The Bus

I missed the bus tonight. At the Art Walk in downtown LA with my girl, KTO. We crossed the cross-walk. I stopped midway to take a photo of this Merry Prankster-esque bus. A blonde Otto at the wheel. Kids hanging out of windows all over the place. Upon completing the crossing a raccoon-hatted Asian chick (on said bus) beckoned to me and KTO. "Hop on! Come with us!" The light changed green and we were all left hanging in open-mouthed awe, looking longingly as the distance gained. I've always wanted to ride on a magic school bus.

SHIT!

Not a bus, but about missing opportunities.


It was probably for the best. The bus-ees looked a bit young and they were probably boring and sober, or on the opposite extreme, high on heroin. Regardless, I'm going on the "things happen for a reason" route and trying not to imagine all the fun they're having right now... in jail.

Does this mean I'm getting old? I mean, I'm almost 26. Almost. Not yet there. If I was five, I'd totally be telling people I was six right now and my older brother, Alex, would embarrassingly correct me.

The tide is going out.

The tide is going out. The land increasing.

Sometimes I imagine it keeps going out, the water getting lower and lower, receding beyond the horizon.

Days pass.

The fishing community baffled. The farming community overjoyed. And I'm just confused.

I miss the water. I miss the waves.

I grab my boat just in case and I head out at first light.

I don't tell anyone where I'm going, they'd just try to stop me.

Halfway into the first day I'm exhausted. I didn't think this mission through. My boat is heavy from supplies and damaged from being dragged over the unavoidable coral.

Panting and wiping the sweat from my face I sit on the edge of my boat and shake my head at myself for acting on my foolish thoughts.

I'm too ashamed to turn and go back without having found anything to tell. I could lie, but what good is that when someone else could easily come out and prove me wrong.

I wondered where all the fish went. I suppose they went with the water. Sea cucumbers, urchins, starfish and the coral weren't so lucky I thought as I passed their skeletons.

Night began to fall and I climbed inside my boat at the end of an uneventful and lonely first day.

I dreamt of my family and village searching the island for me. Calling out my name and holding lanterns in the night. My heart broke as I thought about the pain I was surely causing my dear mother. Needless to say I didn't sleep well.

I awoke in the ocean desert, blinded by the sun shining bright in a cloudless blue sky. I was moving east toward the fabled New World. Fisherman spoke of having been there, but it took weeks, if not months, by boat.

I cried at my stupidity. I didn't want to die, but I didn't have a plan, or enough rations to last the predicted duration of such a voyage. No fish in the sea. No sea to see. In the end it all resulted in no me.

Days three and four were full of much of the same. Fear and anger.

Hunger came on day eight as the rations dwindled to bites.

The mirages started on the tenth.

I heard water on the eleventh and my heart leapt with joy.

The ocean was below me. Vast and wide as it had always been. I looked up from where I came as if the world had pushed my island upward without us knowing, or perhaps pushed this place down.

I had to get back to my people, to tell the fishermen their livelihood was not dead and gone. I had to shout to them what I shouted now, "The sea is alive. She is here!"

Reflected in the water, the sunlight danced on the sand like veins of continuous golden lightning as the clumps of green algae swayed in the lolling current. I was overwhelmed at the sight and smile at my luck of finding myself in this place.

The beauty was boundless.

I ran to the water to ensure it was real. It was cool and gentle and soothed my hot, sticky skin. I laughed and cried as I jumped and splashed for some time, basking in the glory of my discovery.

In my taking a breath of refreshing pleasure, I noticed an island I had not seen before on the horizon. About a two day row away, I decided I would rest and restore my stock for the rest of the day and upcoming night and again take off at first light.

I speared fish and feasted next to my driftwood fire. I smiled sprawled under the blanket of the sky, with the stars twinkling bright in the calm black night.

I set off rowing with the sun beating down, warming my back. I smiled at the possibility of people on that place. People who I hope would welcome me and help me home...
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I stopped writing because I noticed I was sitting on an ant hill, or very near to and I didn't like their tiny little bites - sorry guys! Geeze!! (me to them, not you). Plus my shade was dwindling on the treeless beach. I waded home in the low tide and it was magical and I had moments of bliss throughout. LIFE! I LOVE YOU!!

This probably needs to be edited, and yes, it also needs to be finished. Maybe you enjoy? Criticize away, please. On this and the "now she just mourns." Any other posts, you keep your mouth shut! I kid. I kid.

now she just mourns

I had wanted to stop. Really, I did.

I had wanted to stop, but I was in a hurry, and the fact that other people on the sidewalk did nothing seemed  as good an indicator as any that nothing was the matter.

I looked back as I ran away. The little boy screaming and wailing as he stood motionless on the pavement.

I figured from everyone's reactions - which were none at all - that he was being punished for being a naughty boy. I was a foreigner in a foreign land unaware to their customs.

I really wanted to turn and go back, but what would I have said? What could I have said? I didn't speak the language, and children tended to be frightened by my appearance more often than not.

No one else even looked at him, but their eyes followed me as I ran past.

I later learned that the boy had been separated from his mother earlier in the day, and sometime after I saw him he had wandered into traffic probably in hopes of finding her.

Upon reflection I can see that his behavior was more out of fear than the anger or shame that comes as a reaction to reprimanding parents.

Why didn't anyone else stop?
Were we all on the same page?

What about when he started toward the street? Was it because he was so small, and it was so dark? Did no one see him? There was never a lack of people in that place.

I was sad and confused when I heard the news. Why hadn't I stopped?

I had to log miles before dinner with friends.

That boy will never have a chance to log miles, or dine with friends, or do anything else for that matter.

I still think about him and what should have happened.

His mother would've been so grateful, now she just mourns.
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I saw a boy throwing a fit on a sidewalk I was running in Korea's late fall 2009. I hope he was being punished and that his mother or father or caretaker was watching from a shop window... a tragedy only in my mind.

PS - I was semi-inspired ("slash" robbed/stole/thieved) by Ms. Joyce Carol Oates' "Heat" http://www.classicshorts.com/stories/heat.html beautiful story. Today was beautiful. I'm happy and I hope you are too.

HAPPY NEW YEAR, FOLKS!!

HAPPY NEW YEAR FROM OVER THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY!!! (From the future!) 2011 is shaping up to be a good year. I hope you and yours will be happy, healthy and surrounded by peace in the coming year(s).

Here's a song I've been listening to and loving:


Go Outside by Cults

2011!! What!?! Have a GREAT one!!

heart broken

2010.3.27 (ramble)

He told me that he’d never had his heart broken.

           

            “Not once?”

            “Nope.”

            “How is that possible?”

It was our second date, and I wasn’t thinking of staying around for many – if any – more until I heard him say those words. He wasn’t incredibly young, and it wasn’t like he was inexperienced in the matters of love and romance, but the complex matter of having a broken heart never once happened to him – I was immediately captivated.

To be honest, I was titillated by the idea of me being the one to break his heart. I had just come out of a recent string of heart breakings; my serious boyfriend of many years had ended things months prior with the devastating phrase, It’s not you, it’s me and ran off to Spain to “find himself” in the arms of some exotic senorita; then my beloved aunt passed away suddenly, leaving the family without so much as a “good-bye” or any answers to my infinite Why?s; and to top things off, the dream position that I finally attained within my marketing firm was dissolved with the department overnight. I was a shattered mess for months, and it wasn’t until weeks before I met Z that I finally felt like I was able to pick up pieces and begin to move on. 

I thought it was what I needed to break his heart in order to heal mine; to cause someone unbearable pain and suffering to mend my own wounds. When the idea first occurred, it seemed like something out of Greek mythology, a goddess who grew strength from the agony and misery of men she broke.

            “You’ve never had your heart broken?”

            He chuckled as if he couldn’t understand what was so complicated about my inability to understand. “No. Never.”

            “Have you ever been in love?”

            “Plenty of times.”

            “What about when it ended? Weren’t you hurt?”

            “Most of the time I just got bored, or things just faded off on their own – mutually.”

            “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

            “I don’t understand why you’re having such a hard time with this?”

In brief detail I explained my recent string of events to him.

            “No one you’ve loved has ever died?”

            “No. I guess I’ve been blessed in that way.”

The more he spoke, the more I wanted to be the one to initiate him into the real world, the world where people lived and died, loved and lost.

He would always say the most ridiculous things out of nowhere. One night we had a discussion based on his claim that all writers were simply good liars and nothing more.

There was something about this man, besides the fact that he had never had his heart broken. He was an enigma, pure, simple and straight. The more I got to know him, the more I didn’t understand what it was I learned.

Things became comfortable, and there I was, in a relationship that I never wanted to be in in the first place, but I found myself happy more often than not.

In the end he was left unscathed, and I again was left to heal alone with another broken heart.

PS.

I haven't written about my fair windy city recently, and that's because I no longer live there. You read it right, and I'm sure if you live in that city, you've felt the difference... the air may no longer smell as sweet, the sensitive ferns blush without even a touch, the strawberry trees bear no fruits, the roads may seem safer, the drunks not as drunk... it's because I've gone off to explore the world, or at least the southeastern Asian region... I live in South Korea. I teach English to some awesome - but not nearly as well-behaved as I imagined - Korean children. I still blog, but not about my pretty Chi City. Read about my new adventures as an American Penguin in South Korea (www.iwanttogototheresk.blogspot.com).

Peace be with you, good wheat-eating folks of the Midwest, coastal snobs near the sea, Southern gents and belles, Northern folks with your parkas and sleds. I wish you all well. And until we meet again, take care, take care.

Another Airport Adventure

Man, it's another case of "coulda, shoulda, woulda" as it seemingly goes for most things in my life... especially involving the airport. God, I hate flying. I mean, I love that it gets me places I'm going super fast... unless I miss my flight by missing the check-in luggage deadline of 45 minutes pre-flight by two minutes because O'Hare's terminals are poorly marked and then when I frantically ask someone if they know which way is which they point me in the opposite direction, and I run and run like the McCallisters (minus Kevin) and then when I run up the stairs, passing people on the escalator they say, "Oh, you're strong." And I want to say, "Oh, you take up a lot of space on those moving stairs and if there wasn't so much space between us and if I wasn't insanely late I would jump over this partition and punch you." So, I was in Terminal 1, but that was only for carry-ons so I cried and ran to what I thought was Terminal 2, but no, it was just a slow moving shuttle to Terminal 2 that I totally coulda ran to. And I shoula taken that cab that honked at me and I woulda made the train I just missed and I shoulda gone with my gut instinct of Terminal 2 to begin with, and then I woulda been on a plane right now... oh woe. Is me. So it goes.

But then it was also good, because I realized that I am incredibly strong, like Incredible Hulk strong because I had to quell my strength so as not to pick up my suitcase and throw it through the glass doors, because then I would probably not make it to New Jersey today. At least I'm not on stand-by.

Airports make me hate humanity.

And slow zones on the Blue Line make me want to rip the seats from the fixtures and scream like an animal. And then I would rip my ovaries out like that silverback gorilla does in "Congo" and throw them at the conductor and say, "GO THE SPEED LIMIT" and then I would cry and whimper, "I don't want to miss my flight" and then I would curl into a fetal position and rock myself to sleep, sprinkling my dreams with salty tears.

I'm going to Joisey! I'm excited! I'm moving to Korea! I'm scared!

My friend, Lauren, brings up an interesting point...

So come on, come on, come on and laugh and dance with me...