nov 20, 2007

My phone said 7:20pm when he turned around to walk away. I stood motionless on the sidewalk on Judah and 23rd, take out dinner in one hand, phone in the other stuffed into my left pocket. The air wasn't especially different, but clung to it was a balmy staleness. The moon was out, a waning quarter, hung loosely by the western night sky as if to half-heartedly acknowledge my presence. I wanted to shout his name, or run over to him, or make a scene of it. But it wouldn't solve anything but make things worse than it already was. Two muni streetcars had passed by, and I hadn't moved an inch, just staring at the intersection he'd crossed and the empty space he'd occupied just moments before. Watching him walk away I wanted to cry, but nothing would come. Like an empty spray bottle you keep trying to squeeze out, but only hear the hiss of aerosol with no substance. It isn't that I wasn't sad, it was just that something inside me had been activated, and something stowed away. Our internal mechanisms are astounding. My feet felt light, my mind afloat. I heard nothing, saw nothing, and felt a softness overcome my entire being. I thought, "If I just stand here forever, I wonder if he'll come back to me." If I just stand and wait, people will eventually take notice, and those who care will make a fuss of it. I'll get on the news for being the heartbroken boy that stood waiting for his love to return. I'll piss in my pants from days or waiting, eyes sunken, shoulders slouched, and a crowd of people would surround me encouraging me or criticizing me. I'd be on the verge of death from fatigue, and I would ignore their pleas because my stubbornness makes me brave. And my image on the television would shock him while he ate his noodles for dinner and be forced to abandon his meal to come save me from self-destruction. He'll take me into his arms and finally realize how sorry I was, how much I wanted him back, how dedicated I was to him, that he'd profusely apologize for punishing me the way he did. And the crowd would cheer and laugh and cry and nod in silence at how majestic love can be. He'd whisk me back to his apartment, make me a meal while I showered, and after dinner we'd make passionate gentle love people call 'makeup sex'. We would cuddle like the way we used to and whisper to each other sweet nothings, and fall asleep in each others' arms. Another muni streetcar passed. My feet started to ache, my knees gave way, my breath grew shallow, and my hunger beckoned from below. My darkest hour.

A certain calm drowned out all the cries in my mind, a dichotomy ready to tear me to shreds. My limbs came to and found new movement, foreign and awkward. I floated on down the street and kept walking until a streetcar came. My reflection staring back at me from the interior window of the muni seemed loose and frayed at the edges as if it were beginning to become unhinged from me. Reflections are different from shadows because you can lie to your reflection and it can lie to you, but shadows just follow and they listen and know the truth.

I fell to my knees when I got into my apartment when the levies finally broke.

PHASE II

How can it be over before it really even started? It's only been a bit over a month since we've officially started seeing each other. And now it's all over...

Somehow things got so sour and went so awfully wrong, I don't even know if it's salvageable. For so long, I've put my guard down for him, being loving, being caring, knowing fully that it's a risk to do so. But that's the only way I know how to love. So much has happened since getting here. So much I can fill a book, but it's hard to write it all down while things were happening, even harder now that it's all gone.

I know he cared for me and maybe even loved me. But right now, he only has contempt for me. I've invested so much of my time and energy, so much of my emotional self went to him, went to making things work. We've gone through so much just to be together, to be free, to love. Then suddenly it all went awry.

I'm closing myself now. I'm going on self-preservation mode. I've given and given so much, I've lost so much soul to this. Regardless of what the truth is now, I need to take care of myself. Regardless of what he thinks of me, if he hates me, if he still holds a grudge against me, then I can't do anything to help him. It's his anger, his rage, his hate, things that can engulf him. But it's all in him. I have nothing but love, and it's time to give back the love to myself. I just have to deal with this stupid memory that brings up the things that hurt. I know eventually I'll be able to think of the things that heal, and we'll both get better, maybe even become friends again. But until that day happens, I'm going into hibernation.

This was the worst case scenario, coming to SF and have the relationship go wrong. I feared it would happen, maybe so much that it affected the relationship. But it happened, and I'm left to pick up where my fear left off. And I am suddenly fearless.

When things are looking down, there's only up.

Initially when we were together, I wanted to spend a good long time here in the Bay, more than the two year stint I said I would do. My reason was him, and my goal was to move to SF to be with him. But now that things fell apart with him, I have a new goal, and that's to go back home to New York City after the two years and begin anew with that city to rebuild my relationship with it. I needed to be away from New York, to see what's out there. And maybe one day I'll come to love San Francisco, but I know my home and true love is New York City. It has always been good to me.

un, deux, trois...

It's Day 3 in San Francisco. I've yet to regain my footing after the whirlwind of occurrences that lead up to now. From delayed flights to penthouse upgrades, beer olympics to barhopping as welcome ritual, offbeat indie flick to blockbuster psycho drama. Beat. Beat. Beat. No pauses. No breaks. Just a single moment stretched to fit this mind of mine. My realization of the fact that I'm homeless for the next thirteen days has yet to hit me on a psychological and emotional level. My realization that I won't be greeted by familiarity for a long time has yet to hit me. And this adjustment will change me in ways I could never have imagined. This isn't New York versus California. It's just a difference in ritual, difference in lifestyle, difference in mindset. I've yet to map out the ways of this place. Social dynamics, interpersonal relationships, community systems, social structures, norms, processes, and more subtly, the social milieu. But to natives here, it's all just their everyday. My observations are useful only to me, and perhaps some curious minds back home.

Interviews this week. Some ideal situations, some not so, some just customary.

I hope the days pass quickly. I need to get nested and adjusted. I need to have my own space.

There are boxes in my room, some full and some empty, scattered methodically in nooks and niches as my life thus far unfurls in a seemingly explosive manner all over the bedroom floor. It's time for another edit session. It seems be easier this time. I think I am finally learning to tell the difference between excess baggage and invaluable memories. This constant editing session, both painful and relieving, is the final catharsis. As with all things living, there's intake and output; impression, expression; eat, poop; breathe in, breathe out.

David tells me that mom held onto him when she cried the night she stopped by when I was away. I am hoping those moments become fewer and less intense. But I suppose... a grown man of 27 is still a little boy in a mother's eyes. For someone of my age, the world seems a smaller, more accessible place. "It'll only be a few hours away by plane," I try to comfort. But to her, distance is measured by the amount of time she'll be able to see me, the amount of time she'll hug me, or cook me meals. As I visit home more often than I used to, I let her bask in the warmth of having family together, hopefully enough to last her a long while... until the next I return.

My flight is confirmed for the 14th for the left coast. A flight in which I will haul twenty seven years of life across the country, minus the odds and ends. However final the move, I will try to keep light on my feet but tread surely and boldly like I have before, wherever I end up. This is the jolt I have waited for in the past few years, and it's finally happening now. Ours is a generation unconvinced, until proven to us so, that the world is as big as it is small. So the curious and the thirsty must go seeking for more.

No goodbyes, no final farewells, just... see you soon.

haste makes waste

I did some thinking during my ride this morning. I'm killing myself to get my work, portfolio, and move-related things in order... at least trying to synch it all up to happen at the same time. That's one problem I've always had living in New York, trying to do too many things at once. I think in retrospect, I've rushed through life doing just that. As a result, I've worn myself down tremendously. And so, I've decided to slow down, and do one thing at a time. To eliminate the stress of trying to rush a portfolio together, I've decided to use the month of September to look for a job, not in August. I'll still look, but the pressure won't be on. Isn't the point of moving to SF to slow down my pace and to rethink my approach anyway? So the first week of August while I'm with Dennis, I'll just focus on apartment shopping. Move in will be September, but the job can happen in October, leaving me a whole month to prepare for job stuff while I settle into my apartment. It isn't unheard of to take a month break before jumping right into another job anyway right? It will tap into my funds to not have income for the month, but I have to remember that I can always make the money back, and that the important thing is to take care of myself and settle in first. I just need to slow myself down. I become careless and unfocused when I'm rushing through... gotta learn to relax too.

僕は君に待っている

this is a kind of complicated so tangled that i never thought i would get involved in. because of it, i've become something different. it's as if the world shifted, and my reality suddenly changed. i let it happen, as i always do, for the sake of new experiences. but i really hope it hasn't changed me.

i'm waiting... well, half-waiting really. because this time is different. i'm showing restraint, so much that i went the other way, waywardly to keep from idle waiting. i gave in to the otherness, and the otherness took and took and pushed and pushed, while half of me still waits...

i want to say that i will be cleansed of waywardness when all is right and when the waiting ends, and i'll be whole again. but i'm afraid of the otherness getting stronger. to a point where waiting is of no consequence.

if only you knew. if only you don't want me waiting for you anymore...

but if i don't wait, i don't know what else to do.

for always.

二人は恋人同士になれるかもしれない。でも僕は君のそばにいつまでもいるよ。