I woke up remembering last night, remembering the night before.
Last night I saw "Cinema Paradiso". It was beautiful, but the story was long, perhaps I had the extended version. And I didn't feel the story was cohesive and strong. I could see how I would have fallen in love with it, become attached to the characters, had it been done a different way, by better direction and story-telling. But I didn't. I could see how my art friend said she didn't like it so much when she saw it, not sure when. Then again, I don't know her taste in movies enough to say we would have the same reasons for not liking a given movie.
The night before I wanted to see a movie, but I ended up just organizing my room, especially the desk that had pies of receipts on it.
Then I thought of the obvious: I spent both nights alone.
I am done with this town, this life. I know that in New York there's no better possibility of avoiding another weekend night alone, but at least I will have my city, my milongas, my cafes, my people watching, my reading among people who excite me just by their presence. Here, even with friends, I still find myself alone on weekend nights. I didn't call any of my friends to hang out, because for one thing, I didn't find anything interesting to do besides sitting and watching a movie or chatting. For another, I didn't have the energy to invite and be prepared to be rejected. My art friend has many times suggested that we go to one of her parties, meet her cute art girls, go to an art show. But that never happened, even when I suggested it. Her life is taking a road a bit diverged from mine. That's normal with friends.
But I just feel more strongly that I am done here. Sure, I could have called up my sister and gone to see a movie. However, that wouldn't have made me feel less compelled to leave here.
Last night before the movies, while making my lunch of the week, while baking for the sweets of the week, I finally got around to post an ad for subletting my room. That's another step toward exiting here. I will need to find a property manager, formal or informal, to take care of the place while I am gone. But as far as tasks here is concerned, there's nothing more to do. I didn't feel sorry for myself these two nights as much as I am now, in my matutinal mood of introspection. And tonight I will be going home alone after the milonga. If I were in New York, I would still be going home alone, but at least, I will go home through the subway that I love, through the neighborhoods that I embrace. Such are my thoughts this morning.
The weekend did have quite a few happy points. Besides taking care of the apartment I am leaving by organizing and washing its floors, I got a surprise visit and also got to spend time with a friend. I got a phone call from a voice that asked, "Do you know who this is?" It was a woman's voice, unsurprisingly, a deep voice, but not one I could recognize and the area code of the phone number, 215, was even more foreign to me. It was a friend from a long time ago I met in New Haven, a common friend with my ex-best friend. She had moved out around the time my sister left for college. She is the only person I know who stuck around this town for longer than I have. Ten years. Four of those in college, the rest dedicated to social improvement through the union. After becoming tired and disillusioned with union politics and disagreement with its new direction, she left the movement entirely, and studied and now practicing acupuncture while still doing her equivalent of my tango in terms of personal passion: aikido. In some ways, that's more useful than tango.... She was visiting this little town, and just thought about calling me up to meet for a little bit. It was nice to catch up. I can't say I was ecstatic. I was so taken aback that I wasn't sure how to feel and what to say. She was the first woman in my 8.5 years here that I didn't pursue. We spent a lot of time together. We were friends before tango came along. We shared our feelings about our respective little sisters, in both cases there was love and disappointment. We both grew up having to struggle against the walls set up by the very same family that was supposed to help us. For some reason, I never got interested in her. I forgot much about her since she left the city, or earlier, since I focused my attention on, I can't remember which girl. We even did pottery together.... How odd that I don't remember that until now, that we didn't even talk about it. It's strange how I recall things; I remember a lot of things, I notice more things I really need to, but it doesn't mean I can recall everything on command....
We chatted for forty minutes and then she left. I didn't feel very connected to her. Perhaps it's because she aroused too many memories that were awaken for the first time, directly connected to her or indirectly connected to others. Perhaps it's because she and I never really had much more to talk about besides what I have mentioned above, and now, really, the memories of these few connections. Now she is in Pennsylvania, living with someone she had met through traveling for aikido, and living in the middle of nowhere, on 8 acres of farm land. My mind couldn't focus only on her. My mind focused on how lucky she was to have someone for whom she felt so attached as to live in a place she would otherwise not have chosen to live in.
Overall, it was a beautiful surprise. The surprise reminded me that when you let life take its course and you do your best to respond positively at every turn of the river, it's a beautiful life. I have mentioned that I am listening to a philosophy course on Death. It is, of course, about Life. I am now on the last topic: suicide. When it would be rational to commit suicide. I won't get into that, and by mentioning it I don't in any way suggest I am contemplating it. I want to say that so far, now at the last topic of this course, I actually have come to believe that life is worth living. It has too many intrinsic beauties to forgo despite all the ugliness that throw me into occasional despondency. It's true that I have no one to share these beauties with, that I still spend my weekend nights alone watching movies that I may or may not enjoy, cleaning a house I need to connect to even if I am leaving it soon. Despite all this, I have a lot to be thankful for and will have even more to enjoy. I thought about the people fighting for freedom in Libya, most with nothing more than their voices in the face of live ammunition. They risk death and horrific injury because, in part, they love life enough to live it the way they want even if that risked shortening it considerably. Better to live a short meaningful life than a long, tedious and hollow one.
After this surprise visit one of my local friends finally showed up. The half Latina (though she would call herself simply Latina). We connected. That was what I wanted to experience with her. When we are alone, we always talked about things that made me feel connected. And this time I told her deeper things, confessed on topics I have been thinking about, and shared with her my joy in my recent discoveries about life, about myself. She told me a lot too. I am grateful to have friends in this little town with whom I can occasionally make a connection.
What do I like to do? I like to bake. I like to experiment with a new type of chai. I tried and mostly failed yesterday trying to recreate that pink Kashmiri chai, but I am far from giving up. I like spending time with my family, and that's what I will be doing today; in an hour I will be driven to my Grandmother's place and have a little reunion with everyone. I like playing and hugging my little rascally nephew. I like watching the mystery-ridden face of my even tinier niece.
But I also like sitting in front of a movie on my couch with the warmth of a woman I like. To think about the movie or fall asleep to its stupidity with that warmth and that scent not as a background but as the atmosphere of my enjoyment. Until that happens, I know there's a lot to like about life.
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