We Might as Well be Strangers

November 8, 2006: I have the tendency to rewind, my mind constantly shifting towards the memoir frame of consciousness, when sitting down to pull together the wandering thoughts of the past few weeks. Its a natural habit for people, no matter how many quotes are said for "forgeting regrets" and "looking forward", we always end up finding time to ask the proverbial "what if". I wonder if I had never looked back, I would still be writing today, although the same can be said for looking ahead.

Today was one of the dreariest, rainy days I have lived here in New York yet. Making my way through the streets, I noticed that everyone, naturally, took up more space than usual - fighting for space on the street, and weaving through the crowds in morning and afternoon rush hours seemed to take more stabs at my composure than my patience.

To make matters worse, my broker calls to mumble something about my electric bill, and as I stand feverishly in the subway, complete with a dripping umbrella and cold rubber wellies, I can only think about what could have happened - fire, bounced checks, gas leaks. But not to worry - it was a false alarm and after Cosi, Coldstone, Lost and a few glasses of German Reisling on the couch, I was confident that everything was fine, and we would indeed have electricity at least for one more day.

October 31, 2006: Backtracking a bit to Halloween. The day, and those on either side of it, was jumpy. Coworkers, friends, and people in general seemed too edgy, pushy on the subways, lacking in respect, and short on gratitude. That evening, I made my way to Ann's apartment and up to the rooftop we stood with plastic solo cups filled with vodka and orange flavored club soda in spirit of the holidays. It so happened that her apartment overlooked the infamous 6th Avenue, of the Americas, which marked the path for the Village Halloween Parade.

For three hours, anyone and everyone walked down the street - with big floats filled with dancing drag queens, skeletons, pumpkins, Borats, toast, kegs, fairies, IPODs, and caravans of sperm chasing the lone egg. Without exaggeration, the parade nearly outdid my previously well noted list of American spectacles, which include experiences that can only be saved for another day.

While we debated on whether or not the parade would prevent us from making it to DeMarco's for a late night slice of pizza, I found myself enchanted by the number of strangers that had all been brought together at the thought of one holiday, walking through the streets of New York, together, boasting their proud displays of character, personality, and loyalty to the traditions of the lonely city. After the last few stragglers had left the avenue, the street sweepers promptly circled in - honing on the remaining traces of celebration like vultures, quickly wiping the slate clean of any original voice and flavor, leaving bar asphalt for stampeding taxi-cabs.

I went home early that night, thinking of my Grandfather, who had just 4 years ago passed away on Halloween. 4 years ago I had just started college, and on this day, the "day of the dead", I seemed like I was just starting life. I missed him, I missed my family, my friends, my comfort.

During the summer, I was ready to move on, but lately I feel as though I am ready to fall back. These days are fragile, it seems, but give it a chance they say.