circumstances and free will

I was going to write about how habits can change so easily -- I'm talking about how I have somehow adapted to not having a computer at home this past 3 weeks, and how I'm trying to minimize my use of the computer when I'm home these days. I find that I actually have more time to do things if I didn't try to multitask, like surf while reading. Then I distracted myself for a bit reading the New York Times, and came across this little line about love. "Love is always a combination of need, desire, compatibility and convenience that converge at any given moment." (Dust to Dust: An Affair Post 9/11, Aug 27, 2006, Nikki Stern) I think it's one of the best definitions of love I've ever seen. If you take away the part about compatibility, we could be talking about habits.

It might be a futile exercise, trying to break down my habits and past loves and try to understand them as parts of their more elemental components (I'm not sure if those 4 headings fully capture the most basic elements). But it's important to recognize that there is a part of the equation that takes into account convenience. Yes, I think that is what struck me. The admission that love, great as it is, is also circumstantial. To me, that means that love isn't really as great as it is.

It's what I've always been afraid of -- what if I had a say in picking my parents? Would I choose the same people? Do I truly love my family, or is it all circumstantial? And exactly what is so bad about a love being made up of, at least in part, by circumstances? I hate the idea that free will isn't enough. I can't explain why it is important that choices were made, and not thrust upon us. I like to think that we are free and responsible people. That we are not certainly troubles me. Because we are human, not animals, to paraphrase Dune.

I admire it when a person is able to walk away from temptation. It is then that circumstances don't matter. He can then say that he's above it, that he is one step closer to God.

Who is Dani California?

I stumbled upon a mystery yesterday -- who is Dani California? Yes, I know that you know the answer: she's the girl in the song by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I only just realized that yesterday. For about a week, I kept hearing the song over the radio, and the only words I really heard were "California rest in peace". I thought it was political. You know, like the great state of California. I had to see the lyrics but typing in "Dani California" into Google, I saw that there was a wikipedia page on it. So I read it.

It seems that Ms. Dani California has a history. She was maybe twice referred to, by name in "By the Way", and possibly an indirect reference in "Californication" as the "teenage bride with the baby inside". According to Wikipedia, the lyricist Kiedis has explained that Dani "embodies all the women from his past relationships". I don't follow the Chili Peppers music too religiously, so I don't know if Dani has existed before 2002, or even 1999. Her sudden appearance is interesting. People don't just appear, if you know what I mean. I don't know if she really was a "teenage bride" -- Kiedis dates high profile women. If he did keep picking "teenage brides", I must say that he has some strange taste.

Ah yes, the things I wonder about when I don't have a computer to keep me company at night.

While we are on the subject of music still, have you ever heard of Intelligent Dance music? I really like the genre, and it's not because it's called Intelligent Dance music. I must say that it's a great-sounding name though. I'm putting in a plug for the latest single from Death Cab for Cutie, "I'll follow you into the dark". You know the song will be a hit when it starts off with "Love of mine, someday you will die..." It's the sweetest song ever. The other group that I really like in this genre is the Postal Service, but let's listen to Death Cab for Cutie for now.

I can't wait to get my computer back so that I can start blogging in the comfort of my own room. You must have seen videos about how the internet is for porn. I think blogging is like porn - best enjoyed privately. How is your week coming along?

all I want from Berkeley

Things haven't exactly been great the past 2 weeks, what's with my hand injury and my hard disk crashing. The one silver lining in the dark dark clouds is that the only radio station I like in the world (for now at least) is finally streaming online. Here's a link to their website: Live105. They are an alternative radio station based in San Francisco and it's slightly nostalgic listening to them. I am reminded of the times I was driving around on lazy weekends back in Berkeley. These days, they seem to mock me -- It's a blazing 76F in San Francisco. Temperatures were hitting triple digits here last week. It's nice to know that there is a cooler place on earth to be in. My consolation is that I am at least keeping current with the latest music after being out of the scene for a year.

If you do listen to Live105, listen out for the ad by the Shane Company. You'll recognize it easily by the signature monotonous male voice, Mr John (I think) Shane. The company is in Cupertino, San Mateo, Novato and Walnut Creek. They don't play that ad often, but if you do hear it, you'll understand why it's such a great ad. So now like me, you too will have a friend in the diamond business.

The one rock station I listen to here in Boston is incredibly rude to their listeners. "I wonder how fat people cope with the heat." Live105 does rude stuff as well, but in a much more refined and constructive way. This weekend, they are giving out tickets to a performance by a Jewish performer. The ad for the give-away recommends that Mel Gibson calls in for his free ticket to get to know Jewish people better. Since Mel Gibson is probably too busy to call in for his ticket, other listeners can call in after 5 minutes to claim the unclaimed ticket. There we go, public service!

I don't remember any other special weekend (even though they have something pretty often) except for the Pride parade of 2004. Live105 was "all gay all day" that weekend, and they played a lot of Madonna. Ah...nothing like a community-based radio station in touch with their listeners. How that Boston radio station survives making fun of every single type of listener beats me. I'm not quite getting the East Coast humor.

Next on the list of things I want from Berkeley -- the Berkeley Bowl.

choices in life

There are promises. There are promises that you will keep, and there are promises that you won't keep. And then there are promises that you don't know how to keep. What do we do with those? It's no longer about remembering. It's about finding a way, and no way am I going to put these unfulfilled promises with the ones that were forgotten. They haunt the mind. Why did you agree? Why did you offer? Because.

Because you want it to happen very badly, and perhaps if you hope hard enough and try, there will be a way. Because you want to give hope, and perhaps the other person will find a way. Don't give up. And we try, and we fail. And then what? I did my best. You did your best. I shouldn't have made that promise, and you shouldn't have held me to it.

Sunday mornings should be reserved for happy cartoons. I made a bad choice this morning, but it's still a beautiful day.

cycles of adaptation

It started off innocently enough. She told me that she would have to start cooking. And I asked how she survived in the past without cooking, wanting to know what made someone who never used to cook, much if at all, want to start. She whispered, "My boyfriend...and Trader Joe's frozen dinners." It wasn't hard trying to figure out which part was missing. We shifted the conversation topic to Trader Joe's frozen dinners.

It has been often said that you don't know what you're missing until you lose it. Maybe it's been said too often. I am afraid of losing everything in case I miss something. I'm thankfully not a packrat. I didn't think of the possibility of losing the function of a thumb for a week, but it's happened to me recently, and life has been very different for better or worse. Hopefully for the better of course. And then we adapt and everything becomes a blur again.

I don't like habits. But I have them. I couldn't survive without them, yet with them I am more vulnerable. We can hope that adapting means changing for the better, since you wouldn't want to change to make things worse. But having a new addiction just means a shift of reliance. Ah yes, life is one huge vicious cycle of shifting reliance. That is what you think I am driving at. Maybe. I don't really have an end in mind.

All I wanted to do is write.

incoherent thoughts

You look like someone who has lunched poorly and who has no expectations of dinner.

That is one of the better lines I've seen over at the Surrealist Compliment Generator. Exactly how is it a compliment? I don't know.

I don't know when I started deliberately trying to be show that I'm different and special. From not liking the fact that I was the odd one out, I've become so used to not fitting in that being part of anything coherent just makes me feel awful. It's one of those nights when I'm just moody I guess. I don't really believe that I'm that special, but I just need to feel that way.

I fell in love with the word "misanthrope" when I first saw it. Should I have been surprised to find out that my thoughts are not unique, that a long time ago someone figured out that such a malaise of the mind existed and gave it a name? I was relieved somewhat to know that I was normal in the grander scheme of life. I am not alone; I am with other tortured minds that have made good.

Growing up, my dad taught me a few things about friends. Always keep a group of people around you that you can trust. And what you see of them in 10 years, it is what you will become. I have failed to generate a good group, although I'm getting there. But there is no way we will be on the same path in 10 years. Promises of the present rarely carry forward to the future. The past shouldn't be the only thing keeping us together. It often fails to anyway.

thoughts while sewing

Sewing cushion covers tonight, I recalled the last few months of junior college, and the general pessimism that prevailed. When will it all be over? I was very worried at that point in time because some of the girls were joking about giving up and marrying someone. It was a pretty bad joke repeated too many times. If those girls I knew were failures, the rest of the world didn't have a chance. Or so I thought.

But it seems that the rest of the world is more resilient. Many awful things have happened, and will continue to happen, and humans go on living.

Did I mention that I was sewing cushion covers? The world continues to amaze me, and I continue to amaze myself, seeing the person I am becoming. I cook, I sew, and I can still be a feminist. We live in fortunate times.

Le battement d'ailes du papillon

I recalled while brushing my teeth just now the moment when I discovered the butterfly effect. It was a very romantic notion, the idea that the flapping of a butterfly's wings can cause a storm across the Atlantic. I was watching a movie, and the opening scene had a butterfly I think, and there I heard described the romantic idea that little things can have very big effects. In case you want to see the movie, the English title is Happenstance, starring Audrey Tautou.

I checked up on the butterfly effect for a fuller understanding of it, and I kind of gave up at that point. The real and deeper meaning of the butterfly effect has its roots in Chaos Theory, which I am proud to say that like 99% of the world, I am unable to fathom. Fine, I didn't try, but I was never under the impression that I was particularly gifted in certain aspects.

Let's go back to romantic version of the butterfly effect -- the idea that something very small and seemingly inconsequential has a profound effect on life. The idea that we are all linked, interconnected. That everything we do is of consequence, which by extrapolation means that we are all important players in determining the direction this world is taking. Take a deep breath and ponder on your importance. Now take a pin and deflate that bubble.

Reading further into that statement, I can also say that we are not important at all. Our absence will cause a reaction perhaps, and the world will go down another path. The point is, the world will change anyway and no one path is necessarily better than another. We don't know the unrealized path. It is not relevant. The world will go on.

Zidane's headbutt may have its origins in the Algerian war. The reason I am in my present location may have to do with a class I took years ago, or with a person I met years ago, or a more recent event. I don't know which was the butterfly's wings, and which was the contribution of the flapping of the hummingbird feeding one bright morning.

I'm not a person for what-if's. Not that I don't care about the butterfly effect, but beauty is not exactly always useful. I like beautiful things anyway.

I'm still alive

You probably know that, but I thought to be considerate and let you know anyway.

I was supposed to be in California last week, but I cancelled that trip and it wasn't a bad decision. I got to see the 4th of July fireworks in Boston -- which are the best I have ever seen if I may add -- and I got to attend a wedding. I didn't cancel my trip to do those things, but they happened.

Growing up, I've always thought that weddings were huge formal events with no hint of romance to them. It was probably impossible to feel anything for people you don't know. I liked attending weddings though because there was always a feast. Oh, the innocent joys of childhood.

The wedding I was at on Friday was a simple civil ceremony. There was no rehearsal, and the City Hall official presiding over the affair couldn't get my friend's name right, so he stumbled while repeating the words because he couldn't figure out what she was saying. My friend looked dashing and nervous, and when someone made a mistake, we all giggled. And the ceremony continued.

There was no official photographer -- I brought my camera along so I tried my best. I didn't know where the boundaries were, or if I was going to disturb the ceremony, but the kind City Hall official told me to go ahead. When the couple finally exchanged rings, she turned around and said that there will be a slight pause while she rearranges the couple so that people with cameras can get that important picture with the couple, the bouquet and the rings on their fingers. It was all unplanned, but very real. There was more goodwill towards the couple in that room of 20 people than in the huge ballroom of 200 people of my childhood. I think. Maybe I think wrongly.

Outside the City Hall, the bride tossed her bouquet and hit me squarely in my right shoulder. I wasn't paying attention and I flinched and the bouquet fell to the ground. Peter said that he had never seen that reaction before. Thus the bride had to throw her bouquet again, and this time, I didn't get it. Whew.

Not that I don't want to get married mind you. Seeing the people around me getting married and having children these past few years has made me realize my own mortality. My cousin once confessed that he didn't think that I was quite human. Dear cousin is quite wrong. I feel too. Tired, happy, sad, alive.

the way the world used to look

Remember that advertising slogan "I'm a Toys R Us kid"? I used to have one of those T-shirts, but I was never a Toys R Us kid. In fact, I was deeply disappointed and never found out why anyone would want to go to Toys R Us. And Toys R Us had no one else to blame except themselves.

Growing up, there was this advertisement on tv with children singing "I don't want to grow up..." and you see happy children running around this furry, child-friendly amusement park-like place with a giant giraffe. I don't think I had ever been to an amusement park then, but I really wanted to go to Toys R Us. I bugged my parents and finally they brought me there. I have no memory of going there unfortunately. The next memory I have with relation to Toys R Us is seeing the ad again on tv and asking my parents if we could go. They looked at me and said, "But we've been there and you didn't like it."

Since I have no memory of ever going to Toys R Us, I shall have to imagine what my impression of Toys R Us was. My guess is that I saw rows and rows and shelves and shelves of boxes, colorful boxes but nonetheless boxes. Maybe there were a few toys out for kids to play with, but there was definitely no giant giraffe prancing around, or rides, or gardens of fluffy giant animals. You can see how an impressionable child of 5 was scarred for life. Why would she ever be a Toys R Us kid? Clearly, Toys R Us had a lot to learn from MacDonald's with regards to marketing and children, bringing up hopes and dashing them.

I don't watch tv too much these days, if at all. I wonder how many other children out there get disappointed like I did when I was much younger. Monkeys don't hop out of cereal boxes (Cocoa Crunch used to have that) and swing around the kitchen. You don't get a strange tiger(?) on an adventure with children looking for hidden treasure (Paddle Pop ice cream) being chased around by a pirate. Having been taken in by one advertisement, I learnt to ignore those false advertisements, and consequently the products to prevent further disappointment. Paddle Pop ice cream will never taste good to me, and I didn't enjoy Cocoa Crunch. I'll forever be confused about why I don't get a swinging monkey in my kitchen, or a treasure hunt for ice cream.

Some childhood memories are strange, but they are the way I have seen the world. Silly as I may have been, I still make sense to myself.

written in 30 seconds

They are all my voices
And again, I shall speak
Of the past, the present, the future
Of thoughts, of emotions
Of hope and dreams
Of darkness and gloom
All part of one voice
A body, an existence
Repeating
Voices of the old have already spoken

Personal criteria for writing -- if it doesn't come out in as much as time as needed to type it all out, it's not ready to be written.

On a road

I know that I said that I would write regularly, but it's not going to happen these few weeks. I'm busy, and I will be busy. No, this is not some attempt to make myself sound important. There is nothing to be proud of being busy with the mundane things in life. I wouldn't dismiss my activities altogether though. Being busy with frivolous mundane things can be rather fulfilling -- there is a specific goal, and you know you can finish the task. It makes you feel good about yourself, and maybe there will be a virtuous cycle that spirals into larger things. Being busy keeps me from those existential thoughts that plague me, which is both a relief and a source of discomfort. Falling asleep as soon as my head touches the pillow, instead of staying awake and reflecting on recent events -- would it be absurd to claim that it's times like this that distinguishes the worker bees from the individuals? Maybe. For all we know, worker bees do think. We sort of follow these time progressions with regards to our responsibilities in life anyway. Maybe we are worker bees.

You know that rebeling is futile when the rebel follows a set of motions exhibited by (an)other rebel(s). If "On the Road" is the bible for the rebel, isn't that still following some sort of a guideline? A stereotype defined by society albeit different from another society stereotype that you are trying to get out of.

I walked past a poster for a play that had the word "Kerouac" on it. It was like the sign saying "for madmen only", and like Harry Haller, I had to walk in. Because, maybe.

Sleight of hand and twist of fate

One of my favorite lines of poetry goes "Ask me where I am going, and I'll tell you 'things keep on happening' " Well, something to that extent anyway. The original line is "Si me preguntais en donde he estado debo decir `Sucede'". I don't know enough Spanish to translate that properly, so I have to use the translation that I prefer, neglecting accuracy. It is obviously not accurate.

It goes nicely along with the "muss es sein" idea -- must it be? It could have been otherwise, but it's not. So what is the point of thinking about what is not? I've never been able to rid myself of the sneaking suspicion that things can very well be otherwise. I have been incredibly lucky, and I have to admit that to myself even if you prefer to say that I worked for it and thus deserve what I have. I won't deny you your belief of justice and fairness. Life isn't fair, but it's hard to say exactly how unfair life's been. For the better I say.

Ask me where I am going, and you know my reply. "Things, they keep happening."

Friday night poetry

I burnt my tongue on pasta sauce
and soothed it with yogurt.
A small plastic cup
of artificially-flavored goodness,
I lifted the metal foil of the lid,
and ran my tongue over
the layer of pink underneath
that cooled for a while
overwhelming with sweetness.

things happen

I shall admit that I listen to country music, because I find the lyrics somewhat down-to-earth and appealing. The song I'm thinking of today is "Here in the Real World" by Alan Jackson.

Cowboys don't cry, and heroes don't die
Good always wins, again and again
Love is a sweet dream that always comes true
Oh, if life were like the movies, I'd never be blue

June 03, 2006
--- *** ---

I don't remember why I wrote the above paragraphs anymore. I don't think I will recall it ever. I may find something else related to the above that I can write about in the near future, but chances are that I'll simply forget that I ever wrote it. Already, I read previously written prose and wonder how I could have ever come up with them. I can probably try to recall the circumstances under which I wrote, but it's impossible to recreate that exact mood that I was in when I was writing. It was a rainy morning, and I was having coffee at my desk. But what was I feeling? I didn't have time to record it before I was interrupted. Now, I shall never know what was going on, except that I was thinking of a song by Alan Jackson.

The world doesn't strike me as being very real. Real meaning full of the tragedy of the human condition. Most of the time, things are just ridiculous in some way or another. To be ridiculous is human? To be sad is to be real? Am I a Schopenhauer incarnate because I think that sadness is the true form of life? Yes, I am particularly susceptible to the pessimistic school of philosophers despite my blessed situation. I'm not ungrateful. It just happens.

The optimistic race

Why do you think that God is good? Sorry, I don't mean to sound sacrilegious, but it kinda popped into my head while I was having pizza. There was a bunch of people who were talking really loudly, and they were laughing and one guy exclaimed that he met God in New York City. Really? It turned out that he and a friend were lost, and a man took them all the way to the nearest subway. They realized then that they didn't have money to get a subway pass, so the same man gave them money to get onto the Metro. Okay. That sounds reasonable, but why do we assume (yes, me included sometimes) that God is good?

I thought about it, walking in the rain. I don't think that God is defined as good. Check out the first entry for God on Dictionary.com. Yes, like a dictionary would be the expert on God and related matters. But really, he could be sort of mean, not a devil (now a devil has a more precise definition) since the devil is defined as the opposite of God, but he could just be nonchalant. In our despair in life, I guess it's just more comforting to think that there is someone out there who is powerful and could make things right, who somehow made you suffer for a reason. Eventually, you will be rewarded. I don't have a problem with that, which makes me one of the optimistic race as well. Hah.

2 suitcases

I don't know how I came to this idea, but it struck me that it would be an accomplishment to be able to live out of 2 suitcases. It's a romantic idea to me -- packing and leaving whenever, only with 2 suitcases. I'm not complaining that I have too much, but I certainly think it would be great if I could get rid of whatever I don't need but still keep. That's not the reason why I like the idea of 2 suitcases. I think of it as a somewhat zen concept, the notion of not being attached to anything, not being burdened by the world. And of course, a Hollywood concept, people running across the globe, searching lost treasure, true love, the cure, an adventure, a new life, with at most 2 suitcases.

If I trace it right, the 2-suitcase idea came about when I started college. I had 2 suitcases. And since then, I've never been able to get around with less than 2 suitcases and 6 boxes. It's not much, but I need to get rid of 6 boxes. The idea of minimal travel really stuck with me for a while when I was traveling around quite a bit visiting various schools last year. I had little time to pack, little desire to bring many things, and a lot of people to impress. I came across this handy webpage describing how to live out of a carryon suitcase. At least I think that's the one I saw. The author travels for different reasons than I did. The bottomline is that the idea of a minimalist lifestyle really appeals to me.

It's not going to happen though. Not 2 suitcases. I'm a packrat and I need to learn how to let go. Perhaps I'll fly better when I'm not weighed down.

Why we exist

Two issues have always bothered me with regards to children. Don't get me wrong: I love kids. But I don't understand why we should have them, and what we should do with them. I sort of figured out the answer to the latter question recently, watching the children of a family friend grow up. With children, you basically watch them and be prepared to catch them when they fall. You don't succeed all the time, which is good coz they learn from that.

The former question is a little trickier. We don't live in the farming age anymore. So it doesn't make sense to have children because we need more hands on the farm. I've asked my dad why he had children, but there was no philosophical answer there. Two weeks ago, I was having another random conversation with the guy down at the FACS facility and he actually gave a great answer. The only thing is, I didn't realize that it was the answer I have been looking for till this evening while listening to an orchestra play boring jazz. Don't get me wrong: the orchestra was great and so were most of the other pieces. Just not that one. Anyway, Brian said that he would be happy if he could live long enough to show his son everything he's enjoyed in life. He didn't go as far as to say that he had children because he wanted to share the miracle called life, but I think that it is a good reason to have children. Of course, it doesn't explain why people who were overworked and suffering had children. Times have changed though.

So people have children because despite all the bad things that have happened in life, enough good things have also happened such that they would like the cycle of living to go on. That, and also because some people just don't know how to use birth control.

Despite his inability to tell me why I exist, my dad enjoyed raising his children. That makes me believe that despite being unable to explain what he had in mind (or perhaps he didn't know what he had in mind to begin with) when he decided to have children, my dad enjoyed the process of showing his children the things in life that he found wonderful.

I feel like my answer is rather anti-climatic. Who would choose to have children if they didn't think that life is worth continuing? Common sense, simple logic -- not so common, and not to simple to get to.

Proof that I'm not Proust

Perhaps I live in a Hardboiled Wonderland of some sort. Today, I saw a woman carrying a window going into the T station. It was a small square window, about 16''x16'', a wooden frame painted white with paint that has been scratched off at parts. The window was divided into four, and the four square glasspanes were in place. Where did she get that from? Where did she come from? Where was she going to? Where can I get a window as well?

I have never read Proust. I never made it past page 1, even in the English version. But I have read stories about him, and one of the things about him was how he didn't like newspapers. The stories were always too brief, too to-the-point. But what were the details of the crime? What were they thinking? What were they doing before? Who else was there? That sort of questions. Yet, he adored reading train schedules, imagining the exciting places that people travel to, the train picking up all sorts of passengers. I don't know if I agree about the newspaper bit -- newspapers are boring, and I'm not fond of tiny irrelevant details. But that thing about train schedules, now that is something all together different.

I like looking at maps, tracing the roads connecting cities to cities, the subway stops to other subway stops, the airplane hubs interlinked with airplane hubs. It's imagining places, people, dreams and goals. Walking around in unknown neighborhoods, wondering what lies behind those walls, wondering what I can see through the windows if I peep. Sometimes I do. It's riding in a train, wondering how the next stop looks like, looking at the people riding with me. At night, it's seeing the passing glow of windows against dark buildings and wondering who was there. It's about being there, yet being anywhere but there. Time and place are of no consequence when you're in the time warp of space travel, except if you lack a romantic soul.

The places I love the most are those whose streets I have walked on, whose concrete pavements I tried to wear out with my shoes. There is no need to plant a flag to proclaim that you have arrived; the land that you walk on is yours.

But back to the window. There was an old man who lived in the house behind my apartment back in Berkeley. I could see his living room through the window of my bathroom. And when I brushed my teeth at night, I could look beyond the screen and the tree to see him seated at his table reading the newspaper. I looked at him for two years. I noticed when he installed a computer in the living room. I've seen how it was when he finished reading the papers and left. I've seen him settle down to read his newspaper. The room was always glowing with soft light and the warm tones of wood. It was a different world than mine.

Certainly, I am not Proust. This is all I have to say about a window.

A suitcase of destiny

Despite its favorable ratings on rottentomatoes, I thought that the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants was kind of lame. But I'm a serious kind of person, and I don't like such movies. I mean, girls who pass magical one-size-fits-all jeans to each other? There were some really different sizes in that movie. Now though, I have my own version of the traveling pants. A small carry-on suitcase.

Yes, it makes way more sense than a pair of jeans. A small carry-on suitcase. Even if there were no change of owner, a suitcase on its own will have quite a story to tell about the places it's been to. And with 4 owners, a suitcase definitely has quite a history.

I don't know the full story, but as far as I know, the first traceable owner was from Hawaii. Somehow, the first owner gave the suitcase to a guy from Texas in some unknown place that they intersected at. This guy from Texas then went to Japan, and met my friend there. He gave the suitcase to my friend. This evening, my friend is in the process of packing to move home for the summer (he's also from Texas). He's got way too many bags to bring with him tomorrow, and he doesn't really need a small carry-on suitcase. Instead of throwing it out, he's giving it to me. I could return it to him if he comes back to Boston; I don't really need another small suitcase. But I could also meet someone before he comes back, if he comes back. Then the suitcase will have a 5th owner.

There will be no movie though, not about this suitcase anyway. Hawaii, Japan, Texas, Boston. What stories can my new suitcase tell? I had a pair of boots that saw the sunshine and rain in California, snow and salt in Boston three times, encountered the humidity in Singapore, and touched the dirt on Mt. Fuji. After that, it was way too worn. That was quite a life though, that one year it was around. Life isn't that exciting for most people.