all is optional

Though I made promises, like at every major turn in one’s life, I have yet to keep the most important (or at least what I wanted to be the most important one): write daily, enough to compile a full novel by the end of junior year but I promise to myself that, this, too, shall happen. And, it will happen by 01 May or my name isn’t Willow Sky.

The twentieth year brings changes, unexpected but necessary changes. I’m letting go of so much that I never wanted to let go of but it’s all in the keeping with the theme, “to live and to let live.” It’s ironic how true it’s been in every instance of our two years, to meet and to say good bye in the very same way. Who knows? Maybe, it isn’t quite goodbye yet. A part of me wants it to be and, of course, another part of me doesn’t. I’ve given up on trying to choose.

I’m simply living to live.

“Live fast; die young.”

life is a blur

Originally uploaded by half pint in nyc.

If you don’t look around once in a while, you might miss it.

The times are troubling and confusing. I’m perpetually lost and found in my concrete jungle.

Sitting on the historical seal of City Hall Park, I told Tyler Davis, “The only true thing I know right now is that I’m happy.”

I said that when my nerves were shot and I thought I was falling apart the most but there we were with our guitars, in our park, with our people and, all I was, was happy.

It’s 5 p.m. on an ordinary Wednesday and your feet shuffle quickly down Nassau Street. There are freshmen to meet. “Sarah Morris, I’m here,” you yell from down the hall.

“Oh, Neelofer, remember to get some sleep tonight,” she says, shaking her head at you. “Sign here,” she says as she hands you the keys to your room and to the freshmen’s room and money to feed the early arrivals.

You’re giddy with excitement as you take your newly found treasures to the 14th floor of Maria’s Tower, your home for the next two nights. On your way out, you run into more of your fellow orientation leaders and return to Sarah Morris’ office with them each time. There’s something in being together with all of them, all of them wearing those terrible baseball style white and blue shirts that they love to hate and others love to love.

You’ll find them sitting with their sleeping bags and pillows and bags on the corner of One Pace Plaza between the horrendous modern art the University tries to impress upon its students. “Hi, I’m Neelofer,” you’ll say with energy you never knew you had. This orientation gig has really brought out your confident, extrovert side… at least, superficially.

You’ll all lug your belongings into the Tower and agree upon meeting times for food. Perhaps, you’ll buy a pie from Rosella’s to split between all of you or if it’s the last orientation and you’re planning on going out in style, near all twenty something orientation leaders with their four early arrivals will take the metro up to 56th Street for some good ol’ fashioned fun at Hooter’s.

The 14th floor is where the party’s at and they all know it, too. Mattresses are pulled into 1406. We can fit ten people in here. Ten. Nevermind that the fire code prohibits more than six to a room. You’ll talk about all things under the sun but mostly you let them talk about themselves. It’s so heartwarming to see how open and trusting they are. You’ll wonder if you’re deserving enough to know about their lives, their triumps, their losses.

3:00 a.m. blinks red in your face and the group of you considers sleep. 7:00 a.m. comes awfully quick when you’ve had no sleep. You and your partner in crime, well, you’ll be up just a few more hours but the energy within you for the next day will astound even the most energetic human being.

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Wine and cheese will be your saving grace when you’ve got a bad case of the Mondays. The weather forecast will be akin to for as many days as you can see into the future. All you wanted was another go at the Bryant Park Film Series with 10,000 people, including yourself.

It wasn’t going to happen. So, you made the samosas your mom brought you, burning only a few. Finishing all twenty of them between the three of you within minutes, there were hours to go until bedtime and not a thing to do as rain drip-dropped outside the windows of your prison. Rain is supposed to be cleansing but, in the city, it is always disgusting because it brings the grime from the highest skyscraper to the bottom of your feet.

Another joined the party and four were clearly too much for your room to handle so you went to the 3rd floor lounge and passed out on the couches. You notice a flag at half-mast and launch into a tirade. You’re sick of bullshit politics.

“I’ll pee on the flag,” she said, jumping onto the window ledge.

The editor of your newspaper shows up and questions the four of you about all-nighters. You have a lot to say. They are your favourite part about college but she doesn’t want to listen to you. You are not a boy and she’s lacking input from the male of the species.

Shortly thereafter walks in Mr. President. You had a memo to send him about recycling on campus. He’ll argue with everything you say and you wonder when he went from an advocate of the student body to the administration’s puppet.You’re being unncessarily harsh but hours of bantering follow.
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“Are you stalking humans?” he asked.

“Very sneaky and good,” she remarks.

People have never been my “thing.” I generally avoid them. More than anything, I never found them beautiful enough to be the focus of my camera’s lens, but, recently, I have become obsessed with people of all shapes and sizes and colours.

It started with this photo:

and hasn’t stopped. I don’t think it will over the course of the summer, the fall, the winter, the year.

New Yorkers are beautiful because they display every emotion bluntly upon their faces. Yes, it’s true. A New Yorker, whether a native or a transplant, is a different breed of a human being than the rest of the country, the world.

Be on the lookout. Your face might be on my flickr! photostream next.