Broadway.
Please take her home safely,” I said.
I was wishing Stephen would call for a
car to take me home. I contemplated going back inside and getting
him, but I was too upset about what I had just seen.
On my cab ride home, I reminded myself
that Stephen was married. Having a crush was a waste of
time.
It was 3 a.m. by the time I got home.
The streets of Astoria were desolate except for a few
street-cleaning trucks. Mr. Papagiorgio must have swept the
driveway, as there was no trace of leaves or litter on the blacktop
leading to my apartment. Thinking about him made me smile, giving
me the kind of comforting feeling one gets when thinking of a
grandfather.
As I was getting into bed, I noticed
my favorite book, Siddhartha, sitting on my bookshelf—it had
several colorful sticky notes protruding from the edges that I had
placed there to mark passages that I had especially liked. The
sight of the book reminded me to be present, conscious, and
thoughtful. I pulled out the book and reread some of my favorite
passages. Then I grabbed my journal from the nightstand and copied
one of them into it.
Consumed at first with loneliness,
Siddhartha starts to listen more to his inner voice no longer
ignoring it as he has done so before. This voice drives him to
continue walking, with no destination. Siddhartha soon then rejects
the teachings of others and begins to teach himself through his own
personal experience.
I went back to reading the book until
something else struck a chord. I copied that passage into my
journal as well.
Gambling, drinking, greed, and
lust consumes Siddhartha. It overpowers his true Self. The once
found voice is now quiet and his selfishness increases, becoming as
arrogant as Kamaswami himself.
Siddhartha’s selfishness is
finally destroyed when he realizes how petty his worries are. The
world has feelings. The world has hardships. For what about his
struggle makes it unique? The world has greater hardships, why
should he be pitied by any or at least, more so than
others.
I closed the book, bewildered by how
lost I felt, caught in a world where I had only myself to blame,
yet I couldn’t ask for pity or pity myself, for like Siddhartha,
the world had harder struggles.
I missed Dani but it wasn’t the same
feeling it had been in the past. I simply missed sharing my
intimate thoughts with someone.
CHAPTER 6
It’s kind of like Prostitution but you’re not
getting paid
I loved the beginning of summer in New York. Trees were greener,
women tanner, men more fit, and the energy of the city more
intense.
Kim decided to rent a house in East
Hampton for the summer, just a few miles from M.D.’s beach
house.
“ Out east,” as it was
called, was the playground for the rich and the already famous.
Women gamboled, men frolicked and children played. It was a place
to see people and be seen. Driving exotic cars, eating at
overpriced restaurants, attending polo matches and being seen at
celebrity-laden charity events were typical to-do’s. Social events
no longer became a place to gather, but a competition of social
rank.
Memorial Day Friday arrived after a
few weeks of anticipation.
Kim called me that afternoon on my
cell phone. Her voice was excited. “So, um. Well. We’re going to
stay with M.D.! I hope it’s okay. He’s so cute!”
I knew she hadn’t bothered to consider
whether it was okay for me or not. I wondered where his wife and
kids were. When I asked, she told me that M.D. had convinced his
wife to go back to the city, claiming he had planned a boys’
weekend of poker and golf. Under that pretense Kim and I filled her
spot
“ Out with the old! In with
the new!” Kim chuckled at her comment. “He didn’t like it so much
when I said that to him.”
“ Go figure, Kimmie. Fine,
I’ll go. But you’re not going to try to get me involved in some
Asian fantasy threesome, are you?” I asked.
Kim laughed. “I already told him
‘Hands off!’”
I was
Please take her home safely,” I said.
I was wishing Stephen would call for a
car to take me home. I contemplated going back inside and getting
him, but I was too upset about what I had just seen.
On my cab ride home, I reminded myself
that Stephen was married. Having a crush was a waste of
time.
It was 3 a.m. by the time I got home.
The streets of Astoria were desolate except for a few
street-cleaning trucks. Mr. Papagiorgio must have swept the
driveway, as there was no trace of leaves or litter on the blacktop
leading to my apartment. Thinking about him made me smile, giving
me the kind of comforting feeling one gets when thinking of a
grandfather.
As I was getting into bed, I noticed
my favorite book, Siddhartha, sitting on my bookshelf—it had
several colorful sticky notes protruding from the edges that I had
placed there to mark passages that I had especially liked. The
sight of the book reminded me to be present, conscious, and
thoughtful. I pulled out the book and reread some of my favorite
passages. Then I grabbed my journal from the nightstand and copied
one of them into it.
Consumed at first with loneliness,
Siddhartha starts to listen more to his inner voice no longer
ignoring it as he has done so before. This voice drives him to
continue walking, with no destination. Siddhartha soon then rejects
the teachings of others and begins to teach himself through his own
personal experience.
I went back to reading the book until
something else struck a chord. I copied that passage into my
journal as well.
Gambling, drinking, greed, and
lust consumes Siddhartha. It overpowers his true Self. The once
found voice is now quiet and his selfishness increases, becoming as
arrogant as Kamaswami himself.
Siddhartha’s selfishness is
finally destroyed when he realizes how petty his worries are. The
world has feelings. The world has hardships. For what about his
struggle makes it unique? The world has greater hardships, why
should he be pitied by any or at least, more so than
others.
I closed the book, bewildered by how
lost I felt, caught in a world where I had only myself to blame,
yet I couldn’t ask for pity or pity myself, for like Siddhartha,
the world had harder struggles.
I missed Dani but it wasn’t the same
feeling it had been in the past. I simply missed sharing my
intimate thoughts with someone.
CHAPTER 6
It’s kind of like Prostitution but you’re not
getting paid
I loved the beginning of summer in New York. Trees were greener,
women tanner, men more fit, and the energy of the city more
intense.
Kim decided to rent a house in East
Hampton for the summer, just a few miles from M.D.’s beach
house.
“ Out east,” as it was
called, was the playground for the rich and the already famous.
Women gamboled, men frolicked and children played. It was a place
to see people and be seen. Driving exotic cars, eating at
overpriced restaurants, attending polo matches and being seen at
celebrity-laden charity events were typical to-do’s. Social events
no longer became a place to gather, but a competition of social
rank.
Memorial Day Friday arrived after a
few weeks of anticipation.
Kim called me that afternoon on my
cell phone. Her voice was excited. “So, um. Well. We’re going to
stay with M.D.! I hope it’s okay. He’s so cute!”
I knew she hadn’t bothered to consider
whether it was okay for me or not. I wondered where his wife and
kids were. When I asked, she told me that M.D. had convinced his
wife to go back to the city, claiming he had planned a boys’
weekend of poker and golf. Under that pretense Kim and I filled her
spot
“ Out with the old! In with
the new!” Kim chuckled at her comment. “He didn’t like it so much
when I said that to him.”
“ Go figure, Kimmie. Fine,
I’ll go. But you’re not going to try to get me involved in some
Asian fantasy threesome, are you?” I asked.
Kim laughed. “I already told him
‘Hands off!’”
I was
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