[travel] From Midwest, With Love - 2008

I

En route to Chicago.
The storm was going through the Midwest. My plane was fortunate to depart and land on time but many others, I later learned, were delayed or canceled. I know not when it started, but for some time now, prior to all my trips I pause and wonder if I would ever come back. So far I made it back each time. And I would always come back--until that one time when I won't.

II
Merchandise Mart, someone told me, has its own zip code. On floors 3, 10 and 11 are the manufacturers' showrooms. Booths were also set up on floors 7 and 8. Every single elevator was packed with people like sardines in a can. Feet were tired, shoulder grew heavy, all sensory inlets overloaded.

Even though it was my first time attending NeoCon, it was a disappointment. New products were few and far between. New innovations were more thinly scattered about. I know and understand the products and manufacturers enough to know that this year, everyone held back. Parties, too, were done at modest scales. Steelcase party only served one type of cocktail which tasted like melted Jolly Rancher with a teaspoon of vodka diluted in melting ice water. When asked if we could get vodka straight up, bartender refused. No parties were held at empty floor of Sears Tower. It was the sign of times.

III

I like Chicago. The city is eclectic, fun, and most importantly, full of life. It would not be a bad city to consider living in.

Of the Chicago I have seen so far, Frank Gehry's Jay Pritzker Pavilion was the most impressive (for its acoustics), Anish Kapoor's strangely (or not) Jeff Koons-like outdoor sculpture Cloud Gate was the most amusing, the subway was the most nostalgic. I spent time in good company, sharing great meals, good Scotch, and engaging conversations. Views from Sears and Hancock Towers kept me in prolonged moments of awe. But the best moments I had in The Windy City were the ones I spent alone wandering the streets, map in tow but never bothering to look at it, eating Polish sausage and sweet potato fries at a hole in a wall, finding wonderfully well stocked bookstore, and crossing the streets before the lights turned green like the locals do.

But even in the midst of city with glitz and charm and life, the first waking moments of every morning felt desolate. I looked over at the undisturbed pillows and sheets next to me. Only one person was in my mind. Even the change of pace and scenery couldn't help it.

IV

Onekama, Michigan, is a six hour drive from Chicago. Thank god for my iPod and the bountiful greenery around that kept me company. I listened to John Adams' Naive and Sentimental Music and a lot of Schubert driving up (days later, on my way back was a Mozart fest, including Le Nozze di Figaro in entirety). Around the little town of Holland, dull but persistent pain troubled my right shoulder. I knew rain was on the way.

V

She gave me the same room I had stayed in before. First thing I did in the room was to get down on the floor and look under the dresser. There, plugged on the outlet, was the adapter plug I accidentally left there ten months ago. I reached under to retrieve it. Some things have a way of getting lost, then finding a way back. Like a dozen treasured photos of my childhood that I had once lost. Like this adapter plug. People, too, have a way of coming back. Sometimes.

The storm came the next night. It sent a poor standard white poodle in a frenzied panic attack. Me--well, I loved it. It felt like summer. By bedtime, the storm was hitting hard. I went to sleep, listening both to threatening thunder outside and Beethoven's Pathetique. The storm caused power failure that lasted all next day. A little inconvenience was well worth one spectacular night of summer thunderstorm.

Last time I was in Onekama, I wasn't sure if I could ever come back. But here I was again, less than a year later. I sensed a certain melancholy here that I did not feel here before. Nothing had changed at Rosegate. What changed was me.

VI
Soon after the plane left O'Hare, I found myself enshrouded in so many thoughts. And like I did in Ojai listening to Dawn Upshaw singing Alban Berg's Die Nachtigall, I tilted my head back and closed my eyes. But when one single drop of tear escaped through the corner of my eye, the flood gate was open. I let them come as they are.