They come and go...

Friday, January 25, 2008

I often write about friends because sometimes I believe that’s all I need in life…

I’ve been drifting from my college friends. I don’t really know why. It just happened over the course of two years. Two whole years, I’ve wanted to be a better friend, a better companion, a better person to my friends. And every time I tell myself that I should call, I never do. Partly because I don’t have anything to talk to them about. Because during those two years, I’ve grown into a different person. I am not the same person I was. I’ve changed. I think they have changed as well. They will never see it.

I think I am concentrating too much on finding my old childhood friends. Thanks to face book, I found almost all my friends from boarding school. Every time I talk to them, I get happy and cheery. We share the same thing. We all the same childhood. I can also relate to them, we grew up around the same people. The things that I went through growing up, they have also experienced - having to deal with being perfect in society’s eyes. I am the granddaughter of someone well known and so my childhood friends are also part of that “crowd”. It’s easy to relate.

When I try to explain to my college buddies about my childhood, they don’t have a clue. They simply don’t understand. Instead of enriching what I was, I had to adjust to their ways to be more like them, I had to mold to their beliefs. I felt it was the only way.

Just today, I looked at one of my class pictures (circa 91) and all of my classmates were just like me - part of an elite class. that’s all I knew at one point in my life. a lifestyle that my parents still want me to part of. I have renounced it so many times because my own personal beliefs and only now, I came to understand what my parents were telling me. It is only for the best that I remain with my roots.

I only wish my college buds understood it. They wont.

This is why I hardly tell people about my past. I am afraid that I will be judge.
I don’t know everyone who reads this and vice versa. You can’t judge me. If you did, I wouldn’t be able to see it. The power of my keyboard and the power of your thoughts.

It might also be why it is so hard for me to be friends with some people. There isn’t so much of a class system in America. Although I believe that there is, no one I’ve encountered have agreed to it and so they see me as a snob little girl. I am not a snob that’s for sure. Some of my thinking might come off as being a little snobbish. But if only you knew where I was coming from you would understand.

I don’t want to be misunderstood. I don’t want to be categorized. I don’t want to be labeled and put on a shelf because of who I am, because of who my parents are…

Living in America has opened up my eyes just a bit. I saw another world. A world that I wasn’t fortunate enough to have noticed when I was young. The people I’ve met here are certainly not children of former Presidents, Ambassadors, Intellectuals and Writers.

At one point they were the ones whom I surrounded myself with. I regarded everyone as simply unfortunate souls. Oh boy was I wrong.

Everyday I meet regular people. People I would never speak to if was still in my parents’ world. I am fortunate enough to have experienced it.

Although I take with great pride my new life I can never forget who I am.

Friends come and go, but what you are born with remains in your blood forever.

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Dreams...sometimes a lost reality.

“Now, the thing that is bothering me is the lost; which makes me think of her even more than before. In fact I yearn to talk to her, see her, and be lost in her arms, and forget all the past like a horrible dream. I want to start over…one more time.

Now, I hold dearly all the memories like old painting living on a wall but with unfortunate regrets they are stating to lose their colors behind my eyelids.

Even the sound of the letters that forms her name is becoming ethereal. And when the sun sleeps across the horizon, I go home to find her scent lingering on my bed.. She waits until I gently lay my head on the pillow. She takes me by the waist; her cold hands on my stomach, her cold breathe on my neck up until the sun awakes in the morning.

All night, I don’t fight. I don’t know why.

I like the cold. I froze like a river with no currents.”

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Choosing Topics

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Sometimes, It is a burden to find topics to write about: Topics that will please a lot of people. And so I look around and ask my friends what they would like me to write about. Some are clearly flabbergasted by the idea and the pressure of finding a subject and others are please to help.

I have gotten an array of titles: love, sex, baby drama (although, I’ve never given birth) gender definition, homosexuals, relationships and such. As the topics are given to me, I try to incorporate it into my own experiences and view it as something that has (yet) happened to me. In many cases, I have been involved in a lot of the topics some choose for me. For instance, the universal feeling: love. Some criticize about my writing. Not the style in which I write, but the content of the blog. Some think that I need to ease on the pessimistic views. Others feel what I have felt and continue to praise my art.

Just the other day, I asked my friend Jen to think of something that she would like to see on my blog. It seemed as though, I had given her a textbook of math equations to complete in very little time. I’m sure it was a challenge for her as she isn’t much involved in that sort of blogging world.

How hard is it to come up with a title? Truthfully, the majority of my topics come up as I am riding the train back home, during random times I think about what I should write or even sometimes as things happen.

Sometimes I don’t want to write about the same thing over and over again. What I do find amusing is when my readers ask me to write more about certain ladies in my life. They are intrigued by the relationships I had encountered over the years. It is sad to say that I don’t always like to write about my past (some would say that it can be turned into a movie) especially Hope and The Pearl. These are two ladies that will hold a special space in my heart. I’ve read some comments regarding my feelings towards the two lovely ladies and quite frankly, when I do write about them it isn’t because I still love them. It is because they have constructed a foundation of who I am now – a single lesbian in New York City. No I am only kidding.

So topics aren’t easy to come up with especially when my life these past two weeks isn’t as exciting as it was a month ago.

There. You got it Jen.

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Lately

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Everyone is aware (from what I've written) of how I feel about love. But lately, I’ve wanted to write a piece on it but unfortunately have not had the opportunity to sit down and revise what I had previously written. And so now, my fingers are thirsty for the keyboard and perfectly glued to each key as I stroke them to form the perfect sentences. Or perhaps not.

I think I may have taken a slap or two by love. I think I’ve turn around and accepted it as if it was the best thing to do – right now. It is almost something that I need to reinvent in my life. Somehow I have lost, along the course of my life, the true meaning of being in love.

There once was a time when I knew what love meant. Loving the person at the time came naturally like a common summer breeze gently caressing the top of my skin. Nonetheless, love was something I began to experience and believe in. Not that I didn’t believe in love before, but knowing and experiencing love was a complete and utterly new form of life – a new beginning as some may say.

Before, love meant that I would care deeply for someone else and whatever I felt was surreal and magical and I would care about that person more than I cared about myself. True happiness began, love took its seat and lounged in my heart and I began to feel its power.

I knew that love meant that I would spend the rest of your life with the same person, share each other in ways that I have never done before, wake up next to one another and finding everything beautiful about the person, accepting flaws with good intentions, laying in bed for hours after making love and keeping each other safe in our arms – talking for hours and giggling like little children.

Love is that. But love is also a lot of things which I cannot explain and will not so until I have come across them (again) in my lifetime.

Everyone I suppose has their own definition of what love is all about. Mine may be different from my neighbor or as close and exact as my friends. Whatever I have experienced in my past I will take with me to my next chapter. You learn as you go, you love as you learn.

At 25, I wonder about the choices I’ve made in my life regarding love. There are no regrets of course. Though sometimes, I believe regrets are necessary because they help you understand what you have done. And so regrets, like love are more unalterable then you think.

I am no expert at love, I am not a love connoisseur and I truly believe that it is all in the heart and allowing to open up and accept the love potion. Though I’d love to believe that my heart is open but I know deep inside that it isn’t completely.

I am not cold hearted. Like the majority of you I am afraid. I am so afraid to fall so deeply for someone and so afraid to get hurt. Nevertheless, only two people have hurt me in my life, I just wouldn’t want a repetition of the aftermath. It was something so dark and cold and wish to never step foot in that world again.

So what does it mean to truly love another?

Is it total happiness? Fairy tale like world, where birds chirp their lovely tunes, the sun in shining and glowing, the trees are a magnificent shade of green and the sky is as blue as the Caribbean sea? And waking up next to the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, finding something beautiful everyday about that person?

Accepting flaws?

Making love until the sunrise/sunset?

I’d like to think love equals happiness. But really, what’s love gotta do with it?

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It's a beautiful thing

Thursday, January 10, 2008

As I am sitting at my desk, I thought, hmm….I need to confess to something. Before I say it, it is something absolutely secretive. Not a single soul knows this except for its creator – me.

Moving on, I have a guilty pleasure. No, it isn’t the silver bullet. Get your mind out of there. Ok ok, come back….go south and never look up. Good. Circles. Nice circles.

Got it?

Never mind


You know, my guilty pleasure has gotten me in a lot of trouble in the past with my non-fanatical-non-addicted soul to its competitors.

It gets harder and harder to restrain my hand from reaching, deep…. deep in the black cave…

…to find my wallet and pull out three shiny quarters and hand them over to my Greek gentleman.

There. It takes quarters – three to be exact to satisfy my lust for that delicious wet essence.

It satisfies me like no other. It runs through my veins, pumping energy and leaving me breathless, wanting more…craving even more.

I am addicted to coffee.

Not just any coffee. The one on 57th and 8th. The one my Greek Gentleman serves me.

For only three shiny quarters.

I’ve been a victim for years now. The big corporation called Starbucks will never have my soul.

Never.

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Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery

Tuesday, January 8, 2008

Lately, I have nothing to write about…really, how often do you have to read about my drinking problems, my insane dating scene, love affairs and such…

Maybe, the reason I've had nothing to write is because it is the end of this story. The character has become developed, I’ve found my purpose, gave up my drinking and self-exploitative ways, and has settled down.

We had the climax of the story at the height of my depression/hating my job/being a homo, and now we have resolution. I got in the fab world, am in the midst of preparing for my journey. My life reflects this contentment now. My indulgence at the moment is cheap wine (bottles under $15), BYOB restaurants, and my $3,000 apt in Murray Hill that I hate.

so what’s next?

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Walking in Manhattan

Wednesday, January 2, 2008

Random guy smoking outside my favorite bar: Ooh exotic young ladies, my favorite.

Me: [overhearing, looks over shoulder and smiles - he was under 30 and cute, you've got to give them some encouragement.]

Him: Tell me you're a half-breed.

Me: [over shoulder, still walking] I am.

Him: Take me home.

It's amazing how such a small thing can give you such a massive ego boost. I'm going to bed with a smile on my face.

Honestly, if I were into schlongs, I would so do him.

But really, who says half-breeds?

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