It's been a couple of months since 9/11 and I still do not quite feel right. I don't know what the exact problem is. I feel exhausted, weak and unable to pull myself out of bed in the mornings. I am missing at least one day of the workweek and I feel real bad about it. What compounds my feelings of guilt is the fact that the people at work are not really saying much about it at all. If I did not know better I would conclude that no one notices that I am almost never at work on Thursdays and/or Fridays.
I have no substance abuse problems; I do not drink, I do not smoke, I have never used drugs recreationally, I don't binge eat; I don't go for days without sleep. I have a regular schedule, I get exercise, and I also watch what I eat. After this entire set of precautions, why then do I feel so horrible? I am 27 I feel 50. My energy levels keep fluctuating, some days I am crazy and bouncing off the walls, others I might as well die and be put underground. My migraines are hitting me almost every other day with increasing intensity. I have recently even started seeing colors during my migraines. I have been told that seeing visual artifacts is the sign of a severe migraine.
The strange thing is back in Austin I did not even have so much as a headache. Ever since I moved to NYC, migraines have greeted me like a welcome bandwagon and have never left my side to this day. After another Thursday away from work, I came in on Friday morning. I was on a mission. I was going to fix this migraine and fatigue thing once and for all. So I started searching the web. As usual there were the miracle cures, the unheard of diseases, and several questionnaires that conclude that you're bipolar even before you begin answering the questions. After a few hours of searching something caught my eye on our intranet page: An advertisement for nutritional counseling. The ad listed all of the symptoms I was suffering from and offered one free trial session. I felt I had nothing to lose; plus because this advertisement was on our company site, I thought my company was somewhat endorsing this person.
I sent an e-mail to the given address detailing some of my symptoms and what I am planning to get out of the consulting sessions. I received a prompt reply the next day. When I called the number in the e-mail, a very soft-spoken person answered. Her name was Sohyoung and although she did not have an official degree she was taking well-being counseling classes. The credentials were on the weak side but just like any other New Yorker I was lured by the free offerings --the free session. We agreed to meet that Saturday at her building on the Upper East Side.
I took the subway, the 4-5-6 (the JLo Line as my cousin and I called it) line up to Upper East Side. I took an express train that got me to her station within 3 stops. This is very convenient I thought to myself. I got off the train and when I exited the station it felt like I had been transported to a completely different part of the country. I assumed 14th street's unending buzzing action to be the norm for NYC. Whenever I traveled to these northern neighborhoods, the calm of the street always hit me when I climbed up the subway station steps. Sohyoung's neighborhood was beautiful, but not glitzy. This was where the normal people lived on the Upper East Side; it was a mix of tall high-rise building with 30-40 storey condos and shorter 4-5 storey buildings of old New York City.
Sohyoung greeted me at her building's entrance hall. They had a security desk with three attendants and everything. I don't want to sound like I have never seen a residential building with porters before but still this was more impressive than I expected.
She was an average height lady of Asian origin. I could not tell for sure which part of the world she was from. She was cute, and endearing; definitely one of those people you just warm up to right away although you know nothing about them. We went upstairs to this very nice lounge area at the top floor of her building. There was a gym next to the area we sat but there was no one there. I thought to myself, if I had 24-hour access to a nice gym like this I would be using it and it would not sit there empty.
The conversation mostly ranged from question answer to just darn right confessions of a new economy child. I gave her as much information as possible about my lifestyle, my eating, sleeping habits and my work situation. Although throughout this time she asked occasional questions and mostly listened, she was already doing a lot of good to me. I was finally getting a lot of things off of my chest. At the end of the hour, she wrapped up the conversation and offered me a seated massage.
While this was a very nice offering, as weird as I am about human touch from strangers, I did not quite know how to respond to the offer. It seemed at the time, it would be rude to say no, so I said yes. The massage was amazing, partially because I do not let anyone touch me for so long in the first place. I was getting warm and flushed, and I could feel underneath my clothes my skin was sweating like crazy in response to Sohyoung's massage. She definitely knew how to give a great massage.
I hate to say this but the massage was the final dealmaker for me. So I signed the dotted line for 6 months of sessions, 4 sessions per month totaling up to $600. I would pay her monthly but if we skipped a session, I would not lose it as long as I gave her advance notice.
So we began working through the rubble trying to patch my nutrition and my soul. The second work area came as a surprise to me. Sohyoung was not only counseling me on nutrition but she was more than willing if not more interested in hearing me talk about my life, my ordeals with my family, my relationship, my background. At times she would be so engrossed at my monologue that two hours would go by and we would still be sitting there. She was very helpful because she was a very good listener and that's what I needed at the time: someone who would listen to me and not judge me, at least not openly.
On the nutrition front, she added several leafy green vegetables to my diet, helped me increase my water intake, and banned all diet sodas out of my diet. Believe it or not, her recommendations seemed to be helping. My migraines were becoming weaker and far apart and I felt more energetic than usual. I am sure the tweaks in my nutrition were helpful but I cannot help but believe that I mostly benefited from the heart-to-heart conversations that helped me shed the bile that had been building inside me ever since I moved to NYC.
Here I was becoming a true New Yorker, unable to find any dedicated friends who can listen to me babble for 3 hours about quite unsubstantial matters, I rented my own friend who would listen to me no matter what. Perhaps it was true, in NYC you could get anything you wanted / needed if you knew where to get it from and how much to pay for it.
Sohyoung and I met all spring, even after my layoff. After the layoff she proved to be an invaluable source of comfort and wisdom. As the summer months progressed, while I enjoyed our weekly conversations, I had started to feel a little strange about paying for them. So my pocketbook was finally catching up with my emotional side. I was not planning to renew our engagement once the first six months were over but our sessions had to stop before then.
She traveled to Korea in mid-summer and mysteriously never came back. She sent me a cryptic message about how she had discovered in Seoul that she had a medical problem and she intended to stay there until it was completely cured. We exchanged a few e-mails after that but I never heard from her again after I moved back to Austin Texas.
Category :
Here are some advertisements from 9/12. The meaning of these advertisements changes within a few hours on 9/11.
The advertisement reads: "Think New York's been cleaned up? You should see what we've done for vodka".
During my visit to New York City in August 2004, I noticed that this billboard was still in place but the tagline in it had mysteriously changed to "Distilled five times. Once for each Borough."
The advertisement reads:"Stella Artois: Sip from History Untarnished".
This is the makeshift memorial that was put together on 14th street and Avenue A. Someone literally painted the mural overnight. The next morning on 9/12, there were already flowers, candles, messages, and other items surrounding the mural. People visited this mural for weeks afterwards, each time bringing a candle, or some other item.
Category :
I think the biggest cruelty of life is felt at times right after a traumatic event. Usually what hurts most is not the event itself. What hurts most is that the next day almost like clockwork, the sun rises, clouds drift calmly in the sky, even birds fly overhead singing completely inappropriately happy tunes.
The morning of 9/12 was no different. I woke up and I did not remember the events of the day before; it seemed that I could have had a bad dream from last night's dinner at Sushi Samba. I headed to the bathroom for my shower. In the shower, I accidentally knocked one of my shampoo bottles and it fell onto another one, and soon several of my shampoo bottles were tumbling down into the bathtub. Right at that moment a ZING went through my head; the events of the day before came rushing back and before I knew it I was crying.
That moment did not last long however, just like it came, it went. I had a calm breakfast in front of the TV while the network TV replayed the planes crashing into the towers and towers falling down sequences more times than one can count. Later in the morning, I called my parents on the phone. They were telling to jump on the first plane and return to Istanbul. They had a point but somehow in the back of my head, it seemed this would be admitting defeat completely. I was not ready to go anywhere yet, let alone all the way back to Turkey.
After lunch, this staying at home and watching the news thing got quite boring. I was craving to go outside. I finally pulled myself together and left the apartment. I soon found out that most of the streets going downtown were blocked by the police. I had a camera in my hand, just in case I saw anything worth capturing. At the same time, as soon as I left my building, having a camera in my hand felt inappropriate.
The streets were full of people walking around in a daze. Everyone was gravitating towards the downtown but we all could not go past South of Houston. I was not the only one with a camera. Overnight, Manhattanites all had morphed into photographer/news journalist. People were out with their camcorders, fancy digital cameras, and some with cameras like mine a 28-year-old Olympus. Perhaps it was easier to approach the situation as an event to be photographed, captured. Perhaps by playing the journalist, these people were able to avoid feeling like the victims. Perhaps these were a bunch of greedy people who at the wake of thousand others were trying to make a buck from the pain of others. Perhaps all of the above.
I must have walked up and down Houston several times that day. The street was closed to traffic, and there were no cars in sight. Instead, there were huge dump trucks, and other construction equipment lined up on both sides of the road. Every now and then a fire truck would rush on by screaming with its sirens. Everyone in the street would stop and start clapping and cheering for the firefighters. On one hand it seemed to be the right thing to do given our helplessness at the time, on the other it was just absurd to be applauding a bunch of a people going in to a disaster zone.
Other rescue workers were grouping around their vehicles and getting ready to go to the site now called "ground zero." These workers had overnight turned into instant celebrities. Every civilian on the street was clamoring for a good photo of the rescue workers. Getting a photo of a firefighter was even better.
New Yorkers who have always hated the tourists in New York had overnight turned into tourists in their own city. I soon noticed I was doing was many others were doing: Anytime I came by a street that was north south oriented, I was taking a picture. Each of these streets was closed with a barricade and several officers and national guard standing by screening people. Only people with identification that clearly showed and address in the barricaded area were allowed through.
Usually in these pictures there would be two large towers protruding behind the usual SoHo buildings. But today, there was a tower of smoke like a big rainstorm had exploded downtown releasing a large cloud of mist over the financial district.
The streets were crawling with people but there was silence in the air. It seemed like everyone was mourning. Several people still had tears in their eyes as they looked southward to where the towers used to be. The air smelled like someone had burned hundreds of computers, cables, industrial carpeting in one big fire. The wind no longer blew towards Brooklyn, it blew North towards uptown on 9/12. There was something else in this smell. Something I have never smelled before. It was very unpleasant and I did not even dare to think about what it could be.
Occasionally we would see a large dump truck filled with debris roll by. It was clear, the towers were gone. They were reduced to mangled steel, dust, and things that did not even have any recognizable shape or size to them anymore.
The morning of 9/12 was no different. I woke up and I did not remember the events of the day before; it seemed that I could have had a bad dream from last night's dinner at Sushi Samba. I headed to the bathroom for my shower. In the shower, I accidentally knocked one of my shampoo bottles and it fell onto another one, and soon several of my shampoo bottles were tumbling down into the bathtub. Right at that moment a ZING went through my head; the events of the day before came rushing back and before I knew it I was crying.
That moment did not last long however, just like it came, it went. I had a calm breakfast in front of the TV while the network TV replayed the planes crashing into the towers and towers falling down sequences more times than one can count. Later in the morning, I called my parents on the phone. They were telling to jump on the first plane and return to Istanbul. They had a point but somehow in the back of my head, it seemed this would be admitting defeat completely. I was not ready to go anywhere yet, let alone all the way back to Turkey.
After lunch, this staying at home and watching the news thing got quite boring. I was craving to go outside. I finally pulled myself together and left the apartment. I soon found out that most of the streets going downtown were blocked by the police. I had a camera in my hand, just in case I saw anything worth capturing. At the same time, as soon as I left my building, having a camera in my hand felt inappropriate.
The streets were full of people walking around in a daze. Everyone was gravitating towards the downtown but we all could not go past South of Houston. I was not the only one with a camera. Overnight, Manhattanites all had morphed into photographer/news journalist. People were out with their camcorders, fancy digital cameras, and some with cameras like mine a 28-year-old Olympus. Perhaps it was easier to approach the situation as an event to be photographed, captured. Perhaps by playing the journalist, these people were able to avoid feeling like the victims. Perhaps these were a bunch of greedy people who at the wake of thousand others were trying to make a buck from the pain of others. Perhaps all of the above.
I must have walked up and down Houston several times that day. The street was closed to traffic, and there were no cars in sight. Instead, there were huge dump trucks, and other construction equipment lined up on both sides of the road. Every now and then a fire truck would rush on by screaming with its sirens. Everyone in the street would stop and start clapping and cheering for the firefighters. On one hand it seemed to be the right thing to do given our helplessness at the time, on the other it was just absurd to be applauding a bunch of a people going in to a disaster zone.
Other rescue workers were grouping around their vehicles and getting ready to go to the site now called "ground zero." These workers had overnight turned into instant celebrities. Every civilian on the street was clamoring for a good photo of the rescue workers. Getting a photo of a firefighter was even better.
New Yorkers who have always hated the tourists in New York had overnight turned into tourists in their own city. I soon noticed I was doing was many others were doing: Anytime I came by a street that was north south oriented, I was taking a picture. Each of these streets was closed with a barricade and several officers and national guard standing by screening people. Only people with identification that clearly showed and address in the barricaded area were allowed through.
Usually in these pictures there would be two large towers protruding behind the usual SoHo buildings. But today, there was a tower of smoke like a big rainstorm had exploded downtown releasing a large cloud of mist over the financial district.
The streets were crawling with people but there was silence in the air. It seemed like everyone was mourning. Several people still had tears in their eyes as they looked southward to where the towers used to be. The air smelled like someone had burned hundreds of computers, cables, industrial carpeting in one big fire. The wind no longer blew towards Brooklyn, it blew North towards uptown on 9/12. There was something else in this smell. Something I have never smelled before. It was very unpleasant and I did not even dare to think about what it could be.
Occasionally we would see a large dump truck filled with debris roll by. It was clear, the towers were gone. They were reduced to mangled steel, dust, and things that did not even have any recognizable shape or size to them anymore.
My original unedited e mail message from that day:
9/12/2001 3:07 AM
Sorry for my general absence from e mail. I had a VERY close encounter with today's events. I am sending you all a CC of my account that I sent out to Friends and Family tonight:
Hi, I wanted to send out another message briefing you all on the new details and some corrections. First off, I am ok and unharmed by the World Trade Center Disaster.
My earlier message today: I was in a daze when I wrote the first message, I was not 30 blocks away, I was 10-20 blocks away on the hudson river side walking still towards the two towers when the South Tower collapsed. I was right around the Holland tunnel ventilation shafts.
The Experience:
I go through WTC everyday around 9 AM to transfer from NR subway trains to the Path trains that make me to my office in Exchange Place (NJ shore of Hudson river). I overslept this morning so I was running 30 mins late. I was rushing to work around 9 and I noticed smoke in the air blowing towards Brooklyn, but it did not occur to me that it could be WTC. I got onto my first subway train and then made it to my transfer station and got on the second train that takes me to WTC Path trains. There was something blaring on the intercom but there always is, so I did not think much of it. We made it to 8th street station and I finally got it, the Train was not going to make to WTC, something was up. I got out, somewhat angry that I was going to be late to work AGAIN! As I was walking towards the ferries on the hudson side I saw the two towers on fire. Apparently when I was going into the subway only one of them was on fire. By the time I got out and started walking, the second impact had occurred.
My own behavior did not make sense at the time. A group of people along with me were walking/running TOWARD the towers until one of them collapsed. When something like this happens you do not realize how serious it all is. I was still trying to go to work thinking, oh great now I have to take the ferry.
As I got closer to the towers (the ferry stations are in that area too), it became evident that this was not a movie. Tons of paper were flying out of the North tower (it was a VERY windy day to start with). Half way through my walk something took over and I was sobbing for no reason. There is nothing comparable to seeing one of the world's largest buildings on fire. Once I saw the South tower collapsed, I woke up from my dazed walk towards the towers. Until then I was just unable to take my eyes off of the towers to realize that I was putting myself in jeopardy by approaching. Just around this time I met with the wave of hundreds of people walking away from the towers towards North. When the buildings fell, the smoke and debris in the air was UNBELIEVABLE. The force of the buildings falling down pulled down a whole bunch of air which let all of us at the scene see the skyline without the two towers. It looked like major after effects digital video editing work only it was real. I still can not believe the news that keeps saying that there were no bombs in the buildings. They fell down so elegantly, mostly caving into themselves like they have been imploded by an professional deconstruction company.
A lot of us started running uptown to beat the storm of dust coming our way. And hope was with us until the last moment, the second tower was still standing, it was ok, one tower was still better than none. Then the second one fell, and you should have heard us all on the streets. Crying, in anger, in tears, totally overwhelmed just by the visual impact of what was happening. I found myself saying "game over"... it was over, it really was. Thousands of people walked home today at noon, all transportation, all bridges, all subways, all path subways, all ferries were shut down.
I have seen several "mud people" walking to their homes in a state of absolute shock and disbelief. I was able to avoid the dust.
All streets are empty right now, and there are ambulances and emergency vehicles ferrying patients north to uptown hospitals. The downtown hospitals are only used for EXTREME cases. I have seen several people on the streets with scratched and scarred faces.
All restaurants, all stores are closed. I was out tonight to get dinner (yes some restaurants were open), everyone is talking about this and strange thing is, in a town where everyone is a stranger, no one is a stranger right now. You can really talk to anyone and they will discuss the details of today and where they were and what they felt, and what their theories are in detail at length.
One final thing that occurred to me tonight is that all theories I hear from the news is about foreign origination....but I think otherwise, what I saw today was MUCH similar to the ending scene of the famous film Fight Club from a couple of years back.
One positive thing is, the people who hit the towers do not know that those buildings really fill between 9 and 9:30. When the first impact happened at 8:45, everything leading to WTC was stopped. And the second tower was already being evacuated when it was hit by the second plane.
So thousands of people did not even make it to their office in WTC because the subway would not go past Canal. A lot of people like me were saved by the excellent response and sense of the city's officials. I applaud the city's organization and efforts in this really challenging and difficult time.
We are all in the state of shock and disbelief, I am just hoping that the survivor's guilt will not be too severe. I am going to try to go to my work place on the shore of Jersey city (exchange place) right across the WTC complex on the NJ side. I might have to take the ferry for a while. One of the major Path (transportation between NJ and NY) is located at the WTC. Needless to say this attack pretty much destroyed that station.
Working in NY will be very difficult for a couple of weeks. Our clients have been effected and we have no word on how many of them actually evacuated the towers and the adjoining buildings in the complex.
It feels like the news is not supplying enough information. Most of us in Ny are just as information starved as you all are, no one is allowed to go past the Canal Street downtown. Only emergency personnel is allowed.
Please spread the news that everyone that I know in Sapient seems to be fine. I think we were saved by out slightly late starting schedules. (Amazing argument for showing up to work at 10:30AM !)
So far I do not know of anyone that is not ok. The phones are still not behaving right if I can not be reached it does not mean I am not ok. I am taking good care of myself. I am unable to call all of you to tell you we're doing ok, I need your help to tell others that you know might be worried about us.
Thanks for all your messages.... I am glad you all are not here to see what I saw, because on TV what you see could not possibly represent what was felt by us all here. Thanks in advance for spreading the news, ES
9/12/2001 3:07 AM
Sorry for my general absence from e mail. I had a VERY close encounter with today's events. I am sending you all a CC of my account that I sent out to Friends and Family tonight:
Hi, I wanted to send out another message briefing you all on the new details and some corrections. First off, I am ok and unharmed by the World Trade Center Disaster.
My earlier message today: I was in a daze when I wrote the first message, I was not 30 blocks away, I was 10-20 blocks away on the hudson river side walking still towards the two towers when the South Tower collapsed. I was right around the Holland tunnel ventilation shafts.
The Experience:
I go through WTC everyday around 9 AM to transfer from NR subway trains to the Path trains that make me to my office in Exchange Place (NJ shore of Hudson river). I overslept this morning so I was running 30 mins late. I was rushing to work around 9 and I noticed smoke in the air blowing towards Brooklyn, but it did not occur to me that it could be WTC. I got onto my first subway train and then made it to my transfer station and got on the second train that takes me to WTC Path trains. There was something blaring on the intercom but there always is, so I did not think much of it. We made it to 8th street station and I finally got it, the Train was not going to make to WTC, something was up. I got out, somewhat angry that I was going to be late to work AGAIN! As I was walking towards the ferries on the hudson side I saw the two towers on fire. Apparently when I was going into the subway only one of them was on fire. By the time I got out and started walking, the second impact had occurred.
My own behavior did not make sense at the time. A group of people along with me were walking/running TOWARD the towers until one of them collapsed. When something like this happens you do not realize how serious it all is. I was still trying to go to work thinking, oh great now I have to take the ferry.
As I got closer to the towers (the ferry stations are in that area too), it became evident that this was not a movie. Tons of paper were flying out of the North tower (it was a VERY windy day to start with). Half way through my walk something took over and I was sobbing for no reason. There is nothing comparable to seeing one of the world's largest buildings on fire. Once I saw the South tower collapsed, I woke up from my dazed walk towards the towers. Until then I was just unable to take my eyes off of the towers to realize that I was putting myself in jeopardy by approaching. Just around this time I met with the wave of hundreds of people walking away from the towers towards North. When the buildings fell, the smoke and debris in the air was UNBELIEVABLE. The force of the buildings falling down pulled down a whole bunch of air which let all of us at the scene see the skyline without the two towers. It looked like major after effects digital video editing work only it was real. I still can not believe the news that keeps saying that there were no bombs in the buildings. They fell down so elegantly, mostly caving into themselves like they have been imploded by an professional deconstruction company.
A lot of us started running uptown to beat the storm of dust coming our way. And hope was with us until the last moment, the second tower was still standing, it was ok, one tower was still better than none. Then the second one fell, and you should have heard us all on the streets. Crying, in anger, in tears, totally overwhelmed just by the visual impact of what was happening. I found myself saying "game over"... it was over, it really was. Thousands of people walked home today at noon, all transportation, all bridges, all subways, all path subways, all ferries were shut down.
I have seen several "mud people" walking to their homes in a state of absolute shock and disbelief. I was able to avoid the dust.
All streets are empty right now, and there are ambulances and emergency vehicles ferrying patients north to uptown hospitals. The downtown hospitals are only used for EXTREME cases. I have seen several people on the streets with scratched and scarred faces.
All restaurants, all stores are closed. I was out tonight to get dinner (yes some restaurants were open), everyone is talking about this and strange thing is, in a town where everyone is a stranger, no one is a stranger right now. You can really talk to anyone and they will discuss the details of today and where they were and what they felt, and what their theories are in detail at length.
One final thing that occurred to me tonight is that all theories I hear from the news is about foreign origination....but I think otherwise, what I saw today was MUCH similar to the ending scene of the famous film Fight Club from a couple of years back.
One positive thing is, the people who hit the towers do not know that those buildings really fill between 9 and 9:30. When the first impact happened at 8:45, everything leading to WTC was stopped. And the second tower was already being evacuated when it was hit by the second plane.
So thousands of people did not even make it to their office in WTC because the subway would not go past Canal. A lot of people like me were saved by the excellent response and sense of the city's officials. I applaud the city's organization and efforts in this really challenging and difficult time.
We are all in the state of shock and disbelief, I am just hoping that the survivor's guilt will not be too severe. I am going to try to go to my work place on the shore of Jersey city (exchange place) right across the WTC complex on the NJ side. I might have to take the ferry for a while. One of the major Path (transportation between NJ and NY) is located at the WTC. Needless to say this attack pretty much destroyed that station.
Working in NY will be very difficult for a couple of weeks. Our clients have been effected and we have no word on how many of them actually evacuated the towers and the adjoining buildings in the complex.
It feels like the news is not supplying enough information. Most of us in Ny are just as information starved as you all are, no one is allowed to go past the Canal Street downtown. Only emergency personnel is allowed.
Please spread the news that everyone that I know in Sapient seems to be fine. I think we were saved by out slightly late starting schedules. (Amazing argument for showing up to work at 10:30AM !)
So far I do not know of anyone that is not ok. The phones are still not behaving right if I can not be reached it does not mean I am not ok. I am taking good care of myself. I am unable to call all of you to tell you we're doing ok, I need your help to tell others that you know might be worried about us.
Thanks for all your messages.... I am glad you all are not here to see what I saw, because on TV what you see could not possibly represent what was felt by us all here. Thanks in advance for spreading the news, ES
Category :
We take so much for granted; our bodies, our health, our sanity, and most of all our identity. We spend our days constantly trying to go from point A to point B only to realize that point B is the new point A. But beyond all of these thoughts, and the circle of life, which on most days feels a lot closer to a re-enactment of the myth of Sisyphus, we find that from day to day, from year to year, from one turmoil to the next; in the middle of all this change the only thing that stays constant is our presence.
They say that the loneliest places on Earth are the most crowded ones, and I felt this so strongly during my time in New York City. Six million people all stuffed several storey high onto the same old half mud, half bedrock, half water, half steel island. We were all so important, so primed and ready to hit it big any moment now. As I sat at my window and stared on to the brief green outside my building, I realized in more ways than one this was a deserted island. Nature in its true form had long fled this place, only remaining piece of it was tucked neatly at the center with right angles around it; almost a hostage the city was holding onto, in case the rest of nature came back to make claims. All these streets, all these buildings, these tunnels, all these dreams, they seemed all so empty, yet we stayed day after day; every day waking up with renewed hopes of stardom and wealth; every day digging the same old hole in the same old spot with no significant progress to show. We thought we were rowing on Hudson against the current and we knew we had it bad; but it was much worse than that; Hudson had eaten us alive and we did not know it yet.
As I walked in the September breeze, the streets were busy with people. Between 1st Avenue and Union Square I could run into two friends, hundreds of strangers and perhaps on any given day a few models and marginal celebrities. New York City was the ultimate Noah's Ark, we had two of everything; which made me wonder, where was my other half? Was he or she out here on this island too or was he the person I left behind in Texas?
Manhattan was a zoo; it was now mine, and I had my cage in it, labeled "100% genuine imported Turk". But really was I genuine anymore? After ten years in the US, what were the remains of my Turkish persona? Maybe it was the fact that I got upset so fast, that I expected things from people Americans do not; or perhaps it was my manners, my accent, my refusal to learn the proper names of trees and flowers. Perhaps just the simple fact that when I closed my eyes I still dreamt in Turkish. Or perhaps the fact that my family refused to give up their ways, and still called me up to two times a day.
Walking the streets, there were familiar faces on people I had never met. As they looked up from the pavement, our eyes would meet and right then and there we both knew it but no one dared to speak a word. It felt like I had checked myself in to a secret society and our secret handshake was avoiding eye contact at all cost.
I would frequently have these days where I would literally hide from acquaintances, friends. If I saw one from a distance I would quickly turn the corner and pick up the pace. In the US, this kind of behavior is classified as antisocial, perhaps abnormal. I have never considered it as such however. I see nothing wrong with wanting to be alone for a day. Seriously at what point did we lose our right to be by ourselves? In a city where everyone must mingle, everyone must work, everyone must fight and win, what if I was completely content with being alone and perhaps even willing to lose? Would that mean that I did not belong here? Should I have seen ahead before moving here that I was just not made of the right stuff for this city?
The storm was brewing, the September skies were clear blue. It was cold but without clouds or rain but something weighed down on my neck like a pair of heavy hands --comforting to some degree but a burden nevertheless. It hung over the city like a veil. It knew better and it was not going to tell anything.
Along the Hudson I walked with Hudson touching me every now and then in the breeze. I tried to learn the language of New York, I practiced every day, and I believed I could walk myself to being a true New Yorker. West Side Highway buzzed on to my left. My head was busy, my head was as crowded as this city; busy as a beehive with questions that have been asked many times before yet their enigma remained.
In the middle of my coming confused thirties crisis I was given the additional burden of knowing that there was nothing original or interesting about my suffering --but somehow this knowledge did not dull the pain nor did it justify its presence.
They say that the loneliest places on Earth are the most crowded ones, and I felt this so strongly during my time in New York City. Six million people all stuffed several storey high onto the same old half mud, half bedrock, half water, half steel island. We were all so important, so primed and ready to hit it big any moment now. As I sat at my window and stared on to the brief green outside my building, I realized in more ways than one this was a deserted island. Nature in its true form had long fled this place, only remaining piece of it was tucked neatly at the center with right angles around it; almost a hostage the city was holding onto, in case the rest of nature came back to make claims. All these streets, all these buildings, these tunnels, all these dreams, they seemed all so empty, yet we stayed day after day; every day waking up with renewed hopes of stardom and wealth; every day digging the same old hole in the same old spot with no significant progress to show. We thought we were rowing on Hudson against the current and we knew we had it bad; but it was much worse than that; Hudson had eaten us alive and we did not know it yet.
As I walked in the September breeze, the streets were busy with people. Between 1st Avenue and Union Square I could run into two friends, hundreds of strangers and perhaps on any given day a few models and marginal celebrities. New York City was the ultimate Noah's Ark, we had two of everything; which made me wonder, where was my other half? Was he or she out here on this island too or was he the person I left behind in Texas?
Manhattan was a zoo; it was now mine, and I had my cage in it, labeled "100% genuine imported Turk". But really was I genuine anymore? After ten years in the US, what were the remains of my Turkish persona? Maybe it was the fact that I got upset so fast, that I expected things from people Americans do not; or perhaps it was my manners, my accent, my refusal to learn the proper names of trees and flowers. Perhaps just the simple fact that when I closed my eyes I still dreamt in Turkish. Or perhaps the fact that my family refused to give up their ways, and still called me up to two times a day.
Walking the streets, there were familiar faces on people I had never met. As they looked up from the pavement, our eyes would meet and right then and there we both knew it but no one dared to speak a word. It felt like I had checked myself in to a secret society and our secret handshake was avoiding eye contact at all cost.
I would frequently have these days where I would literally hide from acquaintances, friends. If I saw one from a distance I would quickly turn the corner and pick up the pace. In the US, this kind of behavior is classified as antisocial, perhaps abnormal. I have never considered it as such however. I see nothing wrong with wanting to be alone for a day. Seriously at what point did we lose our right to be by ourselves? In a city where everyone must mingle, everyone must work, everyone must fight and win, what if I was completely content with being alone and perhaps even willing to lose? Would that mean that I did not belong here? Should I have seen ahead before moving here that I was just not made of the right stuff for this city?
The storm was brewing, the September skies were clear blue. It was cold but without clouds or rain but something weighed down on my neck like a pair of heavy hands --comforting to some degree but a burden nevertheless. It hung over the city like a veil. It knew better and it was not going to tell anything.
Along the Hudson I walked with Hudson touching me every now and then in the breeze. I tried to learn the language of New York, I practiced every day, and I believed I could walk myself to being a true New Yorker. West Side Highway buzzed on to my left. My head was busy, my head was as crowded as this city; busy as a beehive with questions that have been asked many times before yet their enigma remained.
In the middle of my coming confused thirties crisis I was given the additional burden of knowing that there was nothing original or interesting about my suffering --but somehow this knowledge did not dull the pain nor did it justify its presence.
Category :
If you've just moved to New York City and you think that this is the hottest shit of a place you've ever seen, you just wait, more than likely this summer you will be proven right. For when August rolls in, and the winds completely stop, the temperatures reach and jump over the higher nineties and even dare to climb onto the hundreds a horrid stench starts to rise from the city. It seems everything starts to heat, then melt, and then steam releasing an evil brew of asphalt, human breath, last week's trash, sewage and that hard to describe smell of the subway tunnels. Of all of these the most unfamiliar was the subway smell.
It was a like a strange sci-fi creature, half organic, half metallic, half machine, half current it was ever present but never seen. As the months went by, August suddenly came by. Everyone told I must dread August in New York City but I just could not believe that NYC was going to get all that hot. Well it did, and this year it seemed to be worse than others according to the locals. In the office I was fine, the A/C was always in high gear there. At home I was in good hands thanks to the two windows units I had. But on the street... On the street there was simply no escape from the heat. As I walked back from the 1st Avenue Subway station back to my apartment it felt like I was in an oven with both the grill and oven turned on at the same time. The pavement that had been absorbing the heat all day long now had reached its threshold and had no intention of keeping all of this heat to itself --so it released the heat, steadily and viciously. As I reached my apartment, my backpack's straps were beginning to leave sweat marks on the front of my shirt.
At first I thought, ah this will pass, it is a day or two of real hot weather, I can do this, no problem. Then as the weeks of August progresses what I thought would be the exception became the norm. A scolding hot day after another followed.
Waiting at the subway station for the train went from being a torture because of the irregular unreasonable schedules of the trains to one that just involved cooking in there until my turkey button popped out.
The interesting thing was, here was I in shorts and a thin white t-shirt sweating like a turkey before thanksgiving while the businessmen headed downtown seemed to be doing just fine in their three piece business suits. Perhaps the Wall Street bunch were indeed cold blooded. That's an unfair thought, I thought to myself as I smirked. The train arrived after pushing another piston full of stale subterranean air through the station. The doors opened, and the cool air rushed out; the torture was over. Well at least until I reach my destination.
It was a like a strange sci-fi creature, half organic, half metallic, half machine, half current it was ever present but never seen. As the months went by, August suddenly came by. Everyone told I must dread August in New York City but I just could not believe that NYC was going to get all that hot. Well it did, and this year it seemed to be worse than others according to the locals. In the office I was fine, the A/C was always in high gear there. At home I was in good hands thanks to the two windows units I had. But on the street... On the street there was simply no escape from the heat. As I walked back from the 1st Avenue Subway station back to my apartment it felt like I was in an oven with both the grill and oven turned on at the same time. The pavement that had been absorbing the heat all day long now had reached its threshold and had no intention of keeping all of this heat to itself --so it released the heat, steadily and viciously. As I reached my apartment, my backpack's straps were beginning to leave sweat marks on the front of my shirt.
At first I thought, ah this will pass, it is a day or two of real hot weather, I can do this, no problem. Then as the weeks of August progresses what I thought would be the exception became the norm. A scolding hot day after another followed.
Waiting at the subway station for the train went from being a torture because of the irregular unreasonable schedules of the trains to one that just involved cooking in there until my turkey button popped out.
The interesting thing was, here was I in shorts and a thin white t-shirt sweating like a turkey before thanksgiving while the businessmen headed downtown seemed to be doing just fine in their three piece business suits. Perhaps the Wall Street bunch were indeed cold blooded. That's an unfair thought, I thought to myself as I smirked. The train arrived after pushing another piston full of stale subterranean air through the station. The doors opened, and the cool air rushed out; the torture was over. Well at least until I reach my destination.
Category :
--A step by step guide into claiming your sanity, your life, your neighborhood back.
Meriam-Webster Definition:
1 : an act of crushing
2 : the quantity of material crushed
3 a : a crowding together (as of people) b : CROWD, MOB; especially : a crowd of people pressing against one another
4 : an intense and usually passing infatuation; also : the object of infatuation
Definition number four is the winner.
The strange thing about a crush is, he was there the same spot you saw him for the first time, perhaps yesterday, doing the same old things being the same all crushing person he is, perhaps for someone else. This is before you saw him and granted him the rights to crushing you indefinitely.
We're talking about someone who you run into regularly in a public setting and you never get to meet them. After a while they usually know that you're insane, and that you have this crush thing going which of course makes it all the more impossible to meet the person because they believe you're a freak.
So you see them day after day, week after week and never get to talk to them. You see them at the grocery store, at the westside highway running, or if you're gay at your local gym.
Then slowly a story emerges. First you make up a name for him. The red tanktop guy, the skinhead guy, the shoulders guy, the nike guy, the list goes on. You pick a certain physical aspect that makes this guy noticeable to you and make it their name. Then follows the rest of the story. You start inventing their character, perhaps after overhearing a conversation, or maybe observing what they're wearing, they're carrying.
Before you know, you're asking friends about him, pointing him out openly at the gym, trying to get to meet him, looking for him on friendster, looking for him in clubs that you do not want to go to....until...until you're a full-fledged stalker that's picking up receipts from the trash to find out his real name.
What started out as a fun game now has started to consume a significant part of your life. And it seems every time you actually find out something about the person instead of calming you down, it adds fuel to the fire.
Come here my friend, let me give you a hug. You have a crush, and if you do not stop and listen now, it will eventually crush you. That's why they call it that.
So here's a crush junkie's guide to ridding yourself off of nasty crushes and hopefully avoiding new ones:
Remedy #1:
Don't get a crush in the first place. What the hell am I talking about like you're going to be able to do this. Skip to step 2.
Remedy #2:
Go meet the damn guy. Yeah right, if you could do that you would not be reading this entry. But seriously, if at all possible go and meet him. You will find that the moment you meet him there will be an immediate crack appearing in the crush. Soon as you find out more about this person, you will realize that he has nothing to do with who you thought he was.
Remedy #3:
If at all possible, try to avoid going to the places you go to run into your crush. Now dont'cha start saying it's blind luck. Don't lie, I know you're going to the gym at 6:30pm to run into him although going there at that time requires you to brave two extremely crowded trains, the pouring rain, and perhaps a rough cab ride.
Change the time, change the location, mix your life up a little. The monotony of your life is the reason you got yourself a crush in the first place. Go on a vacation, give yourself a break. When you come back you will wonder what you were so obsessed about.
Remedy #4:
Unfortunately, after applying remedy #3, and feeling just fine afterwards, at least more than 50% of you will run into your crush and the whole thing will start all over. If you're in the other group, I take my hat off to you, you're what progress is made of.
So, here you are again, getting crushed, and not in a good way. you tried meeting him, it did not work, you tried avoiding him it did not work. Soon there are parts of the town you can not go to, certain restaurants you can not dine at, hell even shopping is not what it used to be. So it seems like you're a prisoner in your own city and you deserve better than that.
Well, go get yourself a boyfriend. Easier said than done, this if accomplished will rid you of 99% of most crushes. This is because you will focus on this new person you're dating and I hope this shift in focus will mean you will have less attention span for other people.
If the relationship does not last, go get yourself another one and another one, and another one. Be a serial monogamist and enjoy it. I would rather have you become a serial monogamist than a serially crushed person.
Remedy #5:
Use only if the dating thing does not work. Move to another town completely. Just pick up and go. The crush will not follow unless of course he has a crush on you too. Gosh people, why can't you be more normal??? *just kidding*
Final Remedy:
Well this one actually is a catch all. Feel free to use this before or after any of the above listed remedies.
Just listen to me. The person you're obsessed about is human. Beside being physically attractive to you, this is just an ordinary guy. As Rita Hayworth said about her troublesome love life: "they go to bed with Gilda, and they wake up with me". For those of you not familiar with her movies, Gilda is her temptress-gone-bad mix of Satine, the courtesan, and the film noir black widow.
Your crush is the same. If there was any chance you met your crush, and dated him, you would be highly dissapointed with him, with the relationship, with yourself, and perhaps with everything. This is because your expectations are unrealistic. You are attached to an unreal person you created in your head and then projected onto a walking breathing pile of meat.
Remember, when he opens his mouth, you know he is going to be all like "Ghurrll", then he will smile and you will see his ugly teeth, next he will take off his shirt, and he will have the biggest ugliest scar on his arm, then he will speak and all that he will be talking about will be his last trick, and how he has slept with all of Manhattan and half of Brooklyn and Jersey. He will be eating dinner with you in the restaurant, picking his teeth with his fingers, he will be spitting pieces and not closing his mouth while he is chewing, perhaps he will be burping, and even laughing about it. He will go to bed with you, the sex might totally suck, or worse yet after a great night of sex, he will turn around, release a largest fart you have ever heard and experienced in technicolor THX surround sound. In the mornin,g he will wake up with drool running down his cheek, and his face will look like hell, he will clip his toenails while still in bed, perhaps even leave the bathroom door open when he goes to do a number 2. Later after a few weeks of dating, while doing laundry you will get to marvel at his skid marks, you will find his dildos next, and the video tape he made with his previous lover, he probably will not stop talking about his exes, or maybe he will spend your money until you're broke, he might even ask you to buy things constantly, or cheat on you from day one.
I don't want to sound bitter and I do not want to make you bitter but the truth is we're all human. I assure you that one person alone will not have all of the shortcomings I listed above, but they all will have one or the other.
What you need to realize is, your guy on the big pedestal is not chiseled out of marble, he is just flesh and bones; what seems like a perfect complexion from 6 feet away sometimes turns out to be a skin covered with millions of dark freckles from over-tanning.
Keep these things on your mind; and above all else, love yourself. You're hotter, smarter, and more shaggable than you think. For once look at the mirror and see your real self. He's been there in the mirror waiting for you to see him all this time.
Meriam-Webster Definition:
1 : an act of crushing
2 : the quantity of material crushed
3 a : a crowding together (as of people) b : CROWD, MOB; especially : a crowd of people pressing against one another
4 : an intense and usually passing infatuation
Definition number four is the winner.
The strange thing about a crush is, he was there the same spot you saw him for the first time, perhaps yesterday, doing the same old things being the same all crushing person he is, perhaps for someone else. This is before you saw him and granted him the rights to crushing you indefinitely.
We're talking about someone who you run into regularly in a public setting and you never get to meet them. After a while they usually know that you're insane, and that you have this crush thing going which of course makes it all the more impossible to meet the person because they believe you're a freak.
So you see them day after day, week after week and never get to talk to them. You see them at the grocery store, at the westside highway running, or if you're gay at your local gym.
Then slowly a story emerges. First you make up a name for him. The red tanktop guy, the skinhead guy, the shoulders guy, the nike guy, the list goes on. You pick a certain physical aspect that makes this guy noticeable to you and make it their name. Then follows the rest of the story. You start inventing their character, perhaps after overhearing a conversation, or maybe observing what they're wearing, they're carrying.
Before you know, you're asking friends about him, pointing him out openly at the gym, trying to get to meet him, looking for him on friendster, looking for him in clubs that you do not want to go to....until...until you're a full-fledged stalker that's picking up receipts from the trash to find out his real name.
What started out as a fun game now has started to consume a significant part of your life. And it seems every time you actually find out something about the person instead of calming you down, it adds fuel to the fire.
Come here my friend, let me give you a hug. You have a crush, and if you do not stop and listen now, it will eventually crush you. That's why they call it that.
So here's a crush junkie's guide to ridding yourself off of nasty crushes and hopefully avoiding new ones:
Remedy #1:
Don't get a crush in the first place. What the hell am I talking about like you're going to be able to do this. Skip to step 2.
Remedy #2:
Go meet the damn guy. Yeah right, if you could do that you would not be reading this entry. But seriously, if at all possible go and meet him. You will find that the moment you meet him there will be an immediate crack appearing in the crush. Soon as you find out more about this person, you will realize that he has nothing to do with who you thought he was.
Remedy #3:
If at all possible, try to avoid going to the places you go to run into your crush. Now dont'cha start saying it's blind luck. Don't lie, I know you're going to the gym at 6:30pm to run into him although going there at that time requires you to brave two extremely crowded trains, the pouring rain, and perhaps a rough cab ride.
Change the time, change the location, mix your life up a little. The monotony of your life is the reason you got yourself a crush in the first place. Go on a vacation, give yourself a break. When you come back you will wonder what you were so obsessed about.
Remedy #4:
Unfortunately, after applying remedy #3, and feeling just fine afterwards, at least more than 50% of you will run into your crush and the whole thing will start all over. If you're in the other group, I take my hat off to you, you're what progress is made of.
So, here you are again, getting crushed, and not in a good way. you tried meeting him, it did not work, you tried avoiding him it did not work. Soon there are parts of the town you can not go to, certain restaurants you can not dine at, hell even shopping is not what it used to be. So it seems like you're a prisoner in your own city and you deserve better than that.
Well, go get yourself a boyfriend. Easier said than done, this if accomplished will rid you of 99% of most crushes. This is because you will focus on this new person you're dating and I hope this shift in focus will mean you will have less attention span for other people.
If the relationship does not last, go get yourself another one and another one, and another one. Be a serial monogamist and enjoy it. I would rather have you become a serial monogamist than a serially crushed person.
Remedy #5:
Use only if the dating thing does not work. Move to another town completely. Just pick up and go. The crush will not follow unless of course he has a crush on you too. Gosh people, why can't you be more normal??? *just kidding*
Final Remedy:
Well this one actually is a catch all. Feel free to use this before or after any of the above listed remedies.
Just listen to me. The person you're obsessed about is human. Beside being physically attractive to you, this is just an ordinary guy. As Rita Hayworth said about her troublesome love life: "they go to bed with Gilda, and they wake up with me". For those of you not familiar with her movies, Gilda is her temptress-gone-bad mix of Satine, the courtesan, and the film noir black widow.
Your crush is the same. If there was any chance you met your crush, and dated him, you would be highly dissapointed with him, with the relationship, with yourself, and perhaps with everything. This is because your expectations are unrealistic. You are attached to an unreal person you created in your head and then projected onto a walking breathing pile of meat.
Remember, when he opens his mouth, you know he is going to be all like "Ghurrll", then he will smile and you will see his ugly teeth, next he will take off his shirt, and he will have the biggest ugliest scar on his arm, then he will speak and all that he will be talking about will be his last trick, and how he has slept with all of Manhattan and half of Brooklyn and Jersey. He will be eating dinner with you in the restaurant, picking his teeth with his fingers, he will be spitting pieces and not closing his mouth while he is chewing, perhaps he will be burping, and even laughing about it. He will go to bed with you, the sex might totally suck, or worse yet after a great night of sex, he will turn around, release a largest fart you have ever heard and experienced in technicolor THX surround sound. In the mornin,g he will wake up with drool running down his cheek, and his face will look like hell, he will clip his toenails while still in bed, perhaps even leave the bathroom door open when he goes to do a number 2. Later after a few weeks of dating, while doing laundry you will get to marvel at his skid marks, you will find his dildos next, and the video tape he made with his previous lover, he probably will not stop talking about his exes, or maybe he will spend your money until you're broke, he might even ask you to buy things constantly, or cheat on you from day one.
I don't want to sound bitter and I do not want to make you bitter but the truth is we're all human. I assure you that one person alone will not have all of the shortcomings I listed above, but they all will have one or the other.
What you need to realize is, your guy on the big pedestal is not chiseled out of marble, he is just flesh and bones; what seems like a perfect complexion from 6 feet away sometimes turns out to be a skin covered with millions of dark freckles from over-tanning.
Keep these things on your mind; and above all else, love yourself. You're hotter, smarter, and more shaggable than you think. For once look at the mirror and see your real self. He's been there in the mirror waiting for you to see him all this time.
Category :
The air, the condition, and the conditioner
Getting a brand new apartment in the possibly the quietest part of town made me assume that I had the equivalent of a first row center seat in a Broadway theater. Well like any other theater seat this one had its own set of surprises. First of all everything seemed further than I thought. Union Square was blocks and blocks away, my gym was a good 30 minutes walk and getting to the nearest subway stop was at least 10 minutes. So far the seat is broken and I am wedged between a fat lady and a bodybuilder -- both are overflowing into my seat from the armrest up.
The apartment at least on the inside was amazing. Granite counters in the kitchen, all new appliances, newly stripped and finished floors, new fixtures, new bathroom tile, new new new, even new air-conditioning units. I was thrilled. Except after a few nights of unusually light sleep I was starting to wonder why this apartment of wonder was not the dream cradle I hoped it would be. I soon traced the problem to this strange humming slash rattling noise that was in my bedroom. The noise was coming from the really powerful GE brand air-conditioner window unit. The fan noise sounded normal but when the compressor kicked in it felt like I was sleeping in a factory instead of what I thought to be a quiet apartment in East Village.
So slowly and surely this incessant noise drove me insane. First I tried to sleep in the summer heat without any A/C only to wake up 4 hours later in soaking sheets and a real bad temper. Then I got into to the art of jiggling the A/C unit. It seemed that if you pushed it around in its frame a certain way, the noise would stop. But of course the noise eventually came back like a high school bully haunting me for the rest of my life. As overdramatic as this all sounds, believe me when you're sleep deprived and have to get up at 6:30 am to get to work at 9am, things seem a lot more depressing.
I felt so defeated. I felt betrayed. The A/C unit, my only support system in the humid heat of New York was also depriving me of the sleep I needed so bad. It fit the pattern. Even my relationship with my A/C unit was a dysfunctional one. Lovely, I thought.
After I gave up with wrestling with the A/C unit night after night for a week or two, I called the management office and told them my A/C needed service. Deep down I knew they would come out, check the unit out and tell me that the noise was normal but hey I had to do something. Surely enough, a crew was sent. First of all they did not even hear the noise I was talking about. It was almost magical, the noise seemed to appear only at night and only I seemed to hear it. Am I already going insane I thought?
Finally after two visits I was told that this unit is a little noisier than others out in the market but this unit is brand new and that they're not planning to change it. So I was told pretty much to shut up or move out. It had been just three weeks since I moved in, and the New York Gods were already screwing me.
A few days later I noticed something. The noise was not so bad when I was up and about during the day. This was either because I was not paying attention to it or something else was going on. It turned out, because my bed was putting my head closer to the corner opposite the one the A/C was on, somehow the noise was getting magnified in the particular spot I was trying to sleep at.
The solution however crass in terms of the feng shui of the room was a home run. I moved the bed to the opposite side of the room and the noise was almost completely gone. So that's the thing about life and life in New York City. Sometimes you run into problems you would rarely run anywhere else, and you try all of the tried and true solutions only to realize that the only way to bend the spoon is to well bend it with your own two hands.
So slowly and surely this incessant noise drove me insane. First I tried to sleep in the summer heat without any A/C only to wake up 4 hours later in soaking sheets and a real bad temper. Then I got into to the art of jiggling the A/C unit. It seemed that if you pushed it around in its frame a certain way, the noise would stop. But of course the noise eventually came back like a high school bully haunting me for the rest of my life. As overdramatic as this all sounds, believe me when you're sleep deprived and have to get up at 6:30 am to get to work at 9am, things seem a lot more depressing.
I felt so defeated. I felt betrayed. The A/C unit, my only support system in the humid heat of New York was also depriving me of the sleep I needed so bad. It fit the pattern. Even my relationship with my A/C unit was a dysfunctional one. Lovely, I thought.
After I gave up with wrestling with the A/C unit night after night for a week or two, I called the management office and told them my A/C needed service. Deep down I knew they would come out, check the unit out and tell me that the noise was normal but hey I had to do something. Surely enough, a crew was sent. First of all they did not even hear the noise I was talking about. It was almost magical, the noise seemed to appear only at night and only I seemed to hear it. Am I already going insane I thought?
Finally after two visits I was told that this unit is a little noisier than others out in the market but this unit is brand new and that they're not planning to change it. So I was told pretty much to shut up or move out. It had been just three weeks since I moved in, and the New York Gods were already screwing me.
A few days later I noticed something. The noise was not so bad when I was up and about during the day. This was either because I was not paying attention to it or something else was going on. It turned out, because my bed was putting my head closer to the corner opposite the one the A/C was on, somehow the noise was getting magnified in the particular spot I was trying to sleep at.
The solution however crass in terms of the feng shui of the room was a home run. I moved the bed to the opposite side of the room and the noise was almost completely gone. So that's the thing about life and life in New York City. Sometimes you run into problems you would rarely run anywhere else, and you try all of the tried and true solutions only to realize that the only way to bend the spoon is to well bend it with your own two hands.
Category :
Before I knew things were bad; before I knew two huge towers could come down so fast, it was a beautiful spring, my first one in New York City. It was June, and I had nothing to fear other than my checking account that always faired closer to the fewer zeros right side of the number universe. I had moments of optimism; and this for me is an anomaly in general. But still I had these moments. I believed that I was going to get a raise, I believed that my company was honestly going to get me a green card. I believed that I could transition my perfect relationship in Austin to the big apple and live the life of Sex and the City, my favorite TV show at the time.
After I spent another Saturday afternoon with my cousin Melih, taking one of our record length walks across Manhattan, we decided to join a schoolmate of ours from Turkey for drinks at the ever so trendy for its own good Hudson Hotel. Just like any other situation involving my cousin and I, there was the usual lack of planning and strategic errors on this day. We had left our apartments hours ago, and had for some reason skipped dinner. We were dehydrated, we were in shorts, and perhaps after such a long walk not as fresh as one should be going to a trendy Manhattan Hotel. This was not Austin TX, where you could walk in anywhere in almost any decent attire. This was Man-fucking-hattan and what you wore pretty much said it all in terms of your worth for an establishment.
Hudson Hotel is beautiful, ok I will admit it, it really is breath-taking at times and always full of surprises. The surprises are partly due to the fact that the whole hotel is on an perpetual dimmer effect and it is so very dark that it fells like all of one's past can fit into the dark corners of the long brick lined hallways. Perhaps this is what is so enigmatic about this hotel, I seem to relive the experiences past every time I go back.
So we show up at the hotel, Serra, our friend meets us at the lobby and we head towards the bar. She is more beautiful than I remember her. She was recently married and she exuded the confidence a normal teenager feels when they get their first full-fledged erection. Her life was together, she was married to this great guy, her career was on track, she was making lots of money and she was cool hip and a whole tall drink of water to wash it all down.
We walked over to the Library bar located inside the hotel. We were greeted by the Matre’D who perfectly fitting the Hudson tradition was yet another snooty employee waiting to make us feel bad about ourselves for not being worthy, for not being cool enough for this exclusive location. Serra did not even pick up on this, she walked right in while he went on about how we did not have reservation and that we can not stay because we did not have a reservation. She kept saying, we will stay until the people with the reservation show up. It was a good plan I must admit; I must also admit we probably would not have gotten as much of a protest from them if Melih and I looked a little more dressed up for the occasion. We looked like Americans in Paris, foreign, crude, and ever-so-underdressed.
Once we were settled into a corner that was so not ours to have, we sort of got into conversation frequently washed down with strong Cosmopolitans. Serra could have been a girl out of one of the episodes of Sex and the City. Melih and I were, well out of our element. Serra kept asking me all these very upfront-direct-somewhat inappropriate questions and I continued to answer them with cooperation only found in people who are unable to ask such questions to others.
She asked me questions about my work, my company, my living situation. It was not all bad, she was getting impatient with our social awkwardness and was trying to melt the ice. The martinis kept coming despite my protests. I usually set myself a ceiling of two martinis per outing.
By the time the night was coming to a close, I had already washed down four martinis. We had been kicked out of our seats by the people with the reservation, so we were camping out next to the tiny bar. You have to understand, this bar was named the library but it was just one square room with a real high ceiling. So naturally it did not even have a full bar with stools and everything. As the night progressed the room filled up and soon the hotel people had forgotten about us. We were sort of blending with the pickled semi-marginal celebrities of the Manhattan scene.
Of course all flood gates had been opened for me thanks to the martinis. By the end of the night I had already confessed to Serra that I was gay and how it was great to finally have that out. The three of us were trapped in our sick Manhattan-Turkish mix version of the "I love you man" banter.
Finally around 1 am we left the bar. I realized after having to walk a few feet that I was certainly not gonna make it home. Melih was also currently staying at the Hudson hotel because he was between apartments. So Melih and I decided to go up to his room and give me some time to sober up or possibly worst case scenario, spend the night there.
Well I do not remember how we got up to the room. Melih was being very nice to me considering I was stinky-damn-drunk. I laid on his bed and passed out for a while. Then I woke up with the sudden urge to throw up. I barely made it to the bathroom as I felt everything inside me turn into this bitter, hot, venomous mix of evil that obviously would not let me sleep until it was all out.
Out it all came, the light lunch, the dinner I did not eat and yes the martinis, every last shaken and not stirred drop of them. But it did not stop there, the contractions continued, I was trying to throw up things that did not even have a physical existence all the frustration, the bitterness of the move, the worsening situation with my parents, my stupid gay life that always seemed to mimic heterosexual norms with none the credit that goes with conformism, the lack of friends in New York, my frustration with my relationship, and all the other things that made me miserable in New York City.
After two hours of my head in the toilet, Melih was starting to get worried. Every time I came back from the bathroom I was getting worse. I soon started shivering, and feeling very very cold. I do not think I have felt that cold before not even in cold weather. I finally told Melih that we may have to go to ER to get things checked out. Then I passed out.
Next thing I know he woke me up and then walked me down to the lobby. The lobby that is usually quiet during the day had transitioned into a club with a disco ball and lights and semi-important Manhattanites everywhere. Leaving the hotel like that in my cousin's arm, almost limping in my daze was my sort of strange fifteen minutes of fame. Everyone in the lobby moved aside and opened a pathway for the two of us to exit through. I swear, it felt like the music even stopped but I am sure this scene was forgotten five minutes after we were gone. It felt like I was a celebrity on a binge, it felt like I was cool, it felt like I was the biggest loser on earth who could get alcohol poisoning from four martinis.
We called a cab and went to the nearest hospital. There was not a soul in the waiting room of the ER unit. But they kept making us wait. By this time I was truly out of it, snapping in and out of consciousness. In a final attempt to get us into the ER unit, my cousin started throwing them legal threats (he was attending Columbia Law School at the time.) Well that actually worked, we were taken into the unit in no time.
Soon a nurse came by and with a disapproving and put an IV to my arm. The IV made me feel better almost within minutes. We never got the final diagnosis but I spent about two hours sleeping in the ER unit and then woke up at 5 am feeling just fine, ready to go home. They reluctantly let us out, but I guess they did not feel too bad for me considering the guy behind the curtain next to me passed away due to cardiac arrest while I was sleeping away in my bed.
Melih put me into a cab and soon I was home and in bed. I must have slept most of the Sunday. Strangely, I did not have a hangover. Well not yet, the hangover arrived on Monday and it was rough shitty rough. I missed work that day and did not even have the guts to tell my boss I was missing work because I could not handle my booze. This would have been the cardinal sin in the city of perpetually pickled over-achievers.
I never saw Serra again. Neither Serra I had the guts to face each other after this embarrassing experience. I was worried about her judgement of my alcohol tolerance and I was more worried about how much of my confessions she remembered. She on the otherhand either was too busy for me, or felt a little guilty for getting me shitfaced and ER-bound faster than a ray of light.
So we show up at the hotel, Serra, our friend meets us at the lobby and we head towards the bar. She is more beautiful than I remember her. She was recently married and she exuded the confidence a normal teenager feels when they get their first full-fledged erection. Her life was together, she was married to this great guy, her career was on track, she was making lots of money and she was cool hip and a whole tall drink of water to wash it all down.
Once we were settled into a corner that was so not ours to have, we sort of got into conversation frequently washed down with strong Cosmopolitans. Serra could have been a girl out of one of the episodes of Sex and the City. Melih and I were, well out of our element. Serra kept asking me all these very upfront-direct-somewhat inappropriate questions and I continued to answer them with cooperation only found in people who are unable to ask such questions to others.
She asked me questions about my work, my company, my living situation. It was not all bad, she was getting impatient with our social awkwardness and was trying to melt the ice. The martinis kept coming despite my protests. I usually set myself a ceiling of two martinis per outing.
By the time the night was coming to a close, I had already washed down four martinis. We had been kicked out of our seats by the people with the reservation, so we were camping out next to the tiny bar. You have to understand, this bar was named the library but it was just one square room with a real high ceiling. So naturally it did not even have a full bar with stools and everything. As the night progressed the room filled up and soon the hotel people had forgotten about us. We were sort of blending with the pickled semi-marginal celebrities of the Manhattan scene.
Of course all flood gates had been opened for me thanks to the martinis. By the end of the night I had already confessed to Serra that I was gay and how it was great to finally have that out. The three of us were trapped in our sick Manhattan-Turkish mix version of the "I love you man" banter.
Finally around 1 am we left the bar. I realized after having to walk a few feet that I was certainly not gonna make it home. Melih was also currently staying at the Hudson hotel because he was between apartments. So Melih and I decided to go up to his room and give me some time to sober up or possibly worst case scenario, spend the night there.
Well I do not remember how we got up to the room. Melih was being very nice to me considering I was stinky-damn-drunk. I laid on his bed and passed out for a while. Then I woke up with the sudden urge to throw up. I barely made it to the bathroom as I felt everything inside me turn into this bitter, hot, venomous mix of evil that obviously would not let me sleep until it was all out.
Out it all came, the light lunch, the dinner I did not eat and yes the martinis, every last shaken and not stirred drop of them. But it did not stop there, the contractions continued, I was trying to throw up things that did not even have a physical existence all the frustration, the bitterness of the move, the worsening situation with my parents, my stupid gay life that always seemed to mimic heterosexual norms with none the credit that goes with conformism, the lack of friends in New York, my frustration with my relationship, and all the other things that made me miserable in New York City.
After two hours of my head in the toilet, Melih was starting to get worried. Every time I came back from the bathroom I was getting worse. I soon started shivering, and feeling very very cold. I do not think I have felt that cold before not even in cold weather. I finally told Melih that we may have to go to ER to get things checked out. Then I passed out.
Next thing I know he woke me up and then walked me down to the lobby. The lobby that is usually quiet during the day had transitioned into a club with a disco ball and lights and semi-important Manhattanites everywhere. Leaving the hotel like that in my cousin's arm, almost limping in my daze was my sort of strange fifteen minutes of fame. Everyone in the lobby moved aside and opened a pathway for the two of us to exit through. I swear, it felt like the music even stopped but I am sure this scene was forgotten five minutes after we were gone. It felt like I was a celebrity on a binge, it felt like I was cool, it felt like I was the biggest loser on earth who could get alcohol poisoning from four martinis.
We called a cab and went to the nearest hospital. There was not a soul in the waiting room of the ER unit. But they kept making us wait. By this time I was truly out of it, snapping in and out of consciousness. In a final attempt to get us into the ER unit, my cousin started throwing them legal threats (he was attending Columbia Law School at the time.) Well that actually worked, we were taken into the unit in no time.
Soon a nurse came by and with a disapproving and put an IV to my arm. The IV made me feel better almost within minutes. We never got the final diagnosis but I spent about two hours sleeping in the ER unit and then woke up at 5 am feeling just fine, ready to go home. They reluctantly let us out, but I guess they did not feel too bad for me considering the guy behind the curtain next to me passed away due to cardiac arrest while I was sleeping away in my bed.
Melih put me into a cab and soon I was home and in bed. I must have slept most of the Sunday. Strangely, I did not have a hangover. Well not yet, the hangover arrived on Monday and it was rough shitty rough. I missed work that day and did not even have the guts to tell my boss I was missing work because I could not handle my booze. This would have been the cardinal sin in the city of perpetually pickled over-achievers.
I never saw Serra again. Neither Serra I had the guts to face each other after this embarrassing experience. I was worried about her judgement of my alcohol tolerance and I was more worried about how much of my confessions she remembered. She on the otherhand either was too busy for me, or felt a little guilty for getting me shitfaced and ER-bound faster than a ray of light.
Category :
These are your feet
that walk not in my direction.
This is your fleshy hand
that you do not put in mine.
These are your lips, so shy
they never smile to me.
This is your poem,
one of the two I meant to write.
All the lines above you read
they were not here before you came.
If I dropped out of school, got fired
would a single leaf move in your forest?
My body wraps itself around you,
it is a boa constrictor lost in manhattan.
I changed jobs, I changed towns and
I still see you in strangers' faces.
I went for months without knowing your name,
you lived for six months before you met me.
Later I realized I misheard your name
and you had forgotten mine.
Strange it may be,
it is only you that does not want me
that I want;
and you know what that says about me.
Troy James Vega
For the record, his name was Wade.
that walk not in my direction.
This is your fleshy hand
that you do not put in mine.
These are your lips, so shy
they never smile to me.
This is your poem,
one of the two I meant to write.
All the lines above you read
they were not here before you came.
If I dropped out of school, got fired
would a single leaf move in your forest?
My body wraps itself around you,
it is a boa constrictor lost in manhattan.
I changed jobs, I changed towns and
I still see you in strangers' faces.
I went for months without knowing your name,
you lived for six months before you met me.
Later I realized I misheard your name
and you had forgotten mine.
Strange it may be,
it is only you that does not want me
that I want;
and you know what that says about me.
Troy James Vega
For the record, his name was Wade.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)