In the Arms of Your Significant Being: Spring

Is happy a feeling that visits often?

I heard from Sayuri recently and she cites that "happy" was a feeling that has started to visit her often. She also comments about the welcoming burst of spring being uplifting as it brought remembrances of comfort felt long ago.

As for myself, I welcome this spring only in a partial way. While the world around me is coming alive, I'm not fully engaged. I continuously feel as though I've forgotten something important--but as I leaf through my mind there's never a trace of that forgotten item--just a trace remembrance of something past. Similarly, my taste buds seem to also have taken a temporary hiatus. As for my vision, colors which surround me aren't quite as brilliant as if there's a layer of frost on my eyes. The exception are the flowers blooming just outside the kitchen window. For some reason the radiant color of these simple flowers embrace me and also captures my complete attention and focus.

Hara hachi-bun me. Literal translation: stomach eight-tenths full or consuming to the point where you're just about full leaving you wanting more. It's a common Japanese saying with Chinese equivalents and I’m sure among numerous other cultures.

I was thinking about "hachi-bun me" the other day as I happened to catch it in a Japanese movie. It stuck with me and I started to think whether it applied to all things in life. Is it indeed possible to attain 100%--say in terms of happiness? Or is the feeling of just enough and wanting more, be where you want to leave things?

I'm not certain. And I'm not sure if it's something I wish to ponder extensively as makes my head ache. It's bad enough that my ability to concentrate is at an all time low—these cosmic wonderings are beyond what I can handle.

But what made be smile to myself was the play on words which sprang into my mind. If you substitute "Hara" [stomach] with "Haru" which is Spring, it becomes "Haru hachi-bun me."

It seemed like an apt phrase for how I felt. It hasn't been a totally fulfilling spring, but perhaps I should be pushing myself away from the table feeling that what I’m feeling is fine and I shouldn’t keep wanting more. Maybe that’s when I’ll stop feeling that I'm forgetting to do something. And in the end, instead of trying to effect things, I should just be content with where I am and let things be as it may. And if it were meant to be, it’ll somehow happen.

Somehow a warmer feeling of embrace presented itself as I thought about my Hachi-bun me no haru. My spring of eight-tenths, in the 49th year of my life.

In The Arms of Your Significant Being: Grey

I was in New York today. Well, at least it was a day which brought back memories from my days in the Big Apple.

I decided to knock off early today from work today and being that it was Friday and things seemed to settle down relatively early I thought maybe a movie was in order. I knew that the "The Namesake", an adaption of Jhumpa Lahiri's novel, was out and the previews looked great so I decided, "why not?" Making things more interesting, it was playing at the Arclight in Hollywood which I've never been so a quick hop onto the Metro and I'll be there in no time.

The movie was good--touching at times, but really didn't do the book justice. In the novel, Lahiri spends quite a bit of time on the emotional composition and development of each character. The movie glosses over the conflicts of the characters quite a bit, perhaps hoping that you may have read the book. But I enjoyed the movie for the most part as it did bring back the bits and pieces of the book. I also lingered over the scenes of the City--the apartments, SOHO, and all the what-nots associated with that city. It also occured to me that the memories of my experience in New York are mine only. It not as if I'd shared it with anyone as I was pretty much alone the entire time. And there really isn't anybody I can pull over and reminisce. The weekends that I roamed the city from sun up to sun down. The extended weekends which I always seemed to spend alone. How I longed for the weekend to be over. Monday through Friday were my weekends. I remember staying late at work til nine or so and walking home. It didn't seem to matter whether it was freezing cold or blistering hot, I still loved walking the 30 or so blocks home. Oddly it was similar tonight. Granted it was the streets of Hollywood, but the thoughts, emotions and the hurried pace were the same.

An odd thing happened after the movie ended. As I shuffled out of the theatre, I spotted Grey. For a split second I thought, "could it be her?" Of course it wasn't, but from behind, it was her...maybe not exactly, but the hair was just about identical. I always loved Grey's hair. It was so sensual, and uniquely hers. I walked past the girl and took a quick glance--mid 30's, similar facial shape to Grey's, not quite as attractive, but still, attractive in her own way. Chinese, rather than Korean, would be my guess, but her hair was just done in jsame manner as Grey's with luxurious, flowing curls.

I hadn't thought about Grey for a few hours as I was preoccupied with the movie. But the spigot turned itself on and thoughts of Grey start gushed into my consciousness.

As I walked towards Sunset, I thought to myself how odd--here I am in Los Angeles taking the subway to the movies. And of course, my audience, I find once again, is within the company of myself. Strange how things repeat. Yet this time there is one difference--Grey resides in me and that warmth is what will make me revisit this evening each time with fondness.

As Falls Wichita, So Falls Wichita Falls.

“I need to get out of the City,” I remarked to Ritchie.

“You mean for good?” deadpans Ritchie in a way only he can.

I’m having lunch with him today. It’s our first lunch since his Mum passed away. Kenji decides to join us. Between the two of them, I’ve known them since maybe the fourth or fifth grade. Odd how I haven’t really made friends since my grade and high school friends.

Well, maybe with two exceptions. Big Lick and Brucie would be the first exception and of course, West and Rider would be my second.

Back to Ritchie. He’s one of these silent guys. You know, the kind you have to draw out which at times can be exhausting. Plus at times he’s rather boring. But as he’s the “brains” of my group of friends, maybe that’s just him being tolerant of simple minded me. Odd how at times he reminds me of Grey and vice versa. Both are super smart and own wide-open hearts.

I felt bad for Ritchie when his Mum passed away. I could feel his pain. He loved his Mum and I felt this immense warmth and sadness at the same time. You see, I never felt the same about me Mum. His hurt touched me in a way where it made my heart ache. I felt so helpless—here was my friend feeling emotionally raped and I couldn’t do anything for him.

As things have a funny way of happening, Ritchie and I have since then had a series of conversations. At first it was awkward and strained, but in the end I felt connected with him. I appreciated his openness and felt a brotherly closeness to him.

He called me a last week to tell me he received “honorable mention” with a haiku he wrote. Apparently his Mum had submitted to some national contest. I was especially happy for him as his Mum was a haiku aficionado and it must have brought a special closure to Ritchie.

The call also came to me on a day where my relationship with Grey was crumbling. And thanks to him, Ritchie’s call was the one uplifting call during my dark days dealing with the hurt I had affected to Grey.

[The city where I had lived now remains only a shell of what once was.]

My Pop and Me.

It’s my Pop’s anniversary on Saturday. Unfortunately it’s the kind of anniversary that weighs heavily on me, as it’s the anniversary of his death. My Pop died last year. It’s been a year already. My. My. How time flies.

Well, it does, really.

It was only a moment ago that we hung out together on our drives to Zama and Yokosuka. For some reason I was his buddy and we just drifted around in the car going from base to base. It was on one of these occasions that I told him that I was going to be an archeologist.

“Why,” he asked.

“I want to dig up mummies,” I replied.

He smiled encouragingly. You see that’s what Pop did best. Nothing fazed him and I amused him. I was just some zany kid that had an odd imagination several times bigger than me. And he was my audience.

Decades later and now that he isn’t around, he’s still my audience. I still check in with him. Funny how I never sought his approval when I was younger, but as I matured [well, sort of] his was the only opinion which counted.

So now that I’m at the age where I shouldn't be doing things which may be deemed idiotic, shameful and downright stupid, I wish Pop was around to smack me a few times. I thought about this today. How easy was it back when he would be around to knock some sense into me. How I could’ve used that slap of awakening recently.

Pops, I’m really ashamed to say I’ve done it again. Another unforgivable, irreversible doosey of a, well shall we just say I pulled yet another Philip?

I’ll see you Saturday Pops. Ok. Ok. It's really Dad. He was never Pops.

Miss you all the same.

Love you.

Your son,

Philip

In the arms of your significant being: Grey Goose

The bottle has been sitting in the corner of my kitchen for over a month now. Funny how I greet it every morning as it reminds me of her. Something you need to know—I’m not a Vodka drinker. As a matter of fact I’ve only had it once where I actually appreciated it and it was probably because it was such a desirable setting: after a late breakfast, 40 degrees outside, a Sunday, cigars and a batch of Martinis with good friends. An impromptu session, but stuff you remember into the dark old days when the sharers of those memories are not longer around.

Ok, but this entry is about the Grey Goose. She brought such a smile to my face. I’ve never met anyone as precious as her. Words would never describe her.

I found myself tonight face to face with the bottle. Of course I knew it was never going to be opened nor enjoyed by her. It was a bottle that represented all of the good times I had hoped to have with her. It now sat quietly in the corner. When our eyes met a sad sensation arose in me. But just as quickly, I was greeted with warmth and a cherished sensation akin to a wonderful memory.

“She was the girl, wasn’t she” the bottle seemed to say.

“Yeah she was,” I replied. “In more ways than anyone would ever know. Besides, her memory is mine to keep and not meant to be shared with anyone.”

“Why?’” Wouldn’t sharing not ease that lump you have in you right now?”

“Grey” I replied, “as much as sharing eases your pain, there’s a thought I prescribe to. It’s where the more you share your memory fades. You see, it just becomes a well rehearsed story where details are altered, and events as well as moments of tenderness fade into the background. And while that in itself isn’t necessarily bad, there are memories where it needn’t be altered, nor shared. With her, I’d rather leave all the memories to myself—just the way it is, in the arms of my significant being.

In The Arms of Your Significant Being: Rider

Rider reminded me of no one I've never met.

I had no one in my thin, nozzled life whom compared to Rider. It's been a year since Rider drove into my life. How Rider appeared deserves a chapter on it's own. Futhermore, the highs and lows which Rider affected deserves yet a few chapters.

But this chapter isn't really about Rider and it's about something different. It's about how I finally met someone at this stage in my life where I believe I've found a real friend. It's my first in quite some time. We had a conversation recently where in describing to Rider whom Rider represented, I was able to articulate quite easily. That's no small feat as it's a well know fact that the Gods of Articulation and I are no steadfast pals. In fact, I prescribe to the Anti-Articulation League of Frustrated Enunciators. Witness the 250 words thus far in this entry to get to this point.

I've heard from time to time that there will be one great love in your life. Similarly, luck you'll have a handful of close friends. I'm not sure I prescribe to this romantic notion of exclusivity. In your life, you will have numerous loves. True, only a few may take the form of flesh and blood, but is it not the case where love can also take the form of non-carbon objects? As for friends, I may have to succumb to the theory of handfuls. There are those who seek my friendship and those whom I've sought. And of course, numerous individuals whom I've neglected. And Rider, for some reason keeps me in touch with that fact--the fact that as my own best friend, I've often neglected myself. It's why I cherish the time where I visit with myself. I check in with myself, and inquire how I'm doing.

Yeah, it sounds borderline clinical redzone, but I can't wait to get home to cocoon in the company of myself.

Take a seat on the patio.

Flip the movie on.

Pour the redness.

Wallow.

Rejoice.

Tucked away in my small corner of the Universe, in the arms of my very own significant being.

Maboroshi no Hikari

Ima hitazumi ni omotte iruno desu--kagayaku hikari wa naze minikui no desho? Meno mae ga mienaku naru hodo okarui. Sorewa shiyawase nano desho ka? Sore tomo kurasa no nakade ikiteiru uchi ni hikari no sekai wo motemeru kokoro ga jitus wa ikirukachi nano desho ka?

Boku wa sonna hikari ga daikirai desu. Naze anna attami ga aru, utsuku shii mono ga kiete shi ma wa nake re ba ikenai no desho. Ya ha ri maboroshi nano desu ne.

Yattsu no egao kara hitotsu sae
Sore wo sagashi nami ni deru.
Sasoware anomichi wo kudari
Natsu no koe wo mata mitsuke,
Kokoro ochitsuke aki no kumo.

goose bumps in the heart of my life.

ko i shi ra zu
omo e ba
ki mi no
ko ko ro ko so.

na ze na ra ba
itsu mo ya ai fu ka shi
ki mi no ko e

In The Arms of Your Significant Being: Velma

Fifteen minutes and still no sign of Velma. I'm her escort for the evening.

I had come across her in a place in Manhattan two weeks prior. I was alone nursing my second drink at the Campbell Apartment. I was feeling horrible. Just plain tired. I was fiddling with the obligatory bowl of nuts placed in front of me. I reach out for a cashew only to find another finger hunting feverishly in the bowl, as if looking for lost treasure.

“Brazil nuts are my favorite,”.

I look up and see this striking women. Not entirely beautiful, but striking in a sensual, soft way that only an Asian women can be.

“Hi. My name is Velma.”

“And you have this thing for Brazil nuts.” I add.

She smiled and replied something about how she’ll dump a can of mixed nuts upside-down and hunt for Brazil nuts. I told her we’d be a good couple as I detest the stuff but will pick out the almonds and cashews. We both agree that peanut really don't have a place in the nut world. Unless of course it's the really good kind you get from the South...the boiled, crunchy stuff.

In The Arms of Your Significant Being: West

I’ll call you right back says West. Now in the beginning I took this literally. Little did I know that this was West’s way of saying, “OK, that’s it for now, bye”. So in the beginning I was always puzzled as I waited for the return call. The call that never materialized. The puzzlement turned into anger then into a mild depression then back into anger again. And so on.

But I came to a realization that this was just the way West was. She was just scattered. And I don’t say that in a mean way. She has a bazillion things going on and always going in ten different directions. I also suppose when you’re that adorable and cute, you also can get away with it.

I recall this one time when we agreed to meet in Sacramento. I’m in Fresno and the idea was for me to drive up in the afternoon in time to get together for the evening. I was never able to confirm, but that’s just how it was with West. I was getting a bit frustrated when I was unable to reach her. Fatigue was setting in as I had gotten up at 3:30 am or so to catch the early flight from LAX. The cell rings and its West. She informs me that she has to drive down to Fresno as there’s something going on. Maybe we can meet there and join her and her “friend”. I inform her that that won’t work as I’m now halfway between Sacramento and Fresno. Maybe a drink somewhere around the Sacramento/Delta turnoff she suggests. Long story short I ask her for a rain check. I fib and tell her I’m probably too tired to be fun company anyway. She softly apologizes. The way only West can.

In The Arms of Your Significant Being: Velma

I was Velma's escort to a floral arragement exhibit a the Waldorf. It was a society thing sponsored the Japan Society. She asked me if I would be interested as she knew of my background and interest in Ikebana. It also turns out that similarly to my Mom, Velma's mother was a floral arrangement teacher.

I agree to accompany her as something gives me the feeling that she feels alone and vulnerable. She can be a very softspoken girl who does express her feelings in depth. Another similarity we share in common. I often wonder what she thinks or feels.

We arrive at the Waldorf, she's looking extremely attractive. Very understated but incredibly sensual. She puts her arm through mine and clings slightly. We walk into the hall and am greeted by a swarming crowd of Asians. I'm surprised to see the amount of women clad in Kimonos, most likely wives of the Senior Officials of the Society. One elderly Japanese women greets Velma, comments on how beautiful her arrangement has turned out and praises her. Velma thanks her and they chat a bit. I take this as my cue to wander over to the bar to fetch some drinks. As I walk to the bar, I look into the crowd. The room goes into slow motion as the Kimono ladies slowly cross the room against the austere backdrop of the stunning arrangements.

I catch Velma's glance as I walk back with the drinks. She moves towards me and nestles next to me. A small smile. I brush her forehead with mine. She's embarressed that I did that in a room full of Japanese, but at the same time I sense that she feels safe. Odd how we can feel completely alone in the midst of the crowd.

I once asked Velma some time later why she was alone at the Campbell Apartment when we first met. She told me that she was coaxed by her friend, the hostess. Apparently she had not gone out for a while and didn't want to deal with the annoyances of someone engaging with her but figured if she was tucked away in a corner stool always with earshot of her friend, she'd be sheltered from crowds. Of course it didn't preclude her from meeting me.

I asked her why she was feeling lonely. She mentioned that she had broken off with someone recently and was feeling an emptiness. A few weeks prior, she had met someone through Craigslist. They corressponded a bit and realized that had similar professional backgrounds. It was decided to meet for a casual drink at Eli's in the Upper East Side. It turned out to be a great choice as it was a nice, quiet location. She arrived early and waited for the date to arrive. He arrive a few minutes late, dripping wet from head to toe. He was caught in a sudden rainstorm and was completely soaked as he ran from the 77th Street Subway exit to Eli's at 80th and 3rd. He walked in. Flashed a big smile and a hello, excused himself and disappeared with a couple of bar towels the barkeep handed him as he made the corner into the washroom. He emerged a few minutes later, slightly presentable and his white shirt not quite soaken through.

Velma mentioned that he turned out to be a funny charming man and took a liking to him. She felt comfort in his stories and anecdotes. At one point he drew her close and kissed her lightly. She responded. They lingered for awhile and the kisses became more intense. The small crowd left them alone and in the dimly lit section of the bar they were in their own universe. They left Eli's and made their way back to his place. It had stopped raining and a gorgeous New York evening emerged.

So what happened I asked Velma. Slightly embarressed she mentioned that she spent the night with him and the episode blossomed into a few more nights of romance together. But she added that in the end, it was nothing more than a feeling of wanting to be held. To be in the arms of someone. And she knew it wouldn't be anything more than that.

In The Arms of Your Significant Being: Diary

Shortly before I met Velma I started writing down a few notes. Not exactly a diary but more of what I call miscellaneous ramblings. I just wrote what came into my mind at that moment. It seemed to help ease my bout with depression and I enjoyed the calming effect. The writing came in spurts. I sometimes wrote in Japanese, drew when the moment presented itself and also examined events from my childhood. The writings were contained in a small black spiral bound notebook and my last entry was the day I spoke with Sayuri for the first time. It seemed an appropriate time as much of the writings had been about my feelings about West and the highs and lows I was experiencing. Sayuri represented a new beginning and perhaps a significant new chapter.

In The Arms of Your Significant Being: West

I had a strong, immediate connection with West. Not only was she beautiful, but engaging, personable and an immediate friend. We met in the conference room and we ended up talking about our entire life in an one hour period. The world stopped for us and went around us. West told me about her father's illness and how that became a life altering event. It took her away from Los Angeles and into a path she hadn't considered. It's ironic now, two years later how she despises the institution which she credits to saving her father's life.

We talked again later that night. This time about my marriage, the breakup and why I find myself alone in Los Angeles. I was attracted to her, but at the same time felt this kinship. It was the rediscovery of a long lost friend. And I think West felt similarly.

West's life story is patchy. I know chunks of certain vertical time periods but not what connects each space in time. She tells me that she's had several long term relationships, which, I didn't doubt for a second. But what puzzeled me was why such a beautiful, eligible creature had never been married. From what she tells me there were countless proposals. Timing never seemed to be right for her. When he was ready, she wasn't. When she was ready to marry, he wasn't. Hard to believe some man would turn her down or even begin to imagine that they weren't ready to take West's hand. But as I have come to know her, there is something about West which put a damper on a relationship: if you were a possessive soul, West would be a problem. West belongs to the world. And the world belongs to her. She's a tireless soul. A caring person who will go beyond for others. And I don't know if a person who only wants to care for her would be enough for her. Although in the end, that is the affection she craves.

West tells me she's searching for the soul mate. How would she know if she met one? She remarked to me once that she had no problems letting him know. She's not afraid to tell hem. I still wonder though if she'll recognize him even when he presents himself. Of course I'm thinking about myself. And no, West hasn't spoken up to me.

What I do know about West is that she will end up with someone out of familiarity or convenience. "I know him. I can anticipate his actions. I know he cares for me." I suppose it's a form of giving in or "dakyo" as it's more appropriately called in Japanese. I hope she feels comfort in this. I'm still battling the idea. Perhaps because I have this fear that if I give in to "dakyo" at this point, my entire past would have meant a meaningless struggle. Although conversely this stubborness may be at the core of my problems. Maybe there is no significant being outside of yourself and your selfishness mares your vision. Is that why in order to clearly see, you have to detach?

I recently heard that West is engaged with that fellow. What happened? Was the blur which made her unable to see come into focus? Or did she give in to "dakyo" so that a sense a being might finally materialize? I'm sure I'll never learn why.

In The Arms of Your Significant Being: Pravda

Velma has a small dog named Pravda. It's one of those brown furry pushed in the face kind of dogs. She's told me the name of the breed countless times but I never make an effort to memorize it. He's a cute on though. Big eyes and he looks like he's wearing black boots as the fur around his feet go from brownish to black. I always tell people it's the same dog that was in the movie, "As Good as It Gets."

I also love his name: Pravda. I asked Velma why she chose that name and she told me she heard it mentioned in some Asian movie she rented. There was some comment that it would be a good name for a dog, and she apparently concurred. Made sense to me too.

Pravda was the one thing which brought calm and solace to Velma. He would keep her company at her flower shop all day and watch her tirelessly with those big oversized eyes. I liked him as he wasn't a yapper. I told Velma he was really a big dog that got zapped by one of those "Honey I Shrank the Kids" kind of machines. Velma always wondered where I got my sense of humor. Most people did.

I would sometimes relieve Velma and take Pravda for a walk when she was busy with her store. Pravda wasn't a sissy dog so I didn't mind. I also didn't mind the o-h-h-ing and a-h-h-ing he would get fromm New York's most beautiful women. Velma had a name for this: Stargazing. She told me that it was the same look I got whenever I would stare at my favorite flower, the Stargazer. She explained that I get this intense look with a touch of curiosity--like a boy who couldn't believe that these buds unveil into this unimaginable blossom of beauty. Later in life I will discover my true favorite, the Asian Stargazer. A smaller, more delicate version with a orange and yellow hue. I especially like it as it doesn't produce the overwhelming perfume. Subtle, just like Velma.

In the Arms of Your Significant Being: Sayuri

I had an immediate deep attraction to Sayuri. I had not felt so intensely about another person for quite some time. Well perhaps since West. I met Sayuri quite coincidentally. She answered a post from Craigslist. We chatted a few times and then over the phone. She seemed intelligent and interesting. Books seemed to be our common interest. I was happy to find someone potentially interesting as I was still reeling from my experience with West. I met Sayuri at her house. I was a little taken aback at her appearance. She wasn’t quite as attractive as her photo and she was dressed, well not quite what you would expect on a date. Black tights and Ughs. She seemed friendly enough though.

There is something interesting about Sayuri. She is never what she seems to be. She has a face that changes constantly. Throughout the night I saw her face transcend from a non-descript oval Asian face to a rich, translucent beauty. Every angle made her face transform. Especially in the candlelight, did her beauty become ever so clear. By the end of the night I was taken by her. Her intelligence consumed me. Her openness dumbfounded me. And of course her sensuality completely enveloped me.

We embraced and kissed on the second date. And by the third, we were lovers. She was apprehensive at the pace we were progressive. I didn’t care. If anything I wanted to accelerate our relationship. Sayuri expressed numerous times that she had gotten hurt before when such a whirlwind relationship ensued. Again, I didn’t care. Not care in the sense that I only imagined the perfect world where we were meant to be and that I was embraced my significant love.

The night we made love we had kissed for hours. We caressed each other and hugged and whispered. My hands were hungry to explore her. She introduced me to her small but firm breasts. Her ears, nose, eyes, all of which I kissed. I eagerly found my way to her sanctuary and opened her to me. I was met with a desire and want that I have never felt. Later as I consumed Sayuri I experienced the absence of any neither taste nor scent. It was the closest sensation to perfection. I feel asleep wrapped in the wetness of our desire, in tight embrace.

Sayuri occupied every waking moment of my day. I only wanted to be near and with her. I would hold and kiss her for hours. Alas in the end that wasn’t enough. She had sensed it all along. I had felt it, but deliberately ignored it. We didn’t have too many things in common. I didn’t care. I didn’t want to understand why having common points of view were important. Why? It was overrated, I thought. Again, the stubbornness of my not wanting to see things as they were.

Sadly, as quickly as our romance ignited, our time together came to an abrupt halt. I was hurt. The emptiness that I felt, which I long tried to rid of, made its appearance again.

An attempt at reconciliation was tried and it failed miserably. I did what I could to put Sayuri in the past. I found some solace in the company of others, but it was never the same. I mentioned the episode in some detail to West. She was infuriated at how she perceived Sayuri treated me. There was also a bit of irony. After all, it was my unrequited love for West, which drove me intensely to Sayuri. Little did West know, nor understand this.

It still comforted me to have West console me. But I also defended Sayuri when West went a bit too far. After all I was still in love with Sayuri, as I’m sure I will be for some time.

In the Arms of Your Significant Being: Evenings on First Avenue

Back in Manhattan I had this ritual. On evenings, especially Saturday evenings when I found myself alone, I would hand out at this coffee shop on First Avenue. Now, it wasn’t about drinking coffee. I would usually pour a bottle of wine into a Tupperware container, pack the CD player, headphones and a cigar. And should I not have a cigar, next to the coffee shop was a cigar shop.

I would then buy a large coffee and ask for a double cup. I didn’t care about the coffee as you can guess; it was the extra cup that I was after. I’d empty the wine into the cup and sip away, CD a blast, cigar in hand, people watching.

On particular Saturday was especially memorable. It was a balmy May night. Slight breezy but perfect. The tall trees were lit up and moving gaily with the breeze. It was about 10 o’clock at night, and people were still milling about. That’s what I love best about Manhattan. I’ve finished three-quarters of the wine and feeling no pain. Great cigar and something decent on the CD. Out of nowhere appears this young woman, maybe late 30’s. She sits across from me and with her a large white dog. She’s quite attractive and I wonder, why such an attractive women is alone on a Saturday night. We’re essentially doing the same thing, her and I. Alone, out for a walk, as we’d rather not be inside the house alone. Could she want to share this moment alone or with perhaps someone? As much as I’m enjoying this moment, would it be the same with another person? Would it be possible to open the door and extend an invitation? Would they feel the same joy? And just what are the odds of meeting someone who would look upon this moment and feel the same exuberance? Of course it’s an answer I’ll never find out. As I come out of that reflective moment, I notice that her chair is empty and all I have of her memory is that faint sweet smell of spring. And the gentle breeze

In The Arms of Your Significant Being: Velma

Velma and I were not lovers. We had sex but never made love. And the one time that we had sex, it was forced. And I was the aggressor.

I had had a particularly bad day. Work was unrelenting and Wild was acting up with me. Velma and I had made plans together earlier in the week. We were to meet for drinks at Orsay and then dinner at her place. I was running late that day so I rang her and we decided to skip the drinks.

I made my way to Velma’s place, a cute Co-op in the 60’s between Lexington and Third. It had belonged to her mother and she inherited the place when her mother passed away a few years ago. I was still in a foul mood when I arrived at her place. I had actually thought of canceling but decided that her company might be just what I needed to calm me down. Unfortunately it was the wrong decision. Somehow the conversation turned into why she was never interested in being intimate with me. Sure, we would be close and hug but never as lovers.

I asked her point blank why she didn’t want to have sex with me. She was visibly bothered by the question. She stammered for an answer but it came out lopsided with a rendition of her not thinking of me in that way. I pressed her in what way she did think of me. Again, she was hedging for an answer. In retrospect I should have known that this wasn’t Velma’s thing…to be cornered into reacting in personal and intimate areas. It just wasn’t something she felt comfortable. I knew it. But I pressed on.

Velma finally tried to explain that she was afraid our friendship and closeness would be forever altered if we tried to be lovers. I countered by asking her how she was able to arrive at that conclusion. As she was searching for a response, I stood up and grabbed her. She was startled and she half stood up, at which point I drew her close to me and kissed her aggressively. She hesitated and tried to pull back but responded shortly. I pulled back away from her and looked at her, not knowing what to do next and already regretting what I had done.

Velma looked back at me and without saying anything led me out of the dining room into her bedroom. Still, without a sound, she started to undo her blouse. I didn’t know what to do and sensing this, she started to unbutton me. I started to mumble that we didn’t need to do this, however, she continued with a pause. She led me into bed and asked me to hold her. They were the only words she said for the rest of the night. It was the first and only time we were together. Although we remained close after that night, there was something I lost with Velma that night.

In the Arms of Your Significant Being: Santo Domingo

I think it was on the third day. I was feeling this groove. Something just clicked together as I roam the streets of Old Town. It was as if I had resolved to become a photographer. I had three or four rolls of film, nothing to do and not a care at that point in my life. I was alone. Truly alone. And with a couple of glasses of wine in me, I couldn’t give a shit about anything. If I wanted to “play” photographer, why the fuck not? So I started snapping.

I did have something in mind though. I had an image in my mind so I shot for it. I had the luxury of shooting multiple exposures of a single shot. Looking at things from all angles. No rush. Even the opportunity to go back and reshoot.

As I roamed through the cobblestone streets of the old colonial city, I notice a young boy with balloons. He was consumed with multicolored balloons and the brightness contrasted sharply with the whitewashed walls of the ancient city. I took a few fleeting shots of him. But unsatisfied, I decided to follow him in hopes of that one perfect shot. It was impromptu and felt great. After a dozen shots, I ended up at the plaza and decided to let it go. It was close to sunset and the light was getting just right. The shadows were coming out to play amongst the statues and the cathedral which dominated the the plaza.

I started shooting trying to get the shadows and angles. The iPod was blasting Caruso and I couldn’t have felt better. A sort of emotional orgasm. I noticed a young kid of 15 or 16 pestering me with CD’s. He was just one of the dozen of so vendors hawking meringue music. I keep brushing him away while he busily informed me how good the music was. His intrusion just pissed me off and without thinking I yanked the earphones out and handed it to him motioning to put it in the ear. He got an earful of Russell Watson’s rendition of Caruso. He smiled forcibly, not quite sure what my actions meant or what I was trying to get across. I myself wasn’t sure. But I think it had to do with trying to show him that there’s this other world. A world where I filled the space. My space. I was in it in all by myself. And I wanted neither him nor anybody else to occupy it. Not just right now.

In The Arms of Your Significant Being: Sayuri

Two months after we broke up, I met Sayuri for dinner. We had written each other a few notes back and forth and upon my return from Santo Domingo, she wrote that she’d be happy to be there for me if I wanted to talk.

I talked to her about what I felt and experienced in Santo Domingo. The finality and how the entire ordeal was anti-climatic. I actually think Sayuri was surprised that I had actually gone through with it.

We caught up on what had been going through after our last time together. Sayuri mentioned that she had been with someone and it seemed a rather intense relationship. I caught her up on the dating I had done and my current status. I think she rather enjoyed the evening and was actually surprised when she admitted that I was the only individual she kept in touch with [so to speak] with whom she had a relationship. I didn’t ask, but couldn't help wondering what it was that was so special [if indeed that’s what it was] about me. Could it have been the time we spent together? I’m not sure.

Sayuri mentioned that she wasn’t aggressively pursuing a relationship as she had done in the past. She was more for just letting things happen. She was seeking someone with whom she could have a deep connection. I felt sad when she said this. I took it as admittance that she wouldn’t ever have those feelings for me. Perhaps she’s right, but it’s always sad to hear it. It was similar to the subtle hurt West evoked in me from time to time when she spoke of her search for a soul mate.

I value how Sayuri has come to be a part of my life. I think of her often and wish I could spend more time. I also feel sad every time I see her, as it’s a reminder of how she can exist without me being part of her life. Perhaps in the end that’s what she's seeking--to be in the arms of someone whom she could not exist without. And I, as with her, am on the same quest.

In the Arms of Your Significant Being: Mich

I was looking forward to meeting Mich. I had never met her before except through her pictures. And based on her photos she seemed to have that cute, innocent and adorable expression only a Japanese woman can have. As we talked on the phone and exchanged emails, I found her to be serious--much too serious and wondered if we were a fit. She rang me unexpectedly the night before I was planning to leave town. She asked me if I were free that night to meet for five minutes. Five minutes? Odd. But as it turns out the amount of time referenced was meaningless. It was really a question of whether we could meet. We met at a place I frequented--a quiet, nice comfortable place where you could talk without being bothered.

Coincidentally I met Mich at the valet parking. I could only catch a glimpse of her behind the wheel. I walked around her car and waited anxiously for her to disembark. As she got out of her car, she turn around slowly. My heart sank. She wasn’t what I expected. Where was the girl in the photo? The serious, sensitive girl? Instead, what I saw was a slightly raunchy and seemingly unsophisticated woman. I wasn’t thrilled and was actually displeased.

Nevertheless, I escorted her into the restaurant and we sat and started to converse. I still had mixed feelings but I managed to keep the conversation going. As it turned out she had a sad tale about her first marriage. I realized that underneath the bumpkin façade was a hard working woman who put others in front of her wishes and dreams. The outcome of her story was tragic and I saw tears well up as she unfolded her tale.

It seems her husband was a fishing and diving expert who dreamed of brokering sea urchins wholesale to the Japanese marketplace. Mich was a perfect fit as outside of their love and marriage, her background proved essential to the growth of their business. The entrepreneurial couple soon found a partner and saw opportunities to push their business on a large scale. Unfortunately expansion also meant that Mich and her husband would apart from one another for great lengths of time--her in Los Angeles, him in Santa Barbara. Plans for children would have to be put on hold as the partnership grew the business. The endeavor grew in tandem with the thriving Japanese economy--but conversely, impacted the business when the bubble burst. To make a long story short, the business partner, who had significant real estate investments, saw his net worth tank and did what numerous Japanese did during the post bubble era--he committed suicide. In this case, he hung himself. I could only see the pain and hurt in Mich’s eyes as she recounted the story. What hardship she and her husband must’ve experienced. The stigma. The guilt. And in the end, a resultant divorce.

I felt sorry for her and for some reason I felt as she had lost a part of her vivacious self forever having gone through the ordeal. I wondered if a part of her might have died forever and whether she was capable of ever being the way she was when she arrived into this country 15 years ago: eyes wide open and a bright-sized life ahead of her.