the habit of being

I sit in the grass on Washington Square Park. There are pigeons and people, so many people, on the 4th of July.

The first time I came to New York I was 13. Now, I am 18, and this is where I live. Though I haven’t moved yet, I know. I just know, walking around here and looking - all these people, two lovers embracing in the grass, a girl in pink jumping rope, people working in sketchbooks, people walking their dogs, every style of clothing imaginable. Nothing seems flat, and I’m not afraid of getting lost anymore. I belong here, in a relatively cliched way.

It is beautiful, calm, people are asleep, the breeze is perfect, there are birds and trees, a cross on the top of a building. Orange flowers, cell phones, video cameras (people video other people, just ordinary people walking by, only they are not ordinary at all, and neither am I). They never stop, these people, always moving, changing faces and bodies and sounds. The constant movement is static in itself, and as calming as the ocean, and somehow even still, in in a sort of alternative way, maybe like quantum mechanics, though I can’t say why. Close to me a single squirrel stands on it hind legs, looking around. An old mime gesticulates in a beard and a tuxedo. Some guy in grey looks at me, occasionally. There is a pen for children and a pen for dogs. Benches dotted with backs of all lengths and breadths.

(It occurs to me that I could be fucking you loudly right here in this grass and no one would care at all.)

We could be those two lovers sitting together, lost in their own little world, observing the the walkers in their strange getups as if they were no different than the trees, the purple NYU flags, the yellow cabs, the birds and the breeze.

The squirrel likes me, it is practically in my lap.

I want to be a performance artist, paint myself brick colors and lie still in the path, watch this odd kaleidoscope picture change again and again, as if nothing but a speck apart from it all, an object with eyes.

I think it will rain, and I didn’t bring an umbrella.

I might have so many adventures here. I might have no time left even to think or to write them all down. I’ll just get up one morning and decide today I will -go- somewhere. I could do that again everyday and never run out of places to go, even without leaving the city. Yet something is missing, and I want you here to see this with me, because you’d really SEE it, in the way only you can, and you would understand.

. . .

Home. Not home. In between homes.

Orientation was tiring. I did a lot of walking around Greenwich Village, adventurously. Explored many little stores, some of which had sections one had to be 18 to enter. Met girls with lots of piercings and very little clothing. Talked with Thea from South Carolina (who is also in a large-scope long distance relationship) and Brad with blue hair (future English major and wimp, but has read lots of good stuff, and recommended good ice cream at Ben and Jerry’s). Shocked people with stories of south Georgia at the “diversity workshop.” Went to the largest used book store in the world, which is indeed quite huge, with books on shelves so tall you have to get up on ladders just to read the titles of the ones near the top. Took a biology test. Realized that I’m going to attend the kind of college where the orientation leaders show you the Rocky Horror Picture Show on a big screen in a lecture hall, scream all the call lines, and even dress up and do the floorshow. Got used to telling people that I’m a biology major, and registering their shock. Rode in taxis, alone, didn’t get lost, or raped, or even murdered. Signed up for fall classes:

MONDAY
9:30 -10:45 Calculus I (lecture)
11:00 -12:15 Molecular and Cell Biology I (lecture)
2:00 - 3:15 General Chemistry I (clinic)
3:30 - 4:45 Writing the Essay
TUESDAY
9:30 - 10:45 General Chemistry I (lecture)
1:30 - 6:00 General Chemistry Lab (lab)
WEDNESDAY
9:30 - 10:45 Calculus I (lecture)
11:00 - 12:15 Molecular and Cell Biology I (lecture)
2:00 - 2:50 Calculus I (recitation)
3:30 - 4:45 Writing the Essay
THURSDAY
9:30 - 10:45 General Chemistry I (lecture)
2:00 - 3:15 Molecular and Cell Biology (recitation)
FRIDAY
9:30 - 10:20 General Chemistry Lab (lecture)
11:00 - 12:15 General Chemistry I (recitation)

I’m an academic masochist, though I’m starting to think masochism doesn’t exist.

. . .

Haley: “My two years of biology in high school were the toughest, most magical introduction to any subject I’ve had. I found I was good at humanities, but I was better at science. And I had no idea what I would do with a humanities degree, didn’t want to be an academic, and didn’t want to do business; besides, I was horrible at econ. Most importantly, I found that academia killed the most exciting parts of the humanities for me through its excruciating essay assignments and bombastic academic writing. In contrast, academic science gave me the vocabulary to discuss biological sciences and the tools to answer my billion questions. Even with all it’s systemic problems and personal frustrations, I love science. I found it incredibly exciting and question-provoking. I still do.”

I wish I were more original, but I must admit that I feel almost exactly the same way, especially about how classes often ruin everything I like about the humanities, particularly writing.

I decided, before I left for NYC, that I wanted to make a zine, a little paper collection, highlights from sarasvati and erendira. I am not forgetting about that, it seems important. I want to send one to my AP English teacher. I promised her non-academic writing for a year.

(ETC: A story is always hardest to tell for the first time. After that, it can be called to mind fluidly and recited at will. The telling becomes automatic and is much more an exercise in sound and cadence than in fragment reconstruction, mystery restoration, thinking through black holes or keyholes, working from part to whole (what is that called? one of the tropes) or vice versa. That’s why I tend to feel as if I haven’t really finished living a moment in my life until I’ve written it down. )