It is with a sense of gratitude and happiness
that I feel very different from a month ago.
If there are three words to describe it best it would be:
Smiles. Light. Expansion.
Yes, it’s all pretty good.
.
You know sometimes when you walk around and
a joyful thought enters your head & you smile?
In New York, I’ve walked so much (I have cracked heels and
handiplasted ankles now – not complaining tho) but many a time
in these solitary moments I beam to myself or laugh out loud.
I do not take this lightly at all.
I may be generally a happy person, but this random beams and laughs
while alone and walking, I know, are not normal.
.
I realise I have been rather crap at journaling my experiences
of this New York adventure. To be quite frank I have taken more
pictures than penning down my thoughts. But there have been
some wee lil short stories.
Thought I’d share just a smidgen with you
here. Some are fiction. Some are fact. Some about me. Some are
about others. No prizes for guesses because I am broke, yessiree ;)
And since I have been a little silent, here
are some wonderful Hipstamatic shots (iPhone, you’ve just been such
an arty friend to me, I’ll never swap you. Ever.) and other pix from the
latest batch of pictures. They are out here, even before the Facebook
ones. These are the ones during my walks around Harlem.
Halfway through my travels I realised that I tended to write more
when I had my notebook and pen. When I lugged my laptop around,
I didn’t do much, except procrastinate and muck about. I realised how
much I missed the pen and paper. I got a papercut one day, and I
actually relished it quite a bit! I think the best bits were when I would
sit & write in the New York Public Library. The Beaux-Arts building is
beyond inspiring – it gives you a sense of awe and humility.
Oh yes. The short stories. Note: Some are shorter than others!
And some others … are to be continued.
He was gesturing to the young man, his smile breaking
out once in a while. She looked at both of them signing to
each other, standing by the coffee machine. Even in their aprons,
and even in their silence, both men were exceedingly striking.
One had a crew cut, the other with short dreads tucked neatly under
a thin headband. The latter, a young, handsome Sidney Portier
look-alike, seemed to be talking about arrangements of some sort,
his hand making compartmental shapes.
The other signed what she could identify as ‘angry’ several times -
clawing his fingers upwards against his stomach.
She imagined them complaining about their boss and their shift
duties. She imagined young Sidney telling his colleague
that he had missed a date because of their unreasonable superior.
She wrote in her notebook that she must also learn the words
‘boss’ and ‘date’ in sign language.
And then she got up to leave, nearly knocking over her cup of latte
which was still half full.
She did not even like coffee very much.
Maybe I’ll just go for pie the next time, she thought.
.
.
Below are some pictures from when I went on a mini pilgrimage to
Billie Holiday’s former home. I went to Harlem because of many
other interests, but I must admit – being a big Holiday fan this
was one thing I had to do.
So I walked to West 139th Street. It was simple, no markers or anything.
Proceeded to take pictures of me with the door but I failed miserably
so many times. You have no idea how many times I took a picture of
myself with the rubbish bin, like below. The Hipstamatic shots
are beautiful, but not as easy to take when you are camwhoring alone.
Then finally.
Sigh.
Okay, I’ll take the one below.
I’ll take it, damn it!
He did not understand the last two messages she had sent him.
Taking a deep breath, he took another read before putting the
phone down. “I don’t even know why I bother,” he thought to
himself. Half an hour later he would show those messages to Naima,
his eyes weary, his face expressionless. They were going to do lunch
at the park.
Naima shook her head gently, smiled and took his phone.
Barely a few seconds had passed
and she frowned. “I don’t understand what she is trying to say, man.”
His eyes widened, but he remained silent.
“She sounds like a young emotional girl who is trying to get a rise out
of you purely because she can. On the other hand, she also sounds a bit
stupid. Sorry,” Naima blurted out, shrugging her shoulders.
“I know. I know, right? She’s driving me crazy,” he said.
They proceeded to talk about the perils of arguing through text and
the inevitability of silly people sounding infinitely sillier on the SMS
stage.
“I don’t know what the fuck she is angry about half the time.
I am just trying to be nice.”
“Dude, I must warn you.
In a long distance relationship, everything is multiplied by ten.
It’s a weird universe.”
“How so?”
“A naturally calm, laid back person will seem to have been multiplied
by more coolness. Times ten. And that manifests itself, seemingly,
as apathy, as aloofness. The laid back person will just seem like
she really does not care. And let’s say she is paired with a passionate,
energetic fellow. In the long distance universe, multiplied by ten, the person
will seem unreasonably, possessive, perhaps even obsessive.
Combine the two and you have a recipe for disaster,” Naima said.
They sat down on the park bench. It seemed like a nice
place to eat their packed lunch.
Kenny took a bite of his pastrami sandwich, and with his mouth still
half full, he said: “Okay, I get that.
…. And so going by this times-ten factor, if she is just a bit
silly, attention-seeking … if she is a little needy ….”
“She’d come across as a psychopath or something,” Naima said,
laughing and nodding.
“Which she is. Which she so is. Fuck her. I mean seriously, I can’t take
this anymore. It’s so ridiculous.”
“You keep on saying that. Hey, it’s your life man,” Naima said.
They would spend the next 15 minutes chatting about
her crazy ex-boyfriend who used to steal her money.
.
That night, after settling in with a glass of wine, he looked
at his phone. He felt good. The evening run had been inspiring.
The just-concluded organic chicken dinner had
felt so healthy for some reason. Never mind that it was fried.
Right, he mumbled to himself. This is it.
He took his phone and proceeded to thumb it energetically
for the next half an hour. With furrowed brows he would pause,
write again, delete and repeat.
Finally he took one last read, and pressed ‘Send.’
He went to bed.
.
The next morning Kenny got another text message he could not
comprehend. The way he read it, she was basically calling him
a dickhead, albeit in a roundabout way.
He went to ‘Sent Messages’, and re-read the SMS he had sent her
the night before.
It read:
“Babes, could we just try not to argue so much? I care so much for you and
wish we could just be sensible, reasonable adults who are kind to each other.
Wouldn’t it be better if we were just nice to each other like before? Instead of
attacking each other all the time, could we go back to the time we used to say
sweet, loving things to each other?”
He sighed.
Times ten, he told himself.
Out of all the places I have been in NYC, my danger instincts would kick
in once in Harlem. As a woman (and a small-sized one at that) travelling alone
most times I have learned to obey this instinct … any time it should pop!
In a nutshell, I decided to turn back and not go somewhere. Didn’t regret it
at all – when you get that tingle, you really do not question it.
But perhaps I will leave that for another
posting. The most recent time I got that tingle actually was when I
was travelling in Guatemala in 2005.
As a result of following tingle, I was to walk back to my tiny room
each day before the sun would set.
No pubs, no bars, NO NOTHING at night. Nada.
Anyway, that’s for another time.
I need a power nap, baby. And with that he rolled over to his side of the
bed, catching the winks he said were elusive to him the night before. She
looked at his smooth skin, softly lit by the little line of sun creeping
into the dark room. She looked at the ‘little something’ he said he had picked
up for her the day before – it ended up being a sleek, brown Marc Jacobs purse
in the style she had eyed before.
She re-read the card he had written to go along
with the present. It said
‘The beauty of the heart
is a lasting beauty
its lips give to drink
of the water of life”
Thanks for being wonderful, it ended.
She wondered how many more Rumi sayings he had
tucked away. The purse was wonderful, she thought,
but the card. The card was magic.
She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of him sleeping.
She realised she was happy – happy to be here, happy to have found him.
She knew however, that in a few days, she would leave him. Again.
I still do not consider myself much of a foodie – not like how others
are. But thanks to some wonderfully hungry friends I have done
quite a delectable range of yum-yums in New York City.
What memories for the taste buds! But even more quaint are the delicately
blossoming flowers and trees all around the city.
It is quite a sight – the dead trees coming alive again!
Hi little ones. We have all been waiting for you.
I can’t even begin to say how much I will miss walking in these
pedestrian-friendly cities. And New York is just a heaven for
that – once you get to know the streets … somehow you will never
get lost. It’s 20 times more welcoming than London’s streets, you
feel like they really become your friends after a while. Oh hello
Greene Street, how are you doing Jane Street? You again, Bleecker!
I know my memory is horrendous but I hope these names stay with me
forever and a day.
On the way to Marcus Garvey Park, Harlem
And I know I should be pasting the other little stories up but
I am now looking at the time at it is close to 6am here. Sleep time!
Hah, habits do not change – even when you are on the other
side of the world and are experiencing rejuvenation.
These streets. My feet!
Next time then.
Love. Near Columbia, having walked past Morningside Heights.
lightly.
i thread.
lightly.
i fall.
lightly.
i fly.
.
xox
