I Google myself and I visit my old websites like Myspace and Xanga. I still wonder whatever happened to the information collected by Sconex. Times likes these, I wonder how much high SkOoL would have changed had Facebook been introduced a few years earlier and cell phones were allowed to be brought in. I foreshadow cheating on exams, mass texting during classes. When I look at my old pictures of Myspace, I remember the good old times when I was youthful, young, and of course innocent. The word innocent denotes some sort of identity change and identity imbalance comparing past and present simultaneously. I believe that the innocence has been lost and the sparkle/shine has disappeared from my eyes. The youthful skin and coating of innocence has been washed away after a good three, four years. The picture of my head plastered against the Bay 35 Street apartment window marked a placid time in my lyfe when I would play guitar on my porch and be granted light trips in PS101 courtyard. During this time I enjoyed pure silence because my street was seldom visited by car traffic or foot traffic. Everyone on the block kept to themselves but I had rather vivacious neighbors -- Diana who was a 12 year old, aspiring singer-songwriter-guitarist who also digged Michelle Branch. Her teacher was even in a band with their single "All I Hear." That was quite a catchy song. I would have porchside chats with her mother. She would down a few cigarettes a day and survey her blue Honda Accord sedan in front of her building.
It's amazing how time changes everything: my Italian neighbors and best friends duo Sal and I forgot the other guy's name-- they walked past me without saying a word. I suppose they moved on and forgot about me, or refuse to know me anymore because they have turned over a new leaf. Time does change things: I assume that they have abandoned me or they do not consider me anybody anymore. How quickly do I transform/regress from a friend/neighbor to a stranger. This is hard to argue because I did move away, making me no longer a neighbor. And the lack of time spent together and communication kept made things invisible and ties washed away. Therefore I can't blame their apathy towards me and their stranger attitude towards me. They don't know me anymore. They once knew me.
I will take you readers past landmarks of my adolescent years and all the hauntings of my adolescent blood.
Down the infamous Bathgate Avenue lies my first home in Bensonhurst Brooklyn: 2030 Bath Ave. This was a rather dilapidated apartment now that I look back at it. However it had a great view of the two way street -- Bath Ave. Our landlord "Wong-Seung" (Dad would call him "Lo-Wong" meaning old-Wong) was a blind man who trudged ever so slowly. Every time we paid rent my Dad and I would visit his incredibly lavish Fedder's first floor apartment on Bay 23 St conveniently across from my elementary PS101. He had a rather pretty daughter and a nurturing mother who would answer our door. At that time, I didn't discern any body parts so I can't say whether anyone was hot or sexy. My Dad hated him because of his lousy attitude and sometimes unreliable fixups especially the time when he tried to fix the flood in the house, but instead removed the faucet spout and turned our tiny apartment into a splish splash. This enraged my Dad to no end. However we did have two friendly and half-absorbed neighbors upstairs we called "Toh-seem" and "Toh-Sook" (Seem and Sook means old woman and old man). I remember bombarding their house as a little energetic kid whenever my Mom would visit them a flight up. My next door neighbor was incredibly gangster-ghetto. In fact if there was anyone to introduce me to gangster culture, it would be my neighbor named Tommy. I only hung out with him once---when I did not have my keys, my Dad ordered me to stay put at the apartment and stay with Tommy and his mother for a while. It was certain that we played Lego while he sat at his computer. It wasn't too long after did I find out that Tommy worked on computers and logistics. But I can't be certain of this because his social lyfe consisted of gangster girls and gangster guys chilling at handball and basketball courts. He would bring a few gals and guys over to his joint once in a while. Tommy's mother worked the laundromat on the next block which featured terribly vintage machines and a backyard as well. She was so detached from her son. But this is understandable because Tommy's father was never in the house: I am certain that his parents are separated.
I remember I had bullies in my elementary and junior high SkOoL life. I also had crushes.
Joanne Cheung was my second crush in elementary SkOoL. I fell for Russian chick Samantha Racyzinksi or however she spelled her last name. She had a rather flat, high pitched voice which titillated my eyes. After Joanne it was Danielle Holloway. Then it was Francesca, an Italian chick who had curly brown hair. That was the first time I was attracted to girl with curly hair. So now I know how I have brown curly hair fetish. Joanne was a door monitor back then: This was preparation for SkOoL slavery: she would leave her last class fifteen minutes early to go and stand by the exit doors and hold the doors for her fellow SkOoLmates, as they pour out into the streets to find their loathsome parents. I remember complimenting Joanne on her cardigan one day I decided to help her do the doors (I was told I could not help her because I was not a door monitor). I had to leave early from class because my Dad ordered this from my homeroom instructor. This resulted from a terrible brewhaha with a bully in the same classroom. So I had the privilege of leaving class early and seeing Joanne. She currently studies in the same college that I do. Ironic huh? We only spoke for a good thirty lines, and afterwards she defriended me and disappeared from my lyfe. I go through the pages of my PS101 yearbook and I notice her glimmering smile and innocent face, her eyes. I compare her now---she retains her eyes.
When I visit Dyker Heights page, I can't help but recall deeply hidden memories left and right, popping onto my screen and my mind's eye. Tears.
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