united states of whatever...

Sometime in the summer of 2007, I woke up one afternoon and realized that I could not be here anymore. By here, I mean America. Some mysterious force just came crashing down on me and I just knew, I couldn't stay there any longer. In a manic fit of impassioned energy I instantly called my mom and conveyed my desire to leave, thinking she'd be completely understanding, and help me find a way/legitimate excuse to do so. What actually ended up happening was that she really didn't care and said she had to go back to work. So that was the end of that.

Later that summer I decided that to get out of this country I must, for some reason, actually accomplish something in this country. I realized the only way to do this would be to do what I did those few semesters that I was wildly successful: get meds. So I made an appointment, went to it, filled out classic, meaningless surveys, explained about my past prescriptions and how great things were when I was on them, and somehow left with a prescription only for various heart exams, as those drugs would likely cause "sudden death" because I "may have heart problems". I never did the exams, I never saw the doctor again, decided to hold on to the thought that I would die a "sudden death" and quickly subdued my needs for a later time when they would be more appropriate.

On account of becoming paralyzed by fear (of both "sudden death" and the city of New Brunswick), I spent the summer staying in, watching and introducing movies to others. My favorite of this series is Better Luck Tomorrow. The perfect tale of the results of suburban boredom coupled with unbridled success with little to no effort, this is the only murderous story of teens in America which I would distinctly not classify as a depiction of "teen violence in America". Because the murderers are exactly like everyone from my town. After reading about the actual events which inspired the film, the 1992 murder of Stuart Tay from Orange County, whose scamming involved selling computer parts and hacking for money (in 1992!), I began to wonder why it seems that rich non-white kids, such as Asian or Indian, always seem to turn to gang-like activities to fulfill boredom. Gangs come to existence to procure a secure system of income and protection of their family, neither of which the families of the boys involved, in the O.C., would ever need. I remember my whole childhood of being called "white" by the Indian kids and "weird" by the white kids (I used to eat erasers), as though just being me would never be OK, because if I were "me", I would invariably end up being a poofy-haired nerd with ugly glasses, a big nose and arranged marriage to someone with adult acne.

If I tried to hang with the white kids, they would never lend me their pencils (see above) and if I tried to hang with the Indian kids, we would form a big nerd coalition and more than one of (above) is already way too much of (above). The only way an Asian/Indian person in the nineties could hang with their own race (and not be a coalition of [above]), no matter how privileged, was to be badass motherfuckers. These boys, historically perfectionistic, decided upon this route, and having to be unique and badass, they settled on some computer shit. And they were badass, they were feared, and they were at the top of their class. There was no doubt in their mind that they could and would get away with murder, whether it was over a girl or general inter-wannabe-gang bitchiness. That's not teen violence, that's misguided confidence on the worst trip of its life.

Moving on, fall came and went, I got reacquainted with old friends, and old habits...which gave birth to some new habits...Finally it was Christmas, after which came an emergency room visit. Emergency room visit led to heart exams. Heart exams led to Half-Asian doctor informing me that my dealer does not have the "best shit", but nonetheless, my heart is fine and all exams were normal. Normal heart led to me exhaling a grand sigh of hackneyed relief as I called my parents and told them what happened. Telling them what happened, well, that led to me finally having to be a good girl, doing whatever they say, and seeing a psychiatrist THEY PICKED and doing whatever the doctor orders. OK.

January 7, 2008 arrives, and I somehow maneuvered myself out of bed a mere hour after falling asleep to see the doctor...at noon. I informed the doctor about my fears towards certain stimulant medications, even though my heart is fine, because I don't want to just "drop dead" (as Dr. Hibbert-like RU psychiatrist kept reminding me might happen between soft Filipino giggles). New Flaming Homo psychiatrist promptly opened my eyes to the truth behind this concept of "sudden death", and how it is in fact more common in all kids than in the studied group only on stimulants. He also let me know that the freaking out scientific party was CANADIAN. I was a bit confused as to why that mattered, but apparently it just did. Any who, the end result of this day was spending $500 to get a pill that will conclusively make me wake up in the morning (at least I accomplished ONE THING in 2008!).

And ever since yesterday morning, I've been up, brimming with thoughts and comments, elevated-mood, and suddenly reunited with my Summer 2007 urges. I have to leave again. I don't care about succeeding here first. I don't care about "having a legitimate reason to leave". My urgency is legitimate. But alas, I am still broke, with no support for this cause. So I've just been stuck here, with this laptop and the television, whiling away the days until something exciting can happen. At approximately 3:30 AM, I began to reach zombie stage of random internet research, and decided just to rest back and watch something on TV and what do I come across other than that Michael Moore movie SiCKO? I try not to like Michael Moore because my brother says he's unfair to both sides and shows a ridiculously slewed viewpoint, and being that my brother isn't an imbecile, I trust him. But I've had it with MM haters after seeing this movie 1) for telling me that I can't believe in what he says, even though they believe in whatever Jesus Christ says with little to no evidence and 2) for not realizing that I believe in everything he says cuz I was thinking it already since the day I decided to think (a hobby you haters might consider one day?).

From a strictly movie standpoint, MM portrays the perfect narrative within his documentaries, warming his audience to tragic notions with humor, easing them into harsh and dramatic plotlines interwoven with peaceful fantasies of a better tomorrow...I realized all my urgent dreams were rooted in my growing hate of America over the past year. Before 2007, I was sheltered in my West Windsor hideaway, where I drove everywhere, ate at shmancy restaurants, and had any amount of teen-drama medication at my disposal. When I moved back to New Brunswick, I kept thinking it was I who was spiraling out of control, but it was in fact just my once wide-eyed notion of New Jersey. That day in the summer, I guess I just woke up wanting to walk down a street without fearing for dear life that a crackhead, hoodrat, or old pasty man with white fro pulled back into pigtails wearing little girls dress and socks with balls at the ends topped off by a pink cardigan would so much as make eye contact with me, as I always broke out into a cold sweat when that did happen. Even without MM highlighting the fact that not only are hospitals free AND faster in all other countries, but all doctors in ANY COUNTRY but America are mysteriously really cute and buy cool things (which has only been my fantasy since...FOREVER!!), I knew there was something wrong with the general American peace of mind which was directly linked to their health.

My emergency room visit forced me to wait in the waiting room for 1.5 hours before being seen (though arrhythmias can become deadly way sooner than this!), and yes, I survived so it's easy to write this off as not a big deal, but I also just want to live in a place where I can tell someone that my pulse has been at 140 for over an hour and a half, and have them respect me, as opposed to everyone around me assuring me to just "calm down" because my heart was just "trying to regulate itself" and that I shouldn't go to the hospital because they went when their nose was broken and it cost a shit load "for nothing" (these are all true statements). While this may all be true, I consider alleviating my fears alone a valid medical service, though it should be free. They wouldn't give me the results to my heart exams until I showed them my insurance card and gave them a billing address. I actually thought I was going to die during those five hours of being accused of overreacting, advised to just ignore my heart, waiting for the nurse to seem me, waiting for the doctor to see me, waiting for those results. All I thought about the whole time was that website I looked at when I first became aware of my heart rate..."Increased heart rate is only dangerous if it lasts for more than a few minutes" (check) "you feel chest pain" (nope) and "you feel pain in your arms or legs" (nope). As I was waiting, the arms got tense, but I was already at the ER. There was nothing more I could do by then. Even though I had insurance.

I felt a fantastic joy when I imagined the ease of using the ER in other countries. But even beyond this, it seemed that everyone in other countries cared a lot more about their country and their jobs, as in, carrying them out to the best of their ability. We are scared of the police and the hospital, the two places we should trust with our lives. On top of all of this, Law & Order is on essentially every hour of the day to simultaneously keep us in check and in fear for our lives. With justification for war, spying and allowing millions to die here alone, I feel like the only one who can see on a totally simplified level how any of this is inherently wrong. The government acts like the Better Luck Tomorrow boys in that way, complexifying murder to a shriveled mess then ironing it out to simply equal a symbol of one's power, the government is just bored and money is their game. Winning this game always appears to result in sheer and callous violence, but is actually just misguided confidence on the worst trip of it's life. People call me unmotivated for not caring about my future, or earning money, but I simply don't have that desire to constantly earn money. The American ideal is that only rich people are successful, and the only ones who can pretty much live comfortably work hard and only care about money. People don't understand that I don't mind living in squalor. But my interests will never stay in only earning money. It is a pleasent side affect of whatever I care about. But it is not whatever I care about. People think I'm crazy for not feeling comfortable in NJ. But these emotions are now inescapable, as America has become. With all the fear we have surrounding us here, after 9/11, they even frightened me into not wanting to fly. Now my only option is Canada, the land of unapproved Adderall.

I can't help but feel like America is that family friend you had growing up, the one who was completely annoying but your mom always made you hang out with them, and they followed every unbelievably strict word that escaped their psycho mom's lips, and you had to too when you were with them. It's like I've been on a sleepover with that kid for ages, and everyday they kept begging me to stay and I did because I'm just kind of too awkward to say no, but finally I've decided to begin working up the courage. Yes I was born and raised here, but a place I'm terrified by simply can't home.

Tuesday, January 8, 2008