Back when we were living in DE, there was an Italian Bistro in Wilmington. It had a huge fireplace, live music, three different seating areas, and fabulous service. It has long since closed, but I miss that place. Lisa and I would go every Friday night; we’d be served by the same fellow, the managers and wait staff knew us – it was fantastic. We’d go and sit for hours just talking. Also, there was an Italian Bistro in Cherry Hill, NJ we liked going to with Nora since that one was just massive and LOUD, but that has since closed as well.

I miss sleeping in on Saturday. I miss staying up with consequence. I miss spontaneous road trips (once Lisa and I headed to NYC at 9pm on a Saturday just to enjoy the nightlife).

I miss living in D.C.

On the flipside, I wouldn’t trade our kids for any of those things. But I’m allowed to miss them, right?

“Favorite food/drinks”

Drink: That’s easy, Orangina. I easily spent 30 euros on Orangina. The French made it easy by putting Orangina vending machines at every train stop.

Food: Lisa’s sweet potato gnocchi, hands down. I love all types of food, but that one is the absolute tops.

“Your aspirations”

Purely for the academic achievement, I want to eventually finish my law degree. I currently have an endeavor that I’m hoping to see through. I want to build up AHC to the point that Lisa doesn’t feel compelled to work in the law industry and can instead pursue her dreams (teaching).

Fin.

Revisiting the whole Italian Bistro thing – yes, it was/is central to our dining experience. When Lisa and I first met, we planned to go to a random italian place in Philly; once we got there, we were severely underdressed. With that place out of the picture, we wandered aimlessly until we came to Broad Street. The Bistro had just opened – the plywood hadn’t come down from the windows yet. And the rest, I guess is history. They rapidly expanded and then just as quickly they contracted; they had something north of eight locations, but now there are only two. We’ve had college graduation dinners there, we had our rehearsal dinner there, we’ve brought both Nora and Isaac there.

It’s not that the food is amazing per se or that they do anything better than anyone else. The place is relaxed and kid friendly, it has a nice atmosphere and most importantly we know what to expect. And it doesn’t hurt that they participate in restaurant.com’s discount coupon program.

This is easy: my drive. When I find something I want to fix/solve/correct, and want to fix/solve/correct it, my drive is inexorable. When I wanted to learn stick, after work every night I’d drive to an empty parking lot and practicing from 2am to 5am. I’d drive all around town, finding all sorts of scenarios (tall hills, rolling starts, start from a stall, etc.) When I wanted to learn the guitar, I practiced constantly. I took 22 and 24 credit hours in my senior year of college and crushed it.

But it’s a double edged sword. I can’t seem to muster that drive for mundane things, and if I get to a good plateau, I can’t sustain it unfortunately. My mom constantly complains about this sort of thing; ‘you’re lazy unless you decide you don’t want to be’. Lisa notes this sort of behavior from time to time as well. I think that might be a fair assessment, honestly.

“Your first kiss”

I don’t kiss and tell. I think NBPM made this blog more personal than it ever has been, but it’s not quite there, yet.

“Your favourite memory”

So, I discussed one of the things I admired my parents for was their attempts to figure out Western culture. When I was six, my parents bought a Christmas tree (fake one, I’m allergic to dying pine) and we decorated it for the first time (my parents may still have that tree, I’m not sure). When my sister and I awoke the next morning, under the tree were two presents for my sister and I.

I can’t tell you how overjoyed I was. I was at the age where I didn’t believe in Santa (I only had heard of Santa in kindergarten, and having gone to a Jewish pre-school his existence really didn’t come up); however, my parents tried really hard to make it appear that Santa came and delivered these presents. My dad tried to change his handwriting style and went so far as to write my name incorrectly (his explanation: Santa has a tough time with Indian names). It was a Mickey watch, the old fashioned wind up style where the hands of the watch were Mickey’s hands. I wore that watch all the time, everywhere. Like many of my prized possessions, it was displaced in India. I stopped bring stuff I wanted to, you know, keep, from that point forward.

Even now, I can’t help but to think back on that magic Christmas day and smile.

“Your favourite birthday”

We didn’t really celebrate birthdays in my family. My parents would call the family friends and tell them we’re having a party but not say for what. Around 12 I stopped having them altogether.

Except, Lisa being Lisa decided this wouldn’t do so she started trying to celebrate with me. So on my 20th, she surprised me with a cake and a party at BMC. Needless to say I was shocked, and honored. It was a simple affair: cake, wine, and the usual cadre of friends, but it was unforgettable.

“Something you regret”

I have lots of regrets. They’re out of order, as I recollect them. Let’s go:

1. Not pushing myself to go to Drexel instead of Lehigh. I was wowed by the campus and its ranking in the U.S. News and World Report (top 25 in the U.S. at the time, if I recall). Drexel was a lower tiered school. Some of my high school friends went to Drexel and enjoyed their time there.

2. Not marrying Lisa sooner. I’m not sure what possessed me (in retrospect) to wait as long as I did.

3. Law school. Should’ve stayed in D.C. and worked on the Hill. What a dumb decision. Law school is for people who have no idea what the heck they want to do (unless they have a goal and a plan, like Lisa did).

4. Not working harder in college. Funny how I get wowed by its ranking but don’t work hard once I’m there. Truth be told, I slid through school up until second semester of junior year, when I decided to I needed to actually try harder. I stayed at Lehigh that summer, racked up a bunch of As and killed it senior year (as mentioned above).

5. Not doing more in NY. Not sure what more I could’ve done, but I left unfulfilled. NYC offers the most promise of any city on the Eastern seaboard, and I don’t think I made the most of it. I tried to maximize what I did while in NYC, but I think I should’ve gone to more museums, or painted more, or took in more culture than I did.

I can’t explain what living in NYC was like. I’m glad I had the experience.

6. Making friends in high school. Part of this was a function of transferring in my junior year, and part of it had to do with the fact that only 2% of the student body was non-white (as in, not caucasian. In UDHS, it was like 25% asian). I made some odd friends, many of whom I dropped out of touch.

7. Not doing more with all that Spanish I learned. I had a college scholarship for Spanish, can you believe that nonsense? Neither do I. I can barely understand Dora now. Sheesh.

After law school, I tried and continue to try living each day in a way that I wouldn’t regret. So far it’s worked.

“Your morning routine”

Isaac starts jumping up and down in his crib, I go get him. Lisa feeds him while I try to ignore that the day has started without my consent. Isaac beats us both up, we put him on the floor. He makes such a racket that Nora wakes up and comes into our room where she proceeds to take over my side of the bed. It’s ok, because Isaac will, by this time, have soiled himself and will start yelling angrily. I go to change him, put on NPR in his room and prevent Isaac from flinging poop or rolling around in it. Get him changed and dressed, head downstairs for breakfast. Eat, go upstairs, shower, out the door, drop Nora off at school, get to work, make coffee, hold onto the desk for dear life until the coffee kicks in. Fin.

“Your job”

The buck stops here at AHCInc. It’s a durable medical equipment company. I basically deal with old people on a daily basis: trying to help them deal with life. Oxygen, oxygen therapy, hospital beds, wheelchairs, walkers, etc. etc. I also kinda sortof manage my dad’s rentals, which I’m certain will give me an ulcer by the age of 32. ‘Sort of’ in that I it was foisted onto me unwillingly and it takes up way too much of my time.

“Something that upsets you”

Violence against children. That kind of stuff gives me nightmares, man. I hate it. When it comes up on the news or in my reader on philly.com/wherever, I try my best to avoid it. There are some seriously horrible people in this world (and some incredibly amazing ones, don’t get me wrong) and they do some of the most atrocious things to the most helpless in our society.

I mean, the things that parents do to their three year olds? My god. Nora is three, and she’s so innocent, I can’t even comprehend… I’m going to stop here. Ugh.

“Something that makes you feel better”

I’m going to take a liberty here. With the “precious item” topic of day 8, I figured I couldn’t really finagle people into that as an “item”; “item” to me means a physical, inanimate object; “something” has a lot more leeway.

So, with that in mind: my kids. Shoot, I could be having the worst day of my life, and Nora and Isaac (Nora especially) will go out of their way to make me feel better. Isaac doesn’t really understand other people’s sadness but he knows he doesn’t like it when people are sad so he gets very clingly and snuggly; Nora is an absolute doll and a sweetheart (she gets it from her mom). She will sacrifice whatever she can to make people happy – she’s a very well meaning child. Before the kids, it was Peja. He was my little sidekick, and he understood when things weren’t going right by me. And of course, through it all, Lisa is the most kind and caring individual I know, and when something is bugging me, she goes all out to fix it (even if I’m trying to hide it).

“Something that makes you cry”

I’m not sure how to answer this; teary eyed (a la Isaac losing his will) vs. all out bawling (joy/sadness) are two very different things.

There’s that scene in “Crash” where the asian fellow is holding up a gun at the Latino fellow and the little girl runs out wearing her ‘invisible cape of invincibility’ and she jumps into her dad’s arms and the guy fires the gun – I could not stop violently shaking after that.

So again, violence against children.

“Your sleeping habits”

Ah… well, I have horrible sleeping habits. Sometimes I’ll sleep for 12 hours (7pm-7am), sometimes I’ll sleep for two. I don’t have a habit per se. Sometimes I stay up to work on a project, or play a video game, or read a book (a book is the usual late night guilty pleasure). I’m not 18 anymore and almost always pay for it the next day.

“Your fears”

Here are a few:
1. The business failing. It keeps me up at night like you wouldn’t believe.
2. My kids getting hurt.
3. Completely letting Lisa down.
4. Letting Lisa down.
5. Civil war. Kind of odd, I know. Every so often, in India there’s these violent clashes with Muslims, Hindus and Christians. It just feels like there’s that level of unrest and threat of violence in the air. It probably has to do with a parole office right across the street from my office, honestly. Thankfully we’re moving soon.

“Your favourite place”

I’m taking another liberty here, since ‘place’ can be a state of mind. That being said:

Favorite locations:
1. Sivagiri
2. Chevy Chase, D.C.
3. Philadelphia, PA
4. Paris, France
5. New York, NY

It should come as no shock that D.C., Philadelphia and Paris are all up there grouped together, since the architecture style are all the same/similar.

New York is a nice place to visit but not to live; there’s no sense of history if it can be torn down to make a buck. NY is a mish mash of all sorts of architectural styles but has none of the sense of history that D.C., Philly or Paris have.

Don’t mind me, I’m still angry that the Coney Island Bank Building was torn down. I now have a great deal of respect for all the historic easements in Philly.

Now, onto favorite ‘places’:
1. Laying on my wife’s lap
2a. Holding a sleeping Nora
2b. Holding a sleeping Isaac
3. Waking up in the morning and smelling the spring air
4. Wherever we are, spending ‘real’ family time (example: when we went hiking).

I’m a Hindu. Not a militant Hindu like my sister, but a Hindu all the same. I think I’ve discussed this at some length before in a variety of posts so I’ll try to make a condensed version.

I’m not a Hindu in the traditional sense because of a couple reasons, as mentioned before: my parents weren’t really around, I was a first generation Indian at a time when many Indians just began to migrate en masse, so there was wasn’t a huge Indian community, and there was no such thing as regular worship/prayer services – there weren’t any temples yet.

There was only one constant, in Sree Narayana Guru. My grandfather on my mother’s side actually met him, and he was only 20 some odd years removed from life when my parents were taught about him, so there were numerous books on his life and teachings around the house. Finally, every time we went to India, we always visited Sivagiri.

Wikipedia distills his teachings rather succinctly, and I encourage you to take a look at it here. It’s not specific to any religion; in fact, Guru renounced all caste and religion in pursuit of truth.

I do believe in God. I don’t need miracles to believe, I just look at the world and take that as one giant proof. Lisa’s atheism doesn’t bug me (in fact, I’m thrilled she even admitted it to herself); as she alluded, spirituality doesn’t have a monopoly on morality. I do indeed believe in reincarnation and spiritual enlightenment.

I don’t think science disproves the existence of God nor does it have the ability to prove s/he/it exists, either. From wikipedia, “Science (from the Latin scientia, meaning “knowledge”) is an enterprise that builds and organizes knowledge in the form of testable explanations and predictions about the natural world.” It’s implicit that it’s a ‘human’ enterprise that builds ‘human’ knowledge…. about the natural world, ‘as perceived by humans’. I don’t think science can make a god subservient to reproducible testing to prove its existence, is all.

“Inspiration”

I think day one’s post laid the groundwork for this.

The promise of a new day inspires me. What happened in the past is left in the past, marked in history as complete and never changeable; yesterday’s events may be invalidated by today’s events, but doesn’t change what transpired yesterday. It’s also somewhat fatalistic I admit (the ever forward march towards the extinction of the self) but that makes it all the more exciting, right?

My wife inspires me. I told you she’s the most brilliant person I’ve ever met. What I didn’t say is that I want to be just as brilliant. Example: she mentioned that I keep up with the day’s news; before her, I had zero interest in world events. Now I try to study as much as I can to try to keep up with her level. In all the little things, I try to keep myself at her level. She challenges and inspires me to be a better person every single day.

My children inspire me. Example” I love how they greet me: Isaac’s huge smile when I walk into a room, Nora’s jump into my arms after a long day – I love those things. Those things inspire me to be the best person I can be just so that their vision of their daddy is justified. I don’t ever want to let them down.

Other people inspire me. I admire the doctors, lawyers and teachers of the world – I am ready to admit that I am honored that I am friends with/related to/married to those people who have or are in pursuit of those professions. I admire their drive to rise in the professions, and it inspires me to do the same.

Speaking of which….

“Siblings”

My parents in their quest to give their kids the kind of life they didn’t have moved us around alot. Rather, moved me around a lot. I went to a bunch of different schools, didn’t quite fit in at any of them (race played into a lot of up until the mid 90s… and did I mention that english wasn’t my first language? I had to go to ESL early on) so my sister was my favorite playmate and friend growing up.

Yes, she’ll tell you one hundred thousand stories about how tormented her relentlessly (and believe me, some of those stories are HYSTERICAL) but, she was my sister, and I protected her the best that I could. She still comes to me for help. Even from 8,000 miles away.

I admire her for her perseverance and her drive. I’m especially proud of her for following through with her decision to study in India. While I didn’t agree with it (and still don’t), I’m proud that she’s killing herself (literally and figuratively) to be the best student in her class.

“What’s in my bag”

I picked up this odd habit from Comcast where I simply carry everything in my bag. When I worked at Comcast, I was issued a desk but someone was sitting in it – and I was moved around to many different parts of the building. Further, if people had issues with other people, I was more than willing to be the ‘conflict resolver’. By the time I left, I was assigned to 13 different desks. Since then, I still don’t put down any roots, even at the family office. Odd, I know.

I have two bags. Let’s see: in the first bag, I have a couple of file folders, a drawing pad, a journal, a book on controlling asthma, Cowboy Bebop # 1, Understanding Exposure: How to Shoot Great Photographs with a Film or Digital Camera (Updated Edition), and my laptop sleeve.

In the second bag I have: hand sanitizer, keys, diary/calendar, a collection of various computer cables, my food, vitamin c drops, Ricola, gameboy advance (forgot that was in there) and a harmonica.

“Your mode of transportation”

My 2004 Scion xB, built in January of that year. I traded my ’05 Scion xB for this automatic because after attempting to teach Lisa how to drive stick, I decided it was a lost cause.

I love my car. In the city, I can dart in and out of traffic. It has a high RPM motor so between 5-20 MPH I can pass slower vehicles. It’s small enough for tight maneuvering – as Lisa can attest, that’s a great asset around where I work.

I use my car for patient visits too. I can fit a wheelchair, an O2 concentrator and portable tank in the trunk if I try hard enough, and definitely can fit more since the back seat area is cavernous (designed to comfortably seat 3 six footers in the back).

From standstill and above 20 MPH, it’s a very slow car. It’s terribly slow on the highway, and it’s significantly smaller than many of the other cars on these suburban streets. If we have a third child, it may not be feasible to keep. Finally, it still draws attention and comments which isn’t always a positive.

“Where you live”

We live in H-town, home of the fighting Fords, whatever the hell that means. Lisa and I drove around a bunch of neighborhoods using my old PC GPS to plot routes (it’s a shame they aren’t as popular as the touchscreen doodads, I love GPS on the PC) and settled on H-town and Ardmore as the neighborhoods we most wanted to live.

The price on the house we looked at had just dropped and after going through it, I knew it was the house we were going to buy. It wasn’t our dream house (that house was a place in Bryn Mawr that was so incredibly charming and beautiful but completely and utterly impractical – we would have had to move before Isaac was born) but it was a great runner up – and we basically closed on it right away. It has everything we wanted: finished basement, garage, long driveway with a relatively private area (so I can work on the cars, you see), three bedrooms with plenty of room for expansion (convert the garage and/or build a room on top of the garage, which many neighbors have already done).

For me, the ultimate dream house would be in Washington, D.C., in the Chevy Chase/Friendship Heights area… maybe someday!

There’s a difference between ‘love’ and ‘in love’ in my mind. I ‘love’ my friends, my family, my children and my wife; I’m also ‘in love’ with my wife.

I’ll tackle ‘in love’ first. I don’t think there’s a more apt demonstration than our wedding where I became a blubbery mess right as I delivered my vows. I can’t really think of a way to describe being ‘in love’, but I believe all of you saw the effect it had on me.

‘Love’ was pretty well defined by Corinthians, specifically “1 Corinthians 13: 4-8″

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

“Hobbies”

In no particular order: Reading, drawing, painting, photography, video games, music, biking, arguing politics with my wife, tv with my wife (I very rarely watch tv alone), and repairing/breaking/building… anything that can be repaired, broken or built.

It seems like a cop-out to cut this particular day short, but there’s almost eight years of blogging dedicated to the above.

“Your best friend”

It’s a pretty straight forward answer to say Lisa.

I never really understood tv shows where the husband would have a spat with the wife and then go to his friends to drown his sorrows. ‘Then why marry that sort of person?’ I wondered.

I genuinely like Lisa as a person. I don’t have a ‘guy friend(s)’ that I would choose to replace her on activities – whatever I want to do, she’s (mostly) enthusiastically game. And vice versa (mostly).

“A precious item”

I have a couple, so I’ll mention them all.

First is my wedding ring. I take it off while I’m lifting, and when I take it off, I feel naked. I wear it proudly and happily. It’s one of my favorite earthly possessions.

Second is my Waterman pen. I have a fondness for pens: this is the crown jewel. I remember very clearly the day Leesie gave it to me – it was right after I graduated from college, we were in D.C. and broker than broke, sitting in our studio apartment; the sun was streaming through the windows and we were sitting on our bed. I just broke down from the sheer happiness. From a purely objective standpoint, it’s one of the nicest pens I’ve ever seen.

Finally, my engagement ring. Yes, I have an engagement ring. As Lisa mentioned, I (proudly) ran myself ragged to buy that ring for Lisa. I worked retail and sold many of my favorite possessions (collectors items of various things) to buy the ring. I proposed to her in April but bought the ring in February. I never let it out of my sight. I’d take it for car trips and I’d talk to it. The stone and the band are eye candy but the significance of the ring is the promise it holds (obviously, this wasn’t lost on Lisa).

After proposing to Lisa I jokingly noted that I lost a friend and that it’s not fair that I don’t get a ring. So, my ever loving wife went to Tiffany’s, bought me a ring and proposed to me in March of 2004. I wear that ring next to my wedding band.

Well, this one isn’t terribly tough.

I love all types of music. In our music folder, there are 28 genres not including sub genres. I love music of all types, of all eras, of all regions. I listen to some of the most offensive songs you’ve ever heard, and within a few minutes you could be hearing Beethoven. Yesterday was Tom Petty, today was Pennywise.

Music is a universal language.

My parents aren’t saints. What they are would vary from what stage in life I was going through.

If you asked me back in the day, pre-teens, I’d say they were alright. They didn’t celebrate holidays like other people and didn’t spend time at home with us. My sister and I are close because of it – it was an us vs. the world sort of thing.

If you asked when I was a teenager, I’d say I hated them. They didn’t like me, and I didn’t like them. I was subversive and would lie for the sake of lying. I drove them batty. They drove me batty.

If you asked when I went to college, I’d say I didn’t hate them but I couldn’t stand to live with them.

If you asked after proposing to Lisa and the run-up to our wedding, I’d say that they had given up on me and felt like I had betrayed them. I was sad and hurt.

If you asked after I got married, I’d say that they were coming around. They tried to make amends in their own way, which is to say it wasn’t making amends at all by Western standards. I appreciated that.

If you asked after I had Nora (and especially after Isaac), I’d say I now completely understand them.

Background: my dad is middle kid out of 10 siblings. He grew up right as Gandhi rose in popularity and the British power waned. In the meantime, his dad (my grandfather, duh) was in charge of a rice plant: doling out the rice on Munroe Island. After leaving the British empire, my dad’s side of the family had some leverage with land ownership and such. My mom is also a sibling in a large family, but only four siblings remain. One died in my lifetime, two others died while my mother was young (one died before turning one, another died around eight years old; he was sickly, but very much loved). My grandmother was state wide famous singer but stopped after marriage. My grandfather had amassed a fortune but lost it all from gambling and alcohol.

My mom came to the U.S. after studying nursing in Agra. My dad was in the states, too, but they weren’t aware of each other’s presence until the marriage proposal. They came back after marriage, originally settling in NY but then headed toward PA (my mom hated NY; remember, this was the 70s, and it was still a dump).

A lot of my upbringing was reactionary to the way they were raised. While my upbringing was strict, it wasn’t anywhere nearly as strict as what my parents experienced. They demanded both my sister and I work hard at our studies, as they felt (and continue to feel) that education is the most important thing in this world.

When they came to Philly, there were only a few Indians here as most settled in NY. I understand now, having separated themselves from their homeland and their communities they were trying to raise two kids with no help. I haven’t the slightest idea how they managed being that isolated; even if Lisa’s parents live five hours away, it’s still only five hours away, not several thousands of dollars and over a dozen hours by plane away.

I understand their struggles to convey culture to me and trying to understand a culture completely different from ours. I am still at a loss as how I should share this culture in a meaningful way without destroying their identities as Irish/Polish/American.

I understand and appreciate them now in a way I couldn’t four years ago. I wonder sometimes if I had approached… life with the knowledge I have now, how much different things could’ve been.

Alas.

I love my parents, I like them as people, and I think while their execution leaves something to be desired, their hearts are definitely in the right place.

My parents are like any set of normal Indian conservatives, in that they wanted me to marry an Indian girl in an arranged marriage. In fact, they had a couple of offers right after I started college. Telling them I was dating was hard. Telling them it was a white girl was harder. Telling them I was going to marry Lisa was the hardest.

But, even given all that we had to go through, I would do it again in a heartbeat.

I was disowned. I went months without talking to or seeing any of my family. My sister even stopped talking to me at one point. The Indian community never liked me per se, so once they heard, it was over. Just as things were getting better, I graduated and told them I was going to D.C. with Lisa and blam! the fight that ensued was something to be admired from afar (far, far, far away).

Even as all this unfolded, I never wavered in my belief of Lisa.

Understand this: my wife is a terrific woman. Forget the usual adjectives. What I wanted was intelligence and passion. She has both in spades. She’s the most brilliant person I’ve ever met – but she has a sense of humility to match. She won’t tell you how smart she is or give you an inkling of the depth of her brilliance. And lord is she passionate. Passionate about her causes, passionate about her beliefs, passionate about world affairs, passionate about politics and of course extremely passionate about parenting the right way. She made that clear on day one. I won’t lie: sometimes I troll her just to see that fire in her eyes. I love it.

She’s fiercely loyal. She wears her heart on her sleeve. She’s an amazing mother. She’s an incredible friend.

And… she puts up with me in ways no sane person should.

I’ll try to keep up.

—

Day 1: Who am I? I’m Prakash (aka Kashi aka Achachan aka Sammi aka Sam aka Prak aka Prakky aka Pre aka Kash), married to Lisa, father to Nora, Isaac and Denby, brother to Jaya. 29.

How I came to be: I was born in the ghetto. Mom likes to tell like this: the first three years of my life were the worst three years of hers. I was sickly and practically lived at CHOP, the way she tells it (though she does embellish from time to time). At some point, my dad was hit by a car and in a coma, though no one ever talks about that. Lived on 40something and Market until my parents and I were firebombed out of our apartment (owner was trying to collect insurance money). Moved to Millbourne, lived amongst the rats and squalor for a few years. I took L/M/M through the neighborhood a few years ago and realized only then that it was a shithole. Oddly, went to a Jewish preschool (dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, I made you out of clay…). Raised by a babysitter named Francie while both my parents worked two full time jobs. My parents saved up their money to buy their first house in Upper Darby after my sister was born. I went to St. Alice elementary (Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…), onto UDHS then HHS.

I applied to six colleges, got into five. I applied to Penn and didn’t get in… probably because my college essay about 30 years into the future involved Viagra and Prozac. They did ask for a follow up letter, but I didn’t bother; I didn’t want to go to Penn and I applied out of obligation. I wanted to go to Rochester Institute of Technology, but I ended up going to Lehigh instead… with a side trip to DCCC. You see, I applied to Lehigh late and they accepted me but I had to skip a semester. I applied because my cousin went there (I haven’t spoken to him since 2002). That’s where it got weird.

I got roomed with some drunken potheads so naturally I became a drunken pothead until I met the love of my life. Psych major, Comp Sci minor, grad of ’03. Went to Widener Law for a year, didn’t work out… probably for the best as the year I would’ve graduated had the highest rate of job termination.

Worked at Comcast, was turned down for a promotion on a flimsy pretext so I left. I work at the family DME business, where things were good until they weren’t.

…

Somewhere in the middle I became horribly, clinically depressed. I sat in my single dorm room (no longer roomed with the potheads), and from sophomore to senior year I skipped class, played video games when I could drag my ass out of bed, barely showering or shaving. I lived for the weekends when I’d escape to BMC and spend time with Lisa. For a long time, I hid it well. Then I started becoming possessive of Lisa and tried to pry her from her friends. Then I decided to propose to her and the constant adrenaline of trying to make it perfect fixed things. For a while.

I proposed, and it was happy and great and amazing, and then the next day the bottom fell out. In a moment of clarity I recognized that I was depressed and destroying myself and Lisa by a thousand cuts. So I booked it over to the health psych department, and they got me going on Zoloft and therapy. I remember vividly the sensation of the medication kicking in. It’s like glass shattered, and suddenly I could see everything in three dimensions. Color! vibrancy! it was amazing. You don’t know until you’ve been there.

Never suicidal. I dreamt of all the ways I’d die in a horrible fire, or a car accident, or a shooting, or something. Never by my hand though. When I was seven and in India, a family friend took me to a shed. In that shed was a man. That man had hung himself and was still hanging there when I saw him. Why he did that to a seven year old still makes no sense to me, but it kept me from succumbing to the darkness. I didn’t ever want to do that to myself nor did I ever want the fallout to affect anyone I knew the way it affected that guy’s family.

I’m deeply cynical but internally I’m an optimist. Narcissistic self loathing daily. Bipolar in motivation and execution. I’ve seen the bottom and everything above it is kosher. I love life, no matter how hard it may appear. I’ve seen the bottom – mine and others – and I don’t want to live there.