I'm watching Pitch Perfect for probably the twentieth time, and it's always bittersweet.  The movie itself is an interesting and fun comedy, but considering my particular associations with a capella, it hits some nerves.

I went to Cornell for undergrad and while there were certain emotional difficulties, it was undoubtedly one of the best times of my life, finally feeling like I belonged somewhere and could do all I wanted to without sacrificing too much.  And like many Ivies a capella was THE thing in some circles.  In my freshman year I began hanging out at KDR where a member of the Hangovers, the most popular male group on campus, was one of the frat brothers. We got along extremely well, he even wanted to date me although my own insecurities derailed that, but I will always remember when he knelt before me and sang "Unchained Melody" in his gorgeous voice, just to me.

On top of that, my best friends, four incredible women and one man, also went to every concert for Last Call, Hangovers, and Cayuga Waiters, bought the CDs, sang along, and just bonded over the whole experience, although none of us would ever have good enough voices to join any official group.  These people were my saviors in college and I loved them all.

I have lost all of that over the years, some my fault, mostly the fault of life and actions of the others and myself that drove a permanent wedge between my friends since I was put between a rock and a hard place by two of those five precious friends.  And to this day I regret and resent it so intensely that I cry thinking about how things have turned out.

So watching what is an innocuous movie for probably 99% of the general population and appreciating that it allows me to satisfy my craving to sing and enjoy a fun movie, there's always that sting. It reminds me of a much more innocent time, a more functional life, paths not taken that could have preserved those friendships, and the simple joy that I felt in college listening to those a capella groups with people who I thought I would be friends with forever.

It reminds me of when I was in college and the hardest decision was whether to study or go out for the night most times, the world was in front of me even though it didn't always feel like it, and I had support and friendship that lived in the same apartment and city.  We were thrown together by the bonding that happens when you're away from home for the first time and learning to be yourself.

I try to forgive myself and others for all that's happened, and I can usually put up a facade to cover when confronted, but watching this movie will always be a mixture of pain and pleasure.  I guess that's just the way it is.

So my neighbor just got home around 9 pm and has been frantically been pounding the walls, hammering things, and in general seems like he's in a lot of emotional distress.  Normally I would go next door and knock to see if he's ok, but considering I think he may have burglarized me, I locked my window and hunkered down.

I hate living in fear.  I know some of it is in my head, because when I come home I still feel compelled to check to see if the fire escape is clear before I open the window even knowing that it's been locked all day and odds are strongly against someone being out there.  But there is that knowledge that I could be living next to the person who for whatever reasons decided that I was a perfect target.  The same one I heard having a loud conversation with their mother (through the wall, and apparently his parents pay the rent) last night around 10:30 which makes me wonder if he was cut off, and perhaps desperate enough to steal.

What do I do?  I can't choose my neighbors, I can't prove that  he was involved, hell, I don't even know for sure if he was involved because there's no sure way to tell if he's just young and insane or if he really is the perpetrator.  All I know is that he unnerved me when I first had to knock on his door to ask him to keep it down back in August, and since then he's progressing to scaring me.

His lease isn't up until July (I think), but do I risk knocking on his door again in between if he continues being a horrible noise nuisance?  His horrible singing?  His banging and knocking and dropping weights?  All of this not being sure if he was the one who broke in and obviously has no moral compass in terms of these things?  I might make myself a target, but in the meantime he's making my life hell. I just want some peace, and peace of mind.

Lesson of the day: if you're burglarized, check to make sure your spare set of keys isn't missing. I realized this morning that whoever had gotten me last Friday night decided to revisit the scene of the crime on Thursday while I was at work by using my extra set (in case I ever locked myself out) to grab a few things they felt they missed. Like I didn't feel violated enough already.

Ultimately it was my own stupidity. Whenever you have things stolen, as I'm learning, it pays to replace everything including your locks, but as a novice involving burglary, I never thought that could be the case. When my purse was stolen I knew that they had my keys and my driver's license with my address so that was the first thing I did. This time, since they broke in through the window, I thought locking the window would be enough. Obviously my bad.

I'm lucky again, I have the resources to replace locks, replace stolen goods, but it was the same reaction once I realized what had happened AGAIN. Nothing was out of place this time, all drawers closed, but honestly in terms of exactly what was stolen on a daily basis I'm not sure. It's funny how you keep some of your most valuable stuff on reserve for special occasions.

The physical response was the same, without the complete terror of not knowing if he was still there, but I start shaking uncontrollably and try to fight down tears. I don't know if males react similarly, but after two events, part of the anguish is the realization that this might be something that happen again. When my purse was stolen it was somewhere else. This is my home. Every time I leave for work someone could break in; someone could figure out how to get into my apartment and, God forbid, I could come home when they're still there.

I know this can happen any where, any time, any place, but I'm ready for a run of good luck, rather than bad.

My Sweet, Crushed Angel

You have not danced so badly, my dear,
Trying to hold hands with the Beautiful One.

You have waltzed with great style,
My sweet, crushed angel,
To ever have neared God's Heart at all.

Our Partner is notoriously difficult to follow,
And even His musicians are not always easy
To hear.

So what if the music has stopped for a while.

So what
If the price of admission to the Divine
Is out of reach tonight.

So what, my dear,
If you do not have the ante to gamble for Real Love.

The mind and the body are famous
For holding the heart ransom,
But Hafiz knows the Beloved's eternal habits.

Have patience,

For He will not be able to resist your longing
For long.

You have not danced so badly, my dear,
Trying to kiss the Beautiful One.

You have actually waltzed with tremendous style,
O my sweet,
O my sweet, crushed angel.

Translation by Daniel Ladinsky

Recently one of my best friends posted a different poem from Hafiz (or Hafez, depending on translation), a Persian poet from the 1300s, and I was shocked and thrilled to see it.  I first discovered Hafiz when I was at Cornell from a post in Dear Uncle Ezra, which was an advice column for students to anonymously submit queries ranging from a simple question to complex and emotional issues. A student had wrote in, begging for a reason not to commit suicide; which unfortunately happens all too often, particularly at that age and confronted with the stressors of a high-achieving student who finds the transition to an independent life away from parents and previous social support difficult.

I found this post because I was in a similar situation and reaching out anywhere I could to make sense of what was happening to me.  I wish I could link to Uncle Ezra's response because it touched me deeply, but the service has been removed from the web and there seem to be no archives available, but here is what I remember of it.

He imagined the student lying at peace in a green field, with blue sky above and having time to truly appreciate who he is and everything he contributes to the world, his friends, and all others that he interacts with.  The potential in his future is still blazing bright despite depression, setbacks, or doubts, and there is a reminder of hope for the future and that there is still so much more to come in his life.  And then he quoted this poem.

I will never know who that student was or even who replied to him since Uncle Ezra's identity was also anonymous, but the incredible, sensitive, and insightful response to that question has resonated with me many times even 15 years later.  Hafiz managed to capture, not just in this poem but in many of his works, an indescribable mix of understanding the human psyche and the anguish that is part of living, but instead of accepting or wallowing in this state, having the courage to stand up again and start searching for the joys and strength to counterbalance our pain and strive to feel at peace and at one with the universe.

I need to remind myself of this more often.  It's one of the best lessons to learn, taught from a most unexpected source.

It's odd how your day can change in an instant.  I was exhausted all day after having my sleep interrupted by an early morning workout from my next door neighbor, of which the highlight was him regularly dropping his weights on the floor which shakes my apartment and bed.  Busy day at work that I took at medium speed since that's pretty much all I'm up for, and drag myself home at 7:30 looking forward to a chill night.

I go to unlock my door, and realize it's already unlocked.  That's odd, I ALWAYS lock my door on the way out in the morning.  So I open the door and flick on the entry light, walk to into my main room and dump my coat and purse on the bed as per normal and then look around.  And my fight or flight response kicks into full gear.  EVERY drawer on every piece of furniture has been ransacked, jewelry has been spilled out onto my bed, and the window leading to my fire escape is wide open, which I can tell by the chill in the room. 

I slam back into the wall, dart forward to grab my keys, and run out of the apartment, regretting not grabbing my purse as well.  God forbid the burglar's still there with my purse which holds most portable electronics I own but also just THERE waiting, and I start shaking like a leaf.  I knock on my nearest 2 neighbors' doors, but neither is home, so I go to the other side of the hall and listen for some noise.  In 2B I hear someone, so I knock and he answers the door in a bathrobe.  Whoops, but I am NOT going into my apartment again without someone to be there if something happens when I do the horror movie sweep (looking into anywhere someone could be hiding).  This guy is a saint since when I explain, he puts on flip flops and stands outside the door while I check, and thankfully whoever robbed me is gone.  First order of business - close and lock the window!

I know from many movies and TV shows to touch as little as possible, so I gingerly check the drawer where I keep emergency money (gone), and one of my earring boxes (also gone), and since they didn't take my laptop, look up the number of the nearest precinct and call.  I don't know how to report this to so I hit the detective extension and explain I've been burglarized and I don't know if this is the right number.  He says call 911.  Really?  I've been trained my entire life that 911 is for EMERGENCIES, and if the burglar was still there I would've done that first, but at this point it's a finished crime for me.  Ok, I call 911, give the situation and address.  They promise they'll send someone right away.

Two and a half hours later the police arrive, since apparently Friday nights are popular for burglaries (which does make sense since most tenants go out), and we do the report of what I know is stolen so far since I haven't touched anything besides closing the window, the earring box, and the emergency cash drawer. They take my statement, I fill out the forms with what I know is gone so far, and actually manage to joke with them about the situation since for about a decade I've said that any thief who robbed me would go "Whoa, wrong apartment, there's almost nothing worth hocking here" since I live with minimal assets.  What was stolen (minus the cash and a set of opal earrings) were all gifts.

All told I lost $150 in cash, 3 fairly valuable earrings ($200-$300), and most unfortunately, some of my grandmother's gold jewelry (which was never appraised) without being able to inventory anything else.  I surmise that the break-in must have happened after sunset or at dusk since the apartment wasn't that cold despite having a fully open window, and no one wants to be seen from neighboring buildings climbing in someone's window.

I was lucky.  I wasn't home, when I did arrive he was gone, and what I lost, while it isn't pleasant, is mostly replaceable.  Much worse things can happen in my life, but the panic I felt when I saw every drawer obviously rifled through was the worst in a long time. 

Many people feel uneasy, scared, or just nervous in their apartments after something like this I do understand. That period where I was a nervous wreck only happened for about maximum 30 minutes, but it's also because I know that I have locks and that in 4 years this is the first time I've had this happen.  Still it was an experience I never want to have again, while acknowledging that as a NYC resident this CAN always happen.

Tomorrow the team comes for dusting for prints, but I know from having my purse stolen, honey, it's gone for good.  Does it suck and am I double exhausted but feel compelled to vent?  Yes.  But it's just the way things are, and most of what I lost was replaceable in many ways.  You live; you learn

On Monday I was hit with the equivalent of a hammer's blow.  Back in 2010 I was chosen to go to Hong Kong for a month to train researchers there which was the opportunity and trip of a lifetime.  However, back in 2010 I was much more stable in many ways and amazingly, despite my fears and doubts, I acquitted myself quite well.  It is an experience  I will treasure forever.

Now there is a possibility I could go to Buenos Aires, Argentina to train people there for 3 months if the original trainer can't go.  Three, four, five years ago I would have jumped at the chance, but considering how thoroughly horrible the past few months have been combined with other factors and new diagnoses, this comes at  a most inopportune time.  Yet I don't want to reject it out of hand since again it would probably be a one-in-a-lifetime chance, and God knows it would likely be incredible.

The other factor is that while one month was (relatively) simple to arrange, three months is a considerably larger task since I would have to arrange things with my landlord (and probably pay the 3 months upfront), leave my pool team when we're down people to start with, and in general be ready to completely turn my life upside down and start again in BA. Along with that is the medication issues, the new diagnosis of possibly essential tremor, which is very embarrassing and annoying, and the fact that knowing how things are done in my organization, I would have at most 2 weeks to arrange everything for my departure.  Stress has been killing me to start with, so the added burden would possibly give me a figurative heart attack (hopefully not literally, no really, one of my colleagues ended up having a heart attack and dying in Mumbai).

When I was in Hong Kong, two phrases from movies kept running through my mind.  In Ratatouille, Linguine was getting ready to enter the restaurant with Remy for the first time, scared of his own abilities yet willing to put it all on the line, and declared strongly "So let's do this thing!"  Every morning this would run through my head as I headed down the Escalator towards Central. As I would make up the reports and try to assess exactly how I was doing and if I was succeeding at my task, I would hear Jack Skellington from Nightmare Before Christmas singing "Well, what the heck, I went and did my best!" which perfectly encapsulated how I felt about the endeavor, unsure that I was fulfilling my duties. In the end, I received positive reviews and seem to have done a good job, but my God, doing that again in my emotional state...

I've thought about this a lot since I was given a heads up on Monday, since I only asked for a few days to decide. I'll ask my colleague I trust and my sister as well, see what they say, run it by my parents, and then I guess it's decision time.  Of course this is handicapped by the fact that none of them know about my recent health issues, but I'm aware of that piece of my dilemma, and ultimately of course have to make my own decision about the trip.  I know it may not even happen if the original person decides to go, but I think if I work this through now and the opportunity does come again, I can be better prepared in terms of how to respond.

My God, I wonder sometimes if those who are unattached like me would even think twice about this, but I can't dwell on my own shortcomings, just try to make an informed decision on every level and if I take the plunge, do the best damn job I can.  It worked in Hong Kong.  Maybe I can do it again.

"Well, what the heck, I went and did my best!"