i stumbled upon this beautiful song that my mother used to sing me as a lullaby what seems like lifetimes ago. the quiet grace of this woman's face and the hair swept into a loose bun reminds me of a younger version of my mother. it's strange how quickly we grow up. one minute we're counting down to the double-digits birthday, and the next we wish we were back in our ridiculously pink childhood bed being lulled to sleep by the infinitely sweet sound of our mother's voice. one day, not long from now, i suppose we shall return to that sweet embrace for good...
How many miles to Babylon? Three score miles and ten— Can I get there by candlelight? Yes, and back again— If your feet are nimble and light You can get there by candlelight.
I could almost start my entry the way Joan Didion started her memoir Goodbye to All That, “It is easy to see the beginnings of things, and harder to see the ends. I can remember now, with a clarity that makes the nerves in the back of my neck constrict, when New York began for me, but I cannot lay my finger upon the moment it ended, can never cut through the ambiguities and second starts and broken resolves to the exact place on the page where the heroine is no longer as optimistic as she once was.”My story begins quite similarly, in fact.When I was young, I too would dream about New York.From my sunny bedroom in Florida I’d conjure images of a slightly more sophisticated version of myself gallivanting the streets of New York in style—a skim latte in one hand and a designer purse in the other.I was infatuated with the idea of such vastness, such anonymity, such glamour and such incredible romance.My first boyfriend was from New York.So at sixteen he took me to South Street Seaport to show me, the wide-eyed Florida girl, an oasis in the middle of the bustling city.I still remember the stark contrast of the gleaming water in the early September sun and the heady smell of garbage bins next to where we stood.It’s funny, but even at sixteen I remember thinking how bittersweet most things always were.My first kiss was in New York too.In front of the Sbarro in Times Square.Every time I pass it, it reminds me of first love but also of my youthful naïveté; I dreamt that New York would be the city where so much in my life would be realized.In some ways it has.I go back time to time and as I approach the city so many images cloud my mind: waiting in anticipation at Grand Central Station, falling asleep on a shoulder waiting for a train back to Philly, Mister Softee’s vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles, late night curry, waiting in the cold for hours to get into a party, cramped late nights in a friend’s tiny apartment, and countless other memories fade in and out to the point of exhaustion.
I spent the last weekend in New York.Somewhere along the way the New York moment ended for me.I’m not quite sure why or when, but I no longer love it the way I once did, much like first love.There was a moment this weekend when I overheard my cabdriver declare that he was tired of “buying stupid fucking bitches free drinks” and wanted to seek revenge for all those nights he “didn’t get laid and instead use them for what they’re worth.”He went on to describe how he would prey on the drunkest of the lot at the end of the night.I sat in stunned horror.It was then that I realized, New York, the wondrous city where I’d first discovered love, had morphed into something wholly perverse - or perhaps it had always been; I'm not sure.All of a sudden, the streets seemed narrower, the sirens more piercing, the smells more intolerable, the subway dirtier, the people grittier and my heart…heavier.And in some ways it was a small death.The dream that once brought a smile to my sixteen-year-old lips now dissipated into the thick, polluted New York air and my twenty-four-year-old eyes did not even flinch at its departure.
after dinner, danesh and i went for a little stroll to the starbucks across the street in pentagon row. i ordered a hot chocolate for the first time since last winter. we came home and went up to the sundeck and enjoyed the brisk breeze mussing our hair and caressing our cheeks. we stood and looked out over the glowing outlines of austere monuments and the capitol and welcomed fall to DC.
With the official kickoff of the football season, I’ve come to the realization that I have an uncommonly strong affinity towards football.Let me be more specific: the NFL and the Pittsburgh Steelers.And not just because they won the last Super Bowl (or four before that), mind you.Love for the Steelers in my blood, after all.Shortly before my birth, my parents came to Pittsburgh as graduate students and soon learned they had arrived at the Mecca of American sports.Being the typical (or not) brownfolk they are, they decided they would not be outdone.Soon enough, they learned the rules, the plays, and players, becoming some of the most avid Steelers fans.My mom still tells of the games they attended at Three Rivers Stadium situated at the mouth of the Monongahela, Allegheny and Ohio rivers, she clad in her sari and winter coat, waving the “Terrible Towel.”To this day, my mother picks up the sports page first.Just listening to those stories, growing up with football on the tv, and always carrying with me a nostalgia for my beloved hometown of Pittsburgh, it’s probably no wonder why I am so attached to the sport and the team.Most people who learn this fact about me find it quite humorous though, stating they find it hard to picture someone like me enjoying such a sport.But in my eyes, it’s quite logical and well-founded.
Football is far from the barbaric sport that so many wrongly conceive it to be.It’s a display of guts and glory at its finest.There’s so much emotion ridden in each moment on every level – the desire, the drive and the potential devastation or elation.I literally hold my breath with clenched fists and have been known to shed a tear or two.It makes sense though.After all, I think it’s the sheer emotion in the game and the emotional attachment to the Steelers, Pittsburgh and perhaps the American dream of my starry-eyed, 24-year-old parents that brings me back time and again.Somehow the innumerable memories of a place, my childhood, and the translucent curtain that veils my mind’s eye from those early years, are all wrapped into the emotion I feel when I watch the Steelers play.Every time is like the first and last – every play, every touchdown, every single moment.For instance, in tonight’s game, when the coach (Cowher) and Joey Porter are celebrating his unexpected 42-yard interception and touchdown on the sidelines, Porter couldn’t contain himself and plants a big, juicy kiss on his coach’s cheek.It probably sounds corny to anyone else, but in that moment when the otherwise stoic Cowher relents for a second almost like a stern father with his adult son, I felt something give inside me.It’s not a matter of football, but rather witnessing an act of unexpected, understated sweetness between strangers.Human emotion encapsulated.
It’s been about a year since I’ve been to Pittsburgh.In my mind though the spirit it embodies is more like that of a small town, rather than a large city.Pittsburgh is an easy place to love.Not only in a physical sense with its hills and twisty roads, but in a deeper sense.After all, Pittsburgh was quite literally the backbone of America.During the height of the steel industry, Pittsburgh held a very special place in the hearts of so many Americans.Those images of a rugged, humble, honest, working-class city have not faded.Even today, despite the huge shift in industry (out of necessity, obviously), Pittsburgh has a timeless charm unto itself.It’s that indescribable emotion I feel when driving out of the Squirrel Hill tunnel and into Oakland that will always affirm my deep love for a place I, as well as my much beloved Steelers like to call home.
after much thought i've decided to revive my blog and put my thoughts back out there in the vast blogosphere. for better or worse, i realize that i've truly missed having a venue to think, reflect and write. i think i've figured it out though: i feel the urge to write most when i'm restless. i'll get to the restless part in a bit, but first i should update what's been going on in my life of late. i'm starting my second year of grad school and will be graduating early (december) so that's pretty exciting. i also have a job working somewhere i want to be, which is gratifying. apart from that i've been with "the one" for about a year; he's honestly my best friend, co-conspirator, and just one of the most positive forces in my life. we met august 30th of last year and have been on one neverending date since. also, i've met some genuinely amazing and inspiring people in the last year. all in all, DC has really delivered on all its promises.
so i guess that brings me to the question of restlessness. it's strange, but even though things change they have a way of staying the same...inside my head at least. it's like my mind is always reeling - ten million thoughts at once, despite the seemingly calm exterior. i can't help but think of how much i have left to say, accomplish, love, see, and experience. i suppose this recent sense of happiness and security frees me to think about all the other apects of life. the thing that's really been on my mind is this incessant desire to see and expeirence the wide world. i appreciate my life here in the states, but the more i learn about different peoples, the more i want to witness the intricacies of human beings in different parts of the earth, firsthand. and i want to write. words and half-thoughts crowd my mind's eye. i can envision it... me, my thoughts and my laptop in an eclectic little cafe in istanbul, vienna or dubai... i've been told i'm too much of a romantic. the realities of the world are much harsher than my visions of a free-spirited, freelancer, spinning tales around the world, smoking sheesha with terribly fascinating, foreign peoples in dimly lit, sweet-smelling cafes. but somehow, it doesn't phase me. i'm twenty-three going on twenty-four and right this moment, i feel the world is my playground. it's a damn good feeling, too.
