By: Gabriela Yareliz
First Star I See Tonight. I Wish I May, I Wish I Might, Have the Wish I Wish Tonight.
“Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars? Because I could really use a wish right now.” B.o.B. ft. Hayley Williams, “Airplanes”
Yesterday, I saw bright specs hovering close to the bridge. Like seven of them, at least. I didn’t know what they were, but was intrigued by their brightness. They looked like a set of Christmas stars guiding the way. (I will enter wise man mode). Were they helicopters? Drones? But drones are illegal in NYC… I remember this from my iHeartRadio contract days… Don’t ask me how they got some of those shots.
I then realized they were not helicopters, but instead, they were silent. Today, I saw more. After a closer look in a moving car (spidey vision), looks like they are drones. If we make a wish on them, does that count? This better be the NYPD anti-terrorism unit. If it’s Chinese surveillance, that will be another balloon repeat. Also, do people look up? Have they noticed? I haven’t heard anyone talking about this.
I looked on Citizen App. There was nothing aside from the lost parakeet, which reminds me… did they find him? I will check…
Train Theater
“I don’t want to eat my lunch,” he yelped as he wiggled his way into the seat next to me on the train. I was typing an email balancing my thermos with one hand and slightly annoyed, tried to shift my weight away from him. Then, I recognized him. I had seen this man on the train before. He is the one man show. He often stands in corners and talks to himself while thugs threaten to beat him up if he doesn’t stop, but this time, I was a captive audience.
He suddenly shifted his voice into a higher pitch and sounding like a wicked stepmother from a Disney movie (why is it always the stepmother?) he replied to himself, “You have to eat it!!” He screeched like he was Bette Midler or something. “No!” he said forcefully.
I was going to turn to him to tell him he didn’t need to eat this invisible lunch he kept referencing, but then, decided not to get involved. What if he decided to fight with me as himself and his mom? How does one mediate that? Also, my pepper spray was lost at the bottom of my bag. Not the best moment for bravado. I am not a thug. I did want to comfort him, though.
Then, I proceeded to get lost in my thoughts. Why was there so much trauma around lunch? He wasn’t overweight or skinny. I wondered how many times his mother said the actual words he used while impersonating her. It made me wonder how weighty our words are in people’s lives and how they may end up replaying them for themselves until the end of time– or performing them on a train. Choose those words wisely.
He looked so normal– but clearly wasn’t. But then again, what is normal?
Abnormal
At some point this week, it dawned on me how desperately I have wanted people to see me as “normal” (whatever the hell that means) and as tough, in the past. I think that was always in the back of my mind, while growing up. I didn’t want to stand out, but then, I did, you know?
I think of all the hours I spent trying to cover my acne, stop the frizz and curling my hair for Christmas concerts at what was an all white school. I think the goal was to be cute like that girl from Love Actually. I was not. I was glittery though.
But then, you grow up, look around and decide that if this is normal and mainstream… if these are the books that grab people’s attention and the music people love– forget it. Who am I fooling?
I always loved weird and random stuff as a kid. Still do. It wasn’t until recently that I realized I could say with pride, I am not normal, and I don’t want to be. I am sensitive, serious and quirky, and you know what, THANK GOD.
I don’t think I beat the train guy on the abnormal meter, but I sat there next to him and didn’t argue with him or his “mom”. So that has to count for something, right?
Warm Up
After a day of court battles and compassion, nothing beats a winter shower. See– winter showers aren’t normal. (Again, what is?) I am someone who sometimes takes a long time to make it to the shower. I count the stars (and drones), I map out my wishes, I tuck Eddie in (if you know, you know), I read a little, I text, I check socials, I draw a little with my felt tip pen, I dillydally like a dweeb–
But in the winter, I don’t hesitate. Why? One word: Warmth. Showers in the winter are a chance to turn up the steam and stand there while the stress melts away and my goosebumps retreat. Not a day goes by where I don’t praise God for hot water. (Praise be!) My Wim Hof (the ice man) ways dwindle, and I am left with piping hot steam.
In an old pre-war cold NYC apartment, a hot shower is where you will find me. I will probably be praying the same wishes I made on those drones and wondering what is for lunch tomorrow. I, unlike the man on the train, will be eating it.
GABRIELA YARELIZ 