"My Chick Rad" by Easy Z

My boyfriend Daniel is ridiculously good looking, but in addition to his charm, humor and wit, he's also a badass MC. A lyrical gangster, if you will. He makes my knees wobble. Maybe you didn't already know...but now you do. I am pleased to present you with the best birthday gift ever to be received in the life of yours truly.

Jen Goes to South Korea

....GASP. I wake up suddenly with a sharp intake of breath. I feel around next to me and with wide eyes straining to make out shapes I only gather the blackness of the room and wonder where I am. Just nights ago it seemed I had been given a glimpse of the most amazing future that awaits me; that future being my other half, Daniel, and my trip to see him in South Korea.  But the familiar “thud, thud, thud” of the heating pipe in the corner draws me slowly out of sleep and into subtle consciousness. I’m in my bed on Sullivan Street, at 4:16am, vying to believe that the past two weeks really happened.

For the longest time I couldn’t really write. To write I’d need to be still, I’d need to think. I’d need to feel that I was no longer in the experience. I was back home, back in my life, back in New York…but nothing was ordinary. If I had to start somewhere, I’m not sure where I’d really begin. But I guess I could start somewhere around baggage claim, at the Busan Airport…

It seemed like my luggage toppled onto that turnstile before anyone else’s did. The second I made it through customs, as if there was no more time to waste, my bags just toppled out, first in line, no more stalling. Six months had been leading up to this. Six months, and I suppose, 26 years. The layover in Tokyo even took less time than I had anticipated. I knew that the second I walked through those big doors at the Busan airport, everything was about to change. I struggled to pull my bags off the belt. One, two…I guess that’s it. I dragged them away from the crowd, but out of viewing distance from the automatic doors. I only had to show my passport to customs and then I’d see him. He was there, waiting for me just 40 feet away.

When I saw him walking towards me, I started shaking. I couldn’t control it! I couldn’t feel my legs and as I was staring up at him I held on to his sides for fear of collapsing onto the linoleum flooring. He was so handsome. And everything I was worried about before just disappeared.  

Yes, there were things I couldn’t have known before I spent time with him in person, and found out while I was there. But it wasn’t the small annoying habits people warned me about; neither the behaviors nor the expectations. It was more so things like…we’re always late, Daniel and I. It’s not that we don’t start out on time--we do. We always leave exactly when we need to. It’s the rest of the world that gets in the way. Also things like…we laugh at the same moments, all of the time. And we each pick up where the other leaves off. He cooks when I’d otherwise eat whatever is cold in the refrigerator…and I find his lost keys and wallet. He also really, really loves me. And I am thankful for that each time he reminds me. My time with him was the most natural time I've ever spent with another person. I was my best self, and he catalyzed that. I still can't believe he's in my life. And I want to spend the rest of it with him.

On the day I was supposed to leave, we woke up early and it was still dark. Painfully we got ready and I pulled my suitcases near the door. It was only when we were about to leave when we noticed the aggressive snowstorm that was happening just outside the window. This never happens in South Korea. It was a magical coincidence, though I'd like to think the universe just realized we deserve special treatment. If you asked us, we'd say we do. My flight was indeed cancelled, and though he asked me to stay forever, a few extra days was all I could manage. Never enough. But I did leave, and while the separation is hard every day, nothing could take the place of all that he is, and all that he is for me.

I’m back in the city for good these days and rocking it. I'm still dancing, drinking red wine, and keeping excellent company. Real estate is incredible, I love my job. I was on the front page of the real estate section in the NY Times twice in the past three weeks, and am working hard for my customers and clients. I love real estate; I love New York City. Mentally and physically, I can't imagine another place I'd rather be.

Happy Birthday Daniel, I love you.

The plums in Korea

So the thing is…I fell in love. 

There’s really no other way to put it. I can’t think of an easier way to explain, because there’s actually every way to explain. But I guess that doesn't do it justice, does it.

I wanted to tell this story. Really, I did. And I tried, more than once. But it all came out in a mixture of horses in stables and plums on the table and even soup, in a bowl. It just wasn't working because I couldn't remember correct punctuation and whether or not exclamation points come before or after the quotation mark. It happened over time yet very quickly, both of these things at once. And what it came down to was really only the difference between ellipses and dot-dot-dot. Because I realized there wasn't an ending to complete the story I wanted to tell. So I kept waiting, long enough to realize that the thing about an ending is, if it's really the story I hope I’m telling, there won’t ever be one.

I could tell you lots of things. Things about how he exceeds all of my impossible standards and how we're on the same team and how he enriches every part of my life and, how I never knew what it really meant to love someone because now I see respect and admiration never go missing. But, what I'd really like to tell you is that I'm going to see this person in one week…for only the third time…and on a third continent. And that makes complete sense…if you knew us. Because if you knew us, you’d know how emblematic it was that we first met by the slightest of chances in Africa, and that I met him for a second time the next year in California, where we are both from, having grown up only two hours away from each other and never knowing it. So when I tell you that in one week I’m boarding a flight to South Korea, where he is living, you can see how this is clearly the most characteristic of ways in which I shall see him again. Yet despite the circumstances, or perhaps because of them, all I can think about is how thankful I am for the simple fact that he exists in my life, and the amount of happiness he brings me, every day. 

It's a beautiful thing, this soup and these stables. And the plums. Definitely the plums...

My [New York City] Love Affair

He plays the beat on white plastic buckets turned upside down on the corner of W. 4^th and 6^th Avenue. And it’s the sweetest beat I’ve ever heard so I take the headphones out from both ears and sit for awhile. I think about how far the universe can actually go. I write a couple verses in my notebook and then continue on my way. On the next block I walk by a man surrounded by bags and old blankets, and as my keys jingle in my hand he looks at them and then at me, our eyes meet and his pierce mine like he doesn’t have a door to unlock tonight. And I stop for a second but I don’t know what to do so I keep walking. It’s getting colder and the wind circles down around my neck so I dig out the navy blue and white striped scarf I shoved down to the bottom of my bag this morning. I wrap it tightly around my head a few times and think about moving to San Diego. What is with these places that are sunny and warm all the time? ...forget about it. I walk a few more blocks and up the three flights to my apartment. Last night one of the infamous neighbors who shares my alleyway yelled at me, "Shut the fuck up!" ...I was a little caught off guard since I was in the middle of an animated conversation. But it was after midnight and I realized at that moment that to him, I'm the one who has become the annoying neighbor keeping him up at night with my phone calls. 

It's been a full year since my return to the city and it couldn't have been better if I'd written it myself.  I guess I sort of did. The holidays are back again and with them come the expected spiced rum and hot apple cider, ice skating and tree lighting ceremony, office parties. But everything seems different when I'm in the middle of a love story that makes me want to don a paper crown and drink my soup straight from the bowl while wearing superhero pajamas. You could say It's a Wonderful Life.

A few weeks ago I helped put on the 2^nd Annual Toy drive for SOMWA. The SOMWA Foundation is an acronym for “Survivors of Mothers with AIDS," and was founded by Shacazia Brown, who lost her own mother to AIDS at the age of 23, overnight becoming the legal guardian to all of her siblings.   http://www.thesomwafoundation.com/home.html

I first met Shacazia a year ago and she told me, “I want to go to Africa, can you help make that happen?” Ten months later she was on her way and staying with my sister Neema's parents. When Shacazia returned from her visit, she shared with me that with the help of SOMWA, and with a newly formulated plan, she'll be able to build a new desperately needed primary school in the village of Kajiado, where she stayed. And just like the fairy dust that makes you fly when you think happy thoughts, next October I will be traveling with her and a group back to Kenya to start construction of the new school. Bangerang.  

I’m on a holiday high, 'tis the season...

The Night Chronicles...and other tales of Insomnia

In New York, there are many great reasons not to sleep. The bars don't close down until 6am, fitting in a late night workout at the gym, anxiety over keeping your 20-hour-work-day job, 5am Black Friday sales, secret underground Kanye West concerts, the endless construction right outside your window…

But my reasons, lately, remind me why I love my city so, so very much.

Standing in line outside of Santos Party House in the Lower East Side on a Sunday night, I had no idea what I was in for. I thought in my hand I held tickets that would grant me access to a relaxing and inspiring evening of Spoken Word, a poetry event I anticipated to suit me perfectly. To me words and their patterns of placement, intonation, color are so sexy, vibrant, elite. This art is my wanderlust. After waiting in line for what seemed like an eternity, I walked through the doors and took in the scene. I quickly realized this was not just any ordinary event. This...was Poetry Erotica. I knew then that I had walked right into my next story. There was Hennessey, there was corn bread, and there were the Dollhouse Lesbians occupying an entire side of the room. Walking around were naked men and women, painted and handing out chocolates on platters. The lights were low, the music moved us, and if there was ever a moment when the City failed to amaze me, this made up for it. It was then that I decided I was in dire need of ordering my first drink of the evening, and this called for a Long Island. I then witnessed lines I never thought I’d hear, acts I never thought I’d see, and some very, very talented artists. I woke up the next morning with a headache, a missing scarf, and a subtle hesitation to whether or not my memory of the evening served me correctly.

And then there are the other reasons I’m not sleeping.

I have recently had the pleasure read: misfortune of meeting two of my neighbors at a slightly more intimate level than I had ever hoped. In this overpopulated island, one must expect that when buildings are pressed so tightly together, windows sharing alleyways are bound to also share other, less desirable commonalities. Since the weather has cooled down and the drone of my air conditioner dissipated, there are two assurances I have come to expect throughout the week. It all started about two months ago while taking a nap one Saturday afternoon....

[Enter neighbor number one]

I first thought it was her TV set, and then I surely thought it must be an X-rated movie scene on repeat. But then...then I came to realize this was actual, legitimate Sex Olympics occurring just three windows away from my very own room. I am in awe of this couple, each and every time I realize it's on again. Not only because of the high rate of occurrence, but also because of the sheer extremity of the situation. I'm not sure whether to be annoyed or jealous. Throughout the months, it's so intense she’s actually woken me up from sound sleep in the middle of the night. I supposed one could view this as talent, but I believe I'm in for a long winter.

[Enter neighbor number two]


I am in a bad, nightmarish, Mexican music video that just will not stop. Each Thursday, Friday and Saturday night, until precisely 2am, I hear authentic Mexican fiesta musica, on repeat, at excessive volume. Closing my window doesn't help, there is no use. I try to fall asleep with all six of my pillows piled on top of my head, but still I am haunted by memories of my Tiajuana road trips in college, praying I make it back across the border...

I guess these things come with the territory. Half a bottle of red is perched patiently on my vanity, next to my makeup brushes and a map of Kenya. The map is nailed on my wall next to another photo of graffiti: in bold black marker, inside of a heart it reads, “You Cannot Stop New York City.” I read it every morning when I wake up partly because it’s the first thing I see but mostly because it gives me a sense of motivation, empowerment and understanding. And plus, every time I tell someone new how long I’ve lived here they always respond with, “Oh, well you’re a real New Yorker now.” And I’m going to be honest when I say that even though this means I get far less sleep that I would if I lived anywhere else...I really, really like it.

Lions on 5th Avenue

When I was eleven I went camping with my parents and their group of friends. This is the group of friends that hunt together. My dad hunts. We'd have campfires at night and the men would drink whiskey and tell stories. The kids would explore the woods during the day. I love exploring woods. I remember one morning finding a creek that was so beautiful it was as if I had written it into my exploration. I remember finding hills from which to sing Toby Keith's, "Should Have Been a Cowboy" at the top of our lungs. One day we took our bikes out to the main road and started pedaling uphill. There were about six of us; the boys took off ahead and the younger kids were a little behind me. I can't remember how long I was riding before I turned a corner then looked back, and realized I was the only one around. The hill seemed to be getting steeper. I rode faster, but I couldn't see anyone. It didn't matter how quickly I pedaled, I still couldn't find anyone. I even rode back down the hill a little. So I started yelling. I yelled everyone's name as loud as I could so many times. But no one yelled back and I got so scared I started crying. I remember thinking how it would be unfortunate to come across a mountain lion at that very moment. I was lost, on my own, and alone. I was terrified.

But I eventually found my way, on my own, back to the small path that served as the entry into camp, and found the parents around the tents and trailers. I wiped my eyes and pretended nothing had happened. Taking in a quick breath I realized that no one ever had to know how scared I was.

Sometimes in New York we have bad days, and mostly, we're on our own. Some of us are lucky to have the people we can trust with our overreactions and who will listen to the trivial details that make or break our spirits for the day. But I've learned that if I can get through it on my own and the moment passes, after I wipe my eyes it doesn't seem like such a big deal anymore. And the next day as I'm facing 5th Avenue, it will never even have to know the difference.

Unlocked.

I'll try to explain although, I can't promise you'll understand. It’s kind of like riding a fire-breathing tiger down a river in the rain. Somewhere between a tattoo, and carving confessions in wet cement for someone to find walking home at 7pm on Sullivan Street.

Sometimes it hits me when I’m on the train heading uptown, ten minutes late to an appointment, coffee spilling on my knees as I cross them to fit between two investment bankers in ties on their Blackberry smart phones checking yesterday's sports stats. People are yawning. Wondering why they wake up at the same time every morning to shower and surrender to the American dream. I wake up later and work smarter. But my dream is a little different; a little more International. It’s kind of like a hidden rocky beach near Ensenada where the water is turquoise blue. The coffee is always black. The wine is always red. And lightening storms are watched wrapped in a blanket from the fire escape. I catch my reflection in the window near 23rd street and notice that I’m smiling. I used to think happiness was boring. But it makes me want to discuss lantern festivals and secret restaurants on W. 69th between Amsterdam and Columbus. It makes me want to trade favorite music and love notes and drink pulp free orange juice with breakfast cooked in a pan that hasn't been washed in a few days. It’s sharing dreams about enchanted cottages in the woods and understanding references to Thoreau. It's getting the joke.

I smile because I can't help it. Imagine all the things we’d miss if patience didn’t exist. Maybe we'd never get over fears of ferris wheels. And maybe, we'd never learn that two bottles pair much better with the view at the very, very top of the mountain.

The Battle

When I think I’ve won, I’ve lost again
It’s cold and dark in this world of sin
And full of regret
And I bet...you would never believe me
If I told you this secret I protect so freely
How many times can I lose the same battle
How many times can my thoughts shake and rattle
Just get back on the saddle
And try again
I wish this were fiction, this painful addiction
This drug all consuming, subconscious looming
Hypnotized from early on, toxic yet still going strong
Hostage locked up, key swallowed door stuck
Just my luck
Shivering cold, indecent, exposed, trying my best to keep composed
I scream from inside and I vow that next time
There will be no next time
So I wait and I promise and I think to myself
That I’ll stick to the plan that I've hidden so stealth
I’ll attempt to trick the captor quick
Steal away in a secondhand tick
Before I can try to cease my defenses
Or convince my thoughts there are consequences
So I wait for the right time...and commit my crime
I run so fast I pull away
But the shackles on my wrists they say,
Not so fast
You like it here remember? I’ve become your sweet surrender
Don’t forget what I do for you, how can you deny my love for you
And...
I hear the voice as she whispers softly,
Please come back I remember you fondly
Like a Siren she sings as I steer off course
Reminding me how gratified I am by her force
We’ll make it together I’ll get you through
When times get tough I know what to do
...for you
To make you happy, to make you strong
Her deceit was always my favorite song
And she sings it for me, when I need it the most
When no one else is there, she reveals my ghost
No one understands you like I do, no one loves you like I love you
I listen and...
I take her hand once again
I walk into the darkness, barely breathing in
Didn't you know that the road to hell
Is paved with good intentions...so I bid you farewell
Ashamed I can’t look anywhere but down
Walking the plank, no more solid ground
I step to the edge, with little caution
Fresh out of breath, from the exhaustion
The fall is long, the death of me
But this scare is my methamphetamine
And she holds me under as I begin to drown
Maybe I’ll do better the next time around

Lyrical Lessons From a Sibling

I had to postpone ‘til it was full grown but I’m in the zone now so watch it:

Hey Bro where you at I've got something to say
You shouted my way, shared your life (an array) and
To my own dismay I iced you out, Faberge
And I apologize
So here's what you deserve
A little love mixed with some swagger and swerve...

I don’t really know when you stole the show
Someday hiking Machu Picchu and exploring lands below
With a glimpse of adventure all signs turned to go
Then a little bro bro traded a little pro quo
And all of a sudden you were so hard core
Keeping up with the sis as we cleared the dance floor
Whether Garth or Doc Dre...Em too, we're Not Afraid
Got game to play, here to stay, crowd gets jealous Kid Cudi Make 'Em Say
OH, oh oh oh...
Head to toe: meticulous--your flow: ridiculous
Never been prouder, we connect like a router, the signal between us
Couldn't be any louder
No one’s been through, how me and you, do what we do, in our fam crew
We Stars--All...Little League and basketball
Diggin’ Charles Barkley-seven years old, from Suns to Rockets—hot to cold
Fighting since the days I wore my Barbie shirt
No matter what happened you always got hurt
I still don’t get it, don’t think I ever will
But mom he started it, I’m still the one you want to kill
Mom I swear, Jenny’s lying...next thing you know, Andy’s crying
Fighting over channels and over closed doors
Fighting over mom and dad wrestling on the floor
The time you turned and socked me when I was chasing you
We froze so quick it shocked us, didn’t know what to do
“Mom come quick I got her!” and then it hit the fan
I was seeing bright red that wasn’t in the plan

Competitors for life and still we're teammates too
Boggle, Sorry, Mille Borne, Uno, and Taboo
Ninja turtles, Splinter, the Little Mermaid dish
Power rangers, Duck Tales, Missy and the fish
Boxes of new cereal, hot cocoa and toast
Campfires, Santa Cruz, marshmallows we’d roast
The day I thought I taught you to read your first word
But you just had it memorized, please that's absurd
Sword fights, acrobats, forts in the living room
Never cleaning up it’s mom’s job we’d assume
My mind keeps flashing blue carpet bedroom
Nibbles, Rascal, Luigi-- pets in every room
Wish I spent my whole life standing up for you
It’s my only one regret, kid you know it’s true
By the time I realized that it seemed we switched roles
But it’s never too late, however this unfolds
So bubs through it all, you’re my favorite star
You always feel close evens though it’s too far
All that you are, all that you'll become
Can't you see the competition is useless for some
Not even fair they're compared to you in my my heart
They’ll never quite live up, but hey they can start...

Bro bro!!

On the Block

I stare at the rain fall from behind floor-to-ceiling windows, the first cold day we’ve had in awhile. It’s 11am. I sit on a high stool at a wooden table and hold the coffee cup close to my mouth and blow. Bach and Mozart fill the half empty shop as I squint to scan the hundreds of books filling the shelves on the wall. It reminds me to put on my glasses. At the very top of the exposed brick there are lined bottles of old wine and a giant mirror reflecting the perfect overcast day outside and I think, no better time to write.

I've been on numerous dates lately; I'm taking a less conventional approach and it's resembled something more like a To Do list than anything else. But the stories are pretty good. I've met the good, the bad, the strange and the insane, and maybe actually someone pretty special. The thing is, I’m a sucker for good dancers and running of the mouth. My mom likes to say I have a bad picker...but the thing is, my mom says a lot of things. Like the time she left a long, dramatic voice mail still saved on my phone that declared in her slow tone, “Jenny, you almost lost your mother last night,” explaining how she had to take more than her one aspirin maximum for a headache. Or the time she explained she most certainly had given herself a concussion after a bowl fell from the top kitchen shelf onto her head, and then went about her daily business as usual. Or the time she told me she’d given up on me in her quest for grandkids, she’ll just have to wait for my brother. Thanks moms.

After I finished the two cups of coffee and the rain ended, I decided to head back up the three flights of stairs to my prewar apartment next door. As I approached the entry it was already open, and out charged my two neighbors, Jesse and Rose(sisters), under five feet tall and well into their late 80s. Jesse and Rose live on the third floor, which means every time they leave, they have to make it down and up two full flights of stairs. Very slowly. “Jesse! Jesse where are you going? It’s the other way!” Says Rose in her frail, cracking high pitched voice. I knew I had to wait this out. Jesse seems to ignore her and keeps going into the next shop. Rose looks at me for a moment, “Oh,” she remembers, “I forgot she had to drop off her shoes to be fixed.” In a shoulder shrug of surrender, Rose waddles on by me, ready to take on another day.

I've been limping in and out my apartment for the past two weeks. Injured tibia, bad Saturday night, involved a rooftop. New York night views are amazing from rooftops until screaming tenants come out to catch you and remind you it's not yours. Some say I'm getting too old for these things. And before I agree with them for too long, I think about Jesse and Rose, and my dad's bedtime stories I looked forward to every night, and I realize one day when I'm unable to live this way anymore I'm going to want a lot of really great stories to remember it by. Wouldn't you?