New York City, nuff said.
These are simple reminders of why I have never ever contemplated suicide. I have my health, I have no fear of heaven and hell, I am an idealist with very well thought out biases which I get to expose against others' in the world's biggest and loudest arena of ideas: New York City. I can dish it here, and I'll dish it anywhere.
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I had no idea how popular she is in the Philippines until I found myself conducting recon ops on prospective dating places. And, of course, we can only go out in the evening: We're both camera-aversed.
If I get my mug snapped by some paparazzi here, my bosses back at my new job in the States are gonna have a conniption...
In my case, I am a highly-trained combat medic and survivalist (not the militia-type).
For the past two months I've been to some of the world's best European cities and been with beautiful women on the continent. And then I flew to Manila...
Two typhoons were waiting to ambush me as soon as I hit the ground.
"Ketsana" hit with such force that parts of Manila, a city well-versed in continuous inundation and other miseries associated with the monsoon season, was left literally drowning in 20 feet of floodwater within 24 hours of the typhoon making landfall.
Emergency services were overwhelmed, the whole region was paralyzed, and residents were forced to swim from rooftop to rooftop trying to escape the water that seemed bent on destroying everything.
I was staying at a very cushy place in the expensive section of the city at the time where aside from the pelting rain and gale-force winds, it didn't really seem to be anything out of the ordinary. Hell, I even went out on a date. When we woke up the folowing morning, I turned on the TV and saw the devastation.I kissed her goodbye.
It was game time.
Within a few hours hours I found myself with two others hiking for miles towards the epicenter of the flooding. We each carried about fifty pounds of whatever supplies we could stuff in our packs. The water had subsided somewhat but we still had to wade in brown muck up to my waist at times, banging on doors and handing out bottled water and food from our backpacks. There were dead dogs floating all around us. And on this part of world, it doesn't take that long for them to start decomposing. The stench was unbearable. Sometimes an occasional home-made raft with a victim's corpse on it would pass us going the opposite direction as it was being silently pushed by whoever found it.
We stayed well into the night. When we realized we had done all we could for the day, we started the trek back to where we parked our SUV. It was treacherous since our only source of light were our small tactical flashlights.
When I got back to my temporary lodging in the ritzy section of the city, I saw myself in the elevator's full-length mirror: black tactical cargo pants covered in mud, my boots caked in third-world muck, my Army-issued rucksack dangling from one one shoulder, dogtags around my neck...I started laughing. From the beer havens in Frankfurt to romantic cafes of Paris to the topless beaches of Barcelona to the blond paradise that is Copenhagen to...this. The universe always balances things out, I believe. Entropy should have made that clear to me a long time ago.
I am who I am. I am a traveler and I will always be there to help whoever needs it.
(I will also go out on blind dates in the middle of a cyclone, apparently) .
I had always looked forward to coming back home everytime I was gone for more than a week. But this time, I felt like I didn't want to be here anymore.
Almost a month in Europe, living in my suitcase, making friends out of strangers, slowing down my neurotic pace to match the cadence of Frankfurt, Paris, Barcelona, Copenhagen...I might have made a turn somewhere over there that has taken me on diverging path from my beloved city. Not just physically, I'm afraid. My spiritual connection with New York City is diminishing by the day.
Maybe I just need a break from the city. Like I needed moments of separation from girlfriends and lovers in the past.
Unlike New York's most of the Metro's doors do not open automatically at each stop. I almost missed my stops twice now as I stood there waiting for the damn door to magically open.
The public displays of affection here is something the French should export all over the world. I've witnessed some passionate kissing in more places I could name on this post. And the ass-holding--- Geez, I bow to the French for turning it into an art form.
I've been here a couple of times but this is the first time I actually paid qttention.
I vow that, in public, my next girlfriend will be subjected to more random embraces, foreplay-grade deep kisses, and "post-spanking"-type butt caresses just because I suddenly have the urge to let her know that I like everything about her.
I cannot find exactly the dividing line separating my pre-cynical persona and the one I have now.
All I know is that Corey belonged to a select group of people I care deeply about. I knew them before I turned into what I am now. We met in college while I was working at the University Village in Seattle. My heart skipped a beat when I first saw her. It was love at first sight. We became friends from that moment on. But since I was happily married at the time, I couldn't entertain the thought of crossing the line.
She graduated, moved away, and I got divorced. Our contacts became intemittent afterwards due to my profession and relationships on both our parts. But somewhere in the back of my mind I always felt that we'd meet again and I'd ask her out finally. She was the woman I'd gladly date for the rest of my life, no one else.
Then last month I sent her an email. One week passed and no response. Two weeks. Three weeks. I was starting to worry: this was not the Corey I knew. She always got back to me within a couple of days at the latest.
Then her cousin informed me that Corey passed away over a year ago at the age of 28...
I was in a horrible daze the whole day today. I kept reading and re-reading our emails dating back to 2000. She was so vibrant and happy and amazing. We have one picture together when we both looked so young and giddy. I remember staring at the freckles on her nose that day; I told her she looked adorably cute. I cannot look at it now without my heart feeling like it is caught in a vise.
I think her death is the toughest loss I've ever had to deal with so far because I was not expecting it. My grandparents, they were old. Military buddies, well, we brace for it; it's the nature of our job. But Corey's? I cannot grasp it and I feel it personally because I never told her how much she meant to me. I thought she'd be there "when the time is right" for us to be together.
Fuck.This hurts a lot. The void in my heart is like a blackhole that's eating my soul. I don't ever want to feel this way again...I feel like crying and screaming at the same time. I wanna lash out against the universe for this.
I miss you, Corey. I wish I had followed my heart and told you how much I cared about you. Now, I sit here, drinking and finding excuses on why I never did so.
Without noticing it, I have slowly achieved a point in my life where I call my own shots, follow my whims, and do my own thing.
I ascribe it to doing scary things and knowing that however the outcome of a course of an scary action I choose ends up, it's not really as bad as almost everybody says it will be.
Exhibit 1: Quitting a secure, safe, well-paying job, in a city I call home that guaranteed me safe harbor for the next five years. I did it because I saw a window opened up into a new world of possibilities that "safe" people would consider lunacy: My first reaction? Grab myself a rope and rappel down from that window head-first into the unknown with a grin on my face. Why the hell not? I only live once. It's more exciting than what I do now; I get to see how good I could really become in a field I'm interested in, infinitely more hazardous to my existence though it will be.
Stasis, self-induced or mandated by manageable responsibilities , IS the primary cause of regret on deathbeds. "I wish I..."
No, I do these things now. On my deathbed someday I would just grin: I have lived, loved, laughed, ran, fished, climbed, fucked, flew, jumped, eaten, fought, read, shot, built, served, and left on my own terms.
The fact that I did it all over the world alone or with friends is what explains the grin.
I'd be melancholic if not for the fact that I've chosen to pack, drag boxes and duffel bags down a flight of stairs, load them on to my SUV, and unload them at the storage facility during the hottest day of the summer in the city. The only feelings I have revolve around "Fuck, it's so goddamn hot!" and "I'd never again accumulate so much fuckin' junk!"
I have until Friday morning to get all this shit out of here. My flight to Germany is on Friday afternoon, train leaves Frankfurt Saturday evening for Paris, and my Canuck date awaits for me at a restaurant at the Louvre Sunday around noon.
I can't wait till Sunday: that's when i really start my 2-month vacation.
I'll start reminiscing about New York City while I'm over in Paris and Copenhagen.
My best friend asked in light of some recent development involving me and women.
See, I was falling madly for a Canadian woman...until she said two things that hit my "kill switch."
---"My friends call me a heart-breaker."
---"Do not come up here just to see me."
The first statement made me laugh. I wish I could have told her, "Well, my friends and exes call me 'HEARTLESS.' "
The second one reminded me that, yeah, no one is THAT special. I was that close to deluding myself that someone could be THAT way again in my life. I could not thank her enough for bringing me back to my default setting.
I did that once in Barcelona.
Never again.
Maybe...
I'm going to Paris in two weeks for a blind date...that lasts four days and nights...with another Canadian...
Saw this couple stretching after their run at Central Park tonight.
They hugged for a long time afterwards, sweat and all. I felt envious.
Then I heard her say, "Thanks for the good times." He replied, "Friends?" She nodded, and he walked away. She buried her face in her hands and she started to cry.
I thought, "See this shit?! This fu#%ing sucks. No, thanks: I run alone... "
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