The Essence of a Person

"You still work at that place?" the bus driver asked as I climbed aboard the 35 going home in Kansas City. "Yeah, it's that bed and breakfast down on 46th. I'll be moving soon, though." As the words left me I felt a twinge of sadness at the potential loss of my usual bus driver. I have a strange relationship with bus drivers. On the rare occasion that my schedule becomes routine I manage to enjoy the presence of a few of them. This particular woman is fun because she's always in a rush and I never see her at the same time. It's almost as if she's driving the bus just for me. Even in the morning the Max driver has begun to greet me with a knowing smile. Though with all the layers I have on I doubt he actually knows what my face looks like. One of my favorite drivers was the man who drove me from my farm apprenticeship to my store front apartment (where I'd quickly wash all the straw and chicken shit off of me and then bike in my booty shorts and heavy eyeliner to my serving job in KC's version of New York  -Power and Light District).

He picked me up without judgement. He was a quiet man. He was a light-skinned, lean man with a full, white, santa beard (sideburns and all) and bald head. I could never identify his race. Bold round facial features on his long face and fair skin always had me in a tizzy trying to figure it out.

I hadn't thought of him in a while but the kindness of the 35 bus driver brought forth my memories. He reminded me of a man I used to work with. Similar build, Santa beard and always smiling. I remember looking forward to seeing him at my not-so-fabulous job selling shoes at Sears. Everyone loved him. His energy. His conversation. He was an oasis in my corporate, commission/ no base pay desert. I used to think of him as my crazy uncle. He made the place feel like family. Then one day he announced he was leaving. He had cancer.

Everyone grieved his absence. The place wasn't the same.

The strange thing is while I think I may have an idea, I don't remember his name. How could I not remember his name? He clearly made an impact on my life. Then I thought about it some more. I don't remember his name. But I remember him. Who he was as a person (at least while working at Sears). Names are common. We share them with others. But we as people are unique. We have a soul. An essence. A gestalt -if you will. His essence was comfort and peace.

Much like the the bus driver's. He picked me up without judgement. I would wait for the bus on the corner of Blue Parkway and Eastwood (apparently a big meth area) with my dirt stained overalls, moldy chicken shit smells, taped up shoes and buckwheat hair. As I sat on the ground on the side of the parkway, people would stop and offer me money. At some point a guy offered me a slice of pizza. It took me a few hours to figure out why. I walked into Burger King famished and upon ordering some fries, the person looked me dead in the eye and said "you are wearing shoes, aren't you?" Took me a while to figure that one out, too. The bus driver on the other hand didn't pass me by. He didn't turn his nose up at me. He didn't shoot me dirty looks. One time, he even waited for me at the bus stop while I crossed the impossible Blue Parkway. He was wonderful and I loved him (as much as a human can love a complete stranger). We struck up a conversation at some point where I [finally] explained that I was working at an urban farm down the street. A few weeks later he told me he was transferring bus lines. I baked him cookies with some strawberries I got from the farm. The next day the new bus driver drove right past me.

Sometimes our smallest interactions will lead to a legacy we could never anticipate. We toil and struggle so that people remember our names but perhaps we should make it that they remember our essence.

-O.T.

The Mentality of Selling Your Possessions

Maui, Hawaii: I actually packed too much.

How can you just get rid of all of your stuff like that?

I'm asked that question constantly. The answer is: because that's just what it is. Stuff. I find one of the bigger travel inhibitors (outside of children and relationships) is stuff. It's quite amazing actually. We as a species started out with nothing but the clothes (plants?) on our back and a few tools for obtaining food and a cave as a home. Then we started building huts and beds to keep ourselves minimally comfortable. We were mostly a nomadic species, hitching up our tents and yurts and heading wherever good weather or food was. With those motivations (and getting away from our crazy family) we spread across the planet.

Fast forward 2015...16. Most of the terrestrial Earth has been explored. We've settled. We can easily access our own food. Heck we can change our own weather in the form of heating and AC. We don't like someone? Forget crossing the mountain, we just put up fences. Problem solved. We became too comfortable. Stagnant. We pride ourselves in our permanence. We pride ourselves in our stuff. In fact, what have houses become but shelters not only for ourselves but our stuff. The more stuff you have, the bigger the house you need to accommodate it. Or sometimes vice versa. Do we really need two to three living spaces? Do we need to change our perfectly good furniture every year? According to LA Times, the average American has 300,000 items in their home. NPR wrote that the size of the American home tripled in the past 50 years.

No matter where I live, my room is still messy.

We all fall victim to what society tells us. We need more stuff. You have to update your electronics every year. Your car isn't cool anymore, you need this one instead. It's a never ending cycle.

Before you go longterm traveling, I find it best to adapt an ¡Olvidalo! spirit and free yourself of what can and will hold you back. You could definitely put your stuff in storage but then you are stuck with paying $50-$500 per month holding on to things you aren't even using. That $50-$500 could go towards an extra month or two of rent in a foreign country. It could drive you across the US. It could go toward four months of food. It can get you a month of partying; or even a entire cup of coffee at Starbucks ^_~. Before you leave for your travels take each individual item and think "what would I lose by keeping this? Or what would be gained from losing it?" I've sold most of my possessions three times. The only thing I've regretted selling were my CDs; and even then, I could just get them again.

When you've whittled down your stuff to what you need, don't think about it for a while. A week later look at the stuff again and follow the same process. "What would I lose by keeping this? Or what would be gained from losing it?" If you can, get your possessions down to one large box and leave it with your family or friends. While the ¡Olvidalo! spirit calls for adapting a new mentality and forgetting the unimportant things, you must seek remember the important things. I've lived a lot of different places, had a lot of roommates and met a lot of people. After a while it becomes a bit difficult to keep track of it all. I always recommend keeping pictures and tokens of the past or a memorable moment or trip and keeping them in the box. Even now when I look at them I am reminded about how fast life is and how easy it is to forget what's important or how some person made you feel.

Traveling -especially if you've never traveled outside of the vacation context- changes you. Without fail, you will come out of it a different person than you went in. Most times those things you've held on to don't seem so important any more. Sometimes they aren't important to anyone else, either. You could hold on to your electronics but by the time you get back they will be obsolete and unsellable. Those heels are way cute but when you've walked halfway through Germany in a pair of Toms carrying a backpack the size of your whole body, the urge to walk on stilts doesn't seem appealing anymore. That super amazing high pressure 15 setting, light up showerhead felt great but after having to bathe in a cold-ass river in October for a few days  you will be grateful for any warm water at any pressure.  Either way, that money would be better spent in your pocket than towards stuff in a storage unit, collecting dust.

For more facts about "stuff" check out 21 Surprising Statistics That Reveal How Much Stuff We Actually Own.

-O.T.

The Fear Of Traveling

Small Fish in a Big Pond

So after a great deal of thinking and research I've decided to buy a minivan, outfit it for living and road trip indefinitely around North America. When I was younger, my urge to see the US died sometime around elementary school (when we were no longer doing oral reports about each state). I mean New Jersey couldn't be THAT different from the rest of the states, right? And even if it was, who wants to hang out with country bumpkins?

That was the subconscious mentality of my youth for the longest time. One could be outraged by my ignorance but I'm pretty sure a great deal of the tri-state area thinks that there isn't anything worth a look between Philly and Cali...except maybe Denver and Chicago.

Shamefully, I escaped that mentality fairly late in life; I'd say the moment I came to Kansas City about a year a half ago. Even now I find it amazing that such a gem exists smack dab in the middle of the country. So with my teensy perspective once again shattered by travel, I am inspired to see more of the US. As The Great Curiosity that inspired my penchant for adventure tales such as "Fievel Goes West", "Tall Tale" and "On My Honor" takes over, I now begin to feel a bit of that fire rising in my gut.

Unfortunately, something else rose in my gut. At first it was a steady rational voice in the back of my head reminding me of the overwhelming lessons I had learned while backpacking in France and Maui. "You still suck at saving and traveling with no money is stressful.", "won't you get lonely from being alone for so long?", "You've finally started to make good friends and there are more people who want to be your friends, here. It took you so long to make them, what if you never get this chance again?" These are the biggest fears I have. But to counter these fears I have a few more. "You can't work another normal job again. No matter what you do you'll be miserable working for someone in the long term.", "You'll miss some important moment with your family because you HAVE to go to work.", "If you stay in the conventional work force you WILL go nuts.", "You're always the person you want to be when you are traveling."

The anti-travel fears started as a small voice until I watched a certain movie. "Into the Wild" is based on the true story of Christopher McCandless, a youngin' well-versed in Thoreau, Walden and other heroes of the transcendentalist movement. After graduating college he leaves his broken family -without a word- to travel around the US mostly via hitchhiking. Later he is inspired to rough it in the wilds of Alaska. (Spoiler Alert) After successfully surviving a season and getting lonely he decides it is time to move on. But to his misfortune, he is trapped where he is when the river he originally crossed by foot turns into full fledged rapids. After the wild game disappear, he attempts to eat plants. Unfortunately, he mixes up an edible plant with a poisonous plant, suffers paralysis and starvation then dies. The director did an excellent job of traumatizing me with McCandless' last week or so of life. But throughout all of that, the thing that resonated with me the most was the lesson I had learned in France.  In his last dying days McCandless' wrote in the margins of one his books "Happiness real when shared".

I've never met this man. We will never meet. And yet he found out what I found out. I don't plan on roughing it in Alaska (I hate the cold, honestly) or hitching myself up in an abandoned bus, hunting animals with little to no experience. I know that I will meet people on the road and I have the added advantage of being able to speak the language but I wonder if I leave Kansas City at 29 years old (going on 30) and travel around and end up who knows where (Mexico? Asia?) will I have thrown away my final chances of having a deep face-to-face relationship with another human being? When I am finally ready to settle down will everyone my age be married and babied with no time for socializing with anyone except with other couples? Will the adult cliques be formed with neon "no vacancy" signs flashing for those they didn't go to high school or college with? I know it's easy to think that I am being dramatic but I see the consequences of my travels not only in my life but some of my friends' lives. People get significant others and disappear. Parents are too tired to hold a conversation. Newbies are interesting for five seconds and then townies move on to the next new thing. It's all very real and right in our faces.

So after reflecting on it, I've managed to restrain these thoughts to a loud voice in my head rather than an infection of my whole being. But it's still there. The mental comforts I have are few but somehow they are working. I think about how God will take care of me if I focus on Him. I think about being able to see my family when I want. I think about all the ways my eyes will be opened beyond my feeble imagination. I think about the more loving, tolerant person I will become by traveling and somehow it keeps me going.


-O.T.

First World Problems

Hope is a strange thing. We Americans (and busybodies of all nations and ethnicities) constantly sweat the small stuff. We sweat it so much that we even make fun of our superficial problems with hashtags like #firstworldproblems and #fml.  I could pretend like I'm above all these things but let's be real; I get horribly upset if the person I like rejects me. I get all whiny when I can't go out with my friends because I spent my money on take-out because I was too lazy to cook. I am typically distressed over room mates, employers and most authority figures (because sometimes it feels like everyone has authority over my life, except me).  I freak out if every inch of my body isn't covered in lotion within five minutes of exiting the shower. And it has to be the good stuff, too. Don't give me that dollar store crap. I need that Eucerin or Jergens The stuff that can lubricate cars for years. These are my "problems".

The funny thing about First World Problems is that we make them ourselves.

I mean whose fault is it that you don't have any money to pay that bill after partying? Whose fault is it that your friend or significant other got pissed at you because you got trashed and said something stupid? Whose fault is it that you're in jail because you didn't feel like paying for that new iPhone 4684SQ 2.0 (no that's not a thing)? It's yours. And while we scamper about like bunnies lamenting over our insignificant problems there are people with very real life or death problems. And while we feel hopeless because we didn't get our dream job or school or we have shitty luck with finding a mate or no one likes us, those who are in desperate situations are completely capable of finding real hope in the future.

When I witness situations like these, it calls me to re-evaluate my life. My priorities. My "problems". Yes, sometimes it is difficult to compare each person's problems, much like it is to compare one's physical pain to another; but we have to stop and ask ourselves: What problems can I fix with a little more effort and a little less whining? Just as important: What problems can't be fixed? What is outside of my control? Would all the fuss and hoo-haw and effort even change the outcome? If not, perhaps it would serve me better to take a deep breath, thank God I am alive (because you only get one life) roll up my sleeves and then rebuild.


-O.T.

Onward...

Well, I've picked a plan. I think it's a good plan. It's a humble plan that I'm sure I can handle mentally. The problem is that I can't bring myself to tell all but one person exactly what it is. If I do, I know I will be rejected. Marked off as nuts or pitiful. The thing is, I don't think it's pitiful. It's just a lifestyle choice. There are so many ways to live in this world and I don't think any of them are bad. Every life style is suited for a different person. Whether someone lives in an earthbag home or a mansion, RV or their car it all serves a purpose.

I look back now and think, how did I become so shaped by society's biases and approvals. It seems we are destined to be shaped by them but it is our job as adults to break out of it.

I'll try my best not to romanticize this lifestyle. It'll be hard. People will worry. But end result -I think- will be amazing. As I prepare for it I'll just keep my head down and hope it turns out well.

-O.T.

Re-re-re-restart

I haven't written on this for a while but as of late I've only written on it when I'm wanting to change my life. So here I go again doing my quarterly life evaluation...

While living in LA I had a lot of issues. Funny enough, those issues taught me a lot about what I want and I don't want in life. One of them being roommates. I love people. People are great. But I find that no matter how open-minded a person thinks they are when you go into their space they are the the T-cell and you are the virus (conscious or subconscious). So I gave up all prospects of roommating and got me a studio after heading to Kansas City. One of the few things I did right in this world.

I also learned that I want to be around nature AND the city all at once. Don't ask me how this works but somehow I will make it work. I love cities and crowds and all that stinky, overly romanticized stuff. NY, LA, Paris, KCMO (though I call KC a big town since the place has a ridiculous amount of townies); I love the benefits of having stores and multiple bars and clubs within a short distance. I love that I can go somewhere and be a stranger and there isn't the drama of what so-and-so said back in high school or at work or at the last event.

And finally (but not quite lastly) I've learned that I hate paying rent and having a full time job. I dove into the workforce fairly young for my generation. My high school (go Montclair!) required a certain amount of hours of community service before I could graduate. They even had a Youth Employment Service (YES) office. Consequently, I decided to surround myself with my love of books at the public library when I was 13. I volunteered there for a while and then I got a job as a camp counselor for a Christian camp at 15. After that I worked as a short order cook at a tex-mex place (before Chipotle sucked up the world) at 17 and the rest is "futury". Since the moment I signed my soul away with that tex-mex job application I unwittingly put myself on the conveyor belt to mental hell.  The hamster wheel ominously creaked as it powered to life via my own kinetic energy. Funny enough, I enjoyed it at first. Just going and going and learning and learning like a giant furry sponge. But then one day I found myself completely overworked, bitter, financially broke and looking for a way to stop the wheel. In hindsight, I think my urge to cut ties and stay in Europe was a desperate cry for help.

So I left for Europe. And four months later when I came back to the U.S. and got a job in L.A. I enjoyed the little moments with friends and strangers but I stepped on the that wheel again. Why? Because all rural the skills I learned in France weren't going to be useful for living with my uncle and his girlfriend in a small apartment in Sherman Oaks. So I hopped on and I ran and ran and ran. I even fooled myself for a while thinking I'd move up in the company and be successful and etc. etc.

This is a note I wrote to myself while living in L.A. I found it in one of my note books fairly recently. I put it on my wall so I'll remember:


"Who do I want to be?

I'm a 27 year old. I owe everyone money. I sublet Misty's place. Most of my clothes don't match. I have $60 that will come out of my account to pay a phone bill. So I have nothing. I haven't been to the doctor in forever. I have crooked glasses, talk a lot and no prospects of a boyfriend. Pedestrian.

I want to have an emergency fund. I want to be an active member of a church community. I want to be classy and dignified. I want to think b4 I speak. A nice (though small) wardrobe. I want a license and a vehicle (moped cool)."

In short. I was unhappy with myself. I wanted to change. But what kind of change would make me happy? Based off the few leads I had about what makes me happy I sold my stuff (again) and left for a farming apprenticeship in Osceola, Missouri and then got booted off to an urban farm in Kansas City, MO. So this is what I learned about what I want and don't want while living 'round these parts:

Many times working for people is much like having a roommate. Except you actually VOLUNTEER to be used.

Unless you have none or hate your family, working at jobs that requires you to work on all holidays is foolish.

Rent is stupid, subjective and varies pretty much all over the country while wage sometimes remains the same.

Being married, with kids, living in a house isn't always an option. And sometimes it's not even the better option. Working one full time job with salary isn't always the best option, either. Everyone will have their own dream and what the "American Dream" is shouldn't get in the way of that. I mean look at Carrie Bradshaw. =op

So....that's where I'm at right now. The question I've been asking myself as of late is "Why?" Why do I need ONE job in ONE field working a billion hours a week? Why can't I do a bunch of things that are fun and keep me interested, that I can do where ever I go on the planet and enjoy life and see my family  whenever I want? I think one of the biggest problems society has is that it puts restrictions on itself for the sake of expectations and safety. Why do we have to have ONE place to live? Why do we HAVE to go to school? Why do I HAVE to have a whole lotta money? Why do we HAVE to wait until we are old incapable farts to retire? Why do we HAVE to buy my food from the grocery store?  Why do I HAVE to buy something with credit? The answer is...we don't. We just do it because we were raised to believe it would give us happiness. Even as kids we were raised not to question, I'm sure even the most "free-thinking" parents have used something similar "because I said so".

I'm a firm believer in evolution (for all you ig'nant people out there, yes a LOT of Christians believe in evolution). And we can't evolve unless we doing crazy things (Seal, anyone?). So here I am on the precipice of something with a million choices...so what do I do?

-O.T.

Money's...Aight.

As I sat on my uncle's leather couch sipping a cheap but awesome chocolate stout from Trader Joes, I reflected. I thought about how relatively peaceful my life has been the past couple of months since my arrival to California. I thought how wonderfully peaceful this day was (before my lovable, adorable, whiny two year old cousin got home) and as I sat there reading my "Spanish for Gringos" book, after budgeting for a moped, paying folks back, an apartment and summer music festivals, it hit me: I like money.

For those who know me, I've never had much of a respect for money, evident by my lack of ability for saving, the fact that I never noticed when it went missing, the fact that I always chose "more interesting" jobs over "stable jobs". During my travels, some time a month into my time in Europe and a week into Paris, I ran out of money. After a ridiculous amount of panic, my grandmother helped me out and supported my time abroad both financially and mentally...and I needed a LOT of mental help...primarily because I needed a lot of financial help. A few years ago, not knowing where I would be the next day sounded mighty appealing. The adventure! The romance! The potential! But now, as I get older, the thought of not knowing where I will be staying that night is stressful. Or more specifically, not knowing where I'll be staying in addition to no potential accommodation  (e.g. hostel, campsite, whatevs) is a stressful situation. Afterwards, I spent an exciting, yet nerve-wracking three more months in France. When I wasn't at a farm, homestay or accomodation, I was freaking the heck out. Where am I going to sleep? Will I have to sleep on the street? Why does everyone in Dublin look newly homeless? Will I have to camp on a beach again like I did in Rosslare? (Note: In terms of aesthetics and warmth, Rosslare beach is NOT fun. Beach beetles, seaweed, crazy wind and the paranoia of high tide. Though the fisherman there are very nice and will look out for you if you're a random clueless girl.) 

(Rosslare, Ireland. Somewhere outside the Europort ferry)

Anyway, after such a crazy adventure I came to California, found a job and after the first paycheck, something happened. I thought about all the stress I went through in Europe and all the things I loved doing there and the things that I wanted to do but couldn't because it required money that I didn't have. Immediately, I decided I would just hoard all my money and not do anything. After that, I thought of my cool Australian gite-mate I met while staying at a fromagerie farm in central France. As we lounged on my sleeping bag under the bright sun in front of our adorable, yet spider-infested gite (teensy house) she explained to me how she tended to money hoard but then it hit her that what's the point of saving all your money if you don't live? With that thought, I decided to always have a nice balance of exploring, party-going and future festival-mongering. And this brings me back to my uncle's couch, sipping beer, studying Spanish for my trip to Barcelona right after creating a nice list for summer music festivals.

This is what I've learned and maintained (maintenance being the most important part of learning). Money isn't horrible. It's a vehicle to getting what you need. Too much and too little can be a pain in the ass so take only what you need, make sure to have a little fun and move on. 

-O.T.

A Crazy Two Years

Hey ya'll! So now that I've consistent time and internet access on my hands I decided to give this another go.  I'm a smidge rusty in terms of the English language but I, at least, hope that you will enjoy the content, more than anything:

"When do we begin to live? I know we have a tendency of waiting for something to happen. We get so caught up in the wait or goal that we forget to live, right now. After you finally achieve that goal we look back and say "what the heck have I been doing for these past *insert number* years?" I don't want to be caught in that but I don't want to accelerate so quickly that when I crash and burn, the other cars pass me by." 

-Stagnant, March 9, 2010

I find it kind of interesting that I left the blog on such a depressing note. It's almost appropriate. I realize now that it's hard to see the beauty in life when your heart is clouded by darkness. If you keep your heart full of God, love and faith, even in crappy situations, it's much easier to keep your joy.

When we left off, I was living in a rundown shack of a "house" surrounded by gang members and high school students. A lot has happened then. I moved to a nice room in a nice house in a (guess) nice neighborhood. I was surrounded by a nice rotation of nice room mates with complementing personalities; as for my job, I baked my ass off until I was finally made a full time baker, eventually I got "fired" (apparently, this aspect was never settled) for messing up some rolls around the worse possible time: Thanksgiving. Eventually, I found a job at a start-up wholesale bakery. The building was shared with a meat loving, Nirvana listening, rabbi butcher. Eventually, the place fell apart and the rabbi recommended me to a kosher bakery (yet another upstart). There, I worked 16 hour days in a 80 degree cellar with no hope of help in the future. Eventually, after crazy misunderstandings and me pretty much losing my mind from lack of sleep, not getting paid on time among many other things, we parted ways just in time for a friend of mine's wedding in Ireland. With a sense of adventure and my opportunistic tendencies I jumped at the moment and decided to use my time traveling. After help from family, friends and a freaking awesome WWOOF-like website, I traveled for four months, primarily in France. There I met awesome, interesting people and acquired lots of skills. After a substantial amount of time and a ticket back anywhere (thanks to my cousin), I decided that crashing on my uncle's couch in Southern California seemed like a good idea. Less than a week later, I found a job at an awesome private penthouse club in West Hollywood. So it's a safe to say I've come a long way in the past two years.

I think now that it's a new year, it's a good time to review where we've come from, how we've improved, how  we've worsened and what we'll do to improve. Good can always be better and crappy can always be better. One thing that I've learned, for sure, is that, in this life, neither happiness nor sadness lasts forever. We only have moments and our job is to live those moments wisely. A part of that is from some person or book or movie...just don't know where, ha. So that's it for now. I promise I won't leave you hanging on interesting antidotes from my travels and crazy work times. Until then..Stay positive!

T.

Comfort Zone

Last entry, I wrote about stagnancy when it came to life decisions and whether or not it is a good investment. This time around, I want to talk about a different type of stagnancy...

It was a cool Tuesday night. I stepped in my favorite bar to meet a friend and play pool. As we began to play, he told me that a couple was acting rather suspiciously. The two had been fighting since he first arrived. I didn't really think much of it other than another case of a failing relationship and continued on with my evening.

Later, the couple became the spotlight of the night as the young man began to get loud with the young woman. Everyone, including myself, stared on as he got loud with the, clearly uncomfortable, woman. Soon after, he took her purse and began to walk out of the bar. As she chased after him, red flags flew throughout my head. Still, I stayed and watched hoping that it was nothing more than a lover's quarrel. She ran outside after him. We could see the two through the window. Using the purse to lead her outside, he started to yell at her mercilessly. I watched, hoping that the few people outside would do something. They sat by and watched on as he cornered her near the fence. After seeing that nothing would come of waiting, without much thinking (or perhaps without caring for the consequences), I walked outside towards the couple. As I walked outside, he pushed and pinned her against the fence. While walking outside, I could hear everyone uncomfortably saying "you shouldn't do that" and "cut it out", yet not doing much of anything else.

Somehow in my insanity, I finally reached the couple and grabbed the man. I knew (and expected) what could happen next but it didn't matter. The punch in the face that I definitely should have gotten would have been completely worth doing something.

"What the hell is your problem? Give her back her purse. Get off of her, right now," I somehow managed to say.

With a confused look, he looked at me as if I had two heads. "I don't even know who the hell you are."

"You don't have to know. Give her back her purse," I said, guiding him away from her.

The girl grabbed her purse from him, thanked me and ran off. As she ran off, he started to go after her. I grabbed him again. Eventually, I let go because I couldn't hold him forever. As he went after the girl, my friend gave me the phone to call the cops. Fortunately, at least someone beat me to that. A few of the bars patrons and staff began to follow the couple to the parking lot to make sure nothing happened.

We went back inside, I went to the bathroom and cried my head off. As I sat there, balling my eyes out, I thanked God that somehow He gave me the strength to act. I also thanked Him for not having the guy beat the mess out of me. As I forced my tears back in, I grew angry at the fact people are so used to their comfort zones that even when something is so evidently wrong, they still do nothing. There were at least five men smoking outside and they did nothing except verbally"poo-poo" the man from the comfort of their current positions.

Stagnancy can become a very dangerous thing. According to a few psychologists, this is called the "bystander effect". This theory is that the more bystanders present, the less likely someone will do something about the situation. A horrifying case, I learned about in English 101 comes to mind when I think of this. In March of 1964, a New York waitress was stabbed to death by a man, 20 feet from her apartment door. Her name was Kitty Genovese. According to a police report, the attack began at 3:20 a.m. but the first 911 call didn't occur until 3:50 a.m. Later, it turned out, there were approximately 13 witnesses that heard her cries of "Oh my God! He stabbed me! Please help me! Please help me!" Even the man who managed to peak his head out of the apartment window and scare the assaulter off, did little else to aid the woman.

I've seen the bystander effect occur as I was walking past a bar in West Orange. A man was pulled out of his car and jumped. People gawked as if nothing was happening. The police station is literally three blocks away. I called the cops and they managed to catch the men. While hanging with some friends in Newark, we all clearly heard a scream. I didn't have a cell phone at the time (a common occurrence). I asked one of my friends to call the cops. They refused and decided to write it all off as if nothing happened. In the end I had to fight even my boyfriend to give him my phone because they didn't want to "get involved". Later, I got the crazy look and the patronizing, "you are noble."

The truth is, I'm not noble. Society has just gone insane. I see it as simple cause and effect. Something bad happens, you do something about it. I would want the same for me if I were those women. Wouldn't you? Never be afraid to step out of your comfort zone in any aspect of your life. It can be something as complicated as standing up for what you believe in or simple as approaching someone you like. Yeah, some bruises may come along the way, but how do you expect to grow if you stay in your bubble?

Even now, I think back to last night and wonder:

Those people that followed her to make sure nothing happened, if something actually did happen and the cops didn't come, would they really have done anything?

Stagnant

"We're gonna die like this, miserable and old." -Taking Back Sunday

I can feel the depression and cabin fever setting in like a slow chemical. What motivates us to do anything in life? What keeps us going? Why do we stick with misery? Is it for the greater good? I can see how people die for their religions. To me, that is the misery that it worth it. It means that you are suffering for some ultimate cosmic cause. Work life is a tad bit different. Why am I here?

Is life a test to see whether or not you can live by a particular formula leading to success? I'd like to think not. If that is the case, why am I still here? What am I waiting for? These are the thoughts that consume my mind while I wait to graduate from my college in December. Yes, it is the smart thing to do but what happens if I die before December? I know that in the end I won't care while in heaven but sometimes I can't help but live based on the bodily emotions I CURRENTLY carry. I don't want to die with nothing but a dream and a job in a crowded apartment, in Newark. Does every successful person think this when they hit rock bottom?

When do we begin to live? I know we have a tendency of waiting for something to happen. We get so caught up in the wait or goal that we forget to live, right now. After you finally achieve that goal we look back and say "what the heck have I been doing for these past *insert number* years?" I don't want to be caught in that but I don't want to accelerate so quickly that when I crash and burn, the other cars pass me by.

I recently went to a comedy show in New York. One of the comedians mentioned a theory that, for a few years, I said I would apply if I ever became homeless. He said that he doesn't understand why homeless people stick around places like New York where it gets cold in the winter. If you are homeless, why not trek to Florida? It's not like you have anything better to do...you're homeless. You have all the time in the world.

Not to be ignorant but only in that sense I admire the homeless because they have nothing to hold them back. I don't want anything to hold me back from living. I don't want to be on my dying bed and look back and say I stayed stagnant. When is stagnancy a good investment? I guess we'll find out in December.

-O.T.

THAT Part of Newark

It was a beautiful -sorta- spring day in Newark. I left my job early to deposit my rent check. I decided to walk to the bank via a new route. On the way, I found myself entranced by the sporadic changes in scenery. Somehow the skyline changed from a river and a distant cityscape to old, barely refurbished homes. I'm not too great with architecture but they were very similar -if not a replica- to the older apartment buildings spotted throughout Jersey City and Philly. You know what I'm talking about. Those houses. It was evident that this was one of the few historical parts of Newark and that the powers that be decided to keep the houses in an attempt to attract those with money using propaganda ads on the "charming and cozy" part of the "historical district" of Newark.

How much I love Newark and it's tendency to harbor those with very vibrant personalities, I must admit it is a major propaganda city with a serious case of "the giant pink elephant" syndrome. For those who do not know, the giant pink elephant in the room is that one thing that everyone is thinking but no one says, making the situation awkward.

Scattered throughout advertisements for Rutgers and Essex County College are the ever-popular money shots. The shots where the angle is just composed enough to capture the five blades of grass and one cherry blossom tree in the area. Even I must squint and think back "where the heck is that?" The propaganda also extends to the Eleven80 condominiums (because combining words and numbers is cool). The rooms in this building go for a few thousand dollars. With the right chunk of change amenities include an indoor bowling alley, billiard room and gym. You are also conveniently located two blocks from the Penn Station. Just a hop, skip and jump away from the glamorous New York.

What they forget to tell the people that live there is that the moment you walk out of the door and put your grocery bag down across the street at Military Park, someone will run off with it while the cop down the street doesn't notice. You could say I'm cynical...except that I've witnessed it. So yes, tell everyone about Prudential Center and the Devils coming to town but forget that a 22 year old that was stabbed a few blocks over in broad daylight over a grudge.

So what is my point? My point is with all of the skyscrapers towering over these broken down buildings you would think someone in those towers would be able to see. People don't like the truth because it's ugly. The problem is that it will continue to be ugly as long as we close our eyes to the problem. While one part of Newark is being built up, the other is being swept under the rug with the rest of the trash. Why is it that the street sweepers line the perimeter of the Colonnades building while two blocks down it looks as though garbage cans were a foreign invention? Why is it that there is security all over Prudential Center but the club I went to was shot up while I was there?

Building dream worlds will do nothing but create a dream. It never changes the reality. The reality that today I went to the city subway and the smell of pot tickled my nose. The reality that parks have to be cleaned often so that kids do not cut themselves on broken bottles and needles. The reality that a particular race NEVER looks me in the eye when I'm in Newark. The reality that Penn Station has more hobos than it does passengers. The reality that I've seen more handmade memorials in this town than any other. The reality that whenever I volunteer, the 11 year old children ask me to pray for Newark. If they can see, why don't the suits?

Dimes Over Death

Two Novembers ago I had a panic attack. As I was getting my hair retwisted in Newark, the loctician asked me how my life was going. While reviewing my year, my chest was overcome with excruciating pain, making it extremely difficult to breath. A sharp pain shot down my back and my stomach felt as though it was being ripped open from the inside. As I felt like I was going to pass out, my loctician asked me if I was okay. After doubling over in pain, I thought about my next move.

"Do you want me to call an ambulance?" he asked.

I declined. After calling my parents, I took a two bus, hour and a half ride to the clinic in West Orange. By the time I got there, my chest still hurt but I was feeling much better. I got a check-up and an EKG. Everything seemed pretty normal. I was sent off with a prescription -which I never redeemed- as well as a warning not to stress so much and lay off the Cuban Pete's (employment at the time).

At 22 years old, I learned the idiotic, bitter reality that sometimes you have to make a decision between your health and your wallet. In theory, your health should be more important but when you think about it, a broke college student with no insurance going to the hospital can only end badly. I know I'm not alone in this convoluted decision-making process. According to a 2003 Center on Budget and Policy Priorities study, 45 million people do not have health insurance. Most college students and grads -to which I am acquainted- do not have insurance.

Considering how many doctors over-prescribe and the current generations are in what I consider the Addiction Era, I can't tell if less people going to the doctor will be for the better or worse. Maybe as a result more people will look into holistic medicine and religion? Just a thought.

I highly anticipate the day I receive insurance. Until then I will fear hospitals. The institution, known as the modern hospital, used to be a source of relief for those in serious need of help. When it was first built, I could imagine it as a beacon of hope for those who wished to no longer rely on primitive healing methods. Now, like the police, it has become an object of fear and corruption. Rather than a vast storage of knowledge and medicine, I now see it as numbers, $40 aspirins, horrible credit and ruined lives.

-O.T.

A Piece of Our Lives

About a week ago:

I walked along, lugging my cart o' laundry through the piles of snow on a sunny weekend afternoon. I love the strange looks I tend to acquire from fellow Montclairians as people try to decipher if I am homeless or not. As I walked down a certain street, I heard a voice call "how are you?" I turned around and met eyes with Ms. T. (see "Ms. T." blog) as she stuck her head out of a cab window. It had been a long time since our last conversation. I hadn't seen her since November but I figured if she were anything like me, in the winter she would try to leave the house as little as possible. "So how are you?" I asked. "I haven't seen you in forever."

"I moved" she said, leaving me in shock. We continued on with our niceties and went our separate ways. I trekked on as her cab sped pass me and faded into the horizon. As I waved a final goodbye to the shrinking figure I couldn't help but feel a tad bit sad. We've only known each other for about four months. We've spoken probably no more than ten times. Our meeting was a very small blip in the history of meetings. Despite that, I can't help but feel the impact our meeting has had on each other. I can't help but think we all affect each other in some strange cosmic way. From a casual glance or admiring of clothing to lasting friendships and relationships, we all leave a piece of ourselves with that person. The longer the interaction, the more affected we are when they leave. It's as if watching a piece of ourselves leave or die. Though they have taken a piece of your puzzle, you are left with their piece. All that is left is to figure out where it belongs. With all of our interactions, we are left with millions of pieces to complete a picture of experience and memories. How will you use this piece in your life?

A few days later:

A new girl has taken the room next to mine. We will call her CeCe. She is a very social creature with an open door policy...quite literally. It is interesting how someone's attitude completely changes an atmosphere. In this case, for the better. For the past few months, I could feel the walls closing in. The stifling silence was slowly maddening. I somehow take her moving in as a sign to stick around for a little while. With one door closed, another opens.

-O.T.

Perspective

I threw on my blue sweatpants, white polyester-lined snow boots, a sweatshirt, my gloves, a winter coat and stepped outside. Large chunks of snow swirled around me as I looked on to completely covered street. The wind was blowing but the atmosphere was eerily silent. I started across the street, toward the park. SUVs crept by, breaking the strange silence haunting my mind. It makes me think back to that old question. "If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?" How selfish can we be to think that the world does not exist and continue on while we aren't around. Berkeley, there's always someone/ thing to perceive.

I digress...

I walked down the street as the fury of the snow grew stronger around me. Coming closer to my goal I veered off the sidewalk towards the creek, glistening beneath the gray blur. I pulled a camera out of my pocket and snapped a few pictures until my camera died. I walked back across the street, stopped to observe the couple holding hands in the snow and the children making a snowman in the driveway. Soon after, I walked upstairs, threw off my clothes started to grill some chicken for tacos and sat at my computer.

It's interesting how I'm poor, but not. I can go outside when I want to and admire nature and come back inside and admire it from the safety of my own room. Other people hate it because they have to live out there. What are the standards of poverty? What should I compare it to? Is it about comparing? If I compare it to Montclair, I'm poor as heck. Compared to Essex County, still kinda poor. Compared to the US. Not so much, but you have to take into affect income vs. cost of living. Compared to the world, I'm nowhere near poor. At least, that's what I'm assuming. The thing is, if you are constantly comparing, isn't there always someone poorer? Sure your annual income is two dollars and you have to feed yourself and two kids but what about the woman who has to feed herself, her husband and five kids on one dollar, annually.

Is it right to compare yourself to people? It's like the people who I've met after they've immigrated to the U.S. They are busboys or cleaning people and I ask them what it was like back in their own country. They then shock me by telling me they owned two bars or had their own business doing what they love and were making a decent amount of money relative to their country. Some people were better off in their own country than I've ever been in my life. If that's the case, why come here? Is there a difference between "well-off" and poor? Maybe it doesn't matter if you are poor if you are well-off. Maybe that's what I am.

I don't even want to imagine the gap between the richest person and the poorest. It's disgusting and quite frankly, strange. I can barely imagine how people can afford a three bedroom apartment and a car, even less, a mansion for all of your favorite countries. I guess, once again, it all boils down to appreciating what you have, not wasting it and sharing what you can.

Stalemate.

****
Later, my friend sent me this site. It tells you your international income rank. I am the 692,914,400 richest person in the world. Check it out:

http://www.globalrichlist.com/

Stuck

Again, I'm at that point where I am stuck. Funny enough, I'm at the next level of my life but I'm still stuck. I don't know why I'm not used to this. I know I can't just shoot up the economic, goal and happiness ladders in my life. I know that I have to get to a level and stay there for a while to learn what I need to and move on. I'm so impatient right now.

It could be the reason why I'm stuck that bothers me so much. Money. No, it's not money. It's stability. I finally have a job that I actually enjoy and make an okay amount of money -in comparison to $5 a day- but I can't bring myself to plan my finances more than two weeks ahead. If I wanted, I could get a new apartment WITH a kitchen and still have money left over to pay my bills. Unfortunately, I'm hesitant. Several factors contribute to my reluctance:

My job is in an apartment instead of an office.
My checks are written, not typed.
Every time I'm happy things go horribly wrong.

My mother insists I am a Gypsy. Perhaps she is right but I think that we all need a degree of stability in our lives. Otherwise, we will always be on edge and never truly be happy.

To contradict myself a smidgeon, with way things are going right now I feel like a kite whose string is held down by a rock. I'm so close to being free that I can taste it but I have to wait until I finish school to do anything. Until then, I'm stuck in a place (state of mind, town, state) where I can't settle.

A lot changes in three months, doesn't it?

-O.T.

Job Motivation

I don't know if I've mentioned that I no longer work at my restaurant. My hours became less and less. Essentially, I made about $5...a day. I found a job as a copywriter at an upstart public relations/ marketing out of a man's home office in Newark. It's the strangest place I've ever worked and yet the best place. I write a lot. Though, I fear that I've been paraphrasing so much, I'll forget how to be creative.

Anyway, there is a girl there who just kind of slacks off. It's interesting watching people who lack motivation. Maybe her specific job isn't what she wants to do. I don't know the reason for it but I wonder if she knows how hard it is for people to get a job. Why do people spiral into self destruction when they don't want to do anything anymore? Is bailing when you are unhappy really a good thing? Despite hating it, is sticking with something for the money a good thing?

When I was a teen I had a theory:

You are at job about two-thirds of your day. That is most of your day. If you are unhappy at your job, you are unhappy with most of your life. That is why you're better off finding a job that pays very little that makes you happy. What's the point of having all of that money if you are unhappy?

I told a bus driver that once. "You're young," he said arrogantly. I told myself I would remember that moment so that I would never become bitter like that bus driver. Now that I am 23, I look back at that and I'm torn. I've had a myriad of crappy jobs. I was most depressed during those times but sometimes you have to pay the bills and stick with something you don't want to do. I wonder where my coworker is in her life? Was that me a few years ago...or even last February when I hated my job at Zara and couldn't find the passion to care about clothes? Sometimes envy those whose ideal career choice also makes them a good deal of money.

-O.T.

Like Clockwork

On the way to class, I sprinted out of the door -as has been my routine for the month or two. It was a cold fall day but I was blessed enough to have the heat come on in my room. I ran to the bus stop. As I caught my breath, I couldn't help but admire the trees in the park at the high school. It metamorphosized from a lush verdant park into a lovely, bright orange. Fall, for whatever reason, reminds me of William Cullen Bryant's Thanatopsis. Fall is a beautiful death but somehow it brings room for more life. And yet through all of that, like Bruegal's Landscape with the Fall of Icarus, life goes on: it's like clockwork. As I thought upon this I noticed how so many things are like clockwork.

Last entry, I wrote about the poor woman with the dog who always comes to the library. I think that people only fully notice the world that surrounds them when everyday they live the same life.

As I was sitting at the high school, waiting for the bus, I watched time unravel in the same way it had for a month. I would run to the stop with no one in the streets. After I sat, I would space out for a minute. Soon after, the crossing guard would magically appear. She is a short older black woman with gray hair and glasses. Every now and then she carries a giant walking stick. It isn't an especially beautiful walking stick, just a huge branch of some sort. Then two "scene" boys walk along towards the freshman building with a boy who is rather over-eager to ride his skateboard. It is amusing watching him because I am convinced that he is one of the many kids who are following the newly re-established skater fad, thanks to Lil' Wayne, Lupe and a few other music artists.

I say this because he waits until he gets right down the street from the school to start riding his skateboard. Because there is a slight hill and his friends walk super slow, he rides the back of it at the rate they are walking. I'm sure this will likely result in a broken skateboard by the end of the school year.

After the scene kids trek to the freshman building, a dark haired girl rides towards the freshman building on her hot pink -formally, baby blue- bike. Her backpack always looks painfully large. A few minutes later a tall man with glasses, sweatpants and a baseball cap comes jogging with his leashless, brown and white cocker spaniel. He stops and talks to the crossing lady and then runs across the street down the hill of the park as his dog follows behind. Soon after, the bus pulls up and I cannot remember the myriad of kids who come off the bus but I do remember the random girl who enjoys wearing multi-colored spandex shorts in the bitter cold.

It was interesting watching these people and I will miss them now that the bus schedule has changed. Now, I am at the bus stop a half an hour earlier or ten minutes later. I can still look forward to the local librarians, the woman and her dog and the extremely loud man who carries around a giant stuffed shark, now donning a tie-dye hoodie because fish get cold in the winter, I guess. One day they will leave me or I will leave them. Even so, life goes on.

-O.T.

Man's Best Friend

I pretty much live at the library. I see a lot of the same people everyday and I wonder, sometimes, if they see me. As of late, considering the number of people pointing me out (I'm known to store owners as the girl with the bike), probably.

Lately I've been seeing this one women. She never actually comes in the library. She hangs around it. Everyday she wears a jacket, red hat, blue sweat pants cut at the bottom and white sneakers. Every singe time, she ties her black and white dog to the bike rack and he (or she) waits patiently as its master searches through the trash cans. After observing this for a few days I thought about the homeless person I saw with his dog in Time Square. What I would like to know is: are homeless people better off with pets?

For some people the easy answer would be yes. They serve as companions, ease loneliness and perhaps give you something to live for. Depending on the kind of dog, they might be good at hunting squirrels, rabbits and other animals. Not to mention I'm sure they'd probably make great personal heaters.

On the other hand, you'd have to share your food with them so you might go hungry longer. Plus, I'm sure most homeless shelters don't take in animals so you'd have to make the difficult decision to leave your friend out in the freezing cold alone or staying out in the cold, yourself. To some people that decision might not be hard but most pet owners know you develop some type of a bond with your animal that is hard to break. Imagine if not only you have a pet but it's the only thing you have. The only thing that's there for you when the world kicks your butt. I'm 99 percent sure that bond is ridiculously huge. Now think back to that decision at the homeless shelter. Would you abandon them?

It's hard to determine if you are better off or not. Personally, I would want a dog if I had a choice and I was homeless. What about you?

-O.T,

Things Fall Apart

I waited on the porch from 8:45 to 9:00 in the morning. We were supposed to go cook for some kids. I was a little nervous about the situation and frankly, tired. Nevertheless, I waited for Ms. T. for about 15 minutes. At about 9:06 a man appeared at the door, also waiting for Ms. T. I’ve seen him around before. He is another interesting person who, due to certain unmentionable actions, I believe he is in a gang too. We will call him Terrence. About 20 years old, his dark brown skin sets off his perfect locs. If I could guess his past, by the strange long-johns he donned, I'd say he was previously on a football team. He floats around the building at random hours of the night. Though he seemingly lives here, he doesn’t have a key. I learned later he is the non son-son of Ms. T. and the actual son of a woman who I have yet to meet, though her name has been floating around since my first encounter with this fateful house. We shall call her Nadia.

After calling and banging on Ms. T’s door for some time, she eventually came to the door yelling at Terrence. She wore a large white, floral night gown and slippers; her hair was in a doobie bun which made the tattoo of two tear drops on her left eye stand out. I don’t recall what tear drops mean but if anyone would like to comment on the meaning, please feel free to do so.

Apparently, she forgot our planned rendezvous. This was fine with me being I was overdue for some sleep and freezing my tocus off. After she apologized I said it was fine and opted to go back to my room. She stopped me and had me listen to her story. She spoke about the unfortunate events that occurred last night with her sons and the trouble they were in. she then stopped to note: “You always seem to be around right after something has happened.”

“Maybe it’s a sign,” I replied. “Or I’m just bad luck.”

After explaining her situation that resulted in a late night and two (hopefully) temporary new tenants I offered her some extra towels, blankets, washcloths and toilet paper. She then, offered me tea and a bagel. We spoke for a bit while she started the tea. She spent the rest of the time on the phone, catching her friends and family up on the situation. I sat listening while “The Hills” played in the background. Now that I think of it, it is a very ironic show compared to the situation. Eventually, I pointed out my tiredness and stated I should probably be on my way.

As I began to leave, she stopped me. She continued to tell me some of the sadness that occurred in her life and I asked her if she prayed on it. “I prayed, cried and everything,” she said. I’m not one for praying in front of people over anything besides food but for some reason the urge to ask nagged at me. Once again, my decision became a pride issue. Before I’m even sure I made a conscious decision I managed to blurt out “do you want me to pray with you?” She said yes. We held hands and I prayed. She began to cry. I hugged her, thanked her for the food and went on my way. Sometimes I wonder what God is doing to me. It's funny how things work out.

-O.T.

Ms. T.

Sept. 25, 2009

I've stumbled upon a very interesting woman. We will call her Ms. T. Ms. T. is a heavy-set woman with a caramel complexion, seemingly in her mid thirties. Her hair is an unnatural light reddish brown, cut just below her ears. She always seems pensive as her lonely gaze catches you through her one eye, the other stuck or perhaps sewn shut. She is a church going woman and volunteers on a consistent basis. Ironically enough, her gang connections are anything but limited as she offered me a job through such connections --which I quickly declined. She has the kindest of hearts but the saddest of fate being that, after I moved in, she was diagnosed with cancer.

The day I came to check out my current residence was the first day we met. I saw her sitting on the stoop. While waiting for the landlord, I sat next to her. We had a long conversation, leading to her offering the perpetual use of her phone, if I decided to move in. Our next few encounters were short. Being the "bisy backson" (see Tao of Pooh book) I am, I did not wish to stop to chat. A few days later I succumbed to her inquiries and she rewarded me with tea, toast and dinner whenever I wanted it. As of yet, I have not redeemed her dinner offer, due to my awkwardness and lack of social skills outside of excellent customer service and the professional environment.

Today, as I ran out of the door, she once again showed her kindness towards me as she offered practically a grocery store worth of food that she got from some unknown source. I accepted and offered to help her cook dinner tomorrow for 500 kids, who are in gangs? I'm not too sure if she means they are currently involved, involved by association or previously involved. Either way, kids are kids. If you're hungry, you're hungry. I don't know what exactly I am getting myself into by associating with this woman but once again, it should be interesting.

-O.T.