Ego Trip

I went to SOBE again, nothing glamorous this time around, no fancy hotel, no baby as a consequence of it, hell not even a lousy one night stand or even a kiss for that matter. But I did enjoy seeing again a childhood friend of mine; I say childhood because at almost forty years of age, High School seems like a remote and faraway land in the rear view mirror of my mind. I went to a South Beach Hostel, where I shared my room in three double bunker beds with four other people, took the 150 metro bus that leaves you half a block away from the hotel and on my way back the same. I spent literally less than a hundred dollars, since I used the flight benefits awarded me by my dear friend, my younger kid's mama's United connection. I spent more taking the New Jersey railroad train back and forth, and a few unexpected meals at airports awaiting the moment in which to face my greatest fear: flying. No, I do not underscore the situation, literally I die several deaths every time I set foot on a plane. And set foot I did, and I flew there for one lonely night away from the cold specter of my lovely New York, far from the ones I love, drinking cheap beer with a whole bunch of kids at a hostel where I felt and looked my age for once.
Mauricio, my high school friend, showed up on time and we had a grand time. Back in high school, we were jealous, better yet envious, of the way he'd have girls left and right as we watched like spectators a film, thinking maybe one day in the future it'd be one of us, certainly not me, who'd have the chance to embrace one, just one, of those ideal feminine creatures he'd hang around with, play around with, slept and told us stories of. Of course, I showed up with half of my pretense which even at that is a menacing force of nature, ready to show him just how much I turn around the shy boy I once was. I whipped him into shape, a man sure of himself, full of himself, almost to an obnoxious point, slightly before it turns into arrogance. We had been hanging out at the hostel lobby, making friends with the students ten years younger than us in every direction, and little did anyone suspect we were as old as we were because if there's anti-aging element more powerful than being good with women I don't know of it yet. We were comfortable in our skin, and before there were little girls in plain household clothes, sandals, no make-up. But as the night descended upon South Beach, all of these little unnoticeable girls disappeared in their bunker dress rooms and emerged transformed into a beautiful herd we had failed to see before all around. They left in cabs to the night nearby, and then, only then, I decided it was time to step out and outdo the harm of many years of oppressed adolescence.
We walked to my favorite place, Mango's. Even though Mauricio lives there, I had to redirect him because he was going the wrong way. Already I felt like the man, and so we walked and entered the place and all was fun and games, and we were in the prime of our lives right where everything that could have been taking place on a Tuesday night was happening. The hostess asked if we knew what we wanted, and I said: "Take a picture with you." She gladly obliged, and so I snapped a picture of her and my friend, and then grabbed her close and snapped one of us. Everything was going according to plan.
He walked to the bar and ordered two coronas which cost an arm and a leg, snapped pictures, looked around. He wanted to walk up to two girls who were dancing on their own, but only one of them looked good so we desisted. Instead we turned our attention to the most beautiful pair of girls nearby, dancing by the DJ's booth, talking the model type DJ who'd come and entertain them whenever he wasn't too busy playing music. We thought, without saying a word, without even considering one of them might actually be with the DJ, and walked over and asked them to dance. I froze. I couldn't get any routine out there. Again, I was that shy child feeling a bit weird and unease around women, even though I was talkative and engaging. It just didn't feel right. Mauricio had asked the most beautiful of the two girls out to dance. We were going above our league, but that's the way we liked it. I had been there before, that situation wasn't unfamiliar to me. But I couldn't simply deliver. I walked to the bar and ordered a drink, away from the action, so uncharacteristic of me. A little while later, the girls deserted him since he was without a powerful wing man, and I felt like under any other night sky, he would've been my wing man. Instead, we left back to the hostel and kept drinking, and I kept busy texting back and forth with the culprit girl back in New York. What a disaster.

It was high school all over again. Then he showed some humility, I thought he wanted to spare my pride by saying that he could see I was no longer shy. He said: "Whatever it is that's going on in New York doesn't let you be yourself here in South Beach." He was right, but I still thought I will go back soon and show him just what I'm made of. Nonetheless, it was adrenaline fun to go back to the hostel and continue being the shy boy I thought I had buried long ago. It was fun saying goodbye and promising to see each other soon which most likely won't be for a while, because if you don't take what is there right then, no one warrants any future prospect. I woke up early the next day and walked awkwardly to the beach, took my clothes off and walked into the welcoming ocean. The sun reverberated in the sky and the air was filled with the sensation that not all had been in vain. I took the 150 bus back to the airport and flew a plane for the first time without a drink, with no sleeping pill, cold turkey. Next to me an old beautiful couple was sitting. I began talking to them, trying to convince them to take the window seat. They both later took turns to go to the bathroom. I first ask the lady what made their love story a success. She went on about their personal lives, how things are different for youngsters nowadays, etc. Then she went to the bathroom and I asked the old man the same question. He dryly replied one word: "Patience."

Things to be Thankful for

I now know that if I don't come up with a way to pay $2,700 owed in rent, I will lose this apartment. I love this place, this neighborhood: a block away from my most immediate family, near it all. I love Kew Gardens, the trees most of all, the nice people, the trees. This is where my second son was born, and this is where I fell head over heals in love with the most amazing girl I've ever met. Here's where I thought things will be different, and I had big dreams, and I fought oh so hard to keep it. But I was willing to risk it all for the one, the only, my true love. Now, I may not know if she loves me back with the same intensity, but I do know one thing: it doesn't really matter. You never get to know anyone in life the way you know yourself, so I do have a great deal of respect and love for myself. You can't never know how much or for how long someone will love you, if they truly do, but you cannot stop loving them either. That much I know: it doesn't matter if love is true, it only matters you're true to it. I love my kids, and I show just how much in every way possible. But you cannot fulfill anyone else's, including your sons', happiness; you can only be happy yourself, and I know that I will be happy with or without. I just am so much more happier than being by myself, though I am by no means miserable. I have a take-it-or-leave-it when it comes to relationships, but I rather show just how I want to take it. I don't wait idly for love to come my way, I fight through the forest of shadows life bestows upon me, and though things are not always as shiny as they could be, I still look for the bright side of things. No, I'm not naive, I know just how I get and I always demand more and I give plenty, too. 

Synchronicity, it is at the very heart of what is true. There's nothing accidental and in the last three weeks, I've found her in the train at least twice, coming home from work, pretending I was at some non-existent place in the city having the greatest of times. You post on Facebook you're somewhere, because that's what you feel like doing, but then on your way there your mind shifts and you're no longer the vengeful soul that wanted to enjoy the moment for once. Oh, but I do anyways, and so I go home instead, and then find her everywhere, not just when I personally see her (which I've done quite often), but when she's not there, she's all around. My sons, too; I go and see them every chance I get and I must make myself happy if I want to be a force to be reckoned with in their lives. They recognize this love, their respective mothers know how specially they respond to me, and it is only because I always follow Confucius' maxim: "Wherever you may go, go with all your heart." I do so not only when it comes to them, but I try to apply such maxim in every way possible. You want to spend time with the things you love, and you may become irrationally jealous of anything. Jealousy is known also as the green eye monster, and more recently in psychological circles as "love's shadow." It makes sense that if you love something a great deal, you want it to be yours, you don't share your plate of food, your home, your possessions with anyone else. Why in the world then would you share your woman? I know I can't, and I wouldn't be with anyone who doesn't feel the same way. I don't get how our society cultivates the notion that no one belongs to us, it isn't true when it comes to emotions. We don't want to own anyone, but a degree of belonging is always healthy and that's that. Of course, then you learn that you have to let people be who they want to be. So, here's how you solve the riddle: you can't demand others love you back, you can only love them. You may rebel, and you may not like what you get in return, but you need to learn how to let go sometimes, retrieve and be on your own, so that you can find what you are really made of. Whatever your mind projects, whatever your idea of life is, becomes just that. So be mindful of whatever it is you put in your head, because even though it all is an illusion, it will become your reality. Whatever you focus on, becomes real, regardless of its veracity. 

You speak highly of people because that's just who you are. If you try to push them, they will push back. If you try to hold them back, they will resent you. No matter how much you try to be with someone, there's, like the saying goes, no trying. You still manage to be a shadow, of love, at the mercy of anger, depression, go to work, come back to an empty place and yet fail to see that all of that which surrounds is inevitably linked to you, that you're not a separate being from all the other living things around. You fail to see that this world, and the universe, is all one single thing. If there's something magical, yet so hard to grasp, is the concept that in the end you and me, and all in between, are one. That singularity, along with synchronicity, are two of the greatest forces, in fact these should be synonymous. You owe rent, you live with your mom, you have two kids, you get pay a miserable salary, and somehow there's something to live for. You wake up and know that there's a job to be done, you still have your health and your youth, your looks and your fun. Thanks for the Vodka, yeah that Jeff Buckley song "Lover, you should've come over" is playing. It's bitter cold outside and for tonight you have a place to stay. Your mom is sound asleep, unaware of the harm she's caused. Things to be thankful for are all around, yes. You try not to make too much noise and there's enough money in your bank account to buy yet another pack of cigarettes which you so desperately need. You know they're bad for you, but still a little bad is always in place. There's that blond chick you spoke to for two hours at work, your charisma, your stamina, your soul. Those things are priceless, at least for tonight. You kiss the sky and thank there's another day, and another try, and another time, and maybe one day, if not tonight, you'll get it all right. Thank God for the Kew Club to be closed already. There's no way I could be seen at Last Call. There's just so much to be thankful for.