Nostalgia

For about a year now, I've been getting these attacks of nostalgia, particularly for moments back in New York. These little attacks just happen out of seemingly nowhere: I'm going about my daily business when all of a sudden--BAM!--a memory hits me from out of nowhere and stops me in my tracks. This has always happened to me. I can remember being in the middle of folding socks as a young teenager, around thirteen or fourteen, and some sort of humiliating memory popped back up and I realized I had totally stopped folding socks and was just sitting there. Remembering. That time the memory was tinged with humiliation, but it's not always. Sometimes it's regret or joy or sorrow or laughter, but it's always demanding. I remember when I first started reading the Dune series, a collection of books that forever changed how I thought and viewed the world, that they mentioned the adab, "the demanding memory that comes upon one of itself," and I finally had a name for this phenomenon.

It's ironic that these adab are of New York because it's because of something like them that I left in the first place. After ten years there, the city had changed so much. People had left, businesses had closed, and the entire geography and culture of the city had seemed to change as a result. I would walk down streets and constantly travel though my memories: seeing the corner vegetarian restaurant that had closed down in East Village in favor of a tenant who could pay higher rent and never came to set up shop, a conversation I had with a stranger who convinced me to keep pursuing theatre in the middle of Lincoln Square when I was unsure, the fun parties in the lobby of the Hudson Hotel and the time that my walk of shame the next morning included my Intro to Spanish Literature class smack dab in the middle. I was constantly being haunted by these ghosts, and after a moment, it became overwhelming.

Oh look, it's that memory again..,

And now, like a horror movie, the ghosts have followed me here, to the other side of the Earth. Though this time, instead of running from them, I almost welcome them, because now when the memories come of themselves, they bring with them a bittersweet taste, a nostalgia that wasn't there before.

I think these memories are a means for my mind to try to integrate who I was with who I am now. I'm becoming a much different person than I used to be. I've decided to prioritize different things in life, like language learning and my writing, for example. I'm not nearly as interested in going out and partying (though don't get me wrong, one weekend out of four, I'm all about it), and generally, I prefer to stay home unless I have something out of the ordinary to go see, like an exhibit at the museum or a festival.

But when I think back on New York, despite being taken in by more "distractions," I feel like I was doing a lot more with myself: I had a theatre company, I was translating literature, I was going to school for my bachelors, all on top of having a job, going out with my friends, occasionally playing video games and volunteering for something random around the city. These days, I feel like I'm doing less, and on top of that, I have a lot less energy. In Colombia I started drinking coffee regularly, and now I feel like I rely on it (even if it's nothing extreme, I'm told, just a couple cups a day), and I'm always feeling worn out at the end of the day. I have a full-time job for the first time in years, but I'm struggling to fit in time to do other things I need and want to be doing while still finding time, and more importantly the energy, to be social and partake in leisurely activities like video games. I haven't touched a game in months, which a younger, former self could barely imagine. I sometimes wonder if this is a natural part of aging or if there's something I'm doing differently. But if I am doing something differently to get in my own way, what is it? If anything, I'm getting more sleep and eating better, so that can't be it. I drink much less as well. Everything I'm doing should be pointing to having much more energy, but it's just not the case. It frustrates me because I went from producing works of art to just kind of having a hobby in languages, and for better or worse, my self-esteem depends on what I'm working for and on, and if that's nothing, then it's hard for me to be happy with myself.

In Dune, when talking about adab, a character (perhaps Lady Jessica?) mentions that when these memories come, they have something to tell us; they demand our attention for a reason. Perhaps their purpose is not only so I can make peace with the new person I'm becoming, but also to make sure that as I change, as I grow older and truly come into full adulthood, that I make sure to take the best aspects of my twenties with me: the feeling of newness, of hope, of magic! that I feel slipping away little by little. Perhaps the reason that I'm tired is because even if I'm sleeping, I've, somewhere along the way, stopped dreaming. And these ghosts, these adab, are an attempt to remind me of that, like when you suddenly have a flash of your dream from the night before.

It's time to snap out of the coma.

And wake up into my next dream.

Lament for the Inauguration

I watched the Inauguration Friday night from here in France with another American friend and with each of our French partners. I know that a good deal of people vowed to boycott the inauguration's broadcast, and I totally respect that and hope that we can move on to ignoring his tweets next. However, I needed to see it. Not to watch it as entertainment or to trivialize or condone the beginning of a four-year mess, but to stand witness. To attend the funeral. No one goes to a funeral because they think it's going to be fun; they do it because they know they have to. They have to so that they can, on one hand, be there to stand witness to the suffering of others (which is an often underrated response) and on the other, to get closure for themselves. And that's how I approached this inauguration: a funeral.

I've been outside the United States for practically the whole election process. I've been on the other side of the world, far away from everything, only hearing what average people are saying via tourists and Facebook. With an ocean stretching between us, it almost doesn't feel real. If I imagine really hard, I can almost trick myself into thinking that it's not really happening: I'm just having a bad dream that I'm confusing with a memory, or that it's the TV show I'm obsessed with that week just spilling into my day-to-day thoughts. But then I remember the very real people who support him, some of them among my own family, and I'm back to reality.

It was my first time watching an inauguration from start to finish. My interest in politics is something that has been slowly picking up steam since adolescence, but it didn't really become the kind of obsession it is today until I ventured outside of the United States, which makes it really just an extension of my own self-interest, I suppose. Since I started following politics in any meaningful way, there have only been three inaugurations: two for Obama, and one for George W. Bush. I was obviously in no rush to watch Bush's inauguration, and for Obama's, I saw clips and images, but I never really made it a priority to watch. The inauguration is all just ceremony. I could watch the ceremony or I could spend that time reading up, educating myself, talking to people, all things which I consider a better use of my time.

One of the first things that struck me was how much religion was a part of the ceremony, which seemed strange and out of place, and later a quick Google search allowed me to confirm that it was indeed abnormal with a record breaking six religious speakers. I expected a prayer. Even if I don't really like the idea, it is the United States, but that was really it. Instead, it was practically a church service. I was as pleased to see subtle and not so subtle hints from certain religious leaders at keeping America a land that welcomes everyone, as I was displeased to have to endure the babble of prosperity gospel televangelists.

Actually, to be honest, I didn't. That's when my friend and I took a break and did a couple shots of tequila because what's a funeral without heavy drinking?

But in all seriousness it was horrifying, and at times overwhelming to watch. Trump's speech in particular. Hearing him attempt to masquerade as a movement for the people, telling them that this was "for them" made my stomach turn and my heart broke for the second time. I had to excuse myself away to cry in the bathroom. Again. It was the morning after election day all over. It's still incredible to me that people can't see him for what he is: a con man. In business he's been nothing but a liar, and as a so-called politician, he will do the same. I mean, am I the only one who can hear it? It makes me feel like I'm going crazy. I feel like I'm watching the United States going up in flames and people are either joking about it (in France, not really so much in the US) or they're cheering on their own destruction.

Even still, I have so much hope. Because for all the people who do support him, there are even more who don't, and a lot of them, many of whom I'm proud to call my friends, are demonstrating and manifesting and protesting and fighting back in any way they know how. So many people refuse to let the ideals of our country die a quiet and easy death, and I sometimes think that maybe this has woken everyone up. Now that some of those who were apathetic before have seen how bad things have gotten, they've finally snapped out of it and are mobilizing. So yes, I watched the inauguration as a funeral, but this isn't the end. Just as death is not an end. It's a change of form, and I hope that our next form is more glorious than we can imagine in this seemingly bleak moment.