February 27, 2002

· · ·  Wanting To Leave It All Behind

6:57AM. Outside my window. Lately, I've been going to bed later and waking up earlier. Forcing myself into completing my 90 minute sleep cycles in class. Preparing for the future. Yah, maybe I'm just ahead of the game.

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February 26, 2002

· · ·  When 2 + 2 Doesn't Equal 4

Sometimes not even your body fits. Everything feels loose; the skin is tougher than it should be. The world is heavier and gravity is suddenly not your friend. Your feet is grounded, but you want to fly. The world is wide-open, yet you can't breathe. The room is only small because you are so big. And you can't smile because you're already smiling a fake one. Sometimes.

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February 25, 2002

· · ·  Brooklyn Bridge Bound, Smiling

I have a magnet in my head. It is small yet highly effective. It has a small imprint on it that says, "I Love New York." One would imagine it exists because I have so much love for this city, but lately, I've realized otherwise.

As on every cornershop in Times Square, the term above is one that perennially defines the tourist scene in the Big Apple. It exists, I've come to believe, for the same reason the magnet exists: For the tourists. For their navigation. And to find me as their guide. Indeed, it seems that tourists like me. They really really do.

I'm not sure what it is about my face or how I look, how I dress or how I walk—but I get stopped a lot for directions and other touristy purposes.

It's okay. I don't mind. I was once a tourist too.

Today, after I missed my bus and then missed the A/C trains from Fulton St., I walked on and tried to grab the 4/5 Express. As I stood there, in sneakers (this is a rarity; occurs quarterly), waiting for the train, an old lady with a staunch British accent suddenly grabbed my attention as the 5 train was nearing the platform. "Is this uptown to Chambers St.?" She was wearing a rather large, fluffy and white fur coat. And had on rather interesting Oh-Darling-Aren't-You-Absolutely-Fabulous! sunglasses on. She desperately needed a cheshire cat in her arms. And maybe a shopping bag from Bergdorf Goodman. Would have been a charmer, no doubt.

And, as luck would have it for me at this cursed 4/5 station, I watched the train pass me by as she kept on conferring with me for directions. She insistently apologized, and I insistently said that it was fine. Because, indeed, it really was. Sometimes things happen.

The world works interestingly. I only felt angered for a split-second. Soon, the thought of helping out another person—one that could have been me—alleviated my tension. It didn't matter if I was late. I had helped someone out. I had made her smile.

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