Random Notes from Ritz Carlton

It sounded like a good hotel, but other than looking old and classic, it does not strike me as that impressive at all.

There is proof. 7 of my clients flying in from other cities did not get their room until 1:30 in the morning last night since their system is down and they could not figure out what room to assign.

I am on business trip at Washington DC area. Just had an early morning of train ride from New York to DC and a long meeting following it. It was a meeting of 30 people.

They are great client, cool people, jouralists, like my father and myself in my previous life, and publishers, they are nicer, smart, and very sincere and funny. I love them, I wish I can do more to them. I truly wish we serve them better--a rare conscience of an agency person, who have not focused so well lately.

I am drunk from drinking too much wine at dinner. After the party broke up, instead of joining some remaining people at the bar, I retreated to my room to go to bed early.

And silence of people that I care saddens me still. That is how I have been built.

But one friend called from LA about my weekend trip there with complicated contingent plans. There are trips that you feel tired of already before you start them. For now, a USC football game, a Hallowen party, a gallery visiting and an architecture viewing are on agenda. I hope it help me remember other important and interestng things in life.

Good night every one. Good night and Good luck.

........

This hotel truly sucks. I did not get my wake up call. Almost miss the shuttle to meeting. That is close. What saved my day is the alarm clock set by some previous tenant which started to talk about Bush at 6:30.

Then on my returning Delta shuttle flight from National Airport to Laguadia, I walked past Dan Rather. He looked older that he did on TV, but he looked great and charming. I always like him. I stared at him for the longest time while pulling my suitcases past him as he took off his Burbury Trench Coat. A brief eye contact made me stop breathing a little.

I thought to myself that if this plane crash and I die, at least the coverage will be longer since I will be among the X number of people who vanished at the same time as Dan Rather, as well as many other great looking people on that plane.

Avoid Ritz Carlton in Mclean, Virginia.

A Sunday Spent in Brooklyn

I went to Brooklyn by subway for the second time ever yesterday. It was a beautiful experience.

First, I went to a hairstylst apartment for a hair cut. The apartment was near a park, on Willoughby Avenue and Calton. She was not cheap, referred by my friend. I decided to try her out because I really like my friend's hair cut.

The hairstylist's husband was a chef, European looking, a smoker. I saw half of his ass the moment I walked into their apartment. He was lying on the couch watching TV while his wife cut my hair.

They have a cat that is called Luci and she is so curious, cautious and quiet. I like her white fur under the neck and on her feet, like four little boots. She tiptoed around and stared at me with her blue eyes.

I have not determined whether I like my new haircut yet, I got slightly mixed feedback, although everybody think I look Different. But they are definitely nice people, fun and hard working. And their apartment feel and smell like a home, not like the building I live in, cold, stylish, lack of any smell of human and family cooking.

After that, one of my friend who I used to work with picked me up in her SUV and we went for Sunday brunch. She wore a straw hat and a colofully-woven poncho, she looked great.

I need to shop for hats. I need to go shopping. I have not done any shopping for clothes or shoes or hats for months. I call that serious depression or lack of vigor in life.

We went to a South American restaurant on the corner of Claton and Dekalb. Afternoon sunlight poured in via the big window. We sat across a wooden table, ordering food from a menu that was a piece of cardboard in its previous life. Nelson Mendela smiled at me from the wall. It reminded me of the portaits of Chairman Mao and Marx when I grew up in China.

I have not seen her for a while. I felt good and calm seeing her, sitting there, enjoying the quiet atmosphere of Brooklyn, the part of New York City I have not known and really liked so far.

She told me that she now has 2 children, 1 boyfriend and 4 cats. The mother cat she picked up from her tennis court just had 3 kittens. They named them all using Tennis players's names. But her boyfriend is allegic.

I said I might be able to adopt Agassi.

So I might have a cat soon, a cat from Brooklyn, on top of my new hair cut, as if life is not complicated enough, yet.

English Class at Berlitz

I was sitting across from her in this small room of Berlitz at Mid Town Manhattan. My boss has sent me here to polish my communication skills to "further advancing my career".

She dose not want to promote me again just yet, no money to give me, I did asked once for VP title, but she proactively send me to a language class to say you are good enough yet.

What I got on her nerve, the only thing that she can point on, is I sometime do not distinguish He or She. That is so silly, but I do have that problem, no matter how good I think I have become with this language.

I am dreaming of executive treatment with presentation expert to teach me skills of public speech. Nope, it is Berlitz.

I sat in a small crappy room with the #1 on it, across from a mid-age Bohemian looking woman. She does not know what to do with me, I mean, the instructor. I am too advanced for them.

That feels good, and bad.

We begin to read from a book:

Let's get on the bus. Let's get off the train. Please take off your coat. Let's turn on the light.

Make a sentence with "Sooner or Later".

Mind you, I scored 720 in GMAT and 2100 in GRE.

I never felt wasting my life before in my life doing anything I had been doing, even just sitting under the sun day dreaming, right then I felt it. And it was not a good feeling.

Every minute, every hour taken away, will be lost. I can't be sitting here doing this. So I decide to take things on my own hand. I began to ask her about my problems with my life. Everybody has a potential of being a shrink, or at least a pair of ears, not to say this is practicing my English.

That went pretty well, since she felt sorry that she could not help much with my language, might as well just give it a try for being a shrink.

So my company paid for 2 hours to have a English speaking woman to be my shrink, the type of people I have never considered seeing, never believing in but sometime craving for.

I got it in Berlitz. Who would know. Life is what you make it , not what you are handed to.

I almost whistled while walking back to work after the session, not that it is anything meaningful or helpful, it is when I find my life so absurdly funny and good in this lovely city.

But I cancelled the rest of my Berlitz session, the rest of 28 hours, I would rather sit in my office writing blog, and continue to mix up he or she when I actually mean she or he.

Time for A Toast

"Let's have a toast." I said, raising my wine glass, in that Greek restaurant on the Upper West side.

You smiled and were quickly doing the mental scanning of any relevant meaning in the context of us for this date. You seemed to expect me to say something about us. Maybe I am too predictable, that way, to you.

No, I said, it is about China's second manned air mission. No, it is not about that. I just want to have a toast with you. We can make up things if we want.

You seemed to want to say something. We toasted for the manned air mission--I will toast for any mission that expand our front of existence, but not for military competition.

Then I was looking at my Journal last night, and, Alas, Sunday, Oct 17 was a major date, for you and me, depending how you look at it.

How interesting that we did not remember that, at least I did not. I know I have other dates that seemed more sentimental, more memorable.

We give dates meaning and create our own memory of history. I think that is another major distinguishing factor for human from animals besides using tools, we remember and choose memories to keep and forget.

That is true at least for a "sucker of Romantic Crap" like me--I cried watching Jerry Maguire the 4th time on TNT last night.

Whatever.

PS, some other relevant facts:
-Oct 16th is National Boss Day
-Highest number of people were born in Oct 15 in the US than any other day of the year, due to high conceiving rate back in Holiday season. I am happy I was not born in Oct, that will make me that much more special.

I Am Going to Write Chinese Calligraphy

My friend who is packing her stuff, gave me this ink stone, brush and best of papers to write Chinese Calligraphy.

I have not written it for years. I used to hate it when I was a little girl, I lacked patience.

I type e-mail in English on a computer, that is all the writting I have done lately.

But this day I was so exicted to get this gift, I can not wait to spread the paper on my table and faced with the night skylines of the city, and slowly, quietly and most surly go through those strokes of ink painting.

It is as if suddenly I realized how beautiful they are, those moments that belong only to you, you write down those words that were recited by generations of your ancesteors.

Then again I am a little drunk now for drinking 4 beers from a co-workers farewell party, which these days is happening every other day.

Change and leaving are the forever subejcts, yet I am writting my Calligraphy, on this spotless white paper.

I am reading my friend's blog about her trip in Paris, meeting different random Parisian guys on the park of Paris, in cafe and bistro. Shopping in the store.

I liked that last year. I am to wear my white coat I bought in Paris soon.

But hey, let's write Calligraphy, when you will forget about things, like you are in meditation, or Yoga.

Life have stages. Now I just want to write my Calligraphy.

Dreams

You told me the past Sunday night that you will give me anything I want for me to stay.

Anything, you mean? Is it the wine and Scotch and music of Beatles?

Do you really want this, or do you just feel weak?

Can't I be both? Very funny. It is typical you alright. I hit you on your head, but I hold you tighter.

Did I tell you I was happy and sad?

You want the decision to be out of your hand. But no, my baby, this is a decision you have to make and speak out loud.

You and I, we are both depressed people, we should not have a baby together. You then said.

Actually, I don't want a baby now, with you. It can not be the cause. Thus I had Plan B.

And only passionate people feel depressed.

I love you, I always do. You told me, looking into my eyes. We were hugging in bed. And you called my other name, the real one.

I love you too.

But I remembered your eyes went blank some time back, when we landed on the similar subject, unprepared and unplanned.

Were you scared then? Or you have known better, more true to youself?

Do you love me or just feel weak?

I had a dream the following night in which the two of us were driving a stolen 18 wheeler truck.

I am going to the library reading my Analysis of the Dreams and trying to have everything answered for my life.

Wish me luck.

Are We Cleared or Not

I found myself travel a lot lately, on business, day trips and overnight trips, short ones. Quickies. Trips that don't make you miss anyone, yet, if you don't already miss them.

I never really like flying, but I like to check out the pilots. Some pilots are better looking than others. But I always prefer the older, wiser and more experienced ones. White hair make me sing in this case.

I want to feel in good hands as far as flying goes.

Sometime you get more than that, when you have a pilot that is not only into flying a plane (I sincerely hope so), but also into doing talk shows. I was lucky last week during my business trip for encountering such an character.

We stayed to have dinner with clients. That means we can not make the Delta shuttle, the fast, punctual, business like, sleek Delta shuttle, from national airport. We had to go to Dulles for a normal United Airway express plane.

Dulles airport was badly designed. I had to take off my Fendi shoes with very thin heel to walk all the distance to our shuttle bus, which then took us to the old and grey terminal located in the middle of runways.

Customers were the mix of various small counties located in the eastern side of the Mississippi, their accent and dress code are equally weird to me.

By the time we board, we had to walk along a very long and narrow tube and passed several red signs that says: White Plain, Binghamton, etc. It looked like a train station, very 50s style. We found the sign that says LaGuardia. I looked outside, thank god it was not a propeller. I hate propellers. A fan-like thing carry me over the sky is a weird notion.

It was a small jet. We got on and settled down. Our flight was scheduled to leave around 9:39 pm.

We began to push back. Good. We were on time. I was relieved.

Suddenly the speaker beeped, our captain greeted us:

"Hello, everyone, good evening. Very happy to have to tonight. All along the northeast coast, there is rain. You know, whenever the weather is bad, arriving planes begin to get crowded. And there will be delays. We just got the delay instructions and our wheels will be up in 2 hours."

I don't like the notion of wheels up. That sounded dangerous.

He continued with a normal pace" But I figure since we alreay boarded, there is not need for us to de board. You will just wait in this Aluminum tube. And instead of waiting here at the gate, I figure we will push back and wait in the taxi way. "

2 hours in a small tube out there in a busy maze of runways and taxi ways sounded more dangerous to me.

People moaned. I felt more tired than ever.

We continued to taxi, even picking up some speed. 5 minutes later, Captain spoke again with a happy tune: I have good news to report. Actually we got cleared to go. So obviously there is no delay at LaGuardia. So we are on our way! Sorry about that confusion. "

Good news. I looked around. There are two young people sitting across the airle from me, we smiled at each other.

We were doing some serious taxing, as if we are really heading to the take off run way. I was happy. Just want to go home and go to bed.

But gradually we felt that we were heading toward a darker area of the airport. Something was not right. Right then, captain addressed us again: Now looks like we do have a delay. Could be in an hour. They just found the paper that said we had a delay. So we do have to wait. I will let you know more of what is going on."

Our small plane was traveling inside a huge airport with purpose and determination of leaving at some time that night.

Captain suddenly said from the speaker: "You know, this is a corporate jet, used to be. They had to take out the lounge chair and sofa to make it like what it is now. We need to move some people to balance the plane."

I think first half of the sentence is not necessary information.

"Operations people told us to move 2 people from front to the back".

One of the black girl smiling at me before moved across aisle by herself. She was in the front of me now. Two people moved toward the back. I hate small planes. I feel like sitting on a kite.

Capitan spoke again" Thanks for your patience. We just got the clearance to go, but that is 18 minutes pass the hour, meaning, we are going to take off in 18 minutes from now--No, I got the math wrong. It is 28 minutes from now, since we are now 10 to 10. So we are going to go sit in the corner for a while. I will shut off the engine". Great. So we did.

We sat in the dark, all quiet around us. I looked outside the plane, can not see a thing. I thought of the city I used to visit every year. National Gallery, streets at Georgetown.

Captain must have felt alone, he said" I am only as good as the information I have. And tonight I have not been good. I apologize. "

People waited. After a pause, he said: We do need to wait another 10 minutes before leaving. "

I suddenly liked him for sharing too much information, for making our mood up and down like a roller coaster. He cared and he was funny. He would rather speak out rather than remain silent and keep us in the dark. We were already in the dark, waiting.

After sometime, captain restarted the engine, our small plane was finally ready to go. I suddenly began to miss someone and I was worried that the plan might crash. That will be too bad. We were finally cleared to go. I pulled out my blackberry and began to write this little note.

"I am on a returning flight from Dulles to LaGuardia. It is a small jet. Out captain has changed our schedule like 5 times in the last hour, we are sitting on a dark corner of the airport waiting to be released. People have been moved across ariel to balance the plane. Captain said he is only as good as the information he has, and tonight, he has not been good. He is funny. That reminds me of you. When he said that there are rains across the northeast coast I felt this is truly home to me. We are taking off now. Hope you are well..."

I did not read his reply until next day: "I forgot you were in Washington. Hope your flight goes well." This man is short in words, or just love me too much.

I instantly responded: "The flight turned out to be good, a small jet gliding above the cloud with the view of a beautiful half moon in the night sky. I will write a post about it--the chatty captain is too funny. And my client meeting went really well. How have you been? Got some sleep?" I am too wordy and emotionally needy and expressive in any relationships. I am only woman.

And indeed once we took off, it was such a beautiful flight, a small plane in the dark blue night sky, quiet and elegantly flying, like in a Miyazaki movie. Even our captain was quiet. He must be staring at the moon like I did. He must be a sentimental man.

When we finally arrived, our captain, being him, spoke again: Welcome to New York city, everyone. If you happen to notice, we are right on time. "

He was proud. And he should be. He tried.

I think I am in love with my loving and chatty Pilot of the day.

Not For All the Tea in China

When I was on business trip this week, I read this articel about China becoming the Number One Tea Exporter in the world on New York Time.

When my co-worker and I got out of the airport Tuesday night after a long day's meeting, we could not find our pick-up car. It was raining and windy, not a pleasant wait at mid night.

My co-worker said: I am not going to meet the car outside any more, not for all the tea in China. He obviously also read the article.

He winked at me and said: you never heard this? We say it all the time when we grow up here. It means, no bloody way. He is in his early 50s. Maybe this is a old term.

It made me smile. I remember there are all kind of talking or saying like this that you told me about which you used when you grow up here, that is related with China. You drew lots of fun educating me.

I had no idea. I was so foreign. But it was part of the fun of being a new comer, you remain amazed with new things and the pleasure of coming to know.

I will not trade this experience of immigrant with any other, not for all the tea in China.

Metropolitan Diary

Going Home

Last week I went to downtown NYPD office to get my finger prints. I need to send them to FBI to prove that I have not done anything wrong in my tenure of staying in this country.

A mid-aged woman walked slowly 2 feet ahead of me when I walked toward the main entrance.

She showed ID to the security guard. The guard pointed us to a side entrance. "All visitors that way".

We both turned toward the side entrance, got into the door, and walked in front of a security check point like what you have in airports. All bags were to be scanned.

The lady took off her bag and put them on the belt.

"Where are you going" The security woman asked.

"Going home." She answered in a normal voice and pointed toward the back.

Silence fell. Everyone including myself was trying to figure out the following:

-Is she serious or joking
-Is she insane or normal
-Does anyone lives in a NYPD office
-Are there secret prison cells in the building or cheap hotel for that matter
-Does she look like some detainees or deportee
-What has Bush done lately

"Home" She said again, slowly and very good naturedly, point toward the street at the other side of the entrance.

Pause and slience.

"You can not go home through here. You have to get out and take the street". The security guard sounds like she was daydreaming.

"OK." The lady just took the bag and walked out slowly, so business as usual.

Everyone looked at her while she walked out, still stunned.

After another 20-second pause and the lady was already out of the door. "Nobody goes home through here! " The security woman behaved like she just woke up and was close to being angry.

"Where are you going?"

"Good Conduct Office". I indeed felt that I am conducing only good here--by not trying to go home via a security check point.

They nodded and I was in. Once inside, I felt more relaxed and could not hold back my curiosity, " Is there a short cut through here?".

They looked at me with angry eyes " There is not short cut here, this is a police station".

"Right." I gave a apologetic look and headed quicly toward my Good Conduct Office.

But I was laughing non-stop while walking the next 100 yards toward the building where the Good Conduct Office locates, hardly a home for good conductors like me,

That is, if keeping secret blog identity is not counted as bad conduct.


I Love Dirty Feet


I was walking toward my apartment on 55 streent one weekend afternoon and overheard following conversation by a couple behind me:

"You know, I love dirty feet." The woman said.
"Why". The man asked.
"You know. Because when you wash them up, they look so clean and fresh! "
"Yeh.."

I was thinking, that is pretty philosophical.

For example, in that spirit, we may love a man or woman who are not good in relationship because how refreshing and satisfactory it will be for people like this to redeem themselves one day. It will be like the birth of a new life.

Loyal man, devoting woman and clean feet bore us. Life is not always rational, isn't it.

It gave me a good laugh and then I felt a bit sad too.

Oh well.

A Joke About Bush That I steal from my Friend's Website

Joke of the Day:

Donald Rumsfeld is briefing the President: "Yesterday, three Brazilian soldiers were killed."

"OH NO!" cries the President, "...But how many is a brazillion?"

I am so hungry and tried right now that I don't even find this funny. But until my food delivery arrives, I won't have energy to write my next blog. So until then....

Rainy Weekend--A Walk and Ride in Central Park

It was Friday evening, we met in a bar that had a new name, at 329 west 51 st. It was in my neighborhood. I was there first, as always. But I was closer, and too eager to leave the office. I was exhausted.

You walked in, tired and broken. You looked as if you have lost some weight. My heart suffered for your pain, but I could not tell you. You will not want to be burdened. You always wanted to mourn your own loss. It would be better if you share it. But that might just be my Chinese upbringing.

Were you happy to see me?

I had a wine from South America, you had Martini. We caught up on things, one of the topic was gun control, others include my too many DVDs at your place, Rain Forest of Amazon and the crazy actor Kinski and his "best friend" Herzog. I love it so much to talk to you about silly things, things that do not matter.

In the back of my mind, I was scared of the pain that will follow, pain from parting, from the void that I felt afterwards. And we both were more cautious. We avoided touching certain subjects. The intimacy and trust were still there but well reigned. I felt opaque. That was your propritary feeling before. You rubbed off on me.

It started raining already. We went to our usual destination the cozy Japanese restaurant at 55 and 8th. As usual, there was no table, not until 20 minutes later. We were starving. You said there is another one. We went to the one on 56 and 8th, Pacific Echo. It was more decorated, more pretentious and more fusion, but the food was very good. I had Sakitini.

Once we got out, I said let's go to Central park. We walked past Columbus Circle. The newly renovated fountain area was empty. Maybe because it just poured and it was close to10.

There was no one in the park. Just you and me. I was wearing that white coat. I told you that I lost the belt of it, in a bar, when I was too drunk. I did not go out that often. But that night, I was really bad. It was the weekend before I went to visit you in the west coast a while back.

You asked me:why are you wearing this? It is not very cold. Are you not comfortable? Are you hiding something? Maybe some wound. But I just smiled and said nothing.

I just smiled and said nothing. I wish I had been more outspoken, fiery, and confrontational.

We walked along the belt way, past sheep meadow. I used to be lying there blackberrying you. How soon can time change everything. I felt the distance that I do not know how to pass. And the silence that tells and erases at the same time.

You said you know this park inside out. You used to jog around it everyday. Then you stopped one day.

We walked toward the lake, down the steps. I walked in front of you. If we were in a film, the viewers would be able to see your face and mine, walking toward them. There was still no one around us. I loved it but I was also getting a little nervous.

But the other side of me secretly hoped: let something significant happen. Let us be mugged, hurt or killed. Maybe I can then hold you and cry for help, maybe you can look at my corpse and say I loved her, this woman who used to breathe and giggle her Asian giggle sometime, like a girl. Maybe we only treasure more after we have lost and done.

Who knows. Maybe a city fall or a war break out to have two people meet, fall in love and say or do things they otherwise would not have.

We walked up to the edge of the lake, we stopped and kissed. You were not just holding me and kissing me, like you used to. You were eager to touch me. You wanted me badly. But my heart sank for no reason.

From time to time, one horse carriage would ride past us. The click of the horseshoe at the wet road surface sounded especially crisp and make the surrounding more quiet. I wanted to get on one. We checked out one that was riding toward us, it was already taken by a family.

We walked back toward 57 street where the carriage would park, along the wide tree-lined walkway. Usually it will be filled with tourists, roller-bladers, musicians and people pushing strollers. That night there was no one, as if the park was cleared for us, as if the whole world was cleared for us.

I tried walking backwards, felt like back to being 14. We checked out each statue trying to figure out who it is. I don't know why those statue were chosen to be put in the park. You said you don't know either.

We got on one carriage on 57 and 6th. It would took us back to where we just walked past, along the same road, trees and lamps, alone the same scenery. But we did it as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You arms were around me. I was looking outside. I leaned against you, trying to remember what you look alike, trying to sculpture it into my memory cement when it was still wet and writable.

We were like two lovers from out of town. A horse ride along central park on a rainy night. We would talk about it for the rest of our life in our small town back in Idaho. Why can't we be like that? Why we had to have too many memories in this city so that we could not continue like a simple couple, holding hands until they grow old, withered and die. No, let's not go there.

We kissed some more. I looked into your eyes. You told me this was your first ride in central park. Well everything has a first time. I was trying to be funny. I was glad we did it together for the first time, unplanned.

When we plan things, it usually went disastrously wrong. Expectations kill in our relationship.

I rode it before, with my parents when they last visited. That was the summer when I only knew you remotely, by name, when we did not fall in love, when I was still far from your orbit.

We held each other in silence, hidden temprarily from the world, from the city that we both love, from a tough year, unknown future, and bad news and events that we didn't want to know, with the warmth of friendship and some atmosphere of love--a moment to remember and to look back.

Two New Yorkers(I am a fake) riding the carriage at a rainy Friday night in central park, it was romantic in a very unsually way, in a sad way for us, for me. It was deeply sweet, yet so unsettled, so complex for well kept thoughts and longings that were not spoken out, so distortingly beautiful and yet desperate in a hopeful way.

We asked the Carriage driver to drop us in front of my building. They would go back to the station which was on 51 or 52 further on the West side. We got off and waved the driver goodbye.

We walked into the lobby of my building, my doorman remembered your face.

I would not think of tomorrow. I would not think of the time when we would part. I would not ask you all the things that I wanted to know, maybe already knew.

When I leave, I would just leave, stand up, walk way, maybe far away, keep walking until you and New York alike will just become a small spot on the map and Central Park a green memory, a clip from another film. When your existence will just become the words of your blog site, being imagined and guessed by people who read it, to me.

But let's close the door behind us now-a beautiful night had already begun and was still very young, for us.

The Morning I Need to be Seen

It is Friday morning. I took a cab to work, avoiding waiting in the humid subway stations wondering about who looks like terrorists.

I was at work around 8:04. My client will call me around 8:30. He made it clear that it will be 5:30 his time in the west coast. I have not tried my best to build a relationship with him. I have not been motivated.

But this will be part of my New Month Resolution--take actions. So here I am in the office at 8:17, having a muffin and a coffee with Soymilk and honey, my new found love, and writing my blog.

In the lobby, I saw that Derek is back-the doorman who used to work at our 675 location. I spent so many weekends working back then and he was usually the only other guy in the building. He brought back lots of memories. I gave him a hug and said: good to see you again.

My floor was dark. Nobody was here yet. My boss who usually will start her day at 7:00, took the day off. I came to work later than people in my level should be, usually. Last two days I have strolled into work around 10:00 or 10:15. Not that I an not a good and hard worker, I am a great one that is why I don't mind being a little late. But the one morning I should be seen that I can be an early one too, she is not there.

A cloudy Friday, warm and friendly, started my weekend of farewells. I am sending off friends back to China.

My friend who is leaving, walked me back to my apartment last night and felt a bit sentimental. "three more days", he said "I am leaving this city in 3 more days." He can not wait to start his great career back home, but it is the city, that is so hard to leave.

Lucky that we have been here. Lucky that I am still here, now, coming to work, early.

Now I shall start working. Have a good day.

Marginalization

How long can you continue to be an insignificant part of someone's emotional needs when you love this someone?

How long can you have just an opaque relationship while your heart experienced and continue to desire love?

Scaling back from loving a person is like a slow cook to death. Seeing that what was there being marginalized by your restatement of your past is a slower cook to death.

When do we learn to let go? An amputation should be in order, not a quiet and tiring wait for the offical death of a dead muscle.

The part you could not talk about, me, our time together, are marginalized. I saw my existence being erased from your offical emotional record, or, it is just that it always has been a marginal gain for you.

I began to doubt its existence while I see the other side of your life unfolding in times when I was thinking of you, when we were thinking of each other.

You repainted your memory out of regret and loneliness. You are restating your past. You are restating your emotional account balance, as they all do today, a restatment.

But what a heart felt can not be restated or revised. It left its mark, deep, dried up, became a memorial mummy, recognizable and forgotten.