I’ve taken the G train nearly every day for 3 years—during the school year to get downtown, and during the summer, so that I’d at least have the opportunity to do something. I never really had fun, but it was where everyone went. The train was especially busy that day in August. Several couples and loud preteen girls got on and off my car at every stop; I stood near the back. A few stops before my own the majority of the train was emptied, probably heading to a concert or festival. There were still quite a few people aboard but I remained in back, and there was no one in my general area. I scrolled slowly through an old, chunky iPod trying to maintain my balance. Every few seconds I glanced around, as usual, processing for no more than half a second each person’s face. Someone yelled, “Hey!” and I looked up for a moment. It was a tall, curly-haired, blond man looking my way, standing in the middle of 3 or so rather short girls. My eyes returned mundanely to my iPod, and I put it away. I looked at my feet and thought about how attractive he was, and what he could possibly doing with those girls. Again, a “Hey,” resounded. I realized then that he wasn’t talking to the girls around him, and wondered what was going on. He said something just as the train took off that I couldn’t make out through the screeching and chatter. I looked around me and everyone had disappeared, but he continued looking in my direction until the train slowed, and I approached the door and brushed against him as I stepped off.

Note: I've decided to use this as an expression blog. Below is something I've written, and it's probably not as good as I think it is, but I doubt too many people will read it anyway. You'll see many more of these. We grew up. My development process was admittedly a little more purposeful. Half of my life between then and now was preparation for the ultimate, life-changing relationship I knew I was bound to have (the majority of which probably made me more naïve than I was to begin with). Nevertheless, I was ready when we finally met him again. For some reason, whenever I thought of him I pictured him as an older-looking version of whom he was—the same shapely figure, the same golden skin, and same long, curly hair even. Perhaps he’d be wearing a tuxedo. I pictured the 18-year-old boy I’d liked so much, the one that was once ecstatic about getting a new suit even though it was cheap and poorly tailored. I knew from our first conversation his intended career path. “International business,” he said, as if he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. But I couldn’t help picturing him as an average joe. He was one of those teenage guys that focused a little too much on sports, friends, girls, and his awesome future and never cared enough about school. So when I saw him, I was more than caught off-guard. And it’s not that I was a big shot, either. I’d been working for a nice, small company for a few years, earning a living that I met my needs sufficiently. But I’d been accustomed to a mundane life since college. It brought me to a good place. As I walked in at 6:30 that morning sipping from the large travel mug in my left hand and struggling with a stack of binders and loose papers in my right, I caught a glance of a group of businessmen. He was standing at the front desk speaking to Marine, the secretary. He had a nicely-shaven head and beard, and wore a beautiful, black, wool-silk suit. As I made it to my office door it finally clicked. I’m not sure I could have recognized him if he’d worn anything else. I was never one for words, you know. Back in the day it used to annoy him, and even now in the office I was the quiet one. But it seemed fitting for me, especially that morning, especially at the moment when I heard a knock, and he opened the door, and all we had to do was make eye contact to convey the sincerity and timelessness of words and feelings long-suppressed.

I recently started Camus's The Myth of Sisyphus. Unfortunately I can't say I read very often, or that I have a very long attention span but I've made some progress. I have been introduced to the idea of absurdism but before I read his solution, I first want to contemplate the idea myself. Is the answer suicide or is it hope? Is any human capable of the hope necessary to cope with the realization absurdism? I've never had such a difficult thing to contemplate.

I believe in karma. (Not in a spiritual way, I just believe that there is a certain balance that is to be maintained.) When one encounters a problem, that balance appears to be offset. Should efforts be focused on correcting the bad karma, or should one just focus on getting through the problem?

I have struggled, and still do, with the conundrum of work. Everything in me and around me says that the most important thing is happiness. I know this is true. But at the same time I am encouraged, or even forced, to work hard. Work (more specifically my specific schooling experience) has been the bane of my happiness. But I don't have the option of not doing it. So what, then? How far do you go for happiness?

It is a massive accomplishment, to me, for someone to conquer loneliness. I think it says a lot about the depth of your personal introspection. "I am learning how to be alone without being lonely and I am learning how to be lonely without losing my mind."

I'm still, and will probably always be, trying to unravel the mystery of male beauty. I think my definition is a little different than the popular one. Sort of. But I really don’t understand how a beautiful man can look like someone I could love without my knowing even the slightest, I mean slightest detail about him. How is that possible? And where did this force (or attraction, rather) come from?

When you die, is that how your value is determined?
I know a handful of people who, should they die, would be mourned by thousands. I can't say the same for myself. But does that mean they've had more value on earth than I have?

There's some Freudian theory that says something like... If one doesn't overcome a certain stage of childhood then one will remain in that stage. It's possible, even though there are so many possible experiences that could give you that sort of character development.
That might explain a lot of society. We are so unfulfilled.
Can't seem to understand why.

I've found within myself the tendency for me to like people and dislike their arts and to like the arts of people who aren't particularly interesting.