At around 10:30am yesterday morning, the predicted blizzard hit the East Coast. I hear that NYC usually shuts down at 6 inches of snow. This morning there are 20 inches coating the roads and the rooftops. However, it was business as usual last night in the SoHo area when I left work at 8pm. I don't know if any other parts of the city were shut down (I hear some shows were canceled) but as I walked two blocks to the subway, I saw many a retail worker closing up for the night. The two blocks from work to the subway were pretty treacherous and I naively thought to myself, "thank goodness I can get a $5 taxi back to my house when I get to Hoboken from the PATH train." When I exited the PATH train, my heart sank as I looked with despair at a couple of lone taxis that were stuck firmly in the snow. I looked towards the taxi ramp, and the snow was already a foot high; there were no taxis in sight. I panicked slightly as I wondered how I was going to make it home (the walk to and from the PATH is 20 mins on a nice dry day at a brisk pace). "Okay, I'll take the bus," I thought, and went looking for the bus ramp as I'd never taken the bus. I heard mutterings from people that the bus service had been suspended. There were a handful of people like myself standing outside the PATH station wondering how on earth we were going to get home. The only option for me was to walk. I literally had no other choice. And so, I set off on a 40 minute walk that would be one of the hardest and most terrifying experiences of my life.
This is what it feels like to walk in a blizzard: The wind is so strong that when it hits your face, it feels like your face is ablaze with fire. The continuous shock of it takes your breath away as you wait for the wind to cease, but of course the wind doesn't. Mother Nature plays by her own rules. Your legs are heavy from walking in snow that sometimes comes straight up to your knee; interestingly, your body does not feel the cold because it is working so hard to walk through the growing feet of snow as you push your weight against the wind. Your sight is taken almost completely away as the constant slap of wind and slow pierces your eyes and you struggle just to keep them open. In my case, I was wearing glasses, and as my face was generating so much heat from the effort of the walk, they kept fogging up and restricting my sight even more. The fear only grows as you realise that this is not going to stop. The wind, the snow, and the cold are not going to stop, and you are only a human being at the mercy of the blizzard's wrath. No matter how much you say to yourself, "please let this be over please let this be over, please let this be over," the blizzard doesn't give a damn about you. And on it goes. And on I went.
I stopped countless of times under storefronts and in doorways, and when I couldn't take it anymore, stopped in 3 open grocery stores on the way. At the first, I spoke to my cousin and my good friend Michelle who both offered me a place to stay in the city, which I declined because I was still unaware how difficult the rest of the walk would be. At the second, the man who worked there gave me a towel to dry my face, which was burning from the wind. He and his colleague looked at me with much apprehension. My face must have been tomato-red and I must have looked about to pass out. "Just breathe," one of them said. I went to the back and wiped away tears that for some reason I didn't want anyone to see. On my way out, two other men laughed at me while they jokingly wished me luck. At the third, I was two blocks away from home and willing myself to just get through the last stretch. During the walk thus far, I had images of my falling down and getting buried under snow, or of ringing a stranger's doorbell to ask for shelter, or of dialing 911 (not that a police car could get to me as the roads were so bad). I was scared that my face had severe windburn and I would fall sick when I got home. I was scared that I would end up with an ear infection. The few cars that were on the road were either stuck or moving incredibly slowly. No one in a car offered to help. I passed a handful of people on the way. A couple were taking shelter in a bus station and I saw one man trying to hitch-hike. Most restaurants were closed and all the shops were closed. It became a cruel game of "how many more steps do I have to take before I can find another doorway to take shelter in?" Before I left the 3rd grocery store, I gave myself a stern talking to. It was either burst into tears or walk the last two blocks home. I was not giving up (I had no choice) and headed back out holding two proverbial middle fingers up to the blizzard.
The moment I knew that I was going to be okay was when I saw my apartment building. As I approached it, a man standing in the doorway of the restaurant next door said something to me, and I shouted "I MADE IT HOME, I WALKED ALL THE WAY FROM THE PATH TRAN!!!!!" He couldn't believe it. If I didn't walk it, I wouldn't have believed it. I opened the main door, walked the 3 flights up to my apartment, went in, closed the door, the afforded myself one weakness: I sobbed. Loudly and with such vigor that I shook. I am still a little emotional as I think about that walk. It was one of the few times in my life when I have felt truly and utterly alone. Having only yourself to rely on when you fear for your safety is a scary thing. And therein lies the lesson I learned from the angry and uncompromising blizzard: when you encounter a very harrowing challenge at a time when you're truly alone, you have to dig inside to find your own strength because that is the only thing that will keep you from falling down and getting buried under the snow. I always knew I was strong, but last night I discovered another side to my inner strength, lying in a deeper place than I've ever had to search for before. So, I don't hate the blizzard for making me endure its wrath. I thank it for challenging me to find more pieces of myself that I am grateful I didn't lose in the snow.
For today and the next few days, let's enjoy the winter wonderland of the blizzard's creation. That's another old lesson: There is always good to be found in the bad, there is always beauty to be found in the ugly, and everything has a sparkly silver lining. Merry White Post-Christmas!
copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin
Monday, December 27, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
Of the Jew-Princess and the Matzoh Ball: A Holiday Poem
Twas the night before Christmas in the center of town -- a little Jew-Princess was donning her gown. To go to the Jew ball and meet many princes, and perhaps even eat lots of latkes and blintzes.
She zipped up her black dress -- a size 2 don't you know. Just part of the effort to attract a nice beau. She packed up her Vuitton and prayed for good luck, and hoped that she wouldn't get stuck with a schmuck.
For schmucks come in bucketloads, shitloads, and bunches. When they take out a Princess, they don't pay for lunches (oye vey). This Princess had known enough schmucks in her time; to not have to meet others would just be sublime.
So out of the door she bounced with a clatter, and thought, "in this size 2 dress I must not get fatter." She clip-clopped her heels along the cold pavement and imagined Jew-Santa would bring her a Jew-gent.
She arrived at the venue and saw lots of Jews, and wondered how long the line was to get in the loos. "I just need to pee-pee and have a cocktail in hand, then I just know that this night shall be grand!"
The little Jew-Princess worked that little black dress (well, what do you expect, she was dressed to impress). She smiled and she thought as she danced with delight, "Merry Matzoh Ball to all, and to all a great night, I may just be lucky and meet Mr. Right!"
copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin
She zipped up her black dress -- a size 2 don't you know. Just part of the effort to attract a nice beau. She packed up her Vuitton and prayed for good luck, and hoped that she wouldn't get stuck with a schmuck.
For schmucks come in bucketloads, shitloads, and bunches. When they take out a Princess, they don't pay for lunches (oye vey). This Princess had known enough schmucks in her time; to not have to meet others would just be sublime.
So out of the door she bounced with a clatter, and thought, "in this size 2 dress I must not get fatter." She clip-clopped her heels along the cold pavement and imagined Jew-Santa would bring her a Jew-gent.
She arrived at the venue and saw lots of Jews, and wondered how long the line was to get in the loos. "I just need to pee-pee and have a cocktail in hand, then I just know that this night shall be grand!"
The little Jew-Princess worked that little black dress (well, what do you expect, she was dressed to impress). She smiled and she thought as she danced with delight, "Merry Matzoh Ball to all, and to all a great night, I may just be lucky and meet Mr. Right!"
copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin
Sunday, December 5, 2010
The REAL Kindness of Strangers
I've been at a loss during the past month for what to write about. Usually, I witness something that strikes me as very funny, or very touching, or very happy, and it'll inspire me to meditate on the lessons it teaches me, or the hopes it brings, and share these thoughts with others through my blog. Though the last month has been a very busy time for me, nothing has happened to inspire me to write or share. Tonight, something did happen that I must share. The story I am about to recount is one that saddened me very much, but the reminders it gives are appropriate for the beginning of the holiday season; a time for giving, sharing, loving, and reminding our nearest and dearest that we love them and that we can be counted on in times of need. I know I can count on my family and friends. But what I saw tonight convinced me that sometimes, if you're lucky, when there is no friend nearby and no way to make a call to a loved one, you really can count on the kindness of strangers.
I was on my way home after a long day at work. The PATH train from Christopher St. to Hoboken was hot and crowded. "It's only a 7 minute ride," I thought to myself, as I boarded the train with tired feet and legs, disappointed that there was barely a place to stand, let alone sit. A couple of minutes into the ride, a commotion behind me caught my attention and I saw that a man (he looked only slightly older than I) had asked someone if he could sit down. He was breathing heavily, and it took me a moment to realise that he was unwell. A younger man next to him asked if he was alright, and he replied that he was feeling dizzy. The colour of his face turned from bright red to yellow to green to grey in the space of just a few seconds and he looked terrified. I, myself, became terrified for him. My fight-or-flight instincts kicked in and I started going over in my head the different scenarios that might unfold and how we could deal with them. "Is he about to have a heart attack? A panic attack? A seizure? Is he diabetic? Are his eyes going to roll towards the back of his head? If he passes out, what do we do? I wonder if anyone knows mouth to mouth resucitation? But isn't that only for choking victims?" All these questions and no answers. I was not panicking, but the man looked as if he was in a panic, willing himself not to pass out. I desperately wanted to go comfort him, to offer any sort of help, but he was a few seats away from me, and as there were a few people I'd have to push past and the younger man next to him and a lady in front of him were trying to be as comforting as possible, I figured it was best to leave him be. Sometimes, the last thing an ill person wants is too many strangers crowded around. I continued to watch him, trying to give him strength through the power of thought (the things we can make ourselves believe in desperate situations are incredible). He vomited into his hat. He seemed confused, horrified, and terrified as he came up for air before vomiting a second time. His pupils were dialated, his face was still a dull grey, his lips drained of all colour. Someone gave him a tissue to wipe his forhead that was now beaded with sweat, Two other strangers passed him plastic bags that he could chuck the hat in and vomit into. I looked for the emergency button and caught sight of it and wondered if maybe I should push it. I kept thinking, "the poor man the poor man the poor man." I made a decision (whether it was rational or irrational, I'm not sure) that I wasn't going to push it, because there's nothing anyone on the train could do to help him, and the sooner we arrived in Hoboken, the sooner he could get some fresh air and medical attention. I looked back at him to see him vomiting again into a plastic bag. Most of the people on the carriage were watching him, not with disgust, but with apprehension. I wonder if we were all having similar thought processes. I had a strong feeling that I was not the only person worried about him. I knew, I KNOW, that if the man had passed out, we would have all worked in tandem to help, to fight for his safety. He wiped his mouth and blinked many times and continued to take deep breaths for what were probably some of the longest 4 minutes of his life. He kept thanking the strangers around him that had passed him the plastic bags and the tissue. The train finally arrived in Hoboken where I saw him step onto the platform and go to sit on one of the benches. I approached him and asked him if he needed help or of I could call anyone for him. He told me that his wife was on her way, that she was aware that he was feeling ill, and thanked me. I asked if he wanted me to stay with him so that he wasn't alone, just to be safe. He thanked me, declining the offer. I walked away trying not to cry and feeling very worried about him. I really did not want to leave him alone, but of course was not going to force him to let me stay. Leaving the station, I saw a couple of cops and mentioned to them that there was a very sick man on the platform who shouldn't be alone. The young man who had sat next to the sick man on the train came out of the station and told us that he had already told two other cops about the situation, so the cops that I had spoken to left to join them. I was so grateful that the sick man was not going to be alone. As I walked home in the dark, I burst into tears, wishing I could have helped more, wondering what this man's plight would be, praying for him to be okay.
I have rarely seen a man so scared; I am so saddened by the sight of him having to struggle through what he did tonight. I obviously cannot be certain of what his thoughts were, but I do believe that somewhere in the 7 minutes it took to get from Christopher St. to Hoboken, he thought he might die. I have no idea if he has been sick for awhile, if it's something that caught him by surprise, if he will be okay. I keep imagining his worried wife in the car, driving as fast as she can to be with him. I really really really hope that he is okay, and I am so grateful on his behalf that there were people around him that tried to help him as much as they could. In a carriage full of strangers, when the world must have felt like it was closing in on him, he was shown kindness and consideration. I hope and believe that this is not unusual; that when a stranger really is in need, people will step up to the mark and offer help and support. It is a testament to the human capacity for compassion and empathy that we can care so much about a stranger.
What if he had had a heart attack on the train? It is a reminder that it only takes a moment to lose someone you love. So I take this moment to say that I cherish my parents, my sister, my friends, and the all the wonderful, abounding joy that I have in my life. I hope that at this very moment, the man is with his wife at home, that she is taking care of him, and that he is less scared. I hope that if he has to see a doctor, the news will not be bad, and that they get to celebrate the holidays happily. I'm saying a prayer for the man. I will never know if his story ends happily, but I will pray very hard that it does. I want to say that I love my family and friends very much and hope that they stay healthy this holiday season and for many seasons to come. May we all be blessed this holiday season with health, happiness, and the kindness of strangers.
copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin
I was on my way home after a long day at work. The PATH train from Christopher St. to Hoboken was hot and crowded. "It's only a 7 minute ride," I thought to myself, as I boarded the train with tired feet and legs, disappointed that there was barely a place to stand, let alone sit. A couple of minutes into the ride, a commotion behind me caught my attention and I saw that a man (he looked only slightly older than I) had asked someone if he could sit down. He was breathing heavily, and it took me a moment to realise that he was unwell. A younger man next to him asked if he was alright, and he replied that he was feeling dizzy. The colour of his face turned from bright red to yellow to green to grey in the space of just a few seconds and he looked terrified. I, myself, became terrified for him. My fight-or-flight instincts kicked in and I started going over in my head the different scenarios that might unfold and how we could deal with them. "Is he about to have a heart attack? A panic attack? A seizure? Is he diabetic? Are his eyes going to roll towards the back of his head? If he passes out, what do we do? I wonder if anyone knows mouth to mouth resucitation? But isn't that only for choking victims?" All these questions and no answers. I was not panicking, but the man looked as if he was in a panic, willing himself not to pass out. I desperately wanted to go comfort him, to offer any sort of help, but he was a few seats away from me, and as there were a few people I'd have to push past and the younger man next to him and a lady in front of him were trying to be as comforting as possible, I figured it was best to leave him be. Sometimes, the last thing an ill person wants is too many strangers crowded around. I continued to watch him, trying to give him strength through the power of thought (the things we can make ourselves believe in desperate situations are incredible). He vomited into his hat. He seemed confused, horrified, and terrified as he came up for air before vomiting a second time. His pupils were dialated, his face was still a dull grey, his lips drained of all colour. Someone gave him a tissue to wipe his forhead that was now beaded with sweat, Two other strangers passed him plastic bags that he could chuck the hat in and vomit into. I looked for the emergency button and caught sight of it and wondered if maybe I should push it. I kept thinking, "the poor man the poor man the poor man." I made a decision (whether it was rational or irrational, I'm not sure) that I wasn't going to push it, because there's nothing anyone on the train could do to help him, and the sooner we arrived in Hoboken, the sooner he could get some fresh air and medical attention. I looked back at him to see him vomiting again into a plastic bag. Most of the people on the carriage were watching him, not with disgust, but with apprehension. I wonder if we were all having similar thought processes. I had a strong feeling that I was not the only person worried about him. I knew, I KNOW, that if the man had passed out, we would have all worked in tandem to help, to fight for his safety. He wiped his mouth and blinked many times and continued to take deep breaths for what were probably some of the longest 4 minutes of his life. He kept thanking the strangers around him that had passed him the plastic bags and the tissue. The train finally arrived in Hoboken where I saw him step onto the platform and go to sit on one of the benches. I approached him and asked him if he needed help or of I could call anyone for him. He told me that his wife was on her way, that she was aware that he was feeling ill, and thanked me. I asked if he wanted me to stay with him so that he wasn't alone, just to be safe. He thanked me, declining the offer. I walked away trying not to cry and feeling very worried about him. I really did not want to leave him alone, but of course was not going to force him to let me stay. Leaving the station, I saw a couple of cops and mentioned to them that there was a very sick man on the platform who shouldn't be alone. The young man who had sat next to the sick man on the train came out of the station and told us that he had already told two other cops about the situation, so the cops that I had spoken to left to join them. I was so grateful that the sick man was not going to be alone. As I walked home in the dark, I burst into tears, wishing I could have helped more, wondering what this man's plight would be, praying for him to be okay.
I have rarely seen a man so scared; I am so saddened by the sight of him having to struggle through what he did tonight. I obviously cannot be certain of what his thoughts were, but I do believe that somewhere in the 7 minutes it took to get from Christopher St. to Hoboken, he thought he might die. I have no idea if he has been sick for awhile, if it's something that caught him by surprise, if he will be okay. I keep imagining his worried wife in the car, driving as fast as she can to be with him. I really really really hope that he is okay, and I am so grateful on his behalf that there were people around him that tried to help him as much as they could. In a carriage full of strangers, when the world must have felt like it was closing in on him, he was shown kindness and consideration. I hope and believe that this is not unusual; that when a stranger really is in need, people will step up to the mark and offer help and support. It is a testament to the human capacity for compassion and empathy that we can care so much about a stranger.
What if he had had a heart attack on the train? It is a reminder that it only takes a moment to lose someone you love. So I take this moment to say that I cherish my parents, my sister, my friends, and the all the wonderful, abounding joy that I have in my life. I hope that at this very moment, the man is with his wife at home, that she is taking care of him, and that he is less scared. I hope that if he has to see a doctor, the news will not be bad, and that they get to celebrate the holidays happily. I'm saying a prayer for the man. I will never know if his story ends happily, but I will pray very hard that it does. I want to say that I love my family and friends very much and hope that they stay healthy this holiday season and for many seasons to come. May we all be blessed this holiday season with health, happiness, and the kindness of strangers.
copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin
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