New York, December 2021
photo credit: Shenzhan Liao
Socrates Sculpture Park, Astoria, New York, December 22, 2021
photo credit: Shenzhan Liao
Shenzhan/申展
So, about love, where to begin?
Perhaps in the year 2022, I could begin with the pandemic that dislocated the world. I met – let me name him “J” – right before the pandemic. I sat next to J during a professional conference. Feeling his presence, I noticed my self-consciousness grew when I had to take crackers out of my snack bag in the middle of someone's speech as if he was watching. We exchanged WeChat accounts before the conference ended.
No one knew at the time that covid would make an entrance to the U.S. but that was history. By mid-March, New York City, where I live, was shut down. So was San Francisco, where J lives.
One day after the shutdown, J reached out to me on WeChat. We exchanged text messages like teenagers for over one hour. It never happened to me before. We later went on Zoom for morning coffees and evening drinks. Since everything was virtual for a while, the distance between NY and SF effectively dissolved: the distance with J felt the same as my next-door neighbor C.
For me, many things happened between 2020 and 2022. In short, I contracted COVID in early 2020, before the vaccine was out; I made my way back to China as my mom’s cancer progressed; I mourned my mom’s death in July 2021 after I returned to New York; I started dating a guy I met on one of the dating apps for the first time in a few years…things might not take place in that exact order. Covid memory. You know.
Rootless and aimless. Those words come to my mind when I think of the months after July 2021. Like many people, I felt life was turned upside-down by the pandemic, and I was devastated by my mom’s death. I could come up with theories that she is still connected to me, but her warm loving heart is no longer beating – and part of me has literally gone. I tear up every time with this thought. Given the chaos in the world, I seriously question every pre-existing order. J and I stayed in touch this whole time. We zoomed and talked about life, his divorce, my mom’s death, plants on my balcony, the sunset seen from his…… There was something special about the way I felt about J.
That special feeling materialized (at least for me) when I visited SF in December 2021. Sitting on his couch in SF, we were chatting and drinking coffee, just like when we were on Zoom, except for in 3D version. One night, J abruptly dropped the conversation, tensed up a bit, and said,
“I can’t carry on the conversation anymore.” He paused as if to find the right words to say next, “not because I ran out of things to say, but because I really want to kiss you.” He was sitting upright in the corner of the couch, with arms around his folding knees.
Time felt still. All my hair stood up for a second. And I heard myself saying,
“Do you want to try?”
“Yes.”
And that was the beginning of the short-lived love affair between me and J. It was short-lived because, by February 8, it effectively ended. Is it too short hence trivial to keep a writing account? Our lives are an accumulation of millions of living moments. Who’s to say one moment is less important than the other? In the end, the joy, sweetness, frustration, wondering, and sadness……all make the human experience worthy of living. To love is to have the courage to embrace all of it. If it is worthy of a moment, it is worthy of memory. As mortal beings, we will always lose if we compete against time and space. We only win when we are in the moment.
In the midst of the short-lived love affair, I drew down a few notes of those moments. One evening in March 2022, they all sounded like eulogies to me while I sat in my studio alone, pondering,
"Who shall I open my heart to next?"
----
December 25, 2021: Christmas Day
It was raining in New York on Christmas Day. I went out jogging in the drizzling cold rain in Astoria. Very few people were in the street. The sky was gloomy. Yet something is different.
I told J that I learned a new word today.
“What’s the word?” He asked.
“Cauldron.”
Cauldron as in the last line of Sylvia Plath’s “Ariel”,
“The cauldron of morning.”
In the dim light of this morning on a rainy day, my thoughts were all about J: how his fingers and tongue sweetly touched all over my skin in the past three days, evenings, and mornings; how he entered me, gently and deeply; how he held me tightly while I was moaning and sweating in his strong arms, tattooed with 42 different versions of “happiness” in Chinese characters; how the connection between our bodies felt so natural, so right, yet so fresh.
Google says that a cauldron is “a large metal pot with a lid and handle, used for cooking over an open fire.”
“You are my open fire.” I text J while having a double espresso in my kitchen, where two days ago, J, with peppered hair and kind brown eyes, was sitting just across from me, as I started a topic on the impossibility of describing reality.
“Now is the right time to exercise your brain after we exhausted our bodies?” his smile radiated from across the counter.
Ah, the morning time that makes WeChat text messages so terribly inadequate!
***
I spent the entire morning writing and making a New Year card for J. Last year I got a stack of blank cards that I could use to make holiday cards with my drawings or handwriting. I had only made a few for close.
I took time to make this card for J. We took some nice pictures during J’s three-day visit to New York before Christmas. For this card, I instantly think of the igloo we came across at the South Sea Port in lower Manhattan, right next to the East River.
It was past 4 p.m. and started getting dark and cold. I finished a farewell work Zoom call for a colleague. Omicron was sweeping through the city. Only after a few weeks of returning to the office, we went back to work fully remotely. We couldn’t have an in-person party for the colleague, who had worked for the institute for over 40 years. It was a true miracle J even showed up in New York the day before.
After I finished the Zoom call, we headed toward the Citibike station next to the Wall Street ferry to get a bike. A tribe of cute igloos covered with lights outside of a restaurant caught our eyes. Because of COVID, many restaurants have set up little sheds made of clear plastic covers with single table seating inside, only for one party of up to 4 people. It was still early for dinner so we didn’t have any trouble getting one just for a drink, facing the water.
We ordered a half bottle of Cabernet. With a small heater, the igloo was quite comfortable. Not long after, the lights covering the top of the igloo were all lit up, transforming the igloos literally into a fairyland. We sat there next to each other, hands held, chatting and drinking. I completely forgot what we talked about.
On the morning of Christmas Day, I drew a small igloo on the inner right side of the card, with a triangle roof covered with lights. Its plastic cover was shimmering with reflections of the lights from other igloos. I also drew the deep blue water and a few buildings on the other side of Brooklyn. On the front cover, I painted a web of golden dots, connected by silver thin lines, exactly like the lights covering the roof of the igloo. Inside the card, I wrote how I would remember the joy and fun J brought to me, and how kind and generous he was.
Then he was gone in the early morning of December 24. He had to catch the last flight on Christmas Eve back to SF to spend the holiday with his daughter as planned. His trip to NY was rather spontaneous, entirely triggered by my trip to SF. Omicron was rampaging. Just before he left for NY, I was exposed to a colleague who tested positive and had to get tested myself. J could have contracted on the way to NY, or the flights could have been canceled. Many things could have happened to prevent his visit to NY not happening. But he showed up at the corner of 42nd Street and 7th Avenue as I told him, and we spent 3 days together like a dream. We had to sleep in a slowly deflating air bed on the floor of my new studio, still yet to be fully furnished. But it didn’t bother us at all. For a long time in my life, I felt like I was a kid again, discovering the joy of a romantic connection with another human being, without doubts, baggage, or thinking of the future. Just being present, walking in the streets of SoHo, flipping through the books in the Housing Works bookstore, riding a bike along the Hudson River to Little Island, and taking time lying in bed in the morning, not in a rush to go anywhere, or do anything.
***
On Christmas Day, I couldn’t get my mind off J. It was bittersweet - I would rather have him next to me, instead of having just the memories of him, or WeChat messages – and I don’t know what this would lead to. But largely I am just glad that I feel this way about another person again. For a long time, I guess I was afraid of opening my heart, knowing how much love could hurt. But I truly feel this time it is different. It is so rare and precious to have this feeling at this point in my life.
In the afternoon I biked to Ditmars to drop off a tin of ginger lemon tea for my friend C and a bag of treats for his cat, Linus. C got the flu and tested negative for covid, but still canceled his holiday trip to his parents in Georgia. I got some coffee from Parrot, my local coffee shop for the past 10 years on Ditmars. By the time I thought about getting a bottle of wine for the evening, I discovered even the nice Chinese couple next to my building closed the wineshop early for Christmas Day!
----
January 1, 2022: New Year’s Day
I spent the first 2 hours of the year 2022 with J on Zoom, trying to define the state of our relationship: Now that we both feel unbelievably connected to each other, then what? I am in NY; he lives in SF. The distance of almost 3,000 miles and the 3-hour time difference seems a bit daunting. Yet the longing for each other is so strong! I can’t stop thinking of him. Neither could he shake off me in the middle of celebrating holidays with his family and friends. A few days ago, as soon as I knew I would be fully working from home again, I suggested I could WFH in SF. J didn’t respond immediately. I knew my suggestion was rather impulsive and not sure it was a good idea either.
As days went by, something started to bother me: if we really really want to be next to each other physically, why keep it from happening if there is a chance?
Eventually, I had to raise it with J as we toasted for the New Year, which led to a 2-hour exercise to sort out our current status.
“I think I am falling in love with you,” J said, at one point.
I almost panicked and wasn’t sure how to respond for a second. I felt the same: I am uncontrollably falling for J, which is a wonderful feeling, though the distance and uncertainty bring up some bitterness already. How exactly to respond?
“Me too.” sounds too casual.
“Thank you” is terrible. He didn’t just hand me a drink or open the door for me.
Or “I am falling in love with you too”, maybe more adequate but doesn’t sound original.
After a second, I said,
“We are on the same page on that.”
J laughed. This could be heard in a board meeting.
Now as I am reflecting on it at the end of the day, I want to write to J and re-respond, but the moment has gone.
***
The morning started late for me on the first day of 2022. When I finally got on my bike and out to the city, it was already noon.
It was raining like autumn. At 53 F, the temperature was high for winter in NY. I wasn’t sure what exactly my destination was. I just got on the bike lane on Crescent Street, heading toward the Queensboro Bridge and riding over to Manhattan. There were almost no other bikes around. The air was fresh and cool; the sky was gloomy; and I was as light as a bird.
At some point, I decided to go to a ramen noodle restaurant on 55th Street for lunch. It’s a tiny Japanese place almost halfway in the basement but very cozy and serves good ramen. It doesn’t offer outdoor seating like many restaurants in NY. By the time I got there, there were already 2 tables taken. I was seated comfortably at a table for 2 in the middle of the room. There are 378,516 new COVID cases daily in the U.S., reported the day before, a 201% increase from the previous day. I watched people filing into this place for good ramen noodles indoors. There are still plenty of people like me and the rest of the customers in this tiny Japanese noodle shop.
I had COVID-19 in April 2020, when the fear of death caused by COVID-19 was the greatest. The thought of dying came across my mind the night when I felt sick and was lying in bed, but I managed to subdue it – I wouldn’t die from this because I couldn’t bear the thought of telling my mom with cancer that her only daughter was dying thousands of miles away of covid. I had to fight this over and win. And I did. I didn’t know for sure that I had covid until two months later I was able to get an antibody test. I never told Mom I had COVID and recovered from it.
I have since had this mentality that I have got a pass on this test of life and death. I believe the best way for me to deal with COVID is to keep going out, and get exposed, which would help my immune system to continue evolving with the ever-mutating virus. At least it is working so far for me, and that is how I look at it. Thus, COVID doesn’t keep me from going to restaurants, hanging out with friends (if they dare), or jumping on a plane to SF.
The rain was drizzling. The gloomy sky reminded me of April 2020, when I finally biked to the city for the first time in 5 weeks as soon as I recovered from COVID-19. I decided to bike to the Bethesda Fountain in Central Park like many times I did in 2020. It is a place of reference to remind me the city is still there, with the winged angel standing there like forever, looking down upon people walking at her feet. The fountain was dried up for the winter but there were still groups of people there walking around, taking photos - even during the darkest days of the shutdown, there were always people there, walking, exploring NYC, fearless. I took a photo with my phone and sent it to J.
My next stop was the Strawberry Field, a memorial place for John Lennon. He was shot to death only a few blocks away in front of his apartment building in the 1980s. I always made a point to go there as part of my pandemic bike ride around the city. A circle of lovely yellow roses was placed around the word “IMAGINE” in the center of the mosaic circle made of stones from Naples, Italy. The flowers were still fresh, apparently placed not very long ago.
Strawberry Field, Central Park, New York, December 2021
photo credit: Shenzhan Liao
From Central Park, I took the bike lane on Broadway downtown to Times Square, which was shockingly crowded. 42nd Street was madly packed with people roaming around, surrounded by all sorts of giant electronic billboards. Street panhandlers were all there: a giant panda, all sorts of superheroes, the famous naked cowboy, etc. Tourists rushed to them for pictures. The tremendous energy was just explosive. Ah, New York City!
I walked my bike through the crowd and didn’t stay long. It’s an ocean of people’s energy on steroids because it’s Times Square, still the center of the world even during Omicron. With the gloomy sky, the drizzling rain, and people in dark winter outfits, I kept thinking of “Blade Runner”, where the city is always raining and dark. Gothic.
Times Square, New York, January 1, 2022
photo credit: Shenzhan Liao
Before I turned back, I stopped by the 42nd New York Public Library. The library was closed but people were taking pictures on its grand steps as always. The two giant lions, wearing Christmas wreaths, sit in front of the steps facing 5th Avenue. I just love to look at their faces, so noble and so indifferent to the traffic, omicron, and me.
New York Public Library, January 1, 2022
photo credit: Shenzhan Liao
The first day of 2022, I was roaming around NYC by myself like the first day of last year. But there’s J out there, far away, and I felt less alone.
----
January 17, 2022: A physical record
This is how missing J feels to me physically.
There is a touch of tension in my body, a tender tightness in the chest as if there is pressure from inside. I am not entirely happy, nor sad, but feeling at the edge of liveliness. And I said to myself,
“Is this how my body tells me how much I miss J?”
I am sitting in my kitchen having the first coffee of the day. It’s deep in winter in NYC and the temperature is above zero. It’s raining outside, which is unusual for New York in January. Typically, it would be cold, icy snowy or ugly and slushy in the street.
I am amazed how I have never felt like this before, not even years ago when I first fell in love with K when I was a young college student. I was happy, light, and carefree back then. And I was able to see K every day on campus, where we lived, studied, hung out with friends, and explored each other’s bodies in dark garden corners like many young love birds in college did at the time.
J and I are now literally almost 3,000 miles apart. He is probably just waking up. It will be another 5 weeks before I can see him again in person, holding his hands, pressing my fingers into the “happiness” tattooed on his arm, and feeling him entering me gently, and deeply in the dim light of early morning hours. It is like I am taken over by a force that is completely out of my control, and I am willing to surrender.
In the morning, I boil an egg, make saffron tea, and listen to classical music…everything I keep doing now is almost like a fading background, a distraction from my longing for J.
Before I met J I thought I was incapable of feeling love again. Fearing the hurt coming along almost inevitably with love, I have kept myself from feeling it. Now, I am sitting here, missing him, and letting the happiness of love settle in me. It is such an intimate moment between me and my feelings. It is almost like whether J is physically here or not is no longer relevant.
The question is, when will the pain start entering the scene?
----
February 13, 2022: the Aftermath
Just as surprising how fast and hard J and I fell for each other, I am now writing about the aftermath.
Yesterday I opened my mailbox in the lobby after forgetting to check for a week. There was a card from J. The cover of the envelope had my name in Chinese written by him, next to the English letters. The card reads “You Are My Person”. Inside the card, there is a message,
“And I want to be your person too.
With (a hand-drawn heart) from J”
A character made up by J with “融” (melt) on the top and a “心”（heart）was drawn at the bottom. It is a character known only to us: I am quite a nerd on Chinese etymology. One day at work J sent me a text message with a heart half melted in blood.
"A bloody heart?!” I cried.
"A melting heart! You are unbelievable (a face covered by a palm)!” He replied.
The card was sent on January 31. Yet, J on February 13 is no longer the J on January 31.
Neither was I.
***
On February 8, I got an email from J.
Plainly and straightforwardly as a nice and effective executive delivering bad news to a staff member, he wrote that he had concerns about the long distance facing us and wanted to talk about it. The email came just the day before our scheduled regular weekly catch-up Zoom. I wasn’t completely surprised. For two weeks before the email, J had few text messages, often with even fewer words. He had his reasons, or so I tended to believe— first he had to focus on a family matter, and then he got COVID. For a week I felt quite disconnected, anxious, even sad, for this sudden change of state between us. I knew there were more reasons than his daughter and COVID-19 for his abrupt drop in communication. My heart made a point to me already. It bloody hurt.
We quickly arranged Zoom that evening. All things considered, J on February 8 didn’t want to be “my person”, which effectively ended this short-lived love affair. I was carrying the conversation almost fine until he admitted that he had been ambivalent from the beginning.
“What does it mean, the word ‘ambivalent’?” I asked.
“It’s probably only the second word you don’t know.” J said (and internally I was like, IS THIS THE FUCKING MOMENT ENLARGING MY ENGLISH VOCABULARY? ), “It means uncommitted, hesitant…”
With that, I suddenly felt how silly, and blind, I have been all this time: subjected to the uncontrollable state of feeling love and loved, living in the illusion I created. It finally was made clear that the illusion was also for me only. I broke into tears, hurt, and embarrassed.
J looked sad when I cried. But I no longer trust what I saw.
I don’t remember what we conversed after that moment. But I remember he said in the end,
“Talk again.”
“We will see.” Those were my last words.
How fast can one change one’s heart? Was the heart there to begin with? What about the feelings, so real and so strong just a few days ago? Does feeling strongly about someone mean anything? Do words mean anything anymore? I am so lost.
I slept relatively well that night. I was exhausted for the past few sleepless nights from the frustration of J’s withdrawal and the ambivalence I felt. That night felt at least settled.
***
It was warm like spring yesterday. I put down the “You Are My Person” card and went jogging. Life came back like before I met J. And I am glad that I have a life that I am happy to return to. Under the well-managed surface, I know for a while it will be different. I would walk and jog and bike and talk to others like usual but there would be something raw and empty and wounded there, for weeks, or maybe months. But I will be fine in the end. I am indeed strong. I have no other choice but to be strong.
In the evening I read “Nothing Personal” by James Baldwin, on love in long distance,
“It is necessary, while in darkness, to know that there is a light somewhere, to know that in oneself, waiting to be found, there is light. What the light reveals is danger, and what it demands is faith.”
I am in the darkness, yet I know the light doesn’t exist outside. It’s in me. On this journey, to love is to put myself out in danger, – even for someone as strong as me, it hurts terribly. But I have to have faith in myself, that there is light in me, that it will be found, that it will not destroy me, that I shall not stop searching.
----
March 11, 2022: A Eulogy
I fell in love with water this evening.
So soft and warm…I soaked myself in a bath this Friday evening, candles flickering in the corner, sea salt dissolved quietly in the small hot tub, a smell of lavender gently floating in the steamy air…I dipped my toes in the water, then my feet, tights, belly, arms, shoulder, neck, ears……until only my nose was above the water.
AHHHHH…FEEL IT. JUST FEEL IT. All my cells were screaming. It’s so incredible. How come you didn’t think of this before? I asked myself. Closed in your candle-lit bathroom, soaking into the warm water in the music you like (Multitude by Stromae), a glass of wine (Cabernet Sauvignon, DECOY 2019) on the side, the outside world disappears as the water silently dissolves all your pain. You let go of every cell of your body, allowing yourself to feel how gently the water carries your weight, floats your limbs, and hugs your skin, fingers, and arms. As you slowly sink your ears into the water, you feel the electric sensation traveling from head to toe, a sensation you’ve never noticed, and you hear your heartbeat under the water, steady, muffled, and comforting as if you encounter a long-lost old friend.
At one point my cat Xiaomi made an entrance, and walked away, indifferent to my naked body in the water.
I hear the water whispers,
“Others may say you are strong and walk away. I will carry you.”
----
Isn’t love what we are here for in this very troubled world, regardless of how short-lived it is? In the moment of love, we transcend our very limited human life with the liveliness that is only fleeting, break free from time and space, and feel our existence, so much so that we don’t even ask what the meaning of life is at that very moment.
I continue walking in the darkness, fearfully and fearlessly at the same time.
Astoria, New York
11:04 PM, March 13, 2022