reBuilding after the storm

When Hawaiians first arrived to what would be their new home, they arrived by sea, continuing the fundamental human tradition of migration over ocean waters. This past summer, in continuing with this long and rich tradition, seven Polynesian vessels arrived in beautiful, pristine Hanalei Bay, Kauai. Each vessel hailed from a different Polynesian nation and for the first time ever, these many nations came together in a display of solidarity of values and cultures to make the trek from their respective countries over ocean waters. Each nation (New Zealand, Tahiti, Samoa, Cook Islands, among others) sent representatives to travel on double-hulled sailing canoes constructed in the tradition of their ancient forbearers (picture the raft on which Kevin Costner spent most of the film Waterworld, and you'll have an idea of how they look). They met, and using the stars to navigate, travelled the Pacific Ocean to arrive in unison in Hawaii on July 6th. It was the first time in 800 years such an event has taken place in Kauai. They came with a message of love, human solidarity, and oceanic awareness. On July 7th, to the serene, sublime sound of traditional Hawaiian horns, set sail again, making the several week trek to San Francisco. From there they would travel to San Diego, to the Galapagos Islands, and finally return to their native homes.

As fate would have it, I saw this historic event. I visited someone very special in Kauai. In describing him, I will call him Hawaii. Hawaii and I happened upon Hanalei Bay, and, as the sun set over the ocean, as the mountain, appropriately named Puff the Magic Dragon, breathed fire into the sky, we sat on the shore and watched. We watched as these 7 vessels carried their brave travelers into the night and the unknown.

In watching this, I couldn't help but feel a sense of amazement and awe and wonder. I felt like a child. I felt purified. There was something so symbolic about this: that this, what I saw before me, was the very essence of life. There was something so viscerally human about it. I wondered, what courage it must have took for these men and women to put themselves at the whim of the elements. Thousands of years ago, men and women set forth similarly, into the unknown, going in hopes of a new, better life somewhere. Only, then there were no maps of the globe, there was no knowledge of the world as a whole. Did they have some sublime understanding that we have since lost in this modern era? Did they read signs we no longer have an awareness of? Or did they just hope, and go, likewise putting themselves at the whim and mercy of whatever unknowns came their way?

Living in New York, one forgets there is a bigger, wider world out there. One often takes for granted daily human interactions, which might otherwise, elsewhere in the world, be valued. One can easily lose sight of what's truly important about life. New York is an animal, and gay New York is as much of an animal as well. You're no longer human; now, you're gay. You're no longer an American; now, you're a New Yorker. There are social expectations, accepted behaviors and standards of life which, anywhere else, would quite probably be unaccepted.

It must have taken courage for the occupants of those seven vessels to go forth into the unknown, into the night, with only what provisions they brought with them, and the bounty of the sea to provide for them.

After Alonzo passed, everything seemed different. The daily drama of life did not interest me. All that did interest me was... sleep. And life. I did not wish to disregard life in any way. I did not wish to bring disrespect to any one, especially not my students. I was afraid. This time last year, one of my former students committed suicide. I never found out why. Like Alonzo, he, too, was a beautiful soul. In treating others, in light of Alonzo's death, I was afraid of saying the wrong thing, of hurting someone's feelings, of causing pain. At the same time, I wanted to reconnect with my friends. My family. When I wasn't busy, exhausting myself to stay occupied, I slept. I slept hard. I slept deep. The hardest moments in light of someone's death are those moments you spend alone, in the dark, at the mercy of your own thoughts.

In a word, the aftermath was confusion. It was a slow road for me to find my voice. To find a reason to genuinely smile. Most of the time, I found myself going through motions. I didn't make sense to me. My best mate died and yet, life was still going on. How would I cope? I didn't write, then. I waited for some time to gather my thoughts. I had no patience for those who'd say something insensitively, and I further had no patience for bullshit. Friday I visited Superman and at around 4 in the morning I left. Whether it was the feeling of boredom I found washing over me, or my having placed myself in a situation which was intensely confused and illogical, I left. On the drive home, I thought to myself: as I grieve, is it really the best choice for me to seek a partner? And, in retrospect, as Superman made it plain in bits and pieces that he was wholly unsure of me as a potential Lois Lane, the option of which he later stated was never even on the table (will spare the gay drama), why was I chasing those who did not put me on top of the world in the way I deserve, in the way that I'd just as soon treat him?

Christmas. And no snow. No snow... no Zo... no boyfriend to seek comfort in. The holiday was bittersweet. One week had past since Zo's burial. I found solace in the giving of gifts and in my family. When I write, I do not write down every experience or moment. This blog has a focus, and although it is an outlet for me, it is about being single and gay living in New York City. I will spare the many other subtle yet intricate moments of my Christmas time...

Over dinner, the conversation turned to how this Christmas felt different. There had been so much change. Family that normally spend the entire time at the house were dispersed, coming and going. One of my family commented on the changes. I found myself quoting, "The only constant in this universe is change."

Later on that night, as I sat watching It's a Wonderful Life with my aunt, I found myself thinking about choices and relationships. I thought about the many models of relationships in my life... why different individuals got together with other individuals... what makes them stay in their relationship... what makes the relationship work... how easy it is to fall into that ill precipice of mal-communication with one's partner. I thought about the choices different folks in my life have made. I thought about my own choices. Zo should not have passed. He was on this earth for too short a time and I selfishly want him back, here, now, in the way I remember him. As George Bailey woefully debated the merits of his own life before an angel helps him to see that every choice has a purpose and his life, in all its subtle complexities, had a purpose, too, and he should see his life objectively, for what it really is, I wondered... it is ever too late to start over? Can one have a legitimate second... or even third chance at life? Life is short and precious, as I had been reminded all-too-bluntly the previous week. Could I, like those ancient maritime travelers seeking new life through the unknown, seek a new beginning? What would that new beginning look like and... had I already started that journey?

I have been 'making moves' for weeks to improve my life in the future. What I realized in the days to follow Christmas Eve, is that life is a journey and although we all may be moving toward our own destinations, wherever and whatever that might be, a new start is had and can be had inside of one's own self. It doesn't have to be an elaborate process. Sure, prepare for the future. But change can happen inside of yourself whenever you want it, if your open to it, and if you're willing to admit to some hard truths about yourself. It's honest. It's visceral. It's a change of your way of thinking. I've always subscribed to this philosophy, although I've stumbled and faltered many, many times. But re-realizing this, breathing it, living it, came out of the confusion which had set in when Zo passed.

Being single in New York is not easy. Especially if you're wanting to maintain your own values. Some may see that is being stubborn, closed, defensive, or uncompromising. Upon reflecting over these past few weeks, months and years, I realized I am who I am and that's alright. I am open to and ready to give and receive love. Gay male culture... hell, culture in New York in general, is now so sex laden (and believe me... I'm not adverse to sex... believe me...)  that it's almost abnormal if you say you want to fall in love. And, unfortunately, our culture has seemed to cause such a schism in love, it's almost unrecognizable. There are so many variable definitions of the word for so many... except, there really isn't. There's many manifestations of love, but love is love, no matter how one slices it. There is nothing wrong with wanting to fall in love. It doesn't mean you don't love yourself or lack something within yourself that you are open to or actively seeking love. Like traveling across the ocean from one place to another, love is a natural part of the human experience, whether you're gay, straight, bisexual, however you identify. Nor does it mean you're a prude when it comes to sex or that you aren't physically attractive or that you're not open or the opposite, you're desperate or only care about finding that one... it may just mean you have certain standards and you know what you want. I can spend a quiet night at home on a Friday and be fine. I can go on multiple dates or have sex with different partners and that doesn't make me any less of a person or change what I want. I can not do that, too, and it doesn't make me any better or worse than someone who chooses to do that.

Change starts from within. This week, I put an end to some detrimental relationships... forgave someone who wronged me in the past... spent time with friends... spent time with myself... and sent love and light out into the universe.

It's fitting that tomorrow is New Years Eve. I can't tell you what the new year, or even tomorrow, will bring for me or anyone else. The future is the unknown and all I have is my entire self to go into that unknown with. And as tomorrow brings the dawn of the last day of 2011 before we head into the prophetic 2012, this young lad will be making a few resolutions to accompany the changes he makes within himself on a daily basis. And although I will continue to make moves to make bigger changes, to improve my life, I will breathe change with every new day. I will continue bettering myself. I will continue being unapologetically open to finding love. As I travel across the ocean, I will not fear the night, or the endless horizon. Instead, I will embrace the endless beauty and gaze at the starry sky.

In the meantime, what will I wear tomorrow night? Where will I end up ringing in the New Year? And... who am I kissing at midnight?