For the past few days I have been practicing a hedonistic lifestyle, one that I have previously condemned. A lifestyle that values indolence and excess conviviality. I can appreciate partying, but I also pride myself in the quote "Work hard, party harder." But right now I have not been working hard, so why should I be partying? Although this phrase sounds like easy justification for being hedonistic, it is a balance. And we all know that balance is gold, if one can achieve and master it.
I specialize in sadness. I believe in sadness because it is a vital part of me. Tony debated that I am going through a phase in which I attribute my sadness to drowning myself in sad songs. His phase was in high school. He would douse himself in sad music and be sad. I am still doing that. I hope I can grow out of it, although I don't want to grow out of it because being sadness is what makes me unique. Sadness colors me as Ken. Without sadness I would be a shell. Julianna and I share the same fever of sadness in that we envelope ourselves in this shell of sadness when something unhappy befalls us. Sadness is a state of mind, just as loneliness is a state of mind, not a state of being. Emotions almost always come and go, unless you're knee-deep in depression. I lament over my ex for one whole night and awake refreshed and expunged of nostalgia. I am no longer wistful for rekindling.
I wander through TriBeCa, I reminisce the restaurants, the cafes, the bakery, the steps, the scaffoldings, and slowly my heart aches to know that we had visited so many stores there. But I often wonder do I miss the memories with the person, or do I miss the memories? If I replaced A with B, is the entire relationship recanted? Marilyn said that a person is more than just the sum of his or her parts, so I can't tally or add up personality traits and then say A is equivalent to B. She is right. If my homegirl and my homeboy had exactly the same traits, I would still discern them accordingly because of their being, their everything, how I view them is obviously extremely different. In no way would I misclassify them.
I have been drinking beers lately. Because I have low tolerance I get an easy hangover and complain about blurred vision and a heavy head the morning after. This usually destroys my next day. The past few weeks I have not been applying for work and I have procrastinated job applications. I have become irresponsible for seven whole days. It is easy to criticize me, but if you were in my shoes, you would understand the emotional rollercoaster I paid to ride on. Actually, you're probably lambasting me by telling me that I should be making no excuses. Excuses are cheap. Easy come easy go. Speaking of easy come easy go, my Dad has always applied this principle with finding a wife: if she comes to you easy, then she will leave you easy. He chided that nothing on this planet comes easy, or for free, unless you work hard for it, period.
Michelle rekindled with me by asking me to accompany her as she got her eighth piercing (cartilage) at Queens Center Mall. Revisiting the center reminded me of my first hangout with Rachel when I viewed the location as a sacred, sentimental location for romance, but upon returning, the mall is just a mall, resplendent with foreign commercial products. I had no attachment to it. I love Michelle's personality: she is cleverly open-minded, executive and methodical, and vocal. She is unafraid to speak her mind, even if it traverses lines of gossiping. There is a sense of immediacy and professionalism being around Michelle. She is an impetus to work, to get things done ASAP. I await our drive to Montauk in the near future.
I met a woman on the train yesternoon on the R train. She was reading a Flannery O'Connor book. I waited for the train to lean into a stop and then turned to my right to initiate convo. She looked at me and noticed there was a piece of hair on my eyebrows, so she moved on with her fingers and removed it. Then she chatted for seven minutes before she had to go. She gave me her business card and we kept in contact. There is something about tall women that affixes me, but tugs at my Napoleon complex.
You see, tall women are associated with models and wealth. I say wealth because the entire cast of Gossip Girl is tall and lean. I feel stupid comparing real life to a television series. Tall women are tall, but Brandon has convinced me that I should not compare my height to that of women because the personality should shine through. I have spent my entire life preaching the importance of intrinsic beauty, personality, so why should I not practice what I preach?! Brandon told me that no one should ever disparage me because of my height. He wants to see that I eventually date women of all heights. Yes, I should overlook a woman's height and stand next to her not feeling dwarfed. But I can't help but feel emasculated and foreshortened. Let me explain: I am brainwashed by patriarchy...I want to be tall, I want to be more manly, whatever masculine images you can imagine. I crave the exaggerated notions of manliness because I consider myself extremely short on the range of height in America, therefore I think in extremes. When a woman is extremely tall, I consider myself extremely short. To walk next to her in public would be humiliating for me as much it is titillating to see other men contemplate our romance. I favor having a shorter female partner because I can be the man and man (verb) over her by looking down on her and kissing her nose, not beckoning a tall woman to bend down so I can surprise kiss her ( no longer a surprise!). I suppose these notions are not foreign to Asian men who are particularly short. Also, longing for a white woman draws many reverse exoticism criticisms. Perhaps I want to acclimate to American culture more, therefore I choose a white woman. This is similar to Asian women dating white men for status, privilege, et cetera et cetera.
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