Summer Sunshine And All Its Secrets

July has been, for me, an uber fantastic month. I can’t really explain why or even know what it is that has made this so. I do know that, finally, after just over a year here in NYC, I truly feel like myself again. I walk through the city finding things that take my breath away at every hidden corner, and I have often caught myself smiling a little secretive smile, but I can never pinpoint the cause of that smile. Perhaps it is as simple as my being a summer girl. I adore the heat and the sun and the smell of freshly cut grass. Coming from London town, where 80% of the year is gloomy and drizzly, waking up to consistent sunshine is most certainly a novelty. “Sunshine on my shoulder…”

It’s taken me this long to reconnect with myself after my move. I have tried many times to explain to my nearest and dearest the rite of passage I have taken emotionally, but I cannot find a way to express just how much of a challenge moving from one culture to another is. ALONE. English is the only thing the Brits and the Yanks share. It came as a shock to the system, and I had no idea how to simply “be.“ I was constantly unsure and awkward. For months, I didn’t know where “I” had gone. It was as if the “me” whom I had gotten to know so well vanished as soon as I stepped onto the plane from London, and when I got to NY, I couldn’t find her anywhere. I spent months desperately trying to figure out why I was constantly sad, or anxious, or nervous. Months feeling completely alone and utterly different. Like everyone else in NY was moving to a tense 2/4 rhythm and I was still trying to catch up at a 3/4 waltz. Like I’d accidentally left the best parts of me on British soil, and my weakest parts, the sorts of personal flaws that everyone tries to hide, were on display for all to see. I missed the strong, fiercely ambitious and independent woman of my past.

This July, she resurfaced. She kind of snuck up on me, so quietly, that I had no idea she had come back. In-between jobs (the chocolate shop which I so affectionately refer to in my various blogs closed at the end of June, much to my dismay), left with a teaching job that doesn’t take up a lot of time, and waiting for my next exciting survival job to commence in August (I can’t wait to announce what I will be selling this time!), July should really have been merely an “interim” month; sorta there just because it happens to be part of the calendar. For me, it was looking bleak and dull. Although it wasn’t. No, not bleak and dull at all. Out came the sun, and washed out all the rain! And the strong, fiercely ambitious and independent woman of my past climbed up that spout of confidence and gratitude and love again! She’s so coy, she took me completely by surprise. I was simply walking along one day, and realized that I felt something I hadn’t felt in awhile. I felt that old feeling of being “me.”

Happiness happened again. The sort of happiness that creeps up on you from somewhere you never thought to look. A remarkable book that keeps you up until 3am because you can’t force yourself to put it down. A 3 hour walk in the glistening sunshine with detours for ice-cream and a browse of Barnes and Noble. A jog through Central Park on a blistering hot day. Walking out of a final audition for a Broadway show and believing that, no matter what happens, you danced with all your soul. A stranger politely saying “you have a beautiful smile.” A movie that hits you right in the heart as you fall in love with the leading man (Joseph Gordon-Levitt makes me blush). A conversation with your best friend that reminds you of how hard you can laugh. All good things. All GREAT things. All great things that make me smile my secretive smile. Are you in the habit of unknowingly smiling your own secretive smile? When I catch myself doing it, I might even let out a giggle -- so soft a giggle it is, only I am privy to it.

I want to tell you about the last time I smiled secretly. It only happened today. I was sitting on a park bench alone. Along came an older man, who asked if I minded him sitting on the other side of the bench. “Of course not,” I told him. We sat there in a pleasant silence for 10 minutes or so. Then a construction worker approached the bench and asked if I minded him sitting next to me. “Of course not,” I told him. “Do you want half of my sandwich?” he offered. “No thanks,” I laughed back. The three of us sat there in a pleasant silence. I, reading, the construction worker, chewing, and the old man, just sitting. Eventually the construction worker spoke: “you know, it’s really nice that you didn’t get up to walk away, because a lot of people have stereotypes of construction guys, they think we’re rude.” My reply: “well, I understand that stereotype, and if you’d been rude, I would have got up and left, but you haven’t been rude, so why would I?” We bantered a bit, and the old man joined in, and the banter got a little boisterous. Mid-boisterous banter, another construction worker came over, and motioned if he could sit on the other side of me, and I joked, “wow! I’m making a lot of friends today!” A rupture of laughter. Then back to pleasant silence. Old man, sitting. Construction worker, chewing. I, reading. Other construction worker, sitting as close to the edge of the bench as possible to give me ample room, chewing. Then ANOTHER construction worker came over, but as there was no more room on the bench, he chewed standing up. He struck up conversation with all of us, and there was polite chuckling. They recommended a place for me to grab lunch if I was hungry, and with that, I thanked them and got up to leave. “Guys, it’s been a pleasure,” I said. I meant it. I walked away with a bounce in my step…pretty sure that they were checking me out as I bounced away, but I didn’t care! We had shared a moment (well, half an hour) of genuine companionship, and as I walked away, I smiled secretly to myself and thanked the Universe for making happiness happen again. It’s good to be back.

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin

A Running Joke

One of my favourite past-times is running in Central Park. I have the same route, because I know exactly how long it's going to take me from point A. to point B. and I like to be consistent with my running. I run for two reasons: to stay skinny and to relax. Yes, running is relaxing for me. Obviously, not the type of sit-on-a-couch-for-5-hours-watching-T.V. relaxation, but it's an "active relaxation." It's both a physical and mental battle, but at the same time, while I'm listening to music as I run, I daydream, and visualize my goals, and affirmate! Once I start up my heart rate, I hate to stop. It's like a high or a rush that's cut short, and it's frustrating and annoying to have to stop mid-run. Which is why the story that I'm about to tell makes for a good laugh.

I was just starting out my run in the park. It was a most gorgeous day. The sun was proudly blessing us with It's rays. my music was giving me a great boost of energy as I inhaled the smell of freshly cut grass, a scent I have adored since my days at summer camp. Man, I felt GOOD. I was set to go for an hour, and nothing, no nothing could stop me now! (I crack myself up.) Not more than five minutes into my run, a Japanese tourist approached me. You know the type. Porcelain skin caked with pale foundation; Louis Vuitton bag in her clutch; head adorned with a huge sun hat; meticulously planned designer outfit. THAT type of Japanese tourist. She asked in her soft broken English, "Excuse me, Metropolitan Museum?" I replied mid-stride, "You're close but you have to go that way out of the park," and pointed her in the right direction as I continued my run. She either did not understand me, or wanted clearer directions on how to get to The Met, because, not satisfied with my response, she actually started to run with me, in order to keep up and ask more questions. "Oh, LORD. Here we go," I thought.

As this woman, who looked liked she had never broken out in a single sweat bead in her life, attempted to keep up with my pace by running beside me in a sort of comic desperation, I really was torn. On one hand, she seemed perfectly pleasant and could have already been wandering about for hours trying to find The Met, and we were so close to it that I could have walked her out of the park and physically steered her in the correct direction. On the other hand, I was mid-run! Our conversation went back and forth like a tennis match as she continued throw phrases at me like, "Out of park?" and "5th Avenue?" and I hit her back with responses like, "yes, you need to go out of the park THAT way," and "Yes, if you exit the park THAT way, you'll be on 5th Avenue, then you can ASK SOMEONE ELSE."

I wished there and then that I'd had a friend with me. Or a candid camera. SOMETHING to witness this moment that could not have been better scripted by the most talented Sitcom writers. After a mere minute of keeping up the pace, my acquaintance was becoming breathless. I thought that, surely now, she would relent, too tired to continue the effort. Not so. Let me tell you -- getting to that museum must have been this woman's childhood ambition -- because Miss Japanese tourist took stride after stride with me. I must admit, watching her valiant efforts while she struggled in her heels gave me a sick delight. I don't know if that makes me a bad person? The scene and the memory of it are too funny for me to really care.

Out of breath and probably perspiring a little in her designer outfit (and holding onto that sun hat to prevent its falling off), she followed me. And followed me. And followed me. I stopped being torn in two ways as to whether to stop and help her or keep on running (in all honesty, the chances of my interrupting my run were almost non-existent) and began to question this woman's sanity. I could not for the life of me figure out why, in a park where she was surrounded by sunbathers and ice-cream vendors, this woman had chosen the ONE non-static person to ask directions from. I have laughed at the thought ever since. I relayed this story to a friend who surmised, "well, maybe she saw you and thought because you're a bit Asian, you'd speak the same language." Ha. Perhaps. Though I seriously doubt it.

Finally, after a good three minutes or so, my breathless acquaintance either decided that her outfit was not worth ruining or that she could perhaps...oh...I don't know...ask someone who wasn't obviously in the middle of an intense workout. I continued on my merry way, and felt only slightly guilty that I hadn't been more helpful.

I do hope she found The Met. The thing is, had we been the only two people in the park, of course I would have stopped and would probably have walked her to 5th Avenue. But it was a busy day, and she certainly wasn't stuck without someone else to help her. I made my directions as clear as I could, so I hope that she was helped at least somewhat by me. Maybe next time, she'll carry a map.

I don't know what all these tourists in NYC are doing strolling along without maps. I've lived here for over a year, and my map follows me wherever I go. Moral number one: Always carry a map when on holiday. Moral number two: When asking for directions, ask someone who is not in a rush. Moral number 3: Start working out to improve your Fight-Or-Flight capabilities so that when you are lost, if you HAVE to approach a runner, you can most definitely keep up the pace!

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin

Man...Or Caveman?

I'm pissed off. This blog is being written mostly because I need to vent. I am EXTREMELY disappointed and offended by the way some men behave on Match.com. As far as I'm concerned, no one owes anyone anything on that website. If a man takes the time to email me, then I guess it's a nice gesture, but he is also emailing dozens of other women, and so he isn't exactly going out of his way by writing to me.

So, the scenario is, I'm a woman on Match and I receive an email from a man. I check the man out if his profile picture and email strikes my interest. If I am disinterested in what I see, I don't respond to the email. Right?? Simple!! I'm hardly going to write back and say "thanks for the email but I find your profile very off-putting so I'm declining your offer of a date." I just stay silent, and assume that the man will take my silence as a sign that I'm not interested and move on. And most do. BUT. A few -- my blood is boiling just thinking about these select "few" -- DO NOT GET THE HINT.

An idiot who calls himself Masterofallmen -- PUKE -- emailed me, I looked at his profile, and wasn't interested. Two and a half weeks later, he emailed with the subject line saying "Having fun yet?" and wrote in the email, "seriously now Celia, has the cat grabbed your tongue?" OH MY LORD I GOT SO ANGRY. How DARE he??? How rude! How patronizing! What, does he think I spend my time purposely not replying to men that I'm interested in because that's my idea of "having fun?" And asking me if the cat had gotten my tongue -- I'm a lady for goodness sake, you don't speak to a lady like that, especially if you're attempting to court her! Or, maybe I'm severely old-fashioned and this is how men are treating women these days. Well, not THIS woman. I was so mad, it took all my willpower not to email him a series of profanities. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of a response.

I received an email from an Indian man. Now, my profile clearly states that I am attracted only to Caucasian men. I am not a racist (I'm a Chinese Jew, for goodness sake), but I cannot help who I am attracted to, and I'm afraid though I love people of all color, I only date white men. So, I didn't even look at this guy's profile. His follow-up email to me said, "I am not sure why you haven't responded. If you have never done this before, I can bet you are a bit apprehensive. I mean getting 50 mails a day from 65 year old men asking for a massage can be a bit scary. Or are you playing hard to get already? haha. Cute. :-) I think that works better once you have met in person! Who is teaching you these tricks?" This guy is even more patronizing than the last!!! "NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE???" I am a pro at Match dating! I know what I want! "PLAYING HARD TO GET ALREADY???" So if I appear disinterested, then of course I'm playing hard to get. This imbecile hasn't even considered that I have not responded because I have absolutely no interest in getting to know him. And, I ask you, what is the crime in that? I have found more and more that men's egos are so inflated that if I show even the smallest bit of doubt in my interest towards them, they get their little male knickers all into a twist and try to manipulate me by attempting to make me feel like a horrible, smaller person.

I can only imagine that men like these would be just awful to date. They'd try and make all my decisions for me, they'd disregard my opinion, they'd only listen to themselves and I'd be left with sore ears from their constant narcissistic conversation.

I am not a bad person. My dearest friends would tell you I'm quite the opposite. I am not a high-maintenance woman. My parents would disagree, but most other people would agree. I am a kick-ass girlfriend. My past boyfriends would assure you of that. But, though I try to always be extremely open-minded and give everyone the benefit of the doubt, once I am spoken to or treated with utter disrespect, my claws come out, and man do I want to scratch someone's eyes out right now. Preferably that Indian dude's. My pulse is racing from rage even as I type. The sad thing is, I am completely losing my faith in men, and I really don't want to. But the more I'm on the receiving end of sexual jeers, manipulative words, and selfish actions, the more I roll my eyes when a man so much as looks at me. They all piss me off! And I don't want to end up rolling my eyes at someone whose intentions are good.

Just to digress a little before ending this rant -- I don't think it's in my imagination that men are becoming ruder. I was in the elevator the other day, and a man who was standing in the back pushed his way out before giving the people in the front a chance to get out. The one woman left in the elevator with me looked at me in shock and said "did you see that? Men are getting ruder and ruder these days!" I notice it when a man gets on the subway before letting me on first, and when a man walks through a door and doesn't hold it open for me, and in ridiculous Match.com emails! Please, let this not spark that old debate about how if women want to be treated equally, we can't expect special treatment, etc etc. Yes, women have our share of flaws, too. But, just as I think it's nice when a lady acts with a good female etiquette in public, it's nice when a man is chivalrous. Or at least respectful to other human beings!

I think I've said all I can on the subject. Really, I could talk about this for days (and have). So, I'll put it to rest now and thank my lucky stars that I'm a decent woman who always treats others with respect, and if I encounter people who are not that way inclined, then it's just not my battle to fight. Which is a bit of a shame, cause she's feisty when she's riled!!!

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin