Saturday, June 05, 2010

The Matching China of a Broken Empire

You can’t see the Pacific Ocean out the front bay window today. The thick daily fog pulled into the peninsula racing like molasses to once again stay ahead of the sun. An eerie quiet blankets this uncommonly cold Memorial Day, strangely absent are the aromas of sweet barbecue hanging heavily in the warm summer air. And as pangs of nostalgia threatened to ruin that calm, I peacefully trudged into the cool kitchen to prepare what would be my lunch. Upon opening the cupboard, my eyes fell upon the fleeting mess of colors and styles of the mismatched dishes haphazardly stacked there. And I grimaced. Gone is the excitement of having the same amber cups lined neatly in a row, replaced instead by the varying levels and sizes of glass used by strangers. The shiny mocha of plates chosen as a set separated by the white and weathered brass lining of china that belonged to other houses, other people, other lives. The silverware, half of which lost their luster, overflowed, almost a calculated hint at how many have used them in households before. And despite having fallen into the most fortunate makeshift living situation here, I couldn’t help but long for the control and comfort that living alone had once offered, back when things were stable, back when questions had answers.

And now those same questions rung unanswered once again, bombarding an otherwise undisturbed mind, the unrelenting pains of settling into the new and different slowly dissipating into fond memories of amber yesterdays. And despite this underlying cloud of doubt, I feel that glimpses of bright tomorrows run rampant with the energetic residents of the San Francisco Bay Area. There’s a collective sentiment of hope and optimism here I haven’t honestly felt since graduation day.

Lingering thoughts: Why does it matter what I’m doing or how I’m doing things…why do friends in more fortunate situations feel the liberty to offer criticism of what I’m doing, disguised as unsolicited advice? The fact that I cannot cater to them or do things their way…or even help them the way they want me to. I need help and I need luck. I can’t be there for everyone else right now, because I’m barely even there for me. I have a deep profound respect for those individuals who do not settle for a lesser happiness. And I know people cower for fear of falling, of losing, of sadness. And then there are those who blindly throw themselves into situations expecting their luck to change their cards. I don’t believe in second chances, but rather that life is taken in a sequence of steps. And here I’m thrown into a happy medium, but maybe this time instead of saying “ I know this will be good” I say, “ok, this MIGHT be good,” and that way things end up might not tug at your heart so much. But won’t know until I try.

Cant stop smiling, because something big is coming, and I feel a belonging to ground me. Waiting for the day the plates in the cupboard would match again, and as this momentary bout of materialism wanes, I sit upon the gates to the pacific, finally awash in the glory of the golden mid-afternoon sun.

Current Music: Gabe Bondoc, "Falling for You" Cover

Earth-Shattering Revelation #27: Waiting, wishing, hoping, praying…falling. THAT is the true cost of living.