I Am Holden PAULfield.

Why I Like Straight Men

2013-10-21T13:38:00.000-04:00

“This isn’t healthy for you, Paul,” all of my friends say to me when I tell them about yet another one of my straight boy crushes. “You really need to stop falling for boys who will never love you back.”

This has always been a problem for me ever since I came out at the ripe and tender age of twelve, as it probably was for many other young queer youth who were ahead of the curve. When you realize your sexuality that young, you’re usually riding solo. It seems like everyone else is straight, or just hasn’t figured out otherwise yet, so it’s inevitable to fall victim to the straight boy crush by virtue of the fact that all the other boys in your middle school class are all straight as an arrow.

I am no stranger to this. In the past decade, I have gone through numerous (as in mostly) unrequited loves which have left me a scared, frail, and nervous wreck whose emotions lie somewhere in the spectrum between Taylor Swift’s “You Belong With Me” and Adele’s “Someone Like You.”

It’s been an ongoing joke throughout my college years that I only liked straight boys, which is not the truth, though I believed it for a bit. I even rationalized an explanation in my head.

I’m still quite self-conscious and insecure, as is any living, breathing human being with even the slightest trace of a soul, and I figured that if I were to like a straight boy and he didn’t like me back, it was because he simply didn’t like guys. Who knows? Maybe if he did, we’d hit it off, get married, and have two amazing sons who play catch in the backyard of our white-picket fence house in the suburbs. Unfortunately, he just digs chicks too much.

“No hard feelings, bro. I just don’t think of guys that way,” he’d say to me as he gave me a hug that didn’t linger too long as to not suggest anything. I’d pretend to be okay with it but still sulk in my bed crying into my pillow wishing that he would get some magical gay potion slipped into his drink that would turn him into a ‘mo and immediately dump his gorgeous model girlfriend to fall for me instead. At the end of the day, I’d get over it soon enough because it was his fault that it couldn’t work out.

On the other hand, if I were crushing on a gay boy and he didn’t like back, there is no excuse to hide behind. If I laid my feelings on the line, and he didn’t reciprocate, it was because he didn’t like me. Something about me as a person was deterring him from being interested, and the fact that we had the same parts was not cutting it. This was honest, unadulterated rejection, and that’s what scared me the most.

Instead, I found myself falling for straight boy after straight boy under the impression that their rejection was less heartbreaking and thus, it was easier to handle. I was expecting their rejection. I already knew the outcome. For gay boys, it was a toss-up, and that was a chance I was way too afraid to take.

If I were rejected by a gay boy, it would be full-on hysterics. Not just crying to sleep one night – more like staying in bed all day eating full boxes of Cheez-Its and a carton of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream coupled with binge watching “How I Met Your Mother” until the pain went away, which was anything between three episodes to three seasons. This extreme response was because I figured that, in this case, it was my fault it couldn’t work.

Then I came to the realization that I don’t exclusively like straight men. I just like men. And in the greater scheme of males, it just so happens that there is an overwhelming proportion of straight men in comparison to queer men. When I signed up to be a homosexual (just picture for a second if you had to register to be gay at the DMV or something), I declared that I was a man who was attracted to men. Nowhere in that declaration of gaydom did I ever say that I was a man attracted to men who are also attracted to men. That addendum is not part of the description, however implied it may be. Of course, the life of a gay man falling for men who will never be attracted to him is a sad one, but when I meet a guy, I don’t filter out whether he might like dudes before I think that I might be attracted to him. It’s a primal response.

I like who I like regardless of how many chicks (or dudes) he’s banged because his perceived or actual sexual orientation is simply not a criteria I use to determine a good mate. I like a guy whose humor makes me laugh even though it doesn’t seem to entertain anybody else. I like a guy who challenges my ideas and allows me to challenge his. I like a guy whose smile could cheer me up on even my lowest of days. I like a guy who looks just as good in a pair of old jeans and a flannel as he does in a three-piece tailored suit because it doesn’t matter the clothes the man is wearing as much as the confidence radiating from the man wearing them. I like a man with the strength to pick me up and carry me down the block and the humility to admit that he has weaknesses. Never was being gay a requirement in attraction. Of course, it matters if I wanted to pursue a relationship, but that doesn’t take away from a man being worthy of my lustful gaze and inexplicable adoration. Really, I’m trying to find a guy who I would like to spend my time with, and whether that takes the form of a romantic relationship or an unbreakable brotherhood, I would be satisfied.

It’s taken me a while to figure this out, but I’m not attracted to a guy because he is gay or straight. I am attracted to a guy because I think he’s awesome. Statistically, the odds are not in my favor, as only one in ten of the guys I’d be interested in could possibly like me back, and the likelihood of that happening is not a guarantee. They say you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your Prince Charming, and as a gay man, I just might have to kiss a few more. At least I get to practice my kissing.

A Mural: Revisited

2013-06-26T23:35:00.001-04:00

Before reading, I strongly encourage that you watch the video of this speech, for those who have never seen it or for those who I addressed who need a refresher:

Four years ago, I stood on the stage of Avery Fisher Hall in Lincoln Center to deliver the commencement address at the graduation of the Class of 2009 of the Fiorello H. LaGuardia High School of Music & Art and Performing Arts. It remains one of the proudest moments of my young life, and I don't think I have yet to feel the same immense joy as I did on that day. My face hurt. It was numb from smiling so hard.

Now, as a college graduate with purportedly more life experience under my belt, I wanted to revisit my remarks from four years ago. I loved my speech, and I thought it was perfect. It still gives me chills when I watch it over again. It's pretty idealist and overly optimistic, but I was both of those things back then, and I guess I still am now. In retrospect, I have some comments about the speech, but I would never in a million years change any of it, and I have zero regrets.

Firstly, I still wonder why I was allowed to say a lot of the things I put in that speech. Though it was vetted numerous times by several high school administrators, a joke about my dream to be at the center of a homosexual tryst with several of the Jonas Brothers somehow made the cut. What ever happened to those guys anyway? Regardless, I guess that the rest of my speech still had that hopeful and encouraging tone that these kinds of things should have. It was pretty well thought out since I had drafts of it written down over a year before the speech finally came into fruition. I doubt that anyone else would have been able to say half of the things that I did, and that's what made the speech special.

I raised two main points: 1) Artists have a privileged, often misunderstood, point of view, and 2) With this privilege, artists must create a "mural," or some kind of large statement, that will serve as a legacy.

In my four years at the University of Rochester, I have experienced these two things firsthand. To this day, I still don't quite understand how I ended up at a school saturated with future doctors and engineers, but I fell in love with it, and this one fact alone changed the way I saw myself, my passions, and my future. Artists are definitely undermined, even in the world of academia, and this happened all the time at Rochester. It was difficult for some people, mostly those who spent their days in large science lectures and state-of-the-art laboratories, to grasp why being an artist was important. While they were off developing vaccines and studying monkey brains, I was in the dance studio. Or in a practice room trying to learn my way around a djembe, or an mbira, or a berimbau. In a world full of disease and despair, why would anyone spend their time studying something as frivolous as collegiate Indian folk dance teams?

It's because it's what keeps me inspired. It keeps my mind alert. It makes me think. The pursuit of knowledge is a never-ending one, so I'd rather pursue knowledge in something that makes me want to keep learning. It may not be practical, but who's to know what's practical anymore? Throughout college, I was challenged frequently about why I do what I do, and because of the academic environment at Rochester, I was also encouraged to branch out. We always hear that it's all about the chase, and that the journey is more important than the destination, and I couldn't find a better analogy than my undergraduate college career. My diploma sits on my bedroom floor under several loads of laundry and half-filled luggage bags. But what I experienced on the way to that diploma, most especially those things that didn't lead at all to attaining my degree, is what really helped me to develop as a student, a citizen, and a human being.

I realize now that artists are indeed privileged, but so is anyone blessed with any kind of education. Education is something that we must acknowledge gives us an upper hand, regardless of where we find our academic passion. The fact that, as college students, we are given the opportunity to learn about something that interests us, and spend a small fortune to do so, is the exception, not the rule. I've heard many different figures, but what I've gathered is that those who have received a diploma from an institution of higher learning are part of 1% of the world's population who can share in that achievement. What seems like a rite of passage for many people is actually an impossibility for most of the world and even much of America.

Artists are often seen as some kind of underdog, and I'd like to think that we still are, but the true underdogs are those artists, doctors, engineers, and what-have-you who did not have the opportunity to reach their potential. I hate to make this a grand social commentary, but I tend to do that. It's a shame that there are talented people out there who are unable to pursue what makes them happy, and I am so thankful to the universe (which is code for "my parents") for being able to do so.

As college graduates, we have extreme privilege, and with that, we have the responsibility to make the most of it. This is what I mean by creating your mural: we must use our status as a way to empower those who have none. We have to inspire, to engage, and to never lose sight of our passions because there are so many people whose dreams were crushed by the harsh reality of the cruel world around us. We must find the beauty that remains past the wretchedness we all encounter. That is our calling.

I still have the utmost faith that everyone has the capability to make this world a better place, and it is your responsibility to make a tangible difference. My sentiments from four years ago are still the same: create your mural in the image that you would like to see the world. More importantly, make a difference that only you can make. We each are here to contribute something important, and I can't wait to see what each of you do with that prophecy.

And as always, stay fierce, fabulous, and ferocious.

Shit I Learned This Semester: The Final Semester

2013-05-23T14:14:00.000-04:00

For those of you who are new to this list, as there always are a few, ever semester since the Fall of 2010, I have written a list of things that I have learned, seen, and experienced throughout the prior few months. It has become an end-of-term ritual in which I have been able to reflect on the highlights, and lowlights, of each semester. It has helped me deal with heartache, stress, and confusion while also enlightening me to joys, successes, and triumphs. It saddens me a bit to realize that this is the final formal installment of this list, since my life will no longer be structured in semesters now that I have a college diploma (or at least not for a while), but some kind of periodic reflection is something that I hope to keep doing in the future. I want you all take a minute to look back at the lessons that life has imparted on you and let those fester in your brain. All of those things are what have brought you to this point and you will realize how much they have helped to prepare you for the life you're living today.

I think it's important to look at my own growth throughout time, so here is an archive of all the previous lists, if for further reference to my journey through college:
Fall 2010

And now, for the final list:

1) You are allowed to make mistakes.

2) It's both exciting and eerie to return to place you haven't been in a while.

3) Do not accidentally eat the little plastic baby in a King Cake.

4) Express what you feel because nobody is a mind-reader.

5) It's okay to be unsure of what you want.

6) To have doubts means that you are thinking critically

7) Your worth is not measured by your salary.

8) The internet is not democratic.

9) You cannot plan how you're going to feel.

10) Don't be afraid of making new connections or reviving old ones.

11) I am not even remotely prepared for grad school.

12) If all else fails, I can become a seamstress.

13) It's never too late to make a new best friend.

14) ¿Dónde está la cueva?

15) You have yet to see the most beautiful places.

16) You have yet to meet the most amazing people.

17) Nothing feels better than proving people wrong.

18) In Puerto Rico, everything is "20 minutes away."

19) It's ColoRADo, not ColoRODo.

20) Pulling around a large plush giraffe on wheels is an effective way of getting a lot of attention.

21) I will always be a Midnight Ramblers groupie.

22) In retrospect, you will always remember the good things...

23) ...so don't be afraid of uncertainty in the future because you're bound to remember all the good stuff anyway.

24) Some things don't change.

25) There is nothing remotely interesting about the entire state of Indiana.

26) You may possibly graduate with high distinction and not know it until the ceremony.

27) Time doesn't heal everything.

28) I am horrible at goodbyes.

29) There is something so fulfilling about keeping promises.

30) Sometimes, you have to rip the bandaid off. Really fast.

31) Mario Kart is awesome.

32) I should have boned more frat bros.

33) Never get too comfortable. Things will be more exciting that way.

34) "Breathe. Drink water. Run in circles. Do some jumping jacks. Twerk. Then keep breathing."

35) There are some pretty interesting and unique ways to use a crockpot.

36) Emojis, Snapchats, and Instagram have significantly altered modern youth relationships.

37) It takes one person to change your self-esteem. It's yourself.

38) Know your strengths, and always use them to your ability.

39) I am slowly becoming my parents.

40) The Ratchet Effect is actually an economic principle.

41) Not only are you moving forward, but you are also leaving things behind.

42) The greatest achievement in life is to stand up again after failing.

43) "Jugo de China" is actually just orange juice.

44) College has prepared me to be an amazing bullshitter.

45) College has also prepared me to be passionate about things that matter.

46) The smallest gesture can cause the biggest reaction.

47) "Achievement is tied to your ability to let go of the past. Envisioning your future is never easy because you have to break down walls."

48) Fail fast. And fail efficiently.

49) We will always have the past to keep us together in the future.

50) I'm gonna miss this place.

Shit I Learned This Semester: Fall 2012

2012-12-27T02:37:00.000-05:00

Welcome to my biannual shit-show. Unfortunately, this is probably not as good as my last one for the obvious reason that I didn't get to go around the world this time. Nevertheless, every day is a learning experience, isn't it?

1) Don't trust me with a credit card.

2) Time is relative.

3) That big moth in your house might just be a bat.

4) You have to kiss a lot of frogs. If not, you're just making out with a nasty ass frog, and that's weird.

5) You can never be completely satisfied. This is okay.

6) Pumpkin carving is great autumn activity.

7) Pumpkin seeds are a delicious reason to partake in the previously stated autumn activity.

8) Don't trust the vegetarian with the meats on Thanksgiving.

9) Resilience runs through a New Yorker's blood.

10) Cargo pants are a thing again.

11) Frank Ocean knows how to sing straight into your soul.

12) Time heals everything eventually.

13) When in doubt, the answer is Tupac.

14) Sometimes, you have to wear a lot of hats... literally and figuratively.

15) You never know who's watching at La Casa de Mofongo.

16) Twerking is a reasonable solution for world peace.

17) I'm ready to be a housewife.

18) Slum cred is like street cred for Indians.

19) iPhones are magnificent little devices.

20) No matter how much time has passed, you can always catch up.

21) Dostana is the best movie of all time.

22) Anything wrapped in dough and fried to perfection is the ideal snack.

23) Kids can get really feisty about Halloween candy.

24) Walmart is best for people-watching after midnight.

25) Saying you're a captain of an Indian dance team can get you some pretty awkward looks.

26) Changing a flat tire isn't very difficult.

27) Neither is running a 5K.

28) You know you're in Hickville when the apple orchard you go to is called Hick's.

27) Someday, somebody's gonna make you wanna turn around and say goodbye.

28) Finals can wait when there's Pokemon to play.

29) You know you're at an a cappella party when the guests start harmonizing at 4AM.

30) There are some very good people in the world.

31) You have no idea how much you can miss something your never had.

32) I should write for Thought Catalog.

33) There's always time for a booty break.

34) There's a first time for everything.

35) A group of ethnic girls can easily be confused as SWV, Destiny's Child, or TLC.

36) You can feel connected to people you'll never know.

37) Garbage Plates aren't as great as they make them out to be.

38) #YODBO

39) The most offensive term in the English language is "basic bitch."

40) It's a dog-eat-dog world at the garba.
41) Give a man some watermelon, make a friend for life.
42) Nothing like Sunday family dinners to make you feel at home.
43) There is such a thing as an underwear of the month club.
44) Bootyfrogging is an acceptable way to elicit sex.
45) Voting is a little anti-climactic.
46) "Your coming out party was your baby shower"
47) Rachet people make the world go 'round.
48) I want my life to be as close as to what's depicted in The New Normal as possible.
49) It be like that sometimes.
50) Stop reminiscing about old memories and just make new ones already.

The Ten Minutes after 3:31 AM

2012-11-25T20:49:00.002-05:00

There’s a guy playing the banjo on the subway platform. Quite well, honestly. If anyone knows good folk music, it’s me.

There’s a rare breed of people who ride the subway at 3:31 AM. For the most part, the people here are getting home from a drunken night of gallivanting around the town or are homeless and seeking refuge from the frigid cold. Most of the people waiting for the train are some shade of brown, except for the guy playing the banjo. I’m not quite sure if the ethnic discrepancy has anything to do with the time of night or my location in the city.

There are ten more minutes until my train arrives. Those ten minutes are that kind of excruciating wait that you recognize is soon enough, but not as soon as you want it to be. Like it should be faster, and you’re somehow entitled to it. It’s the same kind of wait when you take baked goods out of the oven. You smell the warm, sugary goodness, and you want to dig in immediately, but you figure that you should probably wait five more minutes instead of losing all sensation in your tongue due to flaming hot cookies and doing that embarrassing pant-and-fanning of your mouth that usually comes with eating hot food too prematurely.

I wonder, as this year comes to an end, whether I think that this year has been fulfilling. I spent the first portion of it traveling the globe and living out some of my biggest dreams while learning lessons about myself and the world around me. I spent the next portion in a new, unfamiliar city doing something just as new and unfamiliar. I spent the last portion getting back into the groove of normalcy as a result of the previous two portions.

There’s one more month of 2012. And maybe of the world because, y’know, the apocalypse is coming. Either way, I’d like to think that this year was full of personal growth and surprises. I think that I’ve had major development in the “Paul” department; I’m really coming into my own and realizing that I’m supposed to be a real adult. It’s a little weird to have so many new responsibilities, and it scares me how much I’ve accomplished in my young life, but it also is a constant reminder of the new challenges to come and the innumerable things I have yet to do.

Not too long ago, I was sitting on the Singapore or Shanghai subways. And the Chicago subway. And now, I’m back waiting on a New York City subway platform. It’s crazy how time flies. It’s interesting that the past ten minutes have felt like an eternity, yet the past year seemed to fly by. I’ve relived an entire year in ten minutes. And just like that, the 1 train is approaching the station, ready to take me to my next destination.

Someone Like Me: Finding Solace in Solitude

2011-12-28T20:14:00.001-05:00

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

2011-12-28T02:08:00.000-05:00

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.

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

A Post-Thanksgiving Post

2011-12-03T01:59:00.002-05:00

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

2011-05-31T23:08:00.000-04:00

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

2011-05-13T20:31:00.001-04:00

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

2011-03-21T03:55:00.002-04:00

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

2011-03-08T20:07:00.000-05:00

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

2011-01-27T00:41:00.002-05:00

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

2011-01-24T05:17:00.007-05:00

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

2011-01-06T17:53:00.003-05:00

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

2011-01-05T03:24:00.002-05:00

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

2011-01-02T01:05:00.001-05:00

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.

Paul Vergara... (The Status Updates)

2010-12-19T00:56:00.000-05:00

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"

2010-11-28T06:14:00.000-05:00

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)

2010-11-24T23:31:00.001-05:00

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

2010-10-10T15:54:00.002-04:00

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

2010-09-17T16:59:00.000-04:00

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

2010-08-20T08:33:00.000-04:00

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

2010-08-14T16:56:00.001-04:00

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.

2010-08-09T02:19:00.001-04:00

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)