Beached as

Once in a while I feel very bummed. Usually it's hormones related. But knowing the cause mitigates the effect only a little bit (if at all). At times like this I feel very foreign here and wish I could go back to some place where I felt at home. Then I have to remind myself that every place makes me feel like an alien in some way - and the only way over something is (usually) through it. I've not made much of a habit of turning back and at the age of 37 I'm not sure I want to start. I would rather climb this mountain. So yeah, integration continues. I will try harder and if I ever get the point where I've done my utmost and I'm still not happy, I can reassess the situation then. 

Maybe part of it comes from not having been anywhere else for ever so long. 

And another thing that I remind myself of is the fact that the bad and the good comes together. I can't have the good without going through the bad, it seems. So the only thing I can do is try to get through with as much grace as I can muster. 

At times I like to come here and read about myself. It's soothing because it's a friendly voice that understands. It's also nice because I find (mostly) that I like myself. When I go back a long way I find (surprisingly) that many things about me are unchanged and at times I feel also that my instincts are good, and wish I had trusted them more. 

So I'll redouble my efforts to be me. 

After you've gone

About a month ago now, I guess, you moved back to New York. I don't know how things really are going but I hear from you quite frequently and it's nice to know you're still alive. We don't really have conversations - just little pings of quips or photos. Once you said you were feeling stressed and anxious. Other times you reply to my notes about post that had come for you, or send me cute animal photos from Reddit. 

We redecorated your room a little. Swapped the old bed for a new one and got a vintage shelf. Now we play music in that room in the evenings. Unsurprisingly I've decided to leave your blanket and pillow on the bed. I still go there to nap sometimes because I miss the smell of you. 

Walking to the grocery store the other day I thought of how it was when you were living here. Sometimes when I used to see you come out of your room unexpectedly I was still struck by your presence (the color of your hair, the shape of your nose, how you wear a hoody like its a permanent hug). It seems unfair to me that when the sight and thought of you can bring me so much joy, none of that makes a dent to you in your misery. I wish that I could take some of the happiness you bring to me, and make you feel it too.

I know sometimes things were hard and we were both very sad and frustrated. But when I have the presence of mind, I remember that you are not the sum of your problems, overwhelming though they may be. I'm friends with the person who is struggling against all the things he is not.

Once when you first took the medication for acute anxiety you told me that you feel very woozy and might not remember anything later, because it interferes with short term memory. I said well in that case I want you to know that I love you and I've always loved you. You laughed and went back to your room. 

There are times when I don't know if you find my affection for you awkward and/or troublesome, but I think mostly you like being liked (like that time when I called you fat-face and you said unfortunately it's true and I said oh come on, that was clearly a sign of affection and you laughed). 

I also cannot really explain why I should feel so strongly about you, but I'm ok with that. Like you always say, it is what it is - except maybe I say that with acceptance whereas you sometimes say it more so in resignation. It's odd but I've found time and time again that when I feel this way about someone I don't really think it's necessary that my feelings are reciprocated. I just want to be able to express fully how I feel without being a nuisance. It seems that we're ok at this equilibrium. The rest of the time I just want you to be happy again - maybe not today or tomorrow or the day after, but at some point. It would be good to see you smile and laugh and enjoy being your loving, wonderful self.

I still (I think) say goodnight to you every night - just a message. Sometimes I tell you love you or send you a hug or a squish. I don't quite know why it's so important to me, this ritual. Maybe because it's the only thing I can do. Occasionally you write me back but usually not. Once or twice you've written to say you miss us and I promise to visit when the pandemic is through. 

Sometimes my phone shows me photos from the past and every time I see your handsome face I feel a surge of affection and hope that we'll (all of us) be happy again. 

Goodbye, my friend

J called and woke me up early this morning to tell me that you'd passed away. I was shocked beyond belief. My first fear was that something was wrong the last time we met and I never managed to get to the bottom of it, and now it's too late. But they said later that it was a heart attack in the night and you went quiet and peaceful. 

Looking back now I guess you knew. It makes sense why you chose not to tell anyone about it, even though I asked and asked - because what could anyone have done except get all upset? 

Such a large part of me wishes that we had spent more time together just being friends because your presence brought so much goodness and strength to my life, especially in the really hard times. Of all the teachers I had you were one of the best. You always pushed me to the edge of my abilities (and then maybe a little bit further) but never made me uncomfortable or mad (there was that one time when we wanted to work on polyrhythms, when I was being particularly difficult. And you had the wisdom to just call it quits and say we'll come back to it another time). You gave me all the answers to my unreasonably demanding questions (yeah count all of the beats all the time pls), and always had so much patience with my struggles. 

You used to try to sneak bop songs into our improv and I would roll my eyes and you would sigh. We spent so much of our time talking and laughing hysterically that we'd run over time and the next person who booked the studio would be pissed. 

I have so many videos of us dancing routines together, and videos of that series we meant to make. 

I'm so glad that we hung out together as friends that one time at Bob's. Nobody danced and even though there was music, we really just wanted to get drunk, talk trash, and hug. We were standing outside, drinks in hand, talking to friends and acquaintances and I was so proud to be hanging out with you, to be able to call you my friend. I told everyone that you are my tap teacher and my favorite teacher. I think it was clear that we had a great deal of affection for each other. I remember you sitting at the bar behind me and leaning backwards into your arms for a snuggle. At the end of the night it was me who bundled you into a taxi. 

In the beginning we had one lesson a week, but then I decided we should have two. It seems incredible now how hard I worked on tap. One of the classes would be for routine, and one of them was Taco/Technique Tuesday.

I remember Laura and Eddie Brown and the chair dance from Tap Dogs, and how proud of me you were every time I finished a routine. I remember us laughing like maniacs when you invented that stupid move sitting down. I remember us talking like gangsters because I don't know why. And also when I injured my foot and you said you had a chair dance routine I sent you a photo of a stripper in a chair and we laughed at that too. It seems like most of our time was spent just laughing. 

We used to run into each other at the 7-11 or the McDonalds and you were always worried about that electronic lock on the door. 

Every time you went on about the old-timers I'd half-listen and think I'd ask you about it later. Now there won't be a later. 

Remember how I always use to joke that your business card should say: "For a good time call... somebody else"? And how that time when you first taught Bibi, you said it's going to be a fun class and she said "Angela says you don't like to have a good time"? The others would sometimes mention that you had talked about me in class with them, and it always made me so chuffed whenever that happened. 

You had such a booming voice and such a sharp laugh people would turn their heads when we were talking and walking or riding the subway. Often times you'd be so caught up in what you were saying (some story about tap, most likely, or music) and we'd pause in the middle of the little intersection just across from 7-11 and blether on. At the very end you always say (rather formally) "Alright Angela, good work. I'll see you next week", do a little bow, and wave as I walked away. 

You had those yellow tap shoes that matched my beret so we'd wear that sometimes to make videos. You wore the Emirates football jerseys but also had a Transformers one. And those sweat bands. Also you had the grey pork-pie hat and I considered getting something similar for videos just so we'd match. 

I'm sad to think that if I went back to tap again, you would not be around to be proud of anything I learn or achieve. Your esteem and good opinion of me gave me so much strength and confidence. The way you taught made me always feel like there's a clear straightforward path to progress and you would slowly take me where I should go. Your confidence in me and your presence felt like a secret weapon. 

At the beginning of the pandemic I worked a bit on Laura. I kept thinking I’d film myself and show you when I’ve made some progress, and then I didn’t get around to it. 

Jedi can't quite believe you're gone either. Today I saw your status on Facebook as "active" and had to restrain myself from messaging you to see if it's just all be a big joke or some terrible mistake. Of course we wish you were just hiding somewhere for some reason and will come back when everything's all cleared up. 

I keep thinking of Stephen King's Dark Tower series and it just occurred to me that you must have read them too and how we'll never get to talk about books again. Or Mad Men. Remember that time when I mentioned that I was watching Mad Men and you started to sing the theme song and pretend you were falling? I laughed and laughed.

I've never been good with the concept of "never." 

If there is such a thing, I hope we meet again in the clearing at the end of the path. 一路好走，my friend. I'll be seeing ya. 

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Last night I dream that I was in a weird house full of the kind of weird things I like, and Winston Churchill was there, grumpy and odd. But we made friends and walked out to the back of the house, going through a basement he'd been tidying up, into the garden, and then right into the river were the water was flowing but not cold, and the stars were reflected on the surface of the water. 

As we stood in the river holding hands I felt happy because I'd found a friend. Someone's who's odd just like I'm odd, and I was understanding and understood. Then I woke up and on waking realized it was you I'd found. 

When I turned on my phone there were photos from Jedi and 念祖, from your memorial today. They had a big paper cardboard cut out of you on stage, in a tuxedo, looking so young and handsome. On the huge screens in the background, my video was playing. 

I can only take all the kind words of encouragement and faith and confidence you've ever given me and keep them close for all the days until we meet again. 

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I feel like it's been nearly a year since you passed away but time in lockdown feels so strange and relative. All I know is that now I'm dancing again, a little bit, and I miss you and think of you all the time. Some relationships end when you feel like you've exhausted every possibility and given/taken all you had to give/take. Some feel like everything has yet to happen and it's already beyond your reach.