#57 | summer's entrance
woke up early today and made my way to a matinee in the lower east side. I was late for the movie but enjoyed it anyway; I always wanted to watch something directed by hong sang-soo. my friend and I wandered into a bar afterwards, one with red paint and wicker chairs and all the windows open. we sat towards the street and had cold drinks with a side of radishes, butter, and bread, discussing the movie and people-watching. a woman with a mubi tote bag slid into the seat next to us, so I told her I was considering a switch from criterion. she said, "have you watched everything on criterion yet?" I laughed and shook my head. I had a long way to go. "once you're done seeing everything there, then make the switch."
my lips were dry and I forgot chapstick, so my friend and I embarked on a journey to buy me more. it was simply too hot to not have chapstick; I was going to lick and pick at my lips because that's the person I am. we took a detour into a vintage shop and then he departed for his other plans. I was supposed to meet another friend, but he's unemployed and shifted his sleep schedule to its natural state (waking up at 5 pm). ha. I was ready to enjoy my afternoon anyway, strolling into the storefront of a perfume brand that I recalled from a trip to korea almost four years ago. my ex was with me in seoul back then, our other friends bored and waiting outside. last time I bought nothing because we were in a rush; this time, I splurged on a late birthday gift for a friend and a $20 chapstick for myself.
I made my way to get a sandwich at a popular vegan pantry store nearby. the first time I ever went, she was with me. I guess you could say she's still with me now as a ghost. back then we split a cup of soft serve ice cream and took home a hunk of brie cashew cheese, which I later made into delicious sandwiches that she loved. this time I ordered a cubano but only ate half before overheating in the sunshine.
on the move again, I passed by a punk music show on the street. a few people in the very front danced and yelled encouragement; some quietly swayed and listened; everyone else took pictures and videos on their iphones and film cameras and digicams and camcorders. I took out my film camera too, remembered that I was too short to get a good view anyway, and left.
at another store, I tried on a few shirts but none of them felt right. there are some days where I hate my body and hate how everything looks and the heat makes all that brain noise worse. plus, I don't like trying clothes on when it's hot—I get overwhelmed by the guilt of dirtying shiny new starched clothes with sweat. my patience ran thin and then directed me to the last stop of the afternoon, a nearly 100 year-old shop in chinatown with fresh soy products. I tried this spot for the first time a year ago, a pit stop while on another errand. that time, I brought back her favorite dessert—tofu pudding with ginger syrup and red beans—and a block of tofu that I later sliced and pan-fried with just scallions, salt, and white pepper, so we could taste its freshness. she liked that dish a lot too.
the heat has always made me fussy, but she taught me to not be stupid about it, to stay in the shade and drink cold things. I have nobody to whine at and nobody to shelter me now. what would've been our five-year anniversary came and went in april, a massive whirlpool that sucked me in deeper than ever before ultimately spitting me ashore in a quiet place. one could describe this state as dissociated yet content.
I chugged a bottle of cold soy milk and carefully deposited a block of tofu in my bag, excited to try making that dish again. I was a good cook a year ago, and with the power of a wok I'm even better now. in these moments I can accept everything I've learned from the people who have always loved me completely and allow myself to simply exist.