Part 3 - Blood and Milkshake
PART 3 - BLOOD AND MILKSHAKE
I had to refill. As I squeezed the trigger, sparks flew but nothing came about. I yanked the head out from the body, and with my left hand, turned it upside down. The fumes, faint, but effective nonetheless, was making me high. With my right hand, I reached over under my bed, by the cabinet, and picked up the can. As I flipped the nozzle, I got a whiff of pure-ignition fuel heaven. I squeezed some flammable fluid onto the reservoir, it hit me harder.. whee, and woo-hoo, a thousand jumping Easter rabbits! I flipped the nozzle back in, and stuffed the head back into the bronze casing. Wiped my hands with a Kleenex, I carefully disposed it deep into the trash bin. I put the cigarette to my lips and squeezed again. A long beautiful yellow fire, I love my Zippo.
As I dragged on the cigarette, I blew right at the halogen and as the trails of smoke from the cigarette floated upward and dispersed under the halogen lamp, it made an incredible mosaic. Beautiful. Almost artistic. I turned up the heat, it was getting cold out, with the winds suddenly blowing. I could hear the wailing outside the Annex walls, the fluttering of the leaves being pulled away from the branches, and my epoxy sealants weren’t gonna last very long. I put my hand onto the window edge and sure enough, there were some cold winds seeping in. I put on my heavy leather jacket, dad had got for me from Korea, and as I sat there in the middle of the room, lit only by the halogen. With my picture book.
That’s me forcing a smile for the camera. I think I was rudely awakened at about 2:30am with a long day ahead. Tousled up hair, dreary eyes barely open (besides, my eyes are that big anyway!).. next picture was Sally and Afsana holding up a cake with two big candles and a few small ones. And me, surprised, a little shy, but more so awkward because I was pissed when they woke me up. Next picture, looking like a teenager, grinning. Next picture, blowing out the candles. Next picture, a close-up of the cake Sally herself made for me.
Then it was a whole load of pictures with fellow dancers at the MIT Ballroom Dance Team (BDT). We had two defects, one from Boston University, and one from the Harvard Medical School.
Competition pictures. My first competition at the Harvard Invitational with Carly. My second competition at the University of Connecticut with Carly. My third with Nicole, who confided in me that she wants to quickly get her paper and move to Hollywood to be an actress. My fourth with Carly, and every other competition thereafter with different partners. Carly was a pre-Med student. She was working on her grades (never happy unless she had an "A", and an "A-" was failure it seems) and her responsibilities as a Big Sister at her Sorority house. I had met the boyfriend, who was always watching her like a bloddy hawk, and her parents who came to support her at every competition she and I drilled and competed in. It was strictly dancing, much to the disappointment of a few of my close friends. Besides, we’re worlds apart - she’s Jewish, but I’m not. (I have nothing against Jews, in fact a lot of my close class buddies are Jews.) No chemistry outside dancing, and later I realized, different goals in the BDT, different views about life, about career aspirations. But in every picture, I was getting smaller, thinner, and leaner.
Since joining the BDT, I realized that my whole life had changed. I had never passed more than 1 Art class in my entire Secondary education, that’s why I dropped the class in Form 3. I had never been involved in plays, dance, stage work, or anything that involved more than a crowd of 30-40 people in the audience. My weight was on a steady incline since I can remember. And before Ballroom Dancing, I was a hefty 265 lbs. It was December 1999 and I was between 190-195 lbs, almost 28% smaller. I was more disciplined with meals and drank lots of water, better at scheduling time, achieving more in grades and research, and pretty good at competitions so far. The climax was when I was given the Rookie Of The Year by the BDT. That’s when I was more involved in organizing the monthly social dance nights. I had incredibly synergistic and close friendships within the dance circle, with my peers and seniors. And never felt so empowered in my life.
It was late and I was exhausted thinking about which fork to take at these cross-roads. I punted my Problem Sets and set the alarm for 6am. Got under the warm fuzzy comforter and drifted to sleep.
Cripes!! I literally stumbled out of bed at 7:20am. Got to Professor Gupta’s office at 5 after 8am. Everyone else was late, so had a little one-on-one chat. Had 2.5 hours to finish my Problem Set before my 11am class. My lectures and recitations were over at 4pm. with my heavy pack over my shoulder, my files in my left hand, and a aluminum wrapping in my right. I walked so damn fast, I almost got falafel sauce all over my jeans. Got into my Dodge, cringed as I waited the mandatory few minutes before the temperature was good in this god-awful winter day. And I drove like a mad dog in heat. Finally got to the airport at 4:50pm.
At 5:15pm, I saw my brothers, who looked tired as hell, each with a carry-on. Looked like they weren’t staying more than a few days. Better I suppose.
We had an early dinner at Legal Seafood’s. It was 6:30pm and we beat the dinner-time rush by 30 mins. As our main meals were served, the lines outside were a few meters long just to get a table. I introduced Boston Clam Chowder to them (the best Chowder’s from New England), but they didn’t seem impressed. Abang tried to be light and joked around a little. But my little brother came straight to the point. Across the table, he slid a MAS and United Airlines ticket to me and said, "We’re not leaving until you decide to come home with us."
The food didn’t taste that good, but I finished it anyway.
My life was really good before they came. I was just starting to enjoy a little good ‘ol American milkshake, hey like the ones you can only get at McDonalds, and there they were, my own flesh and blood, giving me an ultimatum. Without any room to move.
"We’re not leaving until you decide to come home with us," rang in my head. In the background, a bomb explodes in Hiroshima and I hear tormented screams of pain.
Abang tried the emotional argument, talking about how my parents really missed me and things just aren’t the same without the whole family together. Another explosion at Nagasaki and it verberates to the core of my brain. Insane in the membrane!
Damn it, it was like good cop, bad cop. And I paid for dinner.
