Re: Write me back.

As a child, I always wanted to do everything alone. My independence was something I couldn't wait to experience. Always wanting to walk alone, talk alone, play alone. I was annoyed when people would not leave me alone, especially at school where everyone wanted to be my friend (for the first few years, anyway).

So here I am, pushing 30 and living my childhood wish, to be alone. Except it was a child's wish, not a 30-year-old's wish. Sure, I enjoy being in my own place and having my own money and making my own choices, but I also like to stay connected with other human beings for the sake of stabilizing my own mental health.

What a joy to have the internet at our fingertips everywhere we go in 2010 (had the internet been available when I was a child, I probably would have never experienced the solo life for one minute as I did); it makes it so easy to write and respond to others in just minutes, or even seconds, if you are not a novelist by nature.

Which leads me to my current heartbreak: the absence of e-mail responses I receive from certain friends in my life, and other acquaintances. I take the time to write e-mails to people that mean something to me in some fashion, and I don't get a response.

It isn't just the absence of e-mail responses, either; it is the absence of response, period. One example: I was practically best friends with a guy that I'd met as a freshman at GVSU for about two years. We did everything together; ate together, did photo shoots together (he is a photographer and quite talented), talked about everything, laughed; went places together; things that friends do.

I transferred out of GVSU after my sophomore year to Concordia University Wisconsin, and he dropped me like a lead balloon. Or like a bag of dirt, as I'd felt at the time.

My numerous phonecalls and e-mails were never responded to, and I could not figure out for the life of me why he had put me out of his mind so fast, especially after all of our time and experiences together, and all the promises he'd made to come visit me and call regularly (after all, we were practically best friends so I had no reason to believe otherwise).

Since then, I did manage to find his phone number from a colleague of his that I found online (thank you again, Internet) and called him about 3-4 years ago. The conversation felt unnatural and strained, with him doing most of the talking - about himself - and I was genuinely angry with him by the time I hung up the phone.

I found him on Facebook and found his photography website last week, and tried to contact him again, wishing him a happy belated 30th birthday and mentioned that his photography had nearly brought me to tears, it was so stunning. It would have been nice to have received even a simple "thank-you" or "nice to hear from you, Jill," etc.

Nothing.

I can rattle off plenty of other examples of abandonment (including all of the men I've tried contacting via various singles sites or even my own siblings who don't care to get too involved except every so often with their younger sibling's life), but this sounds enough like a pity party as it is.

My point is: the internet has made it so easy and FAST to communicate with each other. Gone are the days of having to sit down and compose a letter on paper, which takes 15x longer. I can hardly accept that people are "too busy." Give me a break. Everyone is "busy." You can't carve out 45 seconds of your busy day to thank an old friend for wishing you a happy birthday and complimenting you on your work?

You know how many times I have racked my brain trying to think of the things I might have done to piss people off, only to finally realize later that it probably had nothing to do with me? Is it possible that my male friend felt rejected for those two years because we were just friends and nothing more, and maybe that's what he wanted all along? And now he is closing our short window of friendship by being a jackass and not talking to me at all? It really hurts me.

I ask God sometimes: How far are you going to take this? How long will I be alone? Is this seriously what you want for my life - for me to stay in isolation? For me to continue pouring out affection to others, only to be acknowledged by space and time? I even tried joining another singles site earlier this week and thought I'd give it yet another shot. I saw a man's profile that really made me jumpy; I mean, he sounded just awesome. I sent him a short note expressing some interest in his profile, and you know what I've gotten in return so far?

Nunya.

At an undisclosed age (meaning I can't remember), my brother began answering my prying questions regarding his personal life with, "Nunya." The first time I heard it, I asked, "Nunya?" "Nunya," he responded. "Nunya business." (Oh. So we're black now?)

Years later, I find myself on Facebook wanting to respond the same way to certain "friends" of mine who make comments that I feel are inappropriate or too revealing of their deep-seeded envy of my current activities or purchases. I purchased a high-powered - and inevitably, high-priced - blender (more like a countertop lawn mower) before Christmas, and showed pictures of it on my Facebook page. The first comment I received on it, which I promptly deleted, was one of my friends stating that she had looked up the blender online and couldn't believe that I paid "that much" for a blender. Actually, I didn't even pay "that much" for it; I received an insider's discount that everyday web surfers wouldn't likely come across.

Anyway, that isn't the point. The point is, I don't like it when people ask me about my money and how much everything costs. It is nosy and rude. My parents told me early on to never ask about money or tell others about my own money. So this all must be some kind of twisted revenge for every interrogation I ever put anybody through regarding sensitive issues that I did not pick up on.

In fact, I'm hesitant to even post on Facebook that I'm planning on taking a trip to Asia in a few months. I can see the responses now: "How much is the ticket? Must be REAL EXPENSIVE to go to Asia..." "Wow, you're so lucky! I wish I could afford to go on a trip like that!" "First the awesome blender, then you want to sponsor a child, and now you want to go overseas on a vacation for your 30th birthday? I hate you!"

Here's what I would like to say to many who feel the need to inquire on my financial status (though I don't because I really don't need to explain anything to anybody): NUNYA. It doesn't mean that I am rich or have access to secret offshore funds or am prostituting myself to wealthy men who were kind enough to pass along a few extra Benjamins for my new Blendtec (now you can research the blender for yourself if you'd like). It means I am single, independent, have a full-time job, paid off my credit card debt, don't have a mortgage payment, don't have a spouse or children to think of, don't have pets, don't have a car payment, don't enjoy clothes/shoes shopping, don't travel often, and don't socialize enough to put it in the budget.

I do save every week, I do live within my means, I do have a boss who finally began paying me enough to live on after 4 years of overdrafting checks and falling deep into credit card debt, I do believe in the reward system, I do believe in taking advantage when the opportunity strikes, I do believe in fulfilling the right kinds of needs and deep desires in the right ways, and I absolutely believe in sustenance of good mental health.

I like learning about other cultures and wish I had more money and time to explore them. The only thing most of my acquaintances know about Taiwan is that their jeans and car batteries were made there. You wouldn't know that Taiwan has some of the nicest natural hot springs in the world, or that it has a coastline featuring buildings similar to those found in Santorini, Greece, if you didn't take the time to find out. But since I took the time to make friends from different countries, I discovered the beauty of this hidden gem in the ocean.

It would be like me saying to someone who has just posted a picture of their new house: "How much did you pay for that??? You're buying a boring, sterile-looking house in a sterile neighborhood with no yard and no privacy, that's going to drain your finances for the next 30 years, instead of taking an awesome trip overseas and having the time of your life?"

Funny how the same people who have just purchased brand-new vehicles, brand-new HDTVs, and other brand-new miscellaneous items have the guts to make a stink about how much I spent on a blender.

How much did I spend on it? Less than $400. Want more specifics than that?

Nunya.

My Private Fire

I recently went out to lunch by myself about a week ago, which is uncommon for me as I usually eat lunch with the same people every day. But that was the thing - I eat lunch every day with the same people in the same room inside of the same building - and I reached a point where I thought one more day might cause my head to pop off my torso and begin turning around a full 360 degrees at about 75 mph. I needed some time alone that day.

So, I drove up the street to a nearby Wendy's that has a terribly-designed drive-thru lane for itself and the conjoined Tim Horton's inside, and made my way to a distant parking space with burger and fries in hand (my favorite meal) once I figured out which of the 15 lanes to navigate my Beetle on to the food window. My guilt for abandoning ship and leaving my lunch buddies behind had stayed back with my dust as I sped out of the work parking lot just ten minutes earlier; at last, I had some peace.

My radio and engine were both turned off, allowing a full onset of quiet and harmony to settle in. As expected, my thoughts began to wander. And wander. And wander. And wander.

I pictured so many things at once: beauty, laughter, bright skies, rainbows, angels, hugs, kisses... I thought about things of the past and things to come, and the feeling of achievement that I sorely missed. My mind took me back in time to writing poetry and short stories; painting in the art studio at school; long conversations with my gorgeous art instructor; the freedom I felt as I pushed the nozzle down and spray-painted my entire Blazer; learning to dance the salsa and merengue; the intense pleasure as I badly damaged the drivers' side door of the truck owned by my childhood bully; the beloved dog I trained; the late night swims I took; the dear friends I made; the tears I cried; the life I had once lived.

Pretty soon, I remembered that I needed to return to work as I gazed out my windshield amidst a private fire of memories that had invisibly engulfed me inside of my vehicle. So my visions continued as I drove back to work, and lingered as I sat in my parking spot not wanting to go back inside "just yet."

I turned around and looked back at the building, and thought about what it'd be like on my last day. That day where I could walk out and never come back after saying all my "good-byes," given all my hugs, cleaned off my desk, walking out that front door one last time and letting the door quietly shut behind me. Would it be a sad day? Is it something to be scared of? Absolutely not. In fact, the imagined feeling of leaving sent a surge of energy through me, making me jump out of the car and walk quickly back inside as if doing so would make my imaginary departure more speedy.

I am living in the future. I have already told this place "good-bye" and experienced the joy that followed. The calendar date just hasn't arrived yet. But I am already there in spirit.

More

More. I want more.

Not quite sure of what it is that I want more of; I just know that I want more.

It is hard for me to relax because I feel restless. Trying to be peaceful throughout my current journey is like trying to tell a caterpillar to sit still while it is in its cocoon, liquifying and transforming into a butterfly.

So here I am, stuck inside of my cocoon, beating on the walls, feeling claustrophobic, wanting to get out. I can't tell if my wings have fully developed or not, because I don't know what fully developed wings look or feel like. All I know is that there is more to live and love, and I want it.

The Mad and The Good

One thing I have learned about being in the midst of mundane, tedious, soul-draining activities is that my mind tends to wander into other worlds that I most likely wouldn't have explored otherwise.

This past weekend, I spent a few lovely days away from my life in southeastern Michigan and explored my former west coast stomping grounds in the vicinity of Grand Haven, which is a quaint beach community perched on Lake Michigan and also located roughly 40 minutes from where I spent my first two years of college at Grand Valley State University.

I drove through the campus for the first time in ten years, and like a sudden jolt from the deepest of slumbers, I returned to August of 1998 when I first came to GVSU. As I drove past the empty sidewalks (it was a holiday weekend), I saw myself walking or biking to class, carrying my backpack, probably running late, a drink in my hand, waving to friends, waving to professors, maneuvering through crowds of hundreds going the opposite direction.

How cool would it be to live like that again?, I thought. But surely at this point, it would be impossible. It is always nice to daydream, however.

How does this relate to the first paragraph of this post? Well....

I began my work day doing the same thing I've been doing for the past three months. It is not worth describing in this post. After having such a refreshing weekend away, this task was much more difficult than usual. So my mind began to wander and I started staring at the wall next to my desk. I remembered how much I loved painting while at college and wondered what it would be like to bring in a painting of my own and hang it on the wall next to my desk.

Nothing I have already done would suffice; I'd have to make something new. Something more "work-appropriate"; but it is an excuse to begin creating again. I thought of what kind of images I'd like to paint, and between my iPod and the bitterness I was fighting off in my brain, I came up with some bizarre ideas that probably wouldn't earn me the "Employee of the Month" award. So I still have to work on that part.

Madness = swirling thoughts = creativity = something you wouldn't have done otherwise = something good for someone (hopefully you).

Fantasy Island

Today I had a wonderful fantasy. Hopefully I can describe it within the next six minutes at which point I am due to eat lunch. It went something like this...

I finally take my vacation to Taiwan as I have been wanting to do for a while now. Upon spending a significant amount of time there (say, 7-10 days), I decide that I do not want to return to the United States. I make a phonecall home stating that I am not returning. My mom thinks I am joking. I am not. Then, my fantasy switches to the scene at work where my department is sitting around talking about it, scratching their heads.

"She's not coming back," the supervisor says. Boss comes in to join the conversation with crunched eyebrows and moving eyeballs that reflect alternating left- and right-brained activity (you didn't know that your eyes reflected that, did you?). He shakes his head and says, "I don't get it" and Delilah sits at her desk, looking very depressed, while LT and Supervisor pick up where they left off and keep typing in silence.

Two minutes left.

There is an eery silence and a strange aura floating in my corner of the room. My calendar, lamps, pictures, pens, papers, and glowing telephone sit unused at my desk waiting for my return. Except I am not returning, and nobody quite understands why.

Meanwhile, I am still in Taiwan and it has begun to rain. I am outside getting drenched, laughing like I have finally lost it (which, after making such a decision, I most likely have), drawing attention to myself as I sprint up and down the street. There is a pond nearby, and I jump in and swim around in my clothes. My friend O. that has so graciously hosted me during my stay in Taiwan is not sure what to think, so he suggests we go have a drink. I agree. However, we must have a drink in an outdoor pub since I am soaking wet. The Taiwanese natives stare at me and my mess of dripping hair and clothes, but I am like a walking vapor cloud of freedom and delusion, if there is such a thing, and hardly notice the extra attention.

Time's up. I have a sloppy joe and kiwi waiting for me in the frig.

Ee-von

On Thursday night, we had a guest in our evening spinning class who was up from Mexico visiting his girlfriend, who is a regular attendee. As soon as I saw them enter the gym together, my eyes were on him like a mustache on a Mariachi. At the time, I didn't realize he was her boyfriend, but within seconds she introduced him to me in English as her boyfriend after a brief hello in Spanish (do not attempt to practice your Spanish with Mexicans if they know English; you'll never win).

Damn. Nevertheless, I feasted my eyes upon him anyhow. It was my turn to stare at a Mexican man for a change.

As the class began, my instructor politely asked him questions to help him feel included in our small group of overweight American cyclists (excluding his very thin Mexican girlfriend that he was seated next to, of course).

"What is your name?," she asked.
"Ivan," he responded (pronounced like Ee-von).
"'Ee-von?,'" the girl cycling next to me asked.
"Yeah, you know, like 'Ivan,'" I replied to her, minus the Spanish accent.
"Oh."
I guess she doesn't know the Spanish alphabet, I thought.

The instructor continued to make small talk over the noise of spinning bicycle wheels and blaring techno music.

"How long are you here for?"
"Two weeks."
"Is this your first time here?"
"Yes," and then something about his job and coming back and forth, like his girlfriend does. But, yes.
"Do you like it here?"
Say yes.
"Yes."
Good boy.
"Would you want to live here?"
Ooh, good one.
"Yes."
Of course.
"Do you 'do this' in Mexico, as well?" (spinning classes)
"Yes, all the time."
Why, that would explain your lovely, fit body, then.

Ahem...

At that point, I began wondering what it was like to live in Ivan's world at that moment. There is a large window in the studio where you can see everybody walking by, standing outside of the studio next door, walking around the track, stretching, doing nothing, whatever. I soon realized that Ivan's ocular senses and twenty-something hormones were most likely going into overdrive as he took in all of the sights and sounds of blonde and brunette young American women in their spandex workout clothing and lighter complexions, something he naturally was not used to seeing as he comes from a land where everyone looks the same, something he most likely only sees on TV or as he browses through porn sites online. (Ha....)

I was willing to bet even the American men were intimidating to him, with their bulging muscles and seemingly gigantic Nordic structures, complemented with lightly-colored eyes that beamed stereotypes and beaner jokes into the souls of each Latino crossing their paths.

Everything that we do not notice on a daily basis, Ivan most likely noticed during his stay in America. Right down to how fast you appear to be pedaling on your stationery bike, the look on your face as you push yourself as hard as you can, and the amount of sweat pooling under your arms and above your eyebrows as you frantically cycle through an entire hour of Fitness Hell.

Ivan and his girlfriend come from a class of Mexican society that we do not see often in the United States. We don't see them often because that type of Mexican comes from a family where the parents have seen some success, so they are able to go to college, get his/her degree, learn English along the way, and reach success in their home country with a professional job that allows them to live comfortably and remain immersed in their native culture. I never knew Mexicans of this caliber existed until I spent four months living there, and realized that even they were not exempt from having divisions and "castes" within their own society. Ivan's girlfriend was in the U.S. because she works for a Mexican company that has an office in Auburn Hills, so she goes back and forth a few times a year for months at a time. (I wouldn't mind having her job...)

The Mexicans we see crawling into the states with $5 in their pocket, a sack of dirty clothes on their back, and bruises from being robbed and beaten by Mexican cartels specializing in this kind of behavior, have grown up in poverty, have not gone to college and most likely never finished grammar school, have been working hard physical labor since age 10 or younger, have siblings, parents, wives and children back home living off of whatever they bring home, who have decided that their country has failed them and they are now willing to risk it all by going to the U.S. to find work, even if it means they will die or go to jail along the way. To them it is better than remaining how and where they are, and they see no other way out.

Two very different sets of people; two cultures co-existing as one; two groups of Mexican society that make up the country's population - the rich and the poor. There is maybe a sliver of middle-class in their society, but it is hard to know what Mexico even defines as "middle-class."

After the class ended, one woman approached Ivan's girlfriend and began asking questions about Mexico. I didn't hear exactly what she was asking; I could just hear the tones in her voice going up and down, her squeals of delight as she dreamed of visiting one day, and her increasingly loud voice that was sure to scare away poor Ee-von and shatter all of his daydreams of experimenting with an American woman. Yet it sounded so typical, like I was just waiting for somebody to approach her and perform this dialogue any day now, letting out bursts of temporary excitement in the presence of a foreigner, the false claims that their country must be "just so beautiful," and the implication of a blossoming friendship that will most likely never be. It sounded so superficial, weak, annoying, so..... American?