One week down... Between 10th and 9th, i bump into a woman with a tan Gucci purse. a real one, not one of those fake imitations. With a shy natural Oregonian response i apologize only to realize that she is now feet down the street a not even giving a moments thought to the brief encounter we had. Staring at her behind me i bump into another person, and i know its a man befor i even turn completely around because his fake cologne clogs the thick air around me. Now knowing that an apology would be out of line and a waste of breathe that i need to make it to the subway, i walk straight ahead and work on my New Yorker trans; face forward, eyes blank, pace fast and focused. But me, distracted by anything and everything and craving human contact, let my eyes wander and am willing to stray from the New Yorker trans and look like somewhat of a tourist just to connect with someone. Above me on the 5th floor of a large brick building that looks like every other one on the streets are red flowers in full bloom and i can only help but wonder how they got there. In such a city, who waters them? Who planted them? Has anyone ever taken the time to smell them and enjoy all they have to offer? Then the plant activist in me came out and wondered whether or not they were suffocating in the intense smog and pollution and if their life was shorter lived than the flowers in the country. Below the flowers was an eatery, old battered and bruised but restored by a free-spirited individual and now inhabited by new-age free-thinkers. These kind of eateries take over every street corner and just a few days ago did i notice that every so often a stair way leads to 4 other floors of similar attractions. I swear you could live in this city for your entire lifetime and only see 1/1000th of the places there are to eat. Seeing as i am not a resident, i can imagine that living here would be a dream. Unlimited food, shops to die for, and enough people to meet day by day to always keep you hungry for more interactions.

Keeping this in mind, i have been doing a study of the people around me. I automatically assume that everyone i see lives in the city and i presume they think the same of me, which i take as a compliment for some unknown reason. My one true aim while walking on the streets is to look like a resident rather than a tourist. WHy? Because it is accepted? Because i HAVE to fit in? Who knows, its just a challenge i guess. But in order to blend in as a resident to the city, i must know what a resident is like. And thats when i discovered that living in the city wouldnt be so great. Everyone seems so...lonely. They walk alone, dont talk to anyone, and are just so independent its almost as if they are the true definition of being alone in the one city where in any circumstance you are never alone. Surrounded by people, but isolated. I feel even if a bunch were to break out of their shell and start to make eye contact, engage in conversation, or maybe even just mutter some kind of a greeting, no response would occur because the people here do not know how to interact. They are just to alone and caught up in themselves to give a moment away to anyone.

Now i am not vain enough to say that all here are lonely. Oh no, quiet the contrary. There are the couples. Oh man are they there. It seems almost as there is one couple for every single person in the city. Some days i dont want to go outside because seeing so many couples is almost overwhelming. But it makes sense. In a city so large, how could anyone not find a compliment? Someone who can complete them. It makes me wonder about soul mates and if there really is just one person for me and if so, do i need to go to a city like New York to find him, or is he in Hillsboro at this very moment...?

More likely than not I can avoid the lonely people and the invasion of couples because a majority of my commute is spent underground on the good old L train, the subway that runs along 14th and conveniently enough ends 2 blocks away from the studio. The subway is like a whole nother world. As elementary as it sounds i keep expecting to see some teenage mutant ninja turtle somewhere around the corner whenever i am waiting for my train. The air is still and thick and ventilation is an unknown concept but somehow i feel very comfortable waiting for my train. Once inside the L, everything falls silent. I guess there is some unwritten rule about talking or making noise inside the subway. The regulars and deathly still, and often me and Andrea are the only ones conversing and during those times, i feel like everyone is listening as if we were that days entertainment. i have derived that the subways is kind of sacred, like the one place where silence can be found, On the streets, in your workplace, even in your own apartment you cant escape the noise of the city. But oin the subway, feet below ground, noise is carefully monitered and silence becames a treasured and sacred value. Oh the things we take for granted in rural areas....

Not only am i experiencing the city that never sleeps (and let me tell you i have never heard an expresion with more truth in it) but i am getting a glance at one possible lifestyle, the lifestyle of a dancer. Independent from my parents, fairing on my own, cooking each meal in a small apartment and commuting everywhere i need to go, i only am getting part of the experience of a low-income dancer. Inside the studio is where the real work begins. I am already sweating by the time i enter the room. The studios are hot and sticky and there is no air conditioner so the chance to cool down is a mere dream. The teachers claim it is good to be hot mostly because it increases your flexibility and forces you to loose weight via sweat. i say it sucks because i constantly want to rip off my clothes and take a bath but cant. The one shower i get a day is holy to me and i would certainly die if i didnt get it. I find myself applying deoderant unnumerable times a day and keep praying that my mother is wrong when she worns me about anti-persperants connection to breast cancer. The actual dancing is to die for. Pushing myself harder just to get a master teachers attention and always trying to outdance the taller, thinner, ballerina in front of me, i find myself improving by the day by pure motivation. But the hard part comes when day after day i strill feel invisible and wonder is i have even been noticed in class. I just have to remeber that i dont dance for them, for the company, for the city, for the people. I dance because i have to. I dance because it is truely my passion and at the end of the day when i realise that i am 5000 miles away from everyone and everything that has any value to me and that i have spent the past week and the next 3 weeks to completely focused on one art, the reality hits me and i feel satisfied because i am doing what i love at any cost and that is more than most can say. I hope all are having a wonderful summer and i miss everyone more than i can tell. Call me anytime you want. My cell is on..  ¶ 3:18 AM