how lovely

to talk to my best friend
before sleeping each night.

I miss my friends. its summer; it is a time to have friends drift over, hear the clunk of ice in glasses, set up almost spontaneous grill dinners.

instead I am thousands of miles away, immersed in the melancholy of gray days.

scandanavians

why are they so good at design?

nightmare

everyone I love will live in san francisco.

I will be elsewhere.

gray afternoon

I love gloomy, wet afternoons. People scurrying, scattering, surprised by sudden wetness. The weather turning the streets upside down and shaking them free of people. Dark clouds pregnant with rain. The intensity and desperation of the rain as it crescendos with the thunder, falling in white sheets, layers of a curtain outside the window, stinging a hand put out to feel the water. afterwards, the sky paler, spent from the effort of storming. perhaps the sun plays a cameo role; often, its brightness is only visible behind the clouds. doesn't matter. there is more beauty in gray.

reading the news

I want to withdraw all my money from the bank, and stuff it under my mattress. as the dollar continues to lose value, I can use the paper as kindling.

walking

I like it.

satisfaction

went to clinic in the morning, then lunched with friends to welcome a long-lost sheep back to the fold. walked across the street to the stores. met a friend who is newly becoming close, went to her house to try on new found outfits, pamper skin, exchange worries and happies. eat dinner cooked by her, a glass of new wine afterwards.

when I get home, all new articles in the times!

july evening in seattle

sitting on the patio wearing t-shirt, fleece, winter hat.

my finger are chilly. I wonder where my mittens are?

saturday morning

wake up late. sit at computer: inadequate, disoriented.

go to nytimes.com. warm feeling of familiarity, belonging!

all evenings should end like this

8.30. wake up from nap, make sweet roasted corn. eat corn on the patio while reading a good book.

9.00. tramp into the park, across the arched stone bridge. walk past a wooden bench, and another one, until finding the seat I was thinking of: one built in partly around a circular stone patio tucked in a grove of trees. reading alternated with gazing over the pine trees at darkening sky and the houses built into the hill beyond.

9.30. bugs bit too much, so walk back home, lightly jogging downhill. evening dew wets the hem of my pants as I cross azalea way. bend to roll up my pants, the right and left leg asymmetric - I should be looking for clams on the beach. return over the mossy stone arches, past dogs fetching balls with their masters, and see the traffic lights turn red at the end of our block. the lights through the windows of the house blend into the fading light of the evenings.

not ready to return inside. linger on the patio, reading again and often looking up at the silhouette of the trees. I pull my fleece on. The light lingers in the northwest. move occasionally to keep the flood lights on. try to outstay the the sun, wait until its completely dark. the sun wins.

10.00. descend into the apartment, find fresh pajamas. step in the shower, neem and sandalwood fragrance of the soap. a warm towel to dry off, and chilled chocolate mousse in the fridge. I pick up my book again.

consummate packer

a box of cereal, toiletries, 3 shirts, 5 pants, running shoes, no running shorts. the suitcase is light. the 10 days away are awkward.

damned if you do or don't

putting on makeup:

if you like you're wearing it, you've missed the point.

if you don't look like you're wearing makeup, what's the point?

going to the movies:

if you go with friends, you can't talk to them.

if you go alone, why not just get watch netflix at home?

sunday morning

wake up, read in bed. 

eat cereal, read the new york times.

go running. 

call sonia. 

without these, it is not sunday.

research epiphany

better than a good first date.

dear miss emily

on facebook: should we send friend requests our friends' fiancees or spouses? 

arrogance

is thinking that a personal statement can be written in one evening. 

prudence is having this epiphany one month before the essay is due. 

people

stop getting married!

checking email

is the new daydreaming. totally got caught not paying attention in class today.

immense

the pleasure of sharing a good book is immense.

back in st louis

roots are deeper here.

the houses are older, more gracious.

remember this

grinning all the way home after being allowed to cut suture under the scope for the first time.

if my mother were here

I'd be more efficient.

hot town

summer in the city

back of my neck 

dirty and gritty

stood next to the screen window in the utilities room, breeze drifts in. at least cellphone reception is good here. 

good byes

it would be too hard if I weren't coming back.

basic necessities

tl's dogs:

dixie will do anything for food.

duke will do anything for love. 

saturday night

warm night. on the patio, eating by the light of my computer. sounds of a baby laughing, gurgling drift across the alley.

not older, just closer to death

a little part of me dies when I find out a man I might have married is now engaged.

t + 8 yrs?

"where is dr. w today?"
"he's on vacation, getting much needed facetime with his kids."
"oh yeah?"
"yes. his son was at preschool and made a drawing of his family. It was a woman with two children.
when he came home, his parents asked: 'where's daddy in the picture?'
'daddy's at work!'"

ouch.

armchair

theory: many world problems trace back to the british empire.
evidence: irrawady delta was thinly populated before the british colonized burma and started rice cultivation there to feed their empire. now cyclones ravage the low lying delta.

generosity

Its a pleasant night, for this week, but there is a welcome warmth as I board the bus. "Very good, very good, dearie," the bus driver notes my u-pass. Is he a witch or is such cheeriness necessary for working the post-midnight shift?

I choose a seat near the front of the bus, still next to a girl, though I haven't lived in India for years. My mother has done her job well.

As the bus jerks on, I survey the people on the bus. Two goth guys chat with the driver. A goth girl next to me. A homeless man in a dark hoodie, beard across the seat. A woman? man? in a red jacket doubled over in slumber.

I cough, cough. Bronchitis isn't easy to get over. Cough, cough, cough. The night air is irritating.

The man next to me, in the dark hoodie, leans over his bag and the aisle. I turn to see he is offering his water bottle, nodding, smiling. Suprisingly, his teeth are intact. I shake my head, "No, thank you, I'm almost home." He nods again, puts it away.

I try to surpress my coughing. The tickle is there, in the right side, behind the carotid. I ignore it. I imagine scratching. I can't. Cough. Cough. Cough.

The bus lumbers along. We cross the bridge. Only 4 stops until home.

I note a dark-sleeved arm reaching towards me. I turn again. The homeless man is offering me a stick of gum. I accept, not wanting to be rude; I feel guilty that I will be getting off at the next stop, "Thank you. Thank you very much."

He grins toothily, nods encouragingly, then slouches back into his seat. I chew, let the saliva drizzle over the sore throat. My heart beats a little faster, prodded by this man's generosity. How kindly, easily, simply he offers what little he has for the comfort of others.

the global village

while looking at pictures of two classmates' wedding (ganga + andrew), I realize:

two americans had an Indian wedding in a villa on the French coast.

what?

this city

I board the bus at the airport. a lean white guy enters, a bit indie, with a small leather bag. a friend, asian (vietnamese? chinese? japanese? features are lean but hard to read, or I am inexperienced), follows. They carry large umbrellas, perfectly folded, suggesting recent purchase (perhaps at the airport? after landing in city famed for rain?).

I cough, watch, assess. two euro kids on an backpacking trip in the states? something doesn't support that: they look remarkably fresh and do not have backpacks. But perhaps they are tired and their amazing skin does not show it. I imagine the blond one ducking into the bathroom just beyond their arrival gate, washing and quickly changing shirts.

I catch his eye but immediately look away. one more split-second of contact and we would have to speak. He pulls out a book with a title in dutch? german? I am remarkably uneducated, unsophisticated, untraveled: remarkably American despite my brownness.

More coughing, more watching. The Asian one takes a paper bag out of his luggage - inside is a over-ripe banana and a hotdog bun. He peels the banana and wedges it into the bun to eat like a frankfurter. banana dog: japanese delicacy?

We near downtown. The blond leans over, with a lilting accent: 'Excuse me, are you from here?'

'I moved recently.'

'Do you know this street? Pike? We are to get off there.' His friend chimes in with the address '150 1/2 Pike Street.' 'You know Green Youth hostel. It is there; we are to stay there.'

'Hmm. I don't. But I know Pike. I'm getting off there, actually. You can just follow me.'

The conversation continues into one I've had many times, but meanders into new territory (yet this too always seems to happen here; a seemingly predictable conversation surprises with new connections, thoughts): Where are you coming from? Japan. Where are you from? I was born and brought up in the US, but my parents are from India. Where? Where in India? No, where in the US? Pennsylvania.

We are just coming from Pennsylvania! No! Yes! Where? Harrisburg! Wow! Where did you grow up? East of Pittsburgh. Cool. What do you do in Harrisburg? We are soccer players.

Oh we have a friend from Pittsburgh who is Indian. I might know him. What is the name? Vinny Something-something; are there a lot of Indian people in Pittsburgh? More now but not that many when I was growing up; I probably know someone who knows him.

We disembark.

You (blond one) were born in Japan? No, I was born in Germany, but I grew up in Japan.

Interesting. I thought the Asian one was a European transplant, but it is the white one who is the immigrant!

Hmm, so there is a soccer team in Harrisburg? Yes. What brings you to Seattle? We are staying the night before going to Vancouver. You have a game in Vancouver? No, we are going there to get visas.

We arrive at Pike Street before I can ask why two Japanese soccer players in the US are going to Canada for visas.

I squint at the closest door number: 1400. I don't know if there are enough blocks before the water to get down to 150, or what the half means. Is this a Harry Potter hostel?

I point out the water and orient them to east, west. They nod, smile. Thank you, good luck. I cross the street briskly and see my bus at the corner. I look over my shoulder, and they are walking towards the water, duffel bags slung over shoulders. If they were staying in Seattle longer, perhaps we could have hung out.

one act play

setting: city bus, spring evening, still light but only because it is so far north.
man on bus (tries to get off via back door, starts pounding back door): "back door! back door!"
crowd of people standing on bus (ripple from back to front, but escalating to a chant): "back door!"
bus driver points to sign: 'No use of back door after 7 pm.'
tall black woman with sunglass: "oh, no back door after 7 pm."
[pause]
backdoor then opens, and man hops off.
door closes, bus groans, jerks uphill.

capitol hill

yuppie + hipster = yupster.

pho

suddenly, I know what I have been craving on rainy days for years.

marriage, weddings, age, denial

v: another one of my friends is getting married!
k: I know plenty of people who would marry you, v.
v: its not about me getting married; its about them staying single!
k: hunh. an interesting approach. but we're getting old!
v: no.

tuesday night, walking home.

a scent like jasmines stops me at a vine flowing over a fence. I nose my face into the white flowers. A few breaths later, I turn back to the sidewalk. A drop of rain catches on my bottom lip, and I lick it - salty. Resuming a brisk walk, I turn the corner.

Lucky I wasn't mugged!

party on saturday

a family friendly affair. a boy toddling around with a faux-hawk!

world, please don't do that to the children.

my blog is finally unlocked

three weeks later. thank you for finally reading, blogger.

sunday, running at greenlake

running, sunday, at greenlake:

two baby ducks, treading water at the same spot as the wakes rock them

a duck stops for me to cross the path

two albino birds frolick on the edge of the water

spicy scent of flower bushes

a theater on the shore!