With Nothing But Loose Ends

Spent a few hours at the passport office today. Most of the foursquare comments centered on bringing earplugs for the screaming babies. They were right. Tip: Even with an appointment, the wait will be no shorter than an hour or two. For some reason I thought the waiting area would be populated by (white) Americans anxious to expedite their passport for a tropical vacation -- the reason I was there. Instead the place was ninety percent minorities and people with accents. I was one of three Asian faces, I counted two white people, one of them an around the world backpacker.

The level of service was atrocious, and the ladies and gents of the New York Passport Agency could not be less helpful. But for me, a person with no obligations or time constraints, or a true destination, that was fine. These other people had places to be however. All these immigrants, who I realized must have come here -- "here" meaning America -- and are now trying to get out, maybe to visit family or friends they haven't seen in awhile, were summarily told to fix some nitpick or to "come back next week." And the pace of the workers. Atrocious.

I guess that's how it is at most government agencies. Why be urgent, right? I think my guy literally nodded off in front of me while I was standing a foot and a half away from him, staring through the plexiglass partition. He was the most useless person I'd interacted with in awhile -- and yet there was nothing I could do but smile and be patient. After all, he held the stamp, and the upper hand. At his whim, he could tell me to return next week for some minor detail too.

The waiting room was full of crying babies, of course, and damn if I didn't want to slap them all. But waiting for my passport, knowing that I had all the right paperwork and shit together, I'd never felt so American. For better or worse. I found myself examining if I really even qualified as "immigrant" in comparison. I mean, I just got on a plane and flew here. Our parents took care of everything. I assume my dad did most of it, since his English was better. Or maybe I'm underestimating my mom.

This recently expired passport, it's the one I got right after my dad died. I had to fly in from New York on short notice, but couldn't go overseas yet because my passport was missing. Instead of going home, I flew into Los Angeles to get my visa and passport stuff done. I forgot which one we had to wait for, the visa or the passport, but it took a few days. (My mom had left ahead of us.) That missing passport gave George and I the chance to return to San Diego for a few days, before heading to China.

Since then, I'd credited those few days as the time that gave us the space to feel somewhat less stunned. Today made me wonder why it took so long to get a passport/visa back then, if it's possible to get a one day turnaround. And I wondered what would have been different, if we had gone to China a bit sooner?

"We arrived here on Thursday after a weekend of waiting at San Diego for a replacement for my lost passport. I flew home last Friday but due to my missing passport my mom went ahead to China while me and George waited. Life had undeniably changed but the weekend in San Diego, at home, with friends was almost eerily 'normal.' Despite this awkwardness, i am really glad i had a few days to collect myself before we headed out here."
-November 18, 2001-

For quick get out of towns: The Flight Deal. We almost got to the beaches of the Dominican Republic a few weeks ago -- say hey Junot Diaz! -- but my passport wasn't ready. Yup, all my fault.

The morning after the blizzard, my friend texted me out of the blue. She was at Penn Station, stuck in New York and basically penniless. I hadn't seen her in fifteen plus years, but we'd started talking again last year. Our relationship has been strange, then and now, but I hoofed it out immediately to get her. It was actually a pretty appropriate way to meet up again. Unexpected and surprisingly, but it felt right.

I spent the beginning of my sophomore year hanging out with this friend on street corners and parks, squatting and talking while she smoked and I flicked her butts. I wandered around Penn Station looking for a familiar face, not quite sure if I would recognize her.

We saw each other in the hallway outside Dunkin Donuts. We hugged, I took her bag, and then we headed out to this diner across the street. It was a way station and just depressing, despite the neon. Maybe because of the neon. Seeing her completed my list of long lost college friends. Flashback: I found another one a few years ago, on a street corner in San Francisco. I guess college is officially over.

And with Facebook and social media, there are no more long lost friends. Only friends you can't get rid of, right?

Frank Ocean, I can't quit you. If we don't find a karaoke spot that does Channel Orange soon, we're gonna cry. "Frank Ocean Can Fly."