Happy Birthday, Zack!

Today is your birthday, Zack. Happy Birthday. I know that wherever you are now you are keeping a watchful eye over me, all your friends, and your loving family.

It has been nearly 1 year since you passed away and literally not a single day goes by where I do not think of you and the endless memories we share together. It is amazing - the little details I had long forgotten about - until one random day they all come flooding back to me. Since your passing I have played over and over again in my head the endless thoughts, pains, feelings, and memories like a broken record; rehashing the time we spent together and what – if anything – I could or should have done differently. For months I kept my true feelings bottled up, pushed the whole situation out of mind, and forced myself to move on. Not because I did not care, but to the contrary, because I cared too much.

However, I have slowly come to realize and accept that no matter how much time I take to think things over or how much care I put into choosing my words, there is absolutely no way I will ever be able to perfectly express what it is that you mean to me. There is no more sense in hiding from what I have been too afraid to face, there is no more reason in feeling like what I have to say will never mean enough.

Zack, since you passed it seems that around every corner lie even the smallest, most insignificant things that remind me of you, but within these small details is the remarkable power to trigger the most overwhelming inundation of memories and emotions that I have ever known. Even as I escape the conscious and shut off my mind to sleep you seep into my dreams. I have reoccurring dreams that surround real moments from our childhood where it is impossible not to feel like everything is happening in real life. Dreams that have us playing football, going on road trips, laughing until our sides hurt, and playing music together – dreams that are so real that I wish I could stay in that dream world forever.

At first, these constant reminders of you were painful pinpricks to my delicately healing scars in the wake of your absence, but I have now come to welcome and relish the daily reminders of you that are the highlight of my day.

I could truly go on and on about all the memories and the important role that you played in my life. That special bond that kids share growing up together: playing sports, causing trouble, spending every possible minute together, weathering the growing pains and simple joys of adolescence. From things as simple and innocent as an overnight stay watching movies and playing video games as 13 year old kids to issues as heavy and life altering as dealing with schizophrenia as a young adult – you and I truly covered the whole gamut together.

When you were with us you were my best friend, Zack. This alone is extremely important and special to me, but to quantify that further, you were my best friend during the absolute most crucial and developmental time in our lives. A time when – for better or worse – who your friends are defines you nearly as much as you yourself do. A time when adolescence and innocence slowly evolve into adulthood as we mature at the hands of defining - and often painful - life lessons. It is impossible for me to look back on these formative years and to not immediately think of you, as you were at my side all the while. It is impossible for me to look back on these years and not think of your parents, who loved me as one of their own. At a time when teenagers inexplicably ignore their own parents and seek solace, understanding, and acceptance from outside their own homes, your family was a constant source of reassurance and care. Likewise, I know you felt the same within my family as my loving parents treated you as their own in our home too. In that sense, you and I were truly like brothers.

Of course, you and I had more than our fair share of childish, mischievous run-ins growing up. Getting into trouble around the neighborhood and at school, our parents certainly gave us our fair dosage of tough love. However, as we got older we straightened out for the best. As we matured and came to learn the error of our childish ways, I saw deep down that within you there was never any malice in your heart. You never did wrong by anyone and you were a genuinely good and pure person. Your only objective in life seemed to be to make others laugh, which you did without fail.

No matter what was going on in your life you took advantage of every opportunity to make others laugh. Growing up, you never abandoned your silly, carefree demeanor and after looking back on all the time we spent together, I honestly cannot think of one moment when I saw you genuinely angry or upset. Among our friends you were - without a question – the funniest of the bunch. It is innumerable the times that our group of friends sat around, joking with each other and telling funny stories that ended with tears in my eyes and pain in my sides from laughing so hard from your antics and anecdotes.

You truly lived to make people laugh Zack, yet ironically, you were cursed with having to battle such sad illnesses with depression and Schizophrenia. Diseases I never quite understood, but even more frustrating, never understood why you were unlucky as to have to battle such a tough life situation. 

I have often tried imagining being dealt the same hand in life that you were Zack and when I really let it sink in - when I really put myself in your shoes - and when I become completely honest with myself, I am often scared at what I discover. It would be too much to cope with, it would be too confusing, it would be too unfair. “Why me?” I would wonder. I do not know that I would be strong enough to take on the same challenges that you faced.

Of course, all the empathy in the world will never allow me to truly understand your - or anyone else’s - situation in life, but attempting this always helps paint the larger picture of just how amazingly strong you were, Zack. I had seen you during some of your weaker moments, but over roughly the past 7 years of your life you battled that tough situation with great courage and strength – the same situation that I can hardly bear to fictitiously place myself in for 10 minutes.

There is no question that dealing with depression and Schizophrenia took a lot out of you, Zack. There were times that I saw you at extreme lows that attest to that. But even during those lows, you were battling and making all of your loved ones proud by helping those unknown to you through public channels, such as the newspaper and on your website, regarding these illnesses. Although shy and bottled up in your own way as you dealt with these problems internally, you were always thinking of others and you were a voice for others struggling with similar life situations. That is nothing short of admirable, my friend.

Looking back, it is impossible not to feel like there was more I could or should have done, no matter how much I know no one can blame themselves in moments like these. As can happen with childhood friends, we grew apart over the past 7 years - we went to different universities, you moved back home to deal with health issues, and I moved to cities and countries far from home. However, whenever I wonder what more I could have done for you, I am reminded of a special moment between my mother and I that I hope will serve as advice for everyone in all of their relationships.

When I first learned of your diagnosis of Schizophrenia, I talked with my mom in our kitchen and I will never forget the words she said to me that day.

“Never stop reaching out to him. Never let him feel that he is alone.”

As my mother grew up with two brothers with similar mental health issues, she spoke from the heart with not only experience, but conviction. To this day I cannot recall hearing any words sung so true and full from my mother’s complete being. I took those words to heart and I feel I did do the best that I could as time and space pulled you and I apart, as can often happen to old friends. Sometimes months would go by without a hello, but I never once stopped reaching out to you and I know you truly appreciated that.

Most recently was in January 2011 right before I moved to Guatemala. You were looking the best I had seen you in years: you were focused, happy, and all around together. You, your mom, and I talked about your plans to go back to school to study psychology, we reminisced about the old days, and you brought me up to speed on everything new with you and the family. Before I left I said goodbye and gave you both a big hug and then shipped off to Guatemala the next day. Unbeknownst to me, that would be the last time I would see you, friend.

So, as my mom pointed out to me many years ago, never stop reaching out. Never take for granted the important people in your life and never let yourself be content with silence when those you care about long to feel your friendship and love. Not only to those you know are in need of a friend, but to everyone you care about. If there is anything I have learned, it is that just when life seems to grow monotonous, unexpected changes happen in the blink of an eye.

Zack, your time with us may have been just the blink of an eye in the grand scheme of the universe and time, but your memory, your infectious laugh, and your spirit will live with me for eternity.  

Happy Mother's Day!

Happy Mother’s Day

This one goes out to all the moms out there, and especially to the #1 mom of them all, my beautiful mother!

Mom, because of you I am the unique, special, and caring person that I am today. Because of you I learned how to be a good person, to treat others the way I want to be treated, and to appreciate everything I have in this world, large or small.

And because of you, mom, whether I really am that unique, special, or caring, I truly believe it because you truly believed it and you have always, truly, believed in me. Your constant love, support, and care has never allowed me once to doubt that at least one person in this world - that can seem so big at times – truly believes in me and loves me. This has been extremely valuable to me over the years, especially since it has been nearly 10 years since I “flew the nest” and made it out into this crazy world alone, away from the comforts of living at home with mama bird. As lonely as I can feel at times, as lost as I can get in a new country, or as unsure as I might be of myself at times, I know deep down that you will always be there to love me no matter what.

Yesterday, I took a walk – not just any stroll, but a 4 hour trek – to the district of Chorrillos in Lima. It’s about 2 districts away from where I live. I had never been to Chorrillos before, but I had see it from afar. When you look down the Pacific coast from Miraflores (where I live) there is a brightly lit crucifix and a statue of Jesus Christ basking in purple lights that are impossible to ignore when looking out into the ocean at night. Yesterday, I set out on foot to walk to this point along the coast and along the way I was pleasantly surprised to find a park dedicated to all mothers around the world.

MOTHER

The plaque reads:

M (Mother, a sublime and marvelous word that means)

A (love of a woman.)

D (God created you so that the world remains firm)

R (I pray for you so that I am never without you or your)

E (example so that we are all good children.)

(Notice the first letters spell madre, mother)

What coincidence that I would stumble across this beautiful park one day before Mother’s Day?

Needless to say, it made me think of you, which I do every day.

I love you mom, have a great day!

Short Story

“Take me somewhere nice.”

After a long week of work cooped up in his office, these are the only words that Roger can seem to muster up as his body flops into the taxicab like a huge bag of dirt. The taxi driver might be offended, but is otherwise too focused on the Friday night traffic whizzing all around him to give it a second thought; after all, in 20 years making a living behind the wheel the man has never made the leap from customer to friend. A million empty conversations to pass the 5-minute drives, the driver doesn’t quite recall exactly when it was that he abandoned chit-chat altogether. No one listens to me anyway, he thinks to himself.

The streets of Oslo are cold this time of year, but Roger is even colder in his directions. Nine dollars and fifty cents later, Roger lifts his meaty frame through the comically small door of the Volkswagen and can’t tell if it is his legs rubbing on the leather seats or a disgruntled grumble from the driver with no tip that he hears upon his exit. Either way, he has arrived to his destination, which he confirms on the crumpled scrap of paper he jotted the address upon earlier in the afternoon while planning his Friday night escape. New to town, Roger has taken to the bar scene as a means to “get out there, explore the town, and meet new people,” which is what he tells himself to do, but at his age he can’t help but feel the slight nip of depression as memories of a younger, more jovial version of himself seem just out of reach. A Roger that was on the scene, a Roger that enjoyed the crowd, a Roger that he can almost put his finger on now.

The idea of coming to the bar to actually drink, rather than meet friends is new to Roger, but a habit slowly becoming routine since making his new surroundings of Norway “home.” At first he convinced himself that he did not want the company - that he was glad to be away from the hustle & bustle of people who were looking to be out only to be seen. But what becomes of Roger when he succeeds in convincing himself of these misconceptions?

Half way into his whiskey, Roger not only finds that he wished he had ordered a gin, but also that Barfly is quite different from what he had in mind upon first reading its praises in local reviews. The calm, laid-back atmosphere he had hoped for was roused by young locals recently done with the work-week, enjoying libations and chattering away in a tongue that was as strange to Roger as the reason he had chosen to come here in the first place. Why couldn’t I have gone to Galleriet like I usually do… Roger wondered to himself as he swirled the melting cubes of ice around the bottom of his otherwise empty glass.

Roger motioned to the bartender by tipping his glass and made sure to make the next one a gin. As the bartender poured, Roger remembered why he didn’t much like Galleriet anyway.

“No service,” he mumbled out loud to himself.

“I beg your pardon,” shot back the bartender – surprised and alarmed as if he had just been charged with a crime.

“I’m sorry, nothing. I guess I was just thinking aloud…” Roger clarified meekly as he brought his new drink to his lips.

Although Roger had no desire to go to the Galleriet for a drink, he wondered how things might be there at this hour. So close to his own apartment, he always did love the easy access from his doorstep, especially in the dead of winter when the cold air could sting so badly it left you breathless. The Galleriet was a cozy bar; the first one Roger had been to in this strange, new land and because of that it made him feel comfortable. However, Roger loathed the service – or rather, the lack thereof – that the main bartender at Galleriet provided. Admittedly, Roger was aware of his tendency to blend into the background and to quietly sip away at his drink without so much a fuss over the horrible music, the shortage of napkins, or even that acrid stench emanating from the men’s bathroom, but the bartender, Daryl’s, indifference to Roger was impossible to ignore.

Unsatisfied with his gin, Roger reached for the drink list neatly folded to his right when he noticed a man making his way to the bar stool beside him. Although he did mind, Roger politely acquiesced when the man made a motion for the stool and lifted his eyebrows as if to say, “Do ya mind, buddy?”

Loose around his unbuttoned collar, the man’s necktie seemed to fling about each time he took a drink, which was twice as often as Roger and before Roger could begin to hypothesize on what brought this man to the bar, he found himself at the receiving end of the man’s best Taxi Driver chatter.

Roger could not have cared less, but with months of recent practice since moving to his new home, he has perfected the 2-minute byte on his life and feigned an interest so believable that it has begun to take over the core of his existence. In between fake pleasantries Roger cannot help but realize that he has met hundreds of people this way, but that he knows not a single one of them.

From their what-is-your-name-and-what-do-you-do conversation, Roger learns that Gabriel is from Oslo, and as such, has plenty of insight for Roger as a newbie, like what drink to try next as Roger nervously fidgets with the drink menu, visibly obvious in his indecision. The new, local libation has Roger longing for another whiskey, which now sounds awfully good, and Gabriel pries further into Roger’s life asking if he is on holiday, as clearly he is not Norwegian. Roger explains his situation to Gabriel, but it is clear by the blank look on his disinterested face that Gabriel has only asked out of courtesy and is only waiting for his chance to speak again.

“I am on vacation. I have been visiting an old friend,” says Gabriel in a slur.

A bit perplexed - as he had understood that Gabriel has lived in Oslo his entire life - Roger begins to engage more in the conversation, asking about his vacation and who this friend might be. However, instead of something reasonable, Gabriel tells Roger that he has been visiting himself. Disappointed for having let himself believe that he might actually have a real conversation, Roger accepts that Gabriel is just a drunk and politely withdraws from further banter.

Too drunk to notice, or perhaps unaffected by having an audience or not, Gabriel continues to tell Roger about his old friend, his old self. Gabriel used to know himself. Gabriel knew what he liked, what he wanted, and what his dreams were. Gabriel knew what scared him, what his objectives were for the day, month, and year. Gabriel had been all around the world, seen beautiful buildings, ruins, and beaches. Gabriel had met interesting people that gave him countless nights of fun, meaningful conversation, and lasting friendships. But somewhere along the way Gabriel forgot about his old friend – or so he says to Roger and to all of the others not listening to him at the bar – his old self.

Gabriel asks rhetorically if Roger has ever been honest with himself, knowing that he has lost his audience, but unyielding in vocalizing his message. And even though Roger won’t show it, he is listening now more than ever and responds to himself in the quiescence of his own mind.

Driving the point home to the handful of bar patrons that were never listening to Gabriel in the first place, “Have you ever truly, truly been honest with yourself?”

And just as the thought leaves Gabriel’s mouth, his oration is interrupted by a phone call and just as quickly as he sat down, Gabriel is on his way out the door. A friendly pat on the back to Roger and Gabriel excuses himself, making sure to let Roger know it has been a great pleasure meeting him. Too ashamed to unfix his eyes from his own drink, Roger fails to acknowledge Gabriel. Gabriel pays the bar tab, casually saying that the doctor has called and said his wife has just given birth to a beautiful, healthy boy – clearly trying to mask his jubilant excitement. To remain calm. To not let anyone know what excitement really lies inside.

“I hope he is just like me,” Gabriel exclaims as he exits.

I do too, Roger thinks alone to himself.  I do too.

Mist (Missed)

I feel like I am in a horror movie.

I look all around, but my vision is clouded. The streets are still bustling with impatient drivers – the piercing honking of their horns reminds me of that much - but I can’t see far enough down the street to know what they are honking at. It doesn’t matter anyway, though; I know it cannot be anything important because Peruvians honk their car horns just as often as they breathe.

The fog has rolled in and overtaken the city just like 1 million armies have done throughout history. Smothering, commanding, refusing to be ignored – for some reason I cannot get the word “omnipotent” out of my head as this force swallows me up. It has overtaken me, yet I cannot feel it at all.

I am starting to think this is what love is - so engrossed by something that I cannot grab onto, feel, or hold, but all too aware of its presence all around me.

I mistakenly think that walking into the fog will be refreshing, that it will cleanse me, or that it will give me a crisp chill from its dewy kiss, but yet I feel nothing. I open my eyes only to find that around me is nothing. I continue forward towards the fog just ahead, but still nothing. It seems that wherever I am, the fog has just vacated. That it is always ahead, but never with me. I am always one step behind.

I am starting to think this is what love is – unobtainable.

I feel like I am in a horror movie. The fog has rolled in and clouded our vision.

Sea of Lights

The streets of Lima are dominated by "combis," or local buses, that cruise the streets and put my life in danger on a daily basis. These combis can cost a whole 20 - 50 cents for rides traversing the main arteries throughout the various areas of Lima, providing the city with its lifeblood of people that are simply in endless supply. I love the combi for its easy access, cheap fare, and ability to stop & go as it pleases as opposed to rushing to a designated stop to catch a ride. However that concept is laughable here, so best you ditch it from your repertoire before visiting Perú, or anywhere else in Latin America for that matter.

Just as I love the combi for my being able to flag down as I would any regular taxi, it is also for this reason that I hate it. Just when you think you've boarded the gravy train to a smooth ride to the other side of town, you've already made 5 impromptu stops to pick up Jose with his sledgehammer and random assortment of tools, Maria and her 5 crying children, and Tio Ricardo who makes you antsy just by looking at him.

However, despite being sardined into seats that never come close to accommodating the leg room of any person over 5 feet tall, while sandwiched in between your new friends Jose and Maria, it is this sort of masochistic madness and unpredictability that make the combi ride one of the highlights of my day. Sure, the drivers swerve around cars without batting an eye; come to unannounced, halting stops; and have a general disregard for any "rules of the road," but that all went out the window for me long ago as well, so I think we're all in agreement now - the combi drivers and I. Just get me to my destination as quickly as possible and in one piece and I will happily pay my 30 cents and ignore the fact that you nearly ran over that lady crossing the street with her stroller.

Anyhow, all of that to say that riding the official city bus of Lima is a treat when the occasion calls for it. The Metropolitano bus of Lima mostly follows the main highway cutting through the city, has designated stops, and even looks like a normal city bus, and not some cramped van bought off the junker lot. Most importantly though, there is a stop located 10 feet in front of my apartment building, which makes it rather attractive despite its steep fare of 80 cents.

I swipe my Metro card at the turnstile at the 28 de Julio stop and walk onto the loading dock for the bus, which is an island in between the northward and southward bound lanes of the Via Expressa, or main highway of Lima. The traffic whizzes by in a blur, but the Metropolitano Bus has its own designated lanes along the highway so that it can quickly and efficiently transport the swarms of people, a stark contrast from the world of combis found throughout the rest of the city. I sit in a real seat and appreciate the LED lights on the sign above my head that clearly spell out the upcoming, planned stop for me.

A quick 5 stops to the National Stadium and we have reached our destination. It's Sunday night and my friend and I are not alone among the mobs of families who have taken advantage of this mild summer evening to enjoy Lima's Parque de la Reserva.

Sea of Lights

The Parque de la Reserva was completed in 1929, but since 2007 has housed a "Magic Water Tour," which is the draw for what feels like hundreds of families on this Sunday night. Although I am not quite sure how they measure or distinguish this honor, the park and its accompanying magical tour of water, is the world record holder for "largest fountain complex in the world."

Fountain of Magic

There is a circuit of 13 different fountains to visit while perusing the ground, with its heavy hitter clearly being the "Fountain of Magic" that spews a fountain of water up to 80 meters into the air. 

Purple Haze

However, my personal favorite is the tunnel of water, under which you can fight through the crowds of people to make it to the end while trying not to come out the other end completely soaked.

Tunnel of love

Another crowd pleaser, especially for the young ones, is the ring of fountains that you can walk into. Levels of the water rise and fall, opening the window of opportunity just enough for young daredevils to run into the center of the fountain. However, it still confuses me when they seem perplexed and upset when they turn around only to find themselves trapped behind walls of water that now resemble jail bars of their aquatic jail cell. 

What goes up...

...must come down.

Green Go

In the spirit of St. Patrick's Day cover yourself in green, ala slime on You Can't Do That On Television.


Here is some green spotted around Lima, Perú.