Lonely v. Alone

I stand, not sit, alone in this world. Not lonely, but alone.


Summer in NYC interning for one of America’s premier TV stations was a whirlwind. As in tornado madness exciting, plus Hurricane Katrina frightening–emotionally. Lived in Chelsea, Brooklyn and West Harlem. Chelsea-> the uppety notoriously known for its gay demographic and ultra-cool bars, Brooklyn-> insanely diverse, loud and eventful with cutesy buildings, and West Harlem-> Hispanic and quiet. Did I mention how much I loved Brooklyn? Everything you hear about that borough is true and false. It’s got savvy, fiery and mushy people. Banange the buildings? Mehn, kyaba too much love. Plus this hood image that non-New Yorkers seem to perceive of it, is reminiscent of  Socialist perceptions by non- Socialist people. Yeah, I took a tangent down the political front.

Musings aside, NYC is indeed the city that has every walking; Cheryl, Tallulah and Horatio. Why the less-popular names? Because it’s the divergent group of people you’ll find there, and in case you’re the last in on this secret:- that same group of Horatios and Kristis are the ones running that town. The Kelly Cutrones of our time, with their systematic yet daring ways. And I mean, the architecture-turned-stripper, investment banker begging on the sidewalk, serenading musicians on the subway, successful Trinidadian hairdresser that lives in the projects,… I could go on for probably another 2 minutes. Judgement based on appearances has to be left on the bus/train/plane from Small town/suburb X en route to the real Sin City.

Disclaimer: This ka city, in my short-sighted eyes, might be all things to all people. But an open mind, a broke wallet (all that fashion talk CAN get to your head), and a hungry (not tourist-like) spirit can warm your heart…and anywhere else you wanna *wink*.


Circling back to my theme: many a times I found myself longing to be alone, either walking in a random Brooklyn park, Riverside park or pushing my way through crowd-armed street-paths. The feeling: being told to bend over and get a change of batteries inserted in my back. Yeah, like those toys. Or rather that depressing Anti-depressant commercial on American TeeVee. It wasn’t because I didn’t have company in my new home, I certainly think I did. I think! But, more so, I slowly became my own best friend, my own partner. I jazzed with Nicole about journalism things, boyfriend things, sex things, and most importantly, feeding ourselves. We felt no guilt eating junk food, and definitely more amazing walking 95 blocks twice in one week.

We all go through changes. To us, they might be all good. And unfortunately, to others, more often than not those closest to us, it might seem too fast, too irrational, or just plain bad. It’s taken a while for me to hone my goals, career and otherwise. In addition to the, wife, mother of 11 dreams, I encourage Nicole, you, X, Y and Z to dare to go with that dream that seems “a bit much” at the time. Happiness isn’t found in securing a boyfriend, or getting straight As only, but in self-fulfillment. You know how there’s all these products for feeding our hair, skin moisturizers, dog food, cat food, even air freshener? In the same way, we need to feed our souls, take the non- monetary money and buy yeself some good spankin’ Soul Food. The real deal, though. Go figure what makes you truly happy. Not your parents, friends, girlfriends, boyfriends, whatever knows better.

Does your life seem a lil’ bit too comfortable and routine-like? Do you find yourself in the same places, doing the same things, even before you think about it DAILY? (failed attempt to sound like advert here,

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It can only mean, by Nicole’s book, that you are simply existing and have ceased to live.





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