Part II

A part II in my life here is in order.

I had previously given the title of "part II" to a previous blog, but I was mistaken.

This is a midway point for me. I've been here for a little while now. I guess NY isn't new to me anymore. I'd love to walk into work and quit tomorrow, but I can't.

WHY CAN'T YOU?

How will I survive? How will I pay my bills? What will I do?

YOU'VE GOT BY JUST FINE SO FAR.

My subconscious is right. Now I'm not crazy and there's no way I'm going to quit my current job . . . at least not without finding a new job. It's not the act of being jobless that bothers me, it's my fear. Why do I begin to crumble when I'm faced with fear.

And why? Fucking WHY! Did I have let myself get like this when I came here with such hope and confidence? I'm not feeling like all is lost. I spoke with a wise man of 24 years of age. I asked him, "When do you call it quits on your dreams and start settling on the life you have?"

"Never."

"What if it doesn't work out for you, ever?"

"I'll be trying even when I'm 80."

"What if I told you that you have terminal cancer?"

"Then that's when I'd start enjoying life."

It's not that life he has isn't being enjoyed right now, it's just that there's no reason to put out the fire that's in you until it starts to fade away. Everyone fears being average. Everyone wants to be special. I don't know if it's human nature but I feel it's a sentiment commonly shared among the most revered, the most spited, and the most hated, even your neighbor, their kids, your family, etc.

Truth is, only a few of us end up being extraordinary. We want to enjoy those small things that used to make us happy as children. When we were children we looked up at the stars, grasping a life we felt was within our reach. I'm not sure if I ever want to let my dreams die, but I shouldn't ever give up.

I wonder if one day when I wake up and look in the mirror, that the man looking back at me isn't one filled with regrets, wondering if his life was fruitless in the pursuit of his dreams, feeling robbed of his youth with his gray, balding hair looking right back at him; Eyes weary from sleepless nights of tossing and turning in the midst of feelings of uncertainty. Fearing nothing but yourself. Fearing nothing more than a life of being average and never living your dreams.

I want to enjoy my life by living my dreams . . . that's something that will always be mine.

IT'S JUST BEGUN.

As I type this . . .

I'm listening to Polyphonic Spree's "Fragile Army" as I type this (it's on repeat). I thought it would be appropriate if I pasted the lyrics on here as well:

Oh! How we miss - they're so far gone.
Will they move when the valley explodes?
We'll make no mistakes - if they move too late,
Will we wish they never called you home?

Hold the line, please be right
You left them on the floor
Hold the line, caught the strike
You left them on the floor
(oh no, oh no!)
We left them on the floor

Design a black note
You type on your keyboard
You swallow the very words you called your own

You tighten your backup - ooh, you're so psychic!
We all wanna know
Did you marry the witch you've come to know?

You're lying back now; you totally found out
We follow the scary words you learned to grow

So slow and stall now; prepare for a countdown!
We all wanna know
If we marry the ones we love the most!

The ticking, the tocking
The losing - how shocking!
The world wants to know
If we're ready to put you on the floor

It's time for you to lose your excitement
It's time for you to lose your excitement
It's time for you to lose your excitement

We left him on the floor
Oh no, oh no
We left him on the floor
Oh no, oh no
We left him on the floor

As I type this at 5 am, I realize that I have a job interview at 12pm in Midtown . . . but I don't feel like going to it. It's not what you think. It's one of those insurance sales positions . . . I think I'm going to pass. I'm better than that.

As I type this, I finished reading Lynyrd Skynard's Wikipedia's entry, sadly, I didn't know the members died in a plane crash the year I was born . . .

As I type this, I'm wondering if the app I sent will do me any good. I better keep a copy of my resume in my pocket at all times.

ok, I'm going to bed.

I feel sorry for anyone who read this expecting something prolific (it might have started like that in my head, but ended up differently).

Where do I go from here?

I've always felt as though I was supposed to come to New York. I'm not sure if I believe in fate or not, but I always felt this is where I'm supposed to be in life. Some may call it fate, others may call it a subconsciously conceived ambition.

I'm at the break room at work one day and this co-worker of mine starts talking about their messed up life. He was spilling out his life, goals, and current hindrances. He kept talking about locations in Brooklyn and asked me a question and I answered:

"I have no idea, I'm from Michigan."

"What are you doing here?"

By the tone of his voice, he seemed more bewildered by my choice to come here rather than an expression of enthusiastic curiosity.

To the world, New York is everything. Whether people want to admit it or not, New York symbolizes so much to so many people that the mere mention of the city to outsiders immediately brings to mind, "THE CITY," The International Capital of the World. The place where everyone is no one and people that are "someone" are nothing amongst everyone else. The American Dream. I carefully recollected my thoughts and the only thing I could was:

"I haven't figured that out yet . . . "

I left it at that. Talked some more (off topic) and went about my day in a blank stare. The same blank stare my face has when I look at my computer monitor at 4 am in the morning. The same look I have when I try to ignore the fact that everyone is in a mild panic over the economy. The same look when we all try to forget that America has been in wartime now for far too long. For better or worse, there's been a change.

I'd like to believe 9/11 made people here lose hope and optimism for THEIR city, but I don't know if that's the case. It's a life of uncertainty that continues to follow me and everyone else around me. We have our thoughts, our memories, our past, and it makes us. Is my life so dismal that getting a job straight job working 9-to-5 is all I can aspire for?

I think of the happiest moments in my life and wonder, "Can I go back?" I'm not sure if I would if I could. I'm thankful for what my life is but I don't understand the mechanism that drives me.

I can't go back, that's one thing that I do know for certain.

Random Pics and One Sentence Stories . . .

I haven't updated in a while. I'm working on a NYC vs. Michigan entry, but it's not done yet. Rather than let another week go by without a new entry, I decided that a post with pictures and words might be nice.



Bright lights and tourists in the big city!



I had to take a picture of this weird shaped building.



Rocking it out in the subway station while my drunk roommate (who took the picture) nearly passes out (he has a small frame).



Sneha and I riding the train back home from Battery Park.



A modern day palace in Times Square.



Justin's favorite band on vinyl at the Virgin Mega Store.



I went to Coyote Ugly with Sarah and her boyfriend Rob.



A man at a kebab stand trying to get me to buy some food when I was half drunk (hence the crappy quality) leaving the bar.

That's it for now, I'll try to get back to writing. I'm working on finding a real job and such at the moment.

Stories from the F train. Pt II The F train appears . . .

A light at the end of the tunnel . . .

. . . the rustling sound of the train approaching the station . . .

The F train pushed it's way into the train station releasing a bevy of uncertainty from my shoulders. There was a slight hop in my step. I'd never felt so relieved to step onto a train. I sat down and turned on my iPod. I took a look around and a bit of reality crept in (life's way of letting you know the oasis is an illusion).

On the trains in NYC, everyone is sad and quiet. Much of life in an overpopulated city like NYC can be devoid of emotion. I turned my iPod down to listen for something . . anything. To be quite honest, I'm not sure what I was listening for.

When I got to my connecting stop, I figured a simple transfer to the R and I'll be on my way. The train stops, I hear an announcement (spoken in NYC train gibberish), my heart sank. I knew something was wrong. I walked (NYC speed walking, a combination of walking and running) towards the R track entrance, on my way I see that it's closed off. I walk over to the booth to the talk to the attendant, but an Asian woman in her mid-20s had beaten me to it.

"What happen to R train, please?"

"Da train no come here [he's Jamaican], you have to go round up dere, den turn, den go back down to dee oder train."

(My jaw dropped.)

I start to walk away slowly, confused (a common sight if you see me in the subway). The Asian woman seemed innocent and nice, almost out of place in this somewhat shady Brooklyn stop. There's an unspoken rule in NYC of avoiding strangers (which is everyone!) on the subway. I decided to test if there's an exception to this rule.

"Excuse me miss, what did he say?"

"I don't know."

"How do we get back to the R?"

"I think he mean take the train back to Atlantic-Pacific."

"Where is that at?" She points in the direction of a set of stairs then hangs back so I can walk ahead of her. I suppose anyone would look creepy at 3 am.

I make it to the platform and it's over loaded with stranded, quiet, sad-looking weary people. I took a seat and blasted my iPod again. The people beside weren't the usual tired late-night workers I'm accustomed to on the weekdays, they looked like drained bar hoppers. Strangely (to me at least), the only sign of humanity were two gay men embracing each other.

I looked away and spotted the Asian woman looking at a map. Working a new job, struggling to pay bills, and trying to adjust to life in a new city has taken a bit out of me when it comes to dating. Perhaps I use these as excuses to not take a chance. I've used them before to fall into my comfort zones, but I end up more miserable than ever (hence the life of a writer!).

I had no idea which train was going to show due to construction, the track's signs misrepresented what stop it actually was.

I felt lost. Lost in my thoughts, lost in the train station. Catching the Asian woman in my peripheral view was starting to mess with me a bit. I still had no idea how to get home. I was hoping the forthcoming train would take me to Atlantic-Pacific straight up so I can forget about this night.

When your stranded, minutes rolling by seemed like hours. I looked at my cell phone and saw that it was now a bit after 3 am. There were a few people looking down the tunnel waiting to catch a glimpse of the coming train, a common sight in most subways around the world. The R train passed by on the opposite side of the tracks without stopping, merely taunting the tired, impatient people standing by.

I tried to relax, but I was restless due to being in an unfamiliar situation in an unfamiliar setting. The uneasiness of this stop was developing into anxiety. Thoughts of my decisions and their outcomes were racing through my mind. I don't want to admit it, but I missed my family and friends back in Michigan.

In that one moment, I felt more alone than words would possibly be able to express. Somewhere in my heart I knew this path was inevitable. I had a case of self-inflicted arrested development. My destiny has always been in my hands. I used to think it was Michigan holding me back, but it was always ME holding ME back.

The small vibrations turned into a thunderous roar indicating that the train was pulling in. I gathered my mind and myself and saw that the M train was pulling in. Everyone boarded the train in a seemingly orderly fashion. I decided not to stray away too far from the Asian woman who was my only guide back home.

It felt like I was thrown from one station to another. Trailing behind one stranger to the next with the Asian woman being the only indicator that I was heading in the right direction. At one point, I felt like I might be unintentionally stalking her, so I approached her and explained that I'm from out-of-town. Come to think of it, that was probably the worst idea I had that night, besides listening to drunk people. Explaining my aloofness was a worthless cause which probably further alienated me from her.

My trip back to home was filled with one last surprise, I ended up in a coach by myself. I decided to take this happening with stride and I walked around and twirled around the pole once or twice. I felt some relief come over me.

I arrived in Bay Ridge eventually, stopped by the B Stop Deli and ordered a Turkey Club (no cheese this time), walked into my apartment and crashed . . . it was 4:15. I couldn't help but think it was a "smart" phone that took me on this wild trip. A "smart" phone is only as smart as it's user and it's definitely not drunk proof.

Stories from the F train. [Part 1]

"Ok, so what does it do again?"

"It's awesome, it tracked my entire jog around the city.  The route.  Where I ran.  Where I stopped.  Where I walked.  The altitude "

"Really?" I said with a bit of disinterest.  "What use does knowing the altitude serve?"

"Yeah, my phone can track anything," he said enthusiastically failing to acknowledge my quesiton.  "Do you like Thai?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"I can find any Thai restaurant in a 10 mile radius."

"Can it tuck you in bed at night and read a bedtime story to you?" I said sarcastically.

"Ummm . . ."

"Well?"

"YES!"

This little exchange may have seemed meaningless at the time.  Buddy (his blog given name)  was revealing his geeky techie side which he tries to hide from most people.  I'll admit it though, the phone's capabilities seemed limitless, but that's not my point.  The most seemingly menial conversations show their worth later on.  

Later, we went out and had a few drinks with some of his friends at bar in the Lower East Side (saying we had a "few" is a gross an understatement.)  Time passed, drinks flowed, and I decided to cut back earlier than most of the people I was with.  It was now a quarter to 2 am and nearly everyone I was with couldn't stand straight (one man went missing).  

"Buddy, do you think you can help me get back to the R train?"

"Ha ha ha ha, what?"

"I need to get to the R train.  I have to be up for work tomorrow."

"What?" he was all smiles, I started to get the feeling this was going to be tougher than it seemed.

"The R train, you know, so I can get back to Brooklyn.  Buddy?" 

"Hey man," he begins to fight with his balance, "ask this guy right here, he knows more than I do."  He points over at a co-worker of his who's in worse shape than him.

"He's more drunk than you!"

"Oh yeah!" laughter erupts.  Trying to talk to drunk people was beginning to be a chore.  I can see why some people appear to be more humorous or charming than they actually are when your audience is inebriated. 

"Listen, can you use your phone to find the subway for me?"

"What?"

"Your phone, you know, the one that can do EVERYTHING."

"OK, OK, let me see."  He messes with the phone and says, "The F train is nearby."

"No, I need R, W, Q, or N." (It's crazy, but this would've been gibberish to me a couple of months ago.)

"OK . . . um . . . well . . . " he continues to mess with the phone.  I've never seen him so lost.

"I got it!  Head down here until you come to Chrystie, make a left, and you'll be at the N train."

"Are you sure?  Can you double check for me?"

"Yeah, wait, go this way," he points in the opposite direction, "You'll go past a park, then make a left at Chrystie."

"HEY!  You can't keep changing your mind!"

"No, I'm sure."  At this point I grabbed his roommate and had him double check, it seemed right to him, but remember, I'm dealing with drunk people here.

"Ok, then I'm off.  I'll talk to you tomorrow."  

"Be safe."  He hugs me (a man who rarely hugs) and tells me how much of a good friend I am ("I love you Ray, you're the best, dude. Seriously, etc. etc. etc.).  I never quite pinned him as being a drunk lush, but I guess endless beers will do that to someone (we were celebrating his birthday, he was never without a beer the whole night).

I started walking on the path he directed me to.  I cross by Delancey, then Broome St., everything thus far has seemed very typical:  busy streets littered with drunk bar patrons, 24 hour delis, and countless ethnic slop houses lay before my eyes.  Typical.  I can't stress that enough.  

Eventually I came to Grand St.  Suddenly I was the only person walking down the road.  Computer shops and coffee shops had Mandarin writing underneath or above the English written on the signs.  I was in Chinatown.  Everything was quiet.  No drunk people, no slop houses, no lights . . . 

I make it to another street and it's Hester.  I figured in a little while I'll reach civilization and things will be back in order.  Once again, another block of silence, solitude.  

Strange.  

Finally I hear some chattering.  It looks like drunk people smoking cigarettes outside a bar (a typical scene since NY has a smoking ban in bars and restaurants).

I reach the corner, look up at the street sign, it's Canal St.  It's not the street name that told me I was in trouble, it was the fact that I was at a dead end.  Ludlow ends here.  I pull out my cell phone and call Buddy (stupid me!)

"Hey!"

"Dude, I'm having a great fucking time, fuck I'm so wasted . . . "

"I'm at Canal Street."

"What the fuck are you doing there?  You must've missed Chrystie."

"This is where I ended up after taking the directions you told me.  There wasn't a Chrystie in sight.  The road ends here.  Can you help me out?"

"Dude, just take a cab or something, I'll pay for it."  I thought about this for a second.  I could pay for it so money wasn't a problem, but looking around the area, it was obvious this section of town was asleep.  Asking a cab driver to take you to Brooklyn at bar closing hours was going to create some hurdles I think would be tough to cross, if I was lucky to find one.

"I'll figure it out, don't worry."

"Wait . . . " I hung it up before he could continue.  I saw a man sitting in front of the bar.  He was too small to be a bouncer and dressed conservatively.  

"Can you tell me where the subway is?"  He points to his left and says it's right down street.  I might be OK, after all.

I sign above the subway entry stairs had a giant F (which I took for "FUCKED")

I took a look at the subway map to see if I can get back to the right set of tracks before I swipe my card and spend my balance.  It seems that it does cross over to the R at the 4th Ave-9th St stop.  No biggie, I suppose.  

Click!

My MetroCard registers and I go in.  A couple of women are walking out.  The weary look of their faces told me they'd seen death in eyes.  I went down the stairs to wait for the next train.  There wasn't a sound.  It was really odd.  There wasn't a single sound being omitted from anywhere.  I was in the subway alone.

Was I really in New York CIty, the city that never sleeps?

I couldn't believe it.  Here I am, in the city that never sleeps and I was alone at the subway station.  I had such a hard time believing it that I took a picture with my camera phone to make sure I wasn't going crazy.  It was 2:25 am and I had been waiting for 10 minutes.   Ten minutes alone in a subway seemed like an eternity, especially considering the city I was in.

I paced around the waiting area and saw a sign for a 24 hour booth.  A black woman with a very stoic, emotionless face responded to my questions with the same emotions her face showed.  I was reassured they were all still running and somehow I felt as though I pestered this lonely woman, in a desolate subway station, from finishing her work . . .

I spent another ten minutes pacing, waiting for the train to Brooklyn, hoping for some kind of human interaction.  Eventually I heard some voices.  Sounded like drunk girls.  They came in from the other side of the station.  I slowly crept up to get a glimpse and perhaps eavesdrop.  It was three women overdressed in black, with candy apple red lipstick, and laughing about random things.  I decided to keep my distance.  I didn't want them to think I was stalking them (well . . . )

A couple minutes roll by and I heard the train coming in.  I didn't see an F in front of it.  Wait.  Is it?  No way.  A garbage train?  It had one passenger cab in the front and the rest were loads of garbage.  The one man in the passenger cab opens the door and looks around.  I'm thinking, Do I get on train with garbage freight? 

I decided to ask him, "Is the train to Brooklyn coming through here?"  At this point, the girls all turned their head in sync.  They just realized I was lurking in the station near them at that point.  

"It outta be through here at any time."  He seemed distant and continued doing what was he was doing and eventually the train took off.

I walked away and a train to Queens sped by on the other side.  The girls boarded it and disappeared as fast as they came.

I was alone, waiting for train I wasn't sure was going to come.

To Be Continued . . .  

Small Update

I don't live in a cave anymore!  Here are some updated pics of my room.