Pop, Six, Squish, Uh-huh, Cicero, Lipschitz! (NYC Day 2)

The absolute best way to start a morning off is to talk a walk in Central Park and let the pungent aroma of horse droppings smack you awake. Sidestepping horse-drawn carriages, my local tour-guide Alex, whom I recruited off the streets of NYC (who says New Yorkers aren't nice?), took me on a hour-long guided tour around the most celebrated park in the world. Everything in the park is planned, he says, from every curve in the path to each unique tunnel, from every contour of the lakes to the positions of each stone. "No shit Sherlock," I reply. "You mean a park didn't naturally confine itself into a perfect rectangular smack in the middle of a city?" What a dumbass. Should have sprang for a real trained guide. 

As I walked along the man-made forests of Central Park, I couldn't help but feel oppressed. Everything was beautiful, for sure, with all the gazebos and terraces, but everywhere you looked, buildings obstructed the fringes of the park. I suppose the beauty of this park was that you could escape the bustling city-life for a quick dip into nature, and you could just as easily get back into the city if need be. What I felt, however, was this sense of confinement and restriction, as if some higher government power had set regulations on how much nature we could have, which of course, was exactly what the early settlers of NY did. The buildings framed the park so perfectly that even though you were surrounded by nature-y things, you can't really bring yourself to feel like you've been immersed in it. Surprisingly, the only place where I felt a sense of claustrophobia wasn't in the city, but felt it instead in the park where one's supposed to be able to escape from it. It's amazing what you notice when you're looking at it again with adult eyes. 

But of course, I'm letting my neurosis get in the way of a perfectly beautiful experience. I saw where Charlotte and Miranda went jogging, where Carrie fell into the lake after a heated argument with Big, where that guy proposed to his girlfriend on a bridge with a 4-piece band in that viral video, where Joseph Gordon Levitt did a big dance number in 500 Days of Summer. It was idyllic and restful, yet architecturally stunning and classy, the kind of place where young passionate romantics as well as old wrinkled lovebirds can both enjoy equally.

The main event for that night was Chicago, the Broadway show I've been dying to see. Now Chicago holds a very special place in my heart. From the first time I saw the movie, back when I was 10 and my sis was forced to bring me on her date, I was hooked The full story is that she lied to our mom about where she was really going, but my mom, being a mom, figured it out and used me to ruin sis' plans. Yup, I've been a pawn in my family's mind games since I was born, my manipulative personality is a product of their actions. Just a little note to the future judge who'd be trying my case. 

So anyways, there I was, ten years ago, on a date with my sis and her schmuck of a boyfriend - and I was completely enthralled by the glamorous, murderous vaudevillians. Apart from The Sound of Music, this was one of the first musicals I've seen, and my perception of a musical was that it was supposed to be all cheerful and Switzerland-ish. People were supposed to sing about how their favorite things consisted of kittens and mittens, not how much their exes deserved ten stabs in the chest! My ten-year-old mind was completely blown by Chicago's dark satire of our society's tendency to glamorize crime, although of course back then I didn't have such pretentious thoughts. I was just simply enchanted.

My seat was 5th from the stage and an excellent view of all the gratuitous skin that was on display. I was a tad disappointed with the almost non-existent props - I had been so spoiled by the movie version's elaborate sets that I forgot that Broadway shows simply don't use such detailed devices. A lot of it is implied, a little like how in the Shakespearean plays the audience is invited to imagine their own sets. For two and a half hours, I was living and loving the sexy, gritty world of glamorous danger, set to witty lyrics and impeccable footwork. I'd be so happy up there, I thought. That was my world. 

Times Square (NYC Day 1)

As it turns out, it is completely possible to plan a ludicrous Christmas vacation just one week in advance. The insignificant detail that the planning occurred in the midst of my finals did little to hamper my efforts. I don't think I can stress enough how little philosophical musings and key journalistic standards mean to me when there are Broadway shows to be booked and itineraries to be compiled. Minute details like budgets are petty annoyances and must never be taken into account for crazy-fun holidays. A five night stay at the Hilton? Yes please. Best seats for the Phantom of the Opera and Chicago? God you're turning me on. A sex-filled extravaganza in the greatest city in the world, getting swept away by the bustling energy of famously jaded New Yorkers, all while having tongue-related pleasure-spasms from NY chilli dogs? Hell to the yes.

After a three hour flight behind a guy who's two decades too old to have a multi-colored, dangling, flaccid mohawk, I was whisked into a shuttle cab that drove me into the heart of Manhattan, dodging bluetooth-wearing businessmen that enjoy weaving in-between cars on the road. I stepped into the lobby of the Hilton with my prepared shades and leather duffel (Coach and Fossil, in case you're wondering how impossibly classy I looked and wanted to emulate it for yourself). I was in the metropolis that gave us Sex and the City, I must do Carrie proud. (This is only the beginning of many, many SATC references, toss back a cosmo and brace yourselves.) 

Times Square was the subject of my hunt that night. The genius thing about NYC's streets, of course, is in the grid-like numbering. You could never get lost, simply follow the numbers as you would a grid. Each street intersects with a perpendicular avenue, and as long as you knew the intersection you can navigate the streets like a pro. That is, unless, you manage to untangle yourself from the surprising number of Elmo furries on the streets coaxing guileless children into taking photos with them. 

People in mascot costumes always freaked me out. Just the thought of knowing that some poor sonofabitch is in there, humiliating himself for a few tips from boisterous tourists while putting on a creepily cheerful disposition is enough to turn my stomach. What are they thinking as they put their furry arms around our children and wave at the camera? God I hate kids, if these paw-hands weren't obstructing my fingers I would snap each and every one of their necks ... Or worse, what if they were sweaty pedophiles with their greasy hair plastered onto creepy grinning faces? Who knows what kinda psychos lurk beneath the innocent mask-face of stupid, slow Elmo.

I didn't stumble upon Times Square as much as it sprang upon me and ejaculated its load of insane energy, lights, crowd, smoke and noise on my face. You don't walk onto Times Square, you get thrust into it. Billboards, giant screens, bright, flashy lights. Every time you turn your head it only gets wilder, every step brings you to something even cooler. The huge smiling face of Janet Jackson looks down upon me as I float about in a daze, soaking in the sizzling atmosphere of it all.

Partaking in a very new yorkish tradition, I purchased my dinner from one of the Halal street vendors. Apparently, there's a world famous one right by the Hilton, where people would wait ridiculously long for some silly chicken over rice. I, instead, went for the cart right next to it with much fewer people. This is the ugly sibling effect. It's not as famous, probably because it's just not hyped up by some food journalist who has never really had authentic Muslim food from an Asian country anyways, but still tries hard to please its customers because of the pressure of its much more popular sibling. In any case, it was still delicious and definitely still over-priced. 

Coffee

Lower that cup of coffee right now. You were going to just drink it all up right away, weren't you? The hasty way most men skip foreplay and just dive into the sex. No. That's not how we do things around here. 

Hold it in your hands. Feel its warmth in your fingers, just knowing it's close. Now, close your eyes and think about tasting it. Think about its earthy aroma swishing around your tongue. Picture the eclectic bite, the comforting familiarity. 

Now smell it. Just a little. 

Mmm. 

Pull it away. Just tease yourself a little. Let the aroma of coffeebeans go through your nose and straight into your head. Up, and down. Up, and down. Take a longer sniff. Don't rush it. 

See that foam? Lick it off and roll it around your tongue. Feel your heart pounding for it. Edge yourself till your hands are trembling from the anticipation. Now bring it up slow. Real slow. Put it up against your lips. 

Now sip. 

Oh yes. 

-Adapted from Ally McBeal's Drawing The Line

December

I wished for you as the days got colder

Specks of white hail the dawn of winter

To Santa and his band of reindeer

I send a carefully crafted letter

Every night of every hour

Let me still remember

Your sweet laughter

This silver

December

The Apartment

His apartment is a cute little thing, very nicely dolled out, with bold colors dashed across the room. It's organized but not coolly so - he's careful to project a sense of welcoming and comfort. Neatly arranged rows of shoes are offset by cushions that are carelessly tossed about. He doesn't want the militaristic neatness to seem oppressive to anyone, lest it force them away. There's a 'warm lighting' policy that forbids harsh, florescent glares from intruding into private moments. Warm, dim glows illuminates the living quarters and throws flattering shadows onto Marilyn Monroe's coy smiling posters. An asymmetrical glass-and-steel coffee table hints at his modernistic and stylish flair, while framed posters of classic movie stars give us glimpses of his secretly old soul. The living room is inviting and hospitable - many guests have told him so - and he takes a lot of pride in making people feel comfortable and welcome.

The bedroom, however, tells a vastly different story. Everything is minimalistic here - none of that indulgence that was so apparent in the living room. If the theme of the living room is 'indulgence', then the bedroom must be 'spartan'. Only the bare essentials are apparent there: There is a bed - rather, two mattresses pushed together on the floor - and there is a desk and there is half a closet. The only evidence of any excessivity is found in the closet without a door, where jackets, blazers, suits and shirts are organized based on occasion, material, color and season. Apart from that, the room is barren with beige walls and a solitary and lonely James Dean poster. The odd hugeness of the room, uncommon for a bedroom, only makes it seem even more hollow. The only source of light comes from a cheap Target floor lamp that overexerts itself as it feebly tries to brighten up the room. 

The apartment has unconsciously became a reflection of his self. His public personna, the side he reveals to guests, is warm and welcoming, stylish and exuberant. His truer side, however, where he sleeps and is most vulnerable, is left unattended to. As long as he keeps it inside and place all his efforts into keeping up appearances, no one, except those that have been in his bed, will know the real state of his being. Besides, he doesn't spend much time in there, not while awake anyways. He doesn't like remembering how he bawled his eyes out in on the first night he ever slept in that very bed.

In many ways this an apartment for two. For reasons unknown to him, his bathroom was made with two sinks, but he always sticks to one. Perhaps he's saving that one for someone he's yet to met, who would claim that sink as their own. Some couples give each other drawers, he gives out sinks. Everything he buys he buys in twos, evidenced by his matching sets of two bowls, two plates, two mugs and two glasses. Exactly two. He doesn't know why - he only ever uses one, but like it is with the sink, maybe he's getting himself prepared. Maybe sometime the other set will get some action.

J'aime ... je n'aime pas

I like gifts when they're sentimental and small, something I can hold in my hands and feel the memories pulsating within. I like attaching too much emotional value to inanimate objects because the real value of anything only comes to life with the thought we put into it. I don't like gifts when they come with an expectation, like a gift of money to a prostitute implies that she's now obligated to give you sex. I don't like expensive gifts that make you tread carefully with the giver from that moment on, because you don't want to offend him after he's done something so nice for you. You end up second guessing your actions and words around him, as if internally judging if your cheap shots live up to his weighty gift.

I don't like labels when it's describing the internal. I don't like how every label comes with its own host of stereotypes that we end up unconsciously trying to fit just because we know the people around us expect us to. I like labels when it's describing the external, like clothes and statuses and relationships. Armani. Baller. Boyfriend. I like how it gives us a safe zone to function in, how they let us know what to expect, without really defining the limits of our boundaries. They make me feel safe, secure, and even if its an illusion of security I'll take it for what it is.

I like chocolates when I'm drinking it out of a chocolate martini, and when I'm blindly picking it out of an assorted candy box. I like chocolates that come with Christmas and all the well-wishing cheer behind it, like tasting their joyous spirit in each cocoa-filled bite. I don't like chocolate when it comes with tears, like out of a sob-fest ice-cream binge. I don't like chocolates that comes with fruit-fillings, because stop trying to help us deceive ourselves - we're eating chocolate, lets stop pretending it's healthy.

I don't like you when you're ignoring me for work, when I'm reminded that time with me doesn't provide you with a paycheck - therefore time not spent working is time wasted. I don't like you when you make decisions for the both of us, then accuse me of only thinking of myself when your supposedly selfless decisions were centered around you. I don't like you when you thoughtlessly waste my efforts. But each time I turn to look at you and see you already staring at me, I like you a little bit more.

Morning

The brightest rays of the morning

Comes not from the sun

Through the blinds it shines

The sweetest sounds I hear

Comes not from the lark

Whose songs find these ears of mine

That which makes me feel alive

Comes not from my first breath

As I open my eyes

It is your face, exhale, and presence

By my side as I awake

In which I find the most exquisite surprise

Therapists Are Wrong

My therapist said,

“What you think are your flaws

should in no way give you pause,

cause every insecurity there ever was

must be embraced because

- you see,

what we think is wrong in us;

the way you address stress and obsess

to impress and profess some finesse

you think you possess,

the way you cuss and mess

when you play love like it's chess

- it's no flaw, it's a strength!

You're not needy, you're passionate!

You obsess because you don't give in to fate!

No, no – it's not a debate.

I hate seeing you in this state,

You pay me an hourly rate to set you straight.

Your words merely don't translate,

it's him that can't appreciate.”

When I was younger

I was a victim of this exact delusion.

I lived under an illusion

That love has to be the conclusion

to any story – so imagine my confusion -

My shock when heartbreak would knock;

When I realized the only way to block

any hurt was to lock myself up, round the clock.

I can't even walk a few blocks

without having my heart crushed like chalk

by some cocky jock from Bangkok.

All along,

I thought they were in the wrong.

I told myself to bear the pain, to be strong,

sing another 'Fighter'-esq boy-bashing song.

A lifelong throng of 'run along', 'so long'

'One day I'll find someone with whom I belong',

But it wasn't long

Before I started turning introspective.

Who am I from their perspective?

Behind a facade deemed attractive

Were there native qualities so repulsive

that if they told me, I wouldn't even believe.

Am I supposed to keep going on,

basing all my dreams upon

some fantasy I've drawn with crayon,

that I'm in fact not some moron

with every shred of common sense foregone.

It finally dawned

That fawning over any brawn

Killed my ability to differentiate interest from a yawn.

Maybe it's my problem for blinding my own reason

with the weight of expectation,

for wanting heaven before date number seven,

for desiring so much that I completely lost touch

of the reality - that we live in a world

where things aren't just handed to us.

Where we're harassed in this circus

of vicious strangeness,

navigating without a compass

through this wondrous darkness.

When did life become a pursuit of ice-cream and orgasms,

where freedom gives way to outcomes of threesomes.

When we learn words like scrotum and condoms,

Does sex become the anthem we parade in our kingdoms?

I've heard it said that 'you deserve better',

but who's left behind, or does that even matter -

aren't we're all just picking up pieces the previous shattered?

It's not you, but it's also not all me,

we're all fucked up in ways we can't even see.

You're a dick of the highest degree

Yet I'm a dick for being your devotee.

Maybe one day we'd both agree

to cease this self inflicted murderous spree.

INFJ Dating Bible or: How to Date an INFJ

Source: Modalities of Existence 

INFJs are, by definition, rare, reserved, and unlikely to initiate anything, which means that many of them can end up alone and misunderstood. To help with things, I’ve compiled a list of points which I think would be of great use to anyone considering dating someone who identifies as an INFJ.

• For most INFJs, omitting or distorting information is equivalent to lying, and at the very least will rouse their suspicion. INFJs have an acute sensitivity for stories which don’t quite fit. At the same time, INFJs also like to assume the best and can be extremely gullible.
• INFJs are adept at nonverbal communication (eye gaze, touching, body language, etc.). Just because they’re not speaking doesn’t mean they’re not saying something.
• INFJs have an extremely complex internal value system. An INFJ will see if you ‘fit’ into their world, and they’ll bend their own rules if they really like you. INFJs tend to have very high standards, but are also very accepting once they trust you and know you’re safe.
• INFJs can be pretty intense emotionally. This isn’t to say that they can get into a heated argument, in fact INFJs avoid conflict, however they are easily hurt and feel very deeply. It’s not uncommon for INFJs to cry if they feel something very deeply.
• INFJs are weird / odd / strange / extremely rare and they very much know it. They yearn to be understood and want to be accepted as they are (as most people do, of course). An INFJ is incredibly complex, so complex they confuse even themselves. They almost always feel misunderstood and ‘hidden’. They will be offended if you pass them off as ‘simple’ or ‘average’. Getting to know an INFJ takes work, so be prepared for that. A lot of gentle enquiry is required.
• INFJs can often mimic other types.
• INFJs are typically better in writing than in verbal communication. If you want to know an INFJ’s true feelings, ask them to write out what they think and feel.
• INFJs don’t typically engage in casual relationships. Most of them will become too attached for it to be possible. If your intentions aren’t serious then you should probably steer clear of an INFJ unless it’s very obvious beforehand that they aren’t interested in a serious relationship.
• An INFJ’s allegiance is no trifle. If an INFJ wants to stick by you, it means they really like you. Do not violate that gift.
• INFJs consciously choose the people that are close to them. They would rather have a few very close friendships as opposed to numerous superficial ones.
• They open up at a dinosauric pace. They typically hold themselves back and consider that behaviour to be part of their nature. They’ve been described as having ‘layers’ which only a select few people are privy to, the closer the layer to their heart, the fewer people are granted access. Do not expect to find yourself in the ‘top tier’ overnight. It often takes months or years to access the deepest recesses.
• INFJs, like other idealists, love harmony. While an INFJ is relatively adept at conflict resolution, they do not appreciate the unneeded creation of conflict. An INFJ will strive for harmony.
• The ‘N’ combined with the ‘J’ in INFJ means that they are future oriented. Do everything you can to make yourself seem like a long-term option. If you become destructively impulsive, an INFJ will lose the ability to see you as a long-term mate, and will become unhappy as a result. INFJs are future-oriented and have powerful imaginations and superb insight.
• INFJs are extremely sensitive. Make sure that criticism is handed as lightly as possible and constructively. At the same time, INFJs love to please their partner, and will work on an issue if presented in the right way. When to be blunt with an INFJ: never. Be honest and direct, but there’s a fine line between direct and insensitive.
• INFJs love helping people. If you’re bad at accepting help (yes, accepting help is a skill), then get ready to have problems. To reject an INFJ’s help is to reject their love, and one of the things they hold nearest to their hearts.
• An INFJ’s ability to help people goes hand-in-hand with their ability to destroy people. Their keen knowledge of people’s weaknessess means they can either help you incredibly or destroy you, however the latter is extremely rare and is only reserved for people they believe have done serious harm to them or others.
• They need patience but they give patience in return.
• They’re curious about other people. To their friends, they are very accepting. However, the closer one gets to an INFJ’s heart, the more their standards will apply to the other person, which can sometimes create issues.
• They often have darker periods where they close up. They can become monk-like and reclusive. It doesn’t mean they don’t like you, it just means they need to recharge.
• They can be stubborn once they believe they’re in the right, especially if it has to do with their values.
• INFJs hardly ever initiate anything. They like it when the other person initiates a conversation, contact, etc.
• INFJs need 2 things to thrive: trust and safety. Trusting you is about knowing that you’re ethically and morally upstanding (or at least in accordance with their values), and feeling safe is knowing that you’ll stick by them. INFJs don’t want to open up to people who might disappear overnight. If an INFJ feels they can trust you and feels safe with you, they’ll be very happy. The only added bonus is to tell them how much you appreciate them.
• Their energy drains when around others. They will need time alone to ‘feel like themselves’.
• Your energy will easily affect them. If you seem unstable, etc., it will seep into them and poison them. It has often been said that an INFJ’s partner has to be strong, and this is generally true.
• INFJs live in a world of fantasy. They can have problems consolidating their idealism with the reality of the world.

Useful quotes from the internet about INFJs:

On truth:

“INFJs are all about deeds, not words. Don’t fuck up anything when you are granted a stage by an INFJ. It may take a long time before they give you that stage. Remember that they are intently testing you at that point. Talk all you want after that audition, providing you pass the test. The conversation will be most pleasant forever after … until you fuck up.

Eight years of marriage to a textbook INFJ has taught me the power of truth. I have seen what happens to people who deceive an INFJ. They are dropped like a hot pan.”

On vengeance:

“I do think that’s one of the main features of the INFJ type, vital even: a strong sense of right and wrong; they can’t tolerate wrongdoings of any kind. But at the same time, I’ve observed that INFJ’s attitude over their sense of morals comes in two variants; Jesus-like ones that say “turn the other cheek”, and the badass Kenshin ones that punish wrongdoers.”
—
“I have an INFJ friend, who is someone I would never EVER want to piss off, I’ve seen him angry only once in my life, and he goes all out then, lashing out to the point that it’s fearsome and it takes nearly an hour for him to cool down… it would start with him just suddenly becoming quiet and very isolated and then bam!

If ever in a war, that dude is on my side as a general!”
—
“We go through great efforts to keep everything civil, friendly, and harmonious, and we even allow people a certain amount of “buffer space”. But once you’ve overstepped that boundary or pushed things too far, then BAM! Tactical. Nuclear. Strike.”

On holding back:

“My tendency to hold back IS who I am, and I am okay with that. I embrace that.

Because I am here and my friends know it. I am at my maximum potential when I am taking care of my family, yes, but I have many close friendships I nurture on a regular (every few weeks) basis, and they are almost as important to me.”
—
“INFJs take time to open up. They are slow burners. I find I can’t really get to know them until after many prolonged conversations. But after you enter their realm of trust they are the sweetest, most genuine people.”

On Sex:

“If I pursued a lot of meaningless sexual relationships, I can guarantee you I would be miserable in the end. It’s not in my nature. I am 100% aware that I’m someone who has to have a certain level of emotional bonding and trust to have sex with someone, and while I’ve had friends give me a hard time for it in the past, I accept this about myself. I can’t turn that off, and I know it. So, instead of living in denial, trying to be “the tough chick who can have sex like a man,” I hold out for someone who actually values my true nature. If I didn’t do that, I’d only be hurting myself over and over again. Denying your true nature in an effort to be “fashionable” or “modern” or “independent,” in my opinion, really comes back to bite you in the ass.”
—
“I can’t see the appeal of casual sex, for me I have to be in a relationship with someone before I’d consider sex with them. Sexual intimacy is much more valued and emotional to me and I do not want to waste that on people I don’t know or do not have a special bond with.”

On Feeling Different:

“I have always felt extremely different from others. I know when people are sick, even sometimes right down to what is bothering them. I am automatically drawn to people in pain and instinctively help people through hard times with out even knowing I am doing it.”

On Love:

“INFJs are more “for the cause”, not free-love.”
—
“INFJs look scary love-wise.”

Exclusivity

I do admit that I try to keep control of my life through possessing stuff. I need to be able to say for certain what I have, the things I own tell me what I'm able to secure. At a time where nothing much in my life stays constant, I long to be able to just hold on to some things with no fear of it being ruthlessly taken from me. 

Loss is a part of life. It is a concept everyone is aware of but not one that is easy to swallow. In times following great loss. we scramble to recover what we can, to scour and gather up the little pieces of our fragmented lives. We hoard and we jealously defend what's left of us, and we build up even more barriers to keep the people around us at bay. They are thieves, just waiting for our guards to be let down before sneaking in and taking what little we have left.

I pity the people who desire to live lives of blurry encounters and hour-long commitments. I pity the people whom the word 'commitment' burns their psyches like holy-water on a demon. Maybe players who go home with different people every night feel secure in their own right, maybe they feel content with sporadic bursts of alcohol-aided intimacy. But I can't go through life like that. I need security and constant reassurance that the one I love wants me as much. 

I'm hardwired for exclusivity, and I naturally expect the same from anyone who expects to date me. My off-the-charts possessiveness literally makes me physically sick to imagine my dates with other guys. You can't have it all, expecting me to hang around while you enjoy non-exclusive playtimes with someone else. It's not easy getting someone like me to open up again after someone elses' actions forces me to back away, and squandering my trust doesn't end well for either of us.

Emotional and physical fidelity is not something that I will ever even entertain the possibility of questioning, and wanting me to explain that is like asking me to explain why sharks have a taste for walruses. Nature dictated it, deal.