today?  Thinking about the past as something for which to yearn comes with the notion that today isn’t good enough.  In other words, you better step your game up, and make your today better than yesterday.

So once I got off the train, I gravitated towards the fountain in the middle of Lincoln Center.  I sat on the marble base (or whatever the hell that thing is made of), and just looked around.  I noticed teenagers who probably went to LaGuardia.  A few people going into the Opera House.  A crapload of tourists.  And another kindred soul sitting cross-legged on the fountain staring straight into it as if some kind of sign would appear out of the water.  I saw a family taking a group photo on the other side of the fountain with the Metropolitan Opera House as its backdrop, and I wonder what my unintentional photobomb looked like on camera.  My dumbfounded face looking at this woman staring straight into the fountain.

I began to stare at the water, too.  And I think she realized that I was following her lead.  We sat there together staring at the fountain.  I listened to the splashes, and it was very serene.  It sounded like nature.  Yeah, it was in the middle of the city, and this was, in fact, a manmade structure, but it was the closest to nature I’ve felt in a while.  A minute later, I looked over, and I realized she was gone.

I looked around a little disoriented.  I forgot where I was for a second.  I forgot everything for a little bit.  And it was refreshing.  I wasn’t thinking about high school anymore.  I wasn’t thinking about college work anymore.  I was thinking about the sound of the water, and how cool it looked, how much I wanted to jump in it, and how quickly a security guard would come to escort me out of it if I did.  I was thinking about what was right in front of me.  And ultimately, I realized that it’s the only thing that was truly in my control.  I can’t change the past.  It happened already.  And the future is totally unknown, and I just have to roll with it.  I can’t meticulously plan for something that nobody knows is certain.  So I sat there staring at the water.  I was perched in a place where I can bet that a bajillion other people would give an arm or a leg to sit.  And I was just happy.

NOW BACK TO REALITY, BITCHES. 

A Backstreet Birthday Wish

On my seventh birthday, I wished to be Nick Carter from the Backstreet Boys.  I’m not necessarily sure why I wanted to be him other than the fact that every single pre-teen girl (including my sister) worshipped the ground he walked on.  I guess I thought he was cool.  And that he had a nice voice.  And I’m sure that I thought he was kinda cute back then, too.

I just remember thinking that when I blew out the candles of my cake (it was an ice cream cake from Carvel) that the sacred exhale would float in a bubble up to the heavens where the angels would catch it and send it to God himself to grant it.  Trust me.  When I saw the home video of it (which I bet my dad was thinking that it was the coolest thing ever that he was filming this stellar moment), I could relive myself thinking this exact thing seconds after blowing the candles out.  I’m convinced that the reason why I love the scent of blown-out candles is this exact moment.  It was possibly one of the happiest moments of my young life.

That entire year, I probably went through the biggest identity crisis that a seven year old could have.  Once my eighth birthday rolled around, I was a wreck.  Why hadn’t my dream of becoming the heartthrob of the most popular boy-band of the late 90s come true? 

I remember doing all I could to catalyze my transformation.  My favorite color used to be blue.  Then my old brother told me that his favorite color was blue and demanded that I change mine.  I switched to green because I knew it was Nick Carter’s favorite color.  I wanted his blonde hair, blue-green eyes, and boyish smile.  Whenever a Backstreet Boys song would come on, I would sing along his part the loudest.  You could say I was obsessed.  I thought that all of this would help the transition from nerdy, chubby Asian boy to global singing sensation.

Eventually, it didn’t happen.  I began to be skeptical of birthday wishes, and on May 27, 1999, a part of my childhood died.  I lost all my naive hope and started to turn into the raging, cynical bastard I am today.  I just kept thinking that the angels must have misplaced my wish.  Maybe, there was just a long waiting list.  Or God just had bigger problems to solve.  Maybe, God would just get to it eventually.  I didn’t want to lose hope.

But I eventually did.

It’s quite sad, isn’t it?

I’ve probably told this story a million times in a half-a-million different ways.  Each time I write about it, my perspective on it changes.  It’s probably the most memorable moment of my childhood.

Looking at this now, I really don’t know how to feel about it.  It is a major turning point in my life, and I know that it has shaped the person I’ve become.  I can’t really describe how that is, but I just know that it has.

I’ve always been a dreamer, and I’ve always had big dreams.  But it taught me to be realistic about those dreams.  And it also taught me that dreams can change.  And that becoming Nick Carter probably would not have been the greatest thing in the world and that becoming myself was more important.

I think I’m better than him now, anyway.

Checkmate

I remember being taught how to play chess back in elementary school.  We had flimsy laminated paper “boards” and pieces that we would always seem to lose.  We would always substitute quarters or other pocket change for the knight, which has always been my favorite piece.  It was also the one that always went missing.  I feel like it had something to do with the fact that it looked like a horse, and when you’re seven, you think horses are pretty, so you steal them.  It’s as simple as that.  I just always liked the “L” shaped move it made.  I always quietly said the letter to myself each time I moved it.

If I recall correctly, a whole bunch of the kids were terrified to play against me.  I thought that I was pretty good at the game.  And back then, we equated the ability to play chess with how smart you were, and I was the class nerd.  I wanted to be revered as the best chess player in the class.  Suck it, fellow third graders.  I run this classroom.  Well, so does Mrs. Martinez, but she wasn’t the class chess champion like I was.

As it turns out, I don’t think I necessarily had much strategy at all.  I moved my pieces in all the ways I knew how, and I especially did my “L” shape with my knight as often as possible.  I would beat kids left and right, and they would bow down to my greatness.

Then a new kid moved in and changed everything.  This is before that time when kids get really brutal to the new kid in the class like in middle school when you’re a pre-teen and absolutely everyone’s a prissy little bitch.  This is still the time when you see the new kid and relentlessly ask questions about where he came from and how he ended up in your class and whether or not they have bodegas with 50-cent sodas where he comes from.

We played chess once.  I guess for some reason I thought he would be really lousy at the game, as if the kids in my class were the only ones knew how to play it.  I thought that I was already one step ahead of this kid.  I even let him go first.  He moved his pawn up one square.  I moved my pawn up two.  Just because I could.  And the rest of the game unfolded.

As it progressed, I kept my eye fixated on his king.  Right in the middle of the board all the way at his end.  I would always stare at that piece.  I would try and pay attention to the moves he made, but ultimately, it was that king I was after.  I would try to make stealthy moves, all in the pursuit of that king, but he systematically began knocking down my pieces.  Each time he “ate” one of my own (I don’t even know why we used to say that our pieces were being “eaten”), I saw how I could have avoided my obvious mistake.  And I continued to make obvious mistakes over and over again.  I questioned my ability, as it seemed as if he outsmarted each thing I did.  I would make a move, and he would counteract it as if I never even made a dent at all.

Eventually, all I had left was my lone king and my faithful queen which I frantically moved around the board trying to avoid his legion of remaining pieces.  My queen flew across the board trying to eliminate his king, but he would simply move another one of his pieces to protect it.  I would call “check,” and with a simple, calm gesture, he would move a piece that remedied the situation.  I would respond by finding a new spot where I would be able to call “check” again, and he would do another simple gesture in opposition.

Then he “ate” my queen.

I stopped breathing as he kept moving towards my king.  All I could do was move it back and forth and wait for my impending doom.

“Checkmate,” he called. 

And just like that, I was no longer chess champion of the third grade.  It was pretty devastating.  I had been de-throned, and I was a sore loser.  I thought that he clearly cheated somewhere.  He broke a rule, probably, and I didn’t catch it because I was too fixated on my own moves.  Maybe he switched a piece while I wasn’t looking.  It just didn’t make sense to me.

“Good game,” he told me, and he walked away, unscathed.  He left with a small grin of victory on his face as I sat there paralyzed, staring at what was left of the board.

I lost the game.

Starbucks Rant

So I finally got a seat in my neighborhood Starbucks.  What sucks, unfortunately, is that there are no outlets even remotely near where I am sitting, so my time here is limited to the amount of time my battery decides to stay on (which is apparently 2 hours and 23 minutes).

I’m right near a window where I see everyone walking down this street at a frenzied pace.  It’s right after 5PM, so I could only assume that a bunch of these people are coming from work or school or whatever they were doing today and just want to get home as quickly as humanly possible.  I can sympathize.

I have my pink earbuds plugged in and hanging from my ears, but nothing is playing out of them.  I love sneakily listening to the goings-on around me.  Currently, there are two men speaking in a language that I cannot recognize at the milk and sugar station directly behind me.  There is also a lady who has just spilled some milk while pouring it into her drink, and in a peculiar accent exclaims, “AYY SPEEEL EVREESEEENG.”

The same lady goes and sits at the table in front of me.  Upon putting her drinks down, she goes outside and smokes a cigarette.

I didn’t buy anything, and no I feel hideously awkward sitting here, taking advantage of their free wi-fi (clearly with facebook open), listening to the violin concerto (or what sounds like a violin concerto) playing overhead, and taking some prime real estate in the seating area.  But taking into account the amount of money and the percent of my soul which Starbucks now has in its possession, I think I’m entitled to this seat.

I just realized that several of the signs in this Starbucks are also written in Spanish.  I love being in the Bronx.  It also helps me brush up on my language skills.  “Nuestro café mas suave y popular,” it says, “inspirado por la tienda donde todo comenzó.”  It’s referring to the Pike’s Place blend.  I’ve never been very fond of it.

On the topic of languages, there are two other women in here who are speaking Tagalog very loudly.  Oh, and even the baristas are ghetto here.  I never thought I would have heard a bird ever say, "Where's my soy pitcher?"

Anyway, I really am at a loss right now.  I don’t know what to write.  So I’ll leave it at that.

Winter Walk

I had been meaning to write something today for several hours now.  Here it is.

I walked out of my house to walk to the Starbucks five minutes away.  It’s one of the only ones in the Bronx, and I was craving a Soy Chai.  And I wanted to write really badly.  For some reason, I was convinced that I was going to find someone in Starbucks and just start writing about them.  I got there, all the seats were taken, and the hideously ghetto barista was chatting it up with two of her friends before she got to my order.

So I guess that’s what postponed this whole writing thing…

Anyway, so I decided to walk around, sipping on the grande Soy Chai that was keeping my hands warm.  Along the 1 train tracks and the perimeter of the projects, I thought about the arbitrary term of “home.”  I pondered these thoughts as I took my slow strides up Broadway.  Everyone else seemed to be in so much more of a hurry, including a very displeased Puerto Rican girl who was complaining aloud about missing the train or something of the like.  I nodded in approval, took another sip of my drink, and watched as she and the others passed me.

I passed the 99-cent stores with their wide assortment of cheaply made goods, the bodegas obnoxiously advertising the 355 Million Dollar jackpot for the Mega Million lottery, the African store proudly displaying an array of wooden sculptures and colorful dashikis which I’ve never had the balls to enter, and the Hispanic restaurants which smelled of rotisserie chicken when you walked by.  The ground shook as the train passed overhead.  I finally reached Garden Gourmet, my favorite independent market that I frequent far too much.

I got a tomato and cheese focaccia and ingredients for a magnificent eggplant parmesean.  Oh, and kiwis.

Basically, all of this, this completely boring and ordinary night, made me realize how much I love being “home.”

Don’t know what else to write anymore.

2011 To-Do List

So technically, this was written yesterday.  Same difference.

I sit here on January 1, 2011 in the middle of a Filipino household in the Poconos (so basically, the wilderness for me).  The youngins are playing games, the old folk are line dancing (after the failed karaoke), and the even older folk are sleeping.  And here I am writing this.

I’m fond of my lists.  Instead of New Year’s Resolutions, here is a to-do list for 2011.  I guess it’s actually just a collection of dreams, hopes, wishes, and advice, in no particular order, that I would like to keep track of for the upcoming year.  Just like any to-do list, and I will inevitably not be able to fulfill all of these.  But let’s just say I’ll try a little harder this time around.

1) Hook up with an Indian boy.

2) Finally declare my Interdepartmental major.

3) Get one of my secrets on PostSecret.

4) Listen more.  And be more supportive of others.

5) Learn French.

6) And Portuguese.

7) Quit lying to myself.

8) Loosen up, and stop thinking too hard.

9) Sleep LESS.  Really, I can sleep when I die.

10) Take things a little more seriously.

11) Make a gown.  Preferably with African fabric.

12) Learn to save money.

13) Use time more wisely.

14) Successfully go to Africa.

15) Get a new camera.

16) Try more ethnic cuisines.

17) Fear less, and just go for it.

18) Have no regrets.

19) Get a “real” job.  Or internship.  Or anything.

20) Pretend to like my family harder.

21) Write more.

22) Stop waiting.  Start doing.

23) Become a Youtube celebrity.

24) Try to actually go to the gym and stop half-assing it.

25) Don't give up.  Follow through.