Being Alone In The Big Apple

I am super selective about who I let into my personal space.  My space is sacred and I protect it from negative energy with a forcefulness that could rival a lioness protecting her new cubs.   I share it with the people I love and care about most or those who bring their own  positive vibes to enhance it or that I find stimulating in some way.  Once I decide to let a person into my world, they are usually there for good.  And because I value quality relationships highly, I invest a lot of time and energy to ensure that those I have grow strong, deep roots.  It takes time and work and often times taxes my resources.  Therefore, I cannot afford to have too many, but over the years I have gathered quite a few. The conundrum though is that none of them...not one are here in NYC.  Peculiarly, all my dearest friends are in other countries and other states.  My challenge has become establishing new meaningful relationships in New York City outside of my family unit.   And believe me...making new friends is not my forte.

And dating?  You mean putting myself out there in this huge, strange place?  That's another story. When I first came to New York getting used to having nothing to do and no one to hang out with  on a Friday night was rough.  I mean really rough!  Fridays for me as an Island girl,  used to be all about meeting up with friends and buying rounds after rounds of alcohol, eating black/blood pudding and grilled fish on the side of the road, driving around town from one 'liming' spot to another until we found ourselves at some beach bar partying till dawn then going home to have hot sex until the sun came up.  Then sleep all day Saturday, without any feelings of guilt whatsoever. Aaaaahh! the good old days.

 

However, I find it can be very difficult to meet people in New York City if there isn't a place that you go to regularly like a job, school, church, the bars or clubs.  New Yorkers notoriously do not make eye contact with strangers, let alone start conversations.  So the probability of making a lasting friendship from a passing encounter is slim.  In this post Here are the things I have tried and why they failed:

GOING OUT ALONEI fly solo most of the times.  Except for the occasional family dinners or the once in a blue moon dates,  I do most activities (recreational and otherwise) alone.  Some people may find it a little strange,  but I am quite comfortable in my own company.  I go to the movies alone, I prepare and enjoy elaborate "dinners for one", I window shop alone, I go dancing alone, I date myself, and I love it. 

           

However,  I also love good company and from time to time I miss it.  Though I enjoy doing most things alone, since I have been in New York City I have discovered that one thing I'm not comfortable doing alone here:

That's right!  Going to the bars alone!  Apparently, that's where single people go to meet each other, yet I find it self-defeating.  I am just not comfortable with the idea of dressing up and going out to a bar alone to sit around waiting for some other lonely desperate soul to hit on me.  But I live my life by the "I will try anything once" philosophy.  So I did.

I walked into a Buffalo Wild Wings, all dressed up one Friday night, took a look  around, chose my space at the bar and ordered a beer.  I was sitting there alone, doing nothing. There were at least 6 to 8  other people at the bar as well.  Some were having telephone conversations, some were busy texting, the others were deeply engrossed in the golf game on the big screens.   Not one seemed even remotely interested in having a conversation!  Sighs!  Now what?  I've  gotten my drink and feel super awkward and out of place because I don’t know whether to stare straight ahead and pretend I have a clue about golf,  or take out my phone and find someone to randomly text.   Since I had decided to enjoy the night no matter what, I just reached inside me, found some confidence, ordered a huge serving of junk food and spent the rest of the night admiring the bartender's perfectly shaped ass and giving off an "I do this all the time" air.  By the end of the night the gentleman next to me give me an unsolicited crash course in the game of golf....all of which I only retained for the duration of the night.  He was clearly tipsy and very enthusiastic.  I pretended to be interested for the sake of being polite.  I was bored to death. I made the best of it anyways.,  I tried the bar thing again on other occasions and I had the same uncomfortable feeling.  I may have grown out the bar scene. It's funny, because before I came to New York, I had no problems going to bars alone.

Feel free to share your own experiences or offer any advise you think I might find useful in the bar scene.  My upcoming post will be about online dating.  Thanks for reading. 

Nuff Love,
Zara Nuru. 

ROOTS

When I was an undergrad, I had an assignment for an Anthropology course that asked me to contemplate and reflect deeply on the word "ROOT(S)"  and write my thoughts.  That was all to the assignment.  It was quite a stimulating exercise and I would like to ask you to take a few moments and do the same.   What comes to mind?

I immediately started paying keen attention to myself and those around me listening out for the way we make use of the word in everyday speech and music.  One evening as I sat down to dinner which happened to be a baked potato and some steamed carrots I became very aware that I was consuming the ROOT of a plant.   I mentally embarked on a vivid visualization of the germination process and the thoughts began to flow.

ROOT(s) as a Support SystemMy mind went back to a grade one science experiment in which we placed a bean in a glass jar with moist toilet paper so that we could watch it grow.   That was the true beginning of my fascination with life.  I noticed then that that when a plant germinates, the root emerges first.  As I progressed through school I learnt further that it is also the most essential organ of the plant that attaches it to the earth and is responsible for the absorption of nutrients and water and for anchoring and supporting the plant; that roots come in many different varieties, shapes and sizes; there are even some that are edible! As I got older I started realizing how intrigued I was by nature and plants in particular.

Then I had a revelation.  We all love the beauty of plants with their lush green foliage and colorful and scented flora or vegetation but we hardly ever give credit to the role that the root plays in that beauty. I started to wonder how many people ever have a thought about how strong and healthy the roots of the plant must be before it can produce such beauty? The root is considered dirty and not the prettiest sight and we often times prefer to handle the other parts of the plant, even when the root is actually what we are going to eat to ensure our survival! I began to notice that in our active discrimination of the root of the plant we fail to realize that root shares similarities with the foundation of a house, it is the support system of the structure. And because it has the potential to grow and expand in depth and breath, the deeper and wider the root, the more grounded the plant and the more difficult it is to uproot.  If the branches or even the entire trunk of a plant is destroyed, as long as the root is safely intact, the plant grows and blooms again even more beautiful than before.  I reason that a plant is very difficult to completely destroy without first destroying its root.  It's no wonder then why most roots grow underground (especially the edible ones that directly sustains the life of our species), where they are protected from the forces of the elements.

ROOT(S) as an Origin or Starting Place

In my never ending search for truth and enlightenment, I ask my self regularly the popular yet greatly undervalued “Who am I?” question.  I have always found that for me, I am not able to do justice to or feel contented with my answers without an awareness or understanding of and appreciation for my past, my heritage, and my people. The "Who am I?" question always lead me to series of other mind boggling question such as  where did I come from?  That's easy. I know my parents.  But where did they come from? And their parents? Where did we originate as a human race? Where are our beginnings?

I have heard many stories and beliefs as it relates to this topic.  One school of thought suggests that we are the product of creation by a Superior Being who placed us in the Garden of Eden, while another claims that we evolved over many centuries from earlier life forms to what we are now.   Both theories leave many unanswered questions in inquisitive minds like mine.  Where then is the Garden of Eden in which the first “created” man was placed?  This question has caused much debate among scholars many of whom prefer to explain Eden as anywhere on the globe other than Africa.  Since the exact location of Eden cannot be conclusively determined through scientific research nor by evidence presented in the Holy Bible or any other religious texts for that matter, I prefer to approach that theory with caution.  As it regards Evolution, the earliest fossils that suggest the existence of human life as we know it on this planet were found on the continent of Africa.  More current scientific research on the issue of heredity and genes and there origins and distribution through out the planet suggests convincingly that there is more variation in genetic differences in East Africa than anywhere else in the world inferring that Africa more than likely housed the original pool of genetic material that is responsible for the evolution of mankind (Nature Journal, 2008). For me, the word Roots represents my beginnings and the beginning of the human race.  The word Roots is what attaches me emotionally to the place where my ancestors lived for a long time.  That place is Africa. (I got goosebumps as I typed this.)

Below are some more common uses of the word I came up with in picture.  Can you think of anymore?

As a Cause of a problem, situation or phenomena.

The Root of all EvilGet to the root of the matter
Root words

 Used to express a desire to ‘get the rid of’ or to ‘destroy’ something or someone.  Root out the weeds from the garden so that they do not grow back
Root up the tree;  Salt in the root of the tree will kill it;I am so pissed right now that all I want to do is root her up!

Used statistically to explain a number in relation to another number which it produces when multiplied by itself once or a specific number of times. 

For instance, the square root and the Cube root.

Used to show active support or to illustrate deep and firm adherence to a notion or idea such as when I say:

 I am rooting for you.My believes are deeply rooted.

 In reference to anything that makes me feel emotionally or psychologically closer to my African heritage such as my hair and my skin: 

No, you may not touch my roots (hair).

I refuse to chemically alter my roots to please anybody or to conform to Western cultural norms which consciously and subconsciously embraces the concept of black inferiority and white superiority.

Used in popular adages. 

As a Jamaican aphrodisiac drink made from boiling the roots of certain plants.  

Can you think of anything else?  Leave me a comment, I would love to hear what the word "Roots" means to you.

In a follow-up post I will explore the word roots as it relates to heritage and culture and try to explain how my 'roots' keep me grounded as a new immigrant trying to navigate the American/NYC way of life.

Thanks for reading and sharing.

Nuff Love,
Zara Nuru

INSPIRATION

Everyone has those pieces of literature that keep them inspired, motivated, encouraged and strong in the face of life's monstrosities.  This is one of mines:

INVICTUS 

Out of the night that covers me
Black as the pit from pole to pole
I thank whatever Gods maybe
For my unconquerable soul!

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud
Under the bludgeoning of chance
My head is bloody but unbowed

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade
And yet the menace of the years
Finds me and shall find me unafraid

It matters not how straight the gate
How charged with punishment the scroll
I am the master of my fate
I am the captain of my soul.

By William Ernest Henly

NYC in Motion

I love NYC, but let me tell you something I don't like right now....THE COMMUTE! I spend a lot of time commuting.  Too much time!!!  It takes me 2 hours to get to the salon in the Bronx from Brooklyn. That's 12 hours a week of commuting if I go in 3 days a week.   I spend another 3 hours to get from Brooklyn to New Rochelle for dialysis and I make that trip 3 times a week. That's an additional 18 hours!  Making a total of  30 whopping hours of commuting in a week!  Are you kidding me?!  That's a full time job!

How the hell have I been managing?   My struggle is staying awake and sufficiently alert so that I do not miss my stops.  I am too embarrassed to share how many times I have missed my stop...and it's never because I was asleep.  Though I dose on almost every subway ride I  always wake up just before my stop.  I usually miss my stop with my eyes wide open!  I'm either daydreaming about the day when I don't have to work so hard and be so tired all the time...or I was so tired that I stepped onto the wrong train completely and didn't notice until about 10 stops in the wrong direction!  For instance, one night after a long day in the salon, I stepped onto the train heading to Stamford, Connecticut instead of White Plains.  Another night I didn't realize I got onto the express train instead of the local until it didn't stop at my station and I had to find my way back.  For the most part, these long train rides are not the highlights of my days.  Especially since there are no scenery underground.  It's a little comforting knowing that I'm not the only one struggling to stay awake though.  Why do we work ourselves to exhaustion?  Is that how we are supposed to live?

 

However, every now and again, some interesting characters board the trains and break the monotony with their performances of dance, song, poetry, drumming, creative begging or just plain old weirdness. I am still relatively new to the City, so I can't help but stare.  Plus I'm a Kittitian by birth ("We fass bad!!...dialect for "We are very inquisitive").   I have always marveled at the sheer courage of New Yorkers,  especially the beggars....I can certainly learn a thing or two from them since asking for money when I need it is a vital survival skill that I never took time to develop that they have mastered.

There are also some very interesting pieces of literature and art that adorn the underworld of the MTA (Stations and Trains).

One night I saw the poem below on the inside of a Brooklyn bound A Train and fell in love with it.  It lingered and marinated in my consciousness for many days after.  Then one afternoon, 1:29pm September 18, 2013 to be exact, I saw the same poem on a Manhattan bound C Train.  I grabbed my notepad and scribbled it down.  Thought I'd share it with you.  Enjoy!

The Good Life 

When some people talk about money

They speak as if it were a mysterious lover 

Who went out to buy milk 

And never came back and it makes me nostalgic 

For the years I lived on coffee and bread, 

Hungry all the time, 

Walking to work on pay day like a woman journeying for water 

From a village without a well, 

Then living one or two nights like everyone else 

On roast chicken and red wine. 

By Tracey K. Smith (1974)