I've known of R----- for a while, through a mutual friend from the Philippines. We finally met last night, at the student bar, when I asked him how our friend was, as I hadn't seen her in a long time. I was half-wishing she had finally come to her senses and quit grad school while she still could. Alas, she hadn't. R----- is one of the more successful grad students I know. He introduced me to his boyfriend, a (white) MD-PhD student I've seen around, and this is what happened after.
Me: So how did you two meet? Here, or in California?
R: Oh, here. Actually, we met here, in the lab.
Me: Oh, that's so cute.
R: Before he met me, he dated girls. A lot of girls.
I'm just hoping R----- didn't see my jaw drop. Hi hi.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
All Things American
P---, who happens to be one of my favorite Americans, delivers our orders from the local lab-supply distributor. Our small-talk ranges from the modern-romantic (how a husband-and-wife team drove overnight from Atlanta a few times a week to fill orders when their local warehouse burned down) to the cowboy-heroic (how he used guns to ward off a frog invasion of his backyard--I can only hope that he used, in this instance, rubber pellets, salt or something instead of live ammunition) to the mundane (how he gained a pound for each day he spent on a cruise) to the solemn (how one of his sons went off to join the Marines). I think I might have offended him once, when I joked about how his belly had been growing rather alarmingly. I asked if he'd been drinking too much beer, to which he adamantly replied no. It occurred to me way too late that around here, entire towns remain dry*.
Anyways, this was our latest banter:
P: Hiya, stranger.
Me: Hey! I haven't seen you in a while.
P: Yeah, how have you been? I see you're still hanging around here.
Me: Yeah, yeah (Laughs). Is that sad?
P: (A bit taken aback). It's stable. Sometimes, stability is sad.
Ha ha. Sometimes, it really is.
*In the US, a city/town (or possibly even state (like Utah?)) is said to be dry when alcohol is not sold or served. A supermarket cashier had once told me that I did not need wine.
Anyways, this was our latest banter:
P: Hiya, stranger.
Me: Hey! I haven't seen you in a while.
P: Yeah, how have you been? I see you're still hanging around here.
Me: Yeah, yeah (Laughs). Is that sad?
P: (A bit taken aback). It's stable. Sometimes, stability is sad.
Ha ha. Sometimes, it really is.
*In the US, a city/town (or possibly even state (like Utah?)) is said to be dry when alcohol is not sold or served. A supermarket cashier had once told me that I did not need wine.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
My travels: Sunburned in St. Petersburg
It is a statement, mostly sad, on both yourself and the city that has been your home in these last several years, if the simple act of waiting for the bus, shirtless, felt nothing short of a liberation.
In my defense, the bus in question was a trolley that took people to the many beaches up and down the coast, and the "bus stop" was, quite literally, just a bench. The sun was still up high and I did not want tan lines in all the wrong places. I was beach bumming in western Florida for a couple of reasons, neither of which seemed particularly compelling. I was celebrating--my thesis defense, thank you for asking--and also using a plane ticket that the airline would not refund.
But I was grateful, nevertheless. For the liberation *wink wink*. For the mobile phone not ringing. For the laptop staying in its sleeve. For the sun, however, relentless; for the ocean, however choppy; for surprisingly cheap beer. For the Kindle, and the Jack London and Washington Irving in it. For the daily two-mile walks.
On one such walk there occurred what can only be described as a moment of clarity. Strangely, this moment came immediately after I worried that some friendly Florida driver would come to my "aid," thinking I was about to throw myself over the bridge. Ha ha. For the record, I stopped on the bridge only to watch the sun set. That's not weird, right? Also, for the record, I did not go on walks seeking clarity; in fact, I was, until that moment, only thinking about how I had not been to gym and yoga in two weeks. Is that too shallow? But it is true: when you take care of yourself well enough, two miles with a backpack is nothing. Nothing. It is a marvelous thing.
But I digress. In that one moment, however fleeting, I felt...
...sure. Of myself, of who I was. Of what I was capable of doing, of what I was not capable of doing, of what I was willing to do. I felt sure of what I like, and of what I want. Of how I would live my life, if it were completely up to me. And sure that if there is no one out there who would take me for who I am, then to hell with it: I'd rather be at peace with my imperfect self, than spend a lifetime recreating someone else's idea of a husband. Also, I was sure that the only way to wear boardshorts is to be ... never mind. Hi hi.
In the end, how the world sees me is, in fact, not quite the same as how I see myself. Perhaps, it may never be the same. And maybe that's ok. In all probability, there will always be a kind of me that I would like the world to see, and a kind of me that I choose to be. All I need is for someone special, or a select few, to see the difference.
In my defense, the bus in question was a trolley that took people to the many beaches up and down the coast, and the "bus stop" was, quite literally, just a bench. The sun was still up high and I did not want tan lines in all the wrong places. I was beach bumming in western Florida for a couple of reasons, neither of which seemed particularly compelling. I was celebrating--my thesis defense, thank you for asking--and also using a plane ticket that the airline would not refund.
But I was grateful, nevertheless. For the liberation *wink wink*. For the mobile phone not ringing. For the laptop staying in its sleeve. For the sun, however, relentless; for the ocean, however choppy; for surprisingly cheap beer. For the Kindle, and the Jack London and Washington Irving in it. For the daily two-mile walks.
On one such walk there occurred what can only be described as a moment of clarity. Strangely, this moment came immediately after I worried that some friendly Florida driver would come to my "aid," thinking I was about to throw myself over the bridge. Ha ha. For the record, I stopped on the bridge only to watch the sun set. That's not weird, right? Also, for the record, I did not go on walks seeking clarity; in fact, I was, until that moment, only thinking about how I had not been to gym and yoga in two weeks. Is that too shallow? But it is true: when you take care of yourself well enough, two miles with a backpack is nothing. Nothing. It is a marvelous thing.
But I digress. In that one moment, however fleeting, I felt...
...sure. Of myself, of who I was. Of what I was capable of doing, of what I was not capable of doing, of what I was willing to do. I felt sure of what I like, and of what I want. Of how I would live my life, if it were completely up to me. And sure that if there is no one out there who would take me for who I am, then to hell with it: I'd rather be at peace with my imperfect self, than spend a lifetime recreating someone else's idea of a husband. Also, I was sure that the only way to wear boardshorts is to be ... never mind. Hi hi.
In the end, how the world sees me is, in fact, not quite the same as how I see myself. Perhaps, it may never be the same. And maybe that's ok. In all probability, there will always be a kind of me that I would like the world to see, and a kind of me that I choose to be. All I need is for someone special, or a select few, to see the difference.
This time, with feeling
Welcome. This is the third iteration of a blog I've been writing since 2004. The blog title may change eventually, but it is inspired by a (sort of) recent epiphany. That most people, including myself, choose to present themselves to the world in a way that may not be entirely consistent with how they see themselves. Which is not necessarily a bad thing, but I'll save that, and many others, for a future post.
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