Tag Archives: New York

Young Man Went East #5: Glorified Status Update

My first few months in New York were filled with long nights on friends’ couches, anxious phone calls to shady realty agents, and an uncertainty about the viability of finding a place to live. It was also filled with a handful of blog posts.

Five months have passed between this post and the last. I can imagine readers of this blog could have only come to one conclusion: my apartment-hunting venture was a failure, my friends kicked me out, and I’ve wound up sleeping in subway stations using a powerless laptop as a pillow. Despite how many interesting stories that turn of events would have produced, I can assure you that that is not the case. Jenn and I are living comfortably in a one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn, just south of Prospect Park. That fact alone is somewhat of an anecdote.

For some time, Jenn and I were subleasing a bedroom in an apartment in Queens while trading progressively less-courteous e-mails with a realty agent about a certain place that was possibly definitely ours. Then, out of the blue, Jenn received a message from a college friend of hers. That friend had been living in Brooklyn with her boyfriend, but they were moving to Rwanda and–familiar with our situation–offered that we take over her lease. The unusual fact that they were gallivanting off to Africa was overshadowed by the surprising fact that they were offering a better place than we were hoping for, at the exact time we needed it, for less than we thought we had to pay. With much gratitude, we had arranged to move in the day before Halloween. Hurricane Sandy pushed that back another day, interrupting our holiday plans, though a costume cruise didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.

A miraculous offer. An end to a search. A historic hurricane. How could I not motivate myself to write for five months?

Simply, I thought I had peaked. My last post–a psuedo-sociological observation inspired by my girlfriend in style and subject matter–was a home run. It was deeply personal and broadly relevant. It also made everything came before it look like trash. Any time I had a slight inclination to write a follow-up post, I quickly dismissed it on the idea that it would be nothing more than a glorified status update. As I settled into my new abode, I grew comfortable not writing.

Eventually I admitted to myself that I can’t just sit around and wait for another awe-inspiring idea. They don’t just appear. I have to throw a few mediocre posts out, I have to just keep working it, until, one day I’ll find myself writing another home run. That’s why they call it creativity, because you actually have to work at creating something.

I could probably expand this idea of working hard and whatnot into a broadly-relevant life lesson, but I’m still easing my way out of my lazy phase and this looks long enough already.

More than that, I’ve already decided that this will be one of those mediocre posts I need to just throw out.

This is what else I "create" when I'm not busy writing.

This is what else I “create” when I’m not busy writing.

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Young Man Went East #2: Settling In, Or Trying To

Jenn and I made the big move to the big city about three weeks ago and I have yet to write about a single day (luckily for you, Jenn is up to her eighth post about New York in her blog jenNYdreams). It’s not for lack of experiences to relate, but rather because I feel stuck in a period of waiting. Until now, I’ve felt uninspired to write a story when I have yet to live out the ending. It’s been three weeks and we’re still living out of suitcases and sleeping in living rooms. Not that I’m not grateful for those living rooms nor the hospitality of those who own them, but I’d rather ride a train back and open a door with a key that I’m not borrowing. When I can finally unlock the door to a place of my own, I’ll dazzle you with a detailed story of bumming and begging, worrying and waiting, complete with a happy ending.

Apartment-hunting might be the most pressing (and depressing) aspect of my New York experience so far, but it’s not the only one, and the others are much better.

Work has finally become enjoyable, as well as profitable. It was hard at first transferring from the Bubba Gump in Honolulu to the one in New York, but only because it was a strangely retroactive sensation to go from a seasoned, server-training old-timer to the new guy who needs to ask where we store to-go boxes. However, the menu is mostly the same, the layout of the restaurant was easy to learn, and being a transfer from the far away Hawaiian islands makes for an easy conversation starter. I’m adjusting quickly. Now that I’ve been working pretty consistently for a couple weeks, I’m known by most of the other servers and have a good report with a handful of them. These new coworkers, by the way, are for the most part actors aspiring to make it big on Broadway. They can sing, they can dance, and they all ask me what my “thing” is. It’s quite an entertaining group of peers. They can in no way replace the friends I’ve made at the Honolulu Bubba Gump, but it’s nice to run into a familiar face on the subway.

Jenn came in during one of my first shifts at the Bubba Gump in Times Square. Weird thing is, this is the first photo I’ve seen of me in my work uniform, and I’ve been a server for over two years.

Exploring the city’s wide range of food options has been another great aspect of my experience, especially because I do it with my girlfriend. After I get out of work, I meet up with Jenn — usually at a nice coffee shop in an upscale Manhattan neighborhood — and we venture out in search of a good, affordable meal. We almost always find an interesting restaurant that settles our cravings for that day (whether it be pizza, a burger, Chinese, etc.) and are rarely disappointed. During the first week or two, we made sure to save half our dinner to be our breakfast the following day in an effort to cut down costs. However, dining out takes its toll, even on my restaurant-blogging girlfriend. We’ve since opted to cook breakfast and dinner, eating out for only one meal. This not only saves money (breakfast is consisted of eggs, bacon, and fried toast while dinner is fancy Top Ramen), but also occupies our time with one of our favorite activities: cooking. Even though it’s not our kitchen nor our cooking ware, the meals we make together are completely ours, and that makes them special.

Not having a place of our own yet has been fine since all we do at our friends’ place is cook, eat, and sleep. For the most part, Jenn and I are busy roaming the greatest city in the world. We’ve watched fireworks over the Hudson River and a sunset from a park in Chelsea; we’ve eaten raw beef at a Korean restaurant and pot stickers from a food cart; we’ve stumbled upon swing dance festivals at the Lincoln Center and a massive yoga class in Times Square. We’re living it up. Now it’s just time to settle in.

The signature ramen at Momofuku Noodle Bar just might be better than any I’ve had in Hawaii.

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Young Man Went East #1: Hana Hou

I’ve done it again. I sorted through my possessions, packed up the priorities, and moved to the end of the country. This time I went east. And I wasn’t alone.

Jenn and I both had been wanting to move to New York. I thought I needed to play nomad in a few more cities before making it to the Big Apple; she thought she needed to be accepted to a grad school there. We both stopped relying on those excuses and relied on each other instead.

Having a significant other is not the only difference between my move to Hawaii and this one. This time, I had a job secured; I am transferring to the Bubba Gump in New York located in Times Square. While I don’t plan on being a shrimp-slinging waiter for the rest of my life, it will be nice to have an immediate income. Especially considering our housing situation.

We didn’t secure a plane to stay before we moved. Similarly, I hadn’t found a place in Hawaii prior to moving there three years ago, but I had family. I never intended to impose on them for too long, but I knew I could if it came to it. I don’t know for how long we can crash with our various New York friends.

So here’s to adventure. Here’s to discovery. Here’s to finding a place, finding new food, finding more friends, and, perhaps, finding my future.

At least I can stop looking for love.

Don’t let her fool you, this picture was HER idea!

P.S. If you hadn’t noticed, this blog has a new name and a new URL (that means “website address” for the less-than-savvy folks). Be sure to change your bookmarks to YoungManWentEast.com!

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Young Man Went West #43: Why I Left

Take-off from Honolulu International Airport: Wednesday, 6/6, 7:15. Local time.

It has been two years, eight months, 20 days, 19 hours, and 35 minutes since I landed at that same airport to start my nomadic lifestyle. My initial goal was to make a year, but no more than two. My time in Hawaii stretched out even longer than that, not for lost ambition nor an addiction to beach-side living, but rather for logistics. If I had moved before my road trip–as I had originally intended–it would have been less than two years but I wouldn’t have had enough money to move. And I wouldn’t have met Jenn.

I’m glad I stayed as long as I did.

But now it is time to go. I had previously wanted to move to a new city every year to fulfill my fantasy of a nomadic lifestyle, hence the one-year-in-Hawaii time limit. After a few stabs at starting anew, I would have eventually moved to New York for my finale. As it were, I found myself in Hawaii for nearly three years and with a girlfriend who’s had a decade-long dream of New York. I’m ready to fast-forward to that finale.

Jenn and I left Hawaii to arrive in California just in time for my sister’s 30th birthday and my cousin’s wedding. I know meeting a hundred family members would be overwhelming, but she has been taking it with grace. My parents love her and she formed a bond with my sister within hours. The tables will turn during our second week in California as she reunites with some of her west coast-based friends and I try to live up to their expectations of me. At least it’ll be on my turf!

We will finally arrive in New York the following Wednesday (all my adventures seem to start on a Wednesday!), where my nomadic lifestyle will come to an end. . . as will this blog. It wouldn’t make sense to keep writing under “Young Man Went West” if I’m no longer in the West. . .

Hence why I bought the domain YoungManWentEast.com!  Go ahead and type it in, you’ll be redirected back to this home page.

Be sure to change your bookmarks to “Young Man Went EAST” (because “Young Man Went WEST” will become defunct soon) so you can keep up with my next big move the best big city.  No time limit this time, just infinite dreams for an indefinite future.

Young Man Went East [dot] com

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Young Man Went West #42: Just One More State

As we made our way from the snack stand to the fake river’s edge to watch the “Rainbow of Paradise” canoe pageant, a thought crept into my head: “I’ve done this before.”

This exactly? No. I had never been to the Polynesian Cultural Center before. I had never filled up on a meal of chili rice and mac nut ice cream. I had never squeezed in among tourists to watch a river parade.

But I have done “this.” I’ve explored the most touristy attraction of a region with equal parts admiration and cynicism and my good friend Ian by my side. Sure, our summer roadtrip had ended eight months prior, but apparently he and I had one more state to explore: Hawaii.

Ian came to stay with me during the second week of May. He had been talking about visiting since I moved here almost three years ago, but it wasn’t until news of my impending move reached him did he make plans to come. That, and his savings account had to recuperate after our cross-country adventure. I was excited to have him come. Ian and I went to the same middle school, high school and college. We have a lot of the same friends, interests, and opinions. We spent three months together in a Honda Civic. It was weird to think that something as familiar to me as Hawaii was something he hadn’t truly experienced before. I couldn’t wait to fix that.

I had played tour guide to a number of friends before Ian, so I knew what I was doing. Jenn and I picked him up from the airport ready with a couple containers of poke. In the span of six days, he also tried traditional Hawaiian food, shave ice, Spam musubi from 7-Eleven, Storto’s sandwiches, Kahuku shrimp, and a Zip Pac from Zippy’s. We did the requisite trips up to North Shore, around Waikiki, and into Chinatown. And even though I couldn’t go because of work, he got to visit Pearl Harbor, too. I’ve not only eaten, seen, and done all of these things countless times before, but I’ve also made a point of introducing them all to my friends.

But this time, it was different.

I realized that these mini trips and food experiences were as much for my sake as they were for his; he was exploring these places for the first time, and I was exploring them for possibly the last. At least, the last time as a resident. A transplant local. Universities say you need to be living in state for a year before you can claim residency; on my one-year mark I got a tattoo in honor of my first “kama’ainiversary.” Since then, I’ve transitioned from wide-eyed newcomer to indifferent local. I don’t go to the beach anymore. I no longer walk around Waikiki for the hell of it. I barely leave my neighborhood except to go to work. I decided to use Ian’s visit as motivation to rediscover my island.

On Ian’s first full day here, I swallowed my pride and participated in a full day at the Polynesian Cultural Center. For the past three years, I’ve been told to avoid this tourist trap, but before our day at PCC  was even half over, I was legitimately enjoying the entire experience! Unlike Germaine’s Luau and Paradise Cove, PCC isn’t just a luau–which by today’s terms means a low-quality Hawaiian food buffet with a cheesy dancing and an even cheesier host–it’s a theme park as well as a stage show with high production value. I mean, it does have that aforementioned type of luau, but it’s sandwiched between two much better experiences.

Even though the layout of the 42-acre collection of “villages” looks as fake as Disneyland, it’s more of a living museum than a theme park. There are demonstrations at each of the six main villages every half hour. Each village represents a different major Polynesian culture (Samoa, Aotearoa a.k.a. New Zealand, Fiji, Tahiti, Tonga, and Hawai’i), and each is run by natives from those places who are dressed in traditional garb, demonstrate dances and instruments, and drop some first-hand knowledge of their respective cultures. I learned a lot from the demonstrations, and not just about the characteristics of those six cultures, but also about the distinctions between them. This came in handy for the evening show, which was an awe-inspiring spectacle that told a legendary tale while exploring the six major cultures through song and dance.  Ian and I were equally impressed with our time at the PCC, especially since this was supposed to be our ironically touristy day in Hawaii.

While Ian’s first full day at the PCC was an experience most locals don’t partake in, his last full day was something we almost all do: spend a day on the North Shore. It was his first legitimate Hawaiian beach day. We jumped off the rock at Waimea, got shave ice in Haleiwa, and ate shrimp in Kahuku. To top it off, we spent that Friday night barhopping in Chinatown and Waikiki with Jenn and her friends. It was typical and it was perfect at the same time. I’d never seen Ian lament over leaving a place as he did the next morning. He did just enough of everything in six days to realize that six days wasn’t enough. While I think nearly three years was plenty of time for me, I can expect that my last day here, much like Ian’s, will still be filled with a similar sweet sorrow.

The week Ian came to explore one last state with me was not only a good epilogue to our summer road trip, but also a good ending to my time in Hawaii.

My hat: the past. My shirt: the future.

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Young Man Went West #38: HNL to OAK, SFO to JFK

And so it’s official: we have tickets.

We bought our first set of tickets–Hawaii to California–a couple weeks ago one lazy morning from my kitchen table. That wasn’t a hard decision; we needed tickets to California for my cousin Jen’s wedding anyway, so we knew we had to jump on the cheapest ones we could find. Buying one-ways gave us the ability to back out of our New York plans and return to Hawaii after the wedding.

Not that we thought we would.

6 June 2012: Honolulu International Airport –> Oakland International Airport

The more daunting decision came later. After trying to plan out what we’d need to do when we got to New York, it became apparent that everything hinged on our arrival date. We couldn’t set anything into motion until we settle that date first. So, while studying (read: eating lunch near our books and laptops) at one of Jenn’s favorite restaurants, town, Jenn started browsing the Internet for tickets from the Bay Area to New York. Much to our surprise, we found some for under $200 each. Great deal, right? We had to jump on it.

As we were filling out the plethora of information forms needed to fly through the air, it slowly dawned on us: this is it. This is the start of the Big Move. Our one-ways to California allowed us to chicken out of those plans, but buying this second set of tickets meant there was no turning back. . . without paying cancellation fees. A second before hitting “Purchase,” I paused. We looked at each other and attempted to contemplate the gravity of the decision, but laughed it off and I clicked the button.

20 June 2012: San Francisco International Airport –> John F. Kennedy International Airport

Now that the date is set, we can start contacting landlords about apartments, employers about job prospects, and friends about meeting up (and crashing on couches). Now that the date is set, we can also start planning what to do and who to see in the Bay Area for those two weeks. Now that the date is set, we can actually count down how long we have left on this island to say goodbye.

We’re ready for this move. Are you?

Aloha, New York.

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Young Man Went West #37: I’d Have Gone Anyway, a guest post by Jennifer Bautista

Since I was too lazy to come up with another post, I asked (read: begged) my girlfriend to do a guest post. It turned out much better than anything I could have thrown together this week. – AR

My obsession with New York began when I was twelve – that awkward age at which you first start to consciously define yourself. I blame this obsession on all the Law and Order I used to watch as a child. As someone who grew up in Hawaii, I felt unique knowing so much about such a vast, distant city (all the way on the East Coast!). Most of my classmates had never been there, much less had the ability to rattle off random details about it, such as the No Right Turn On Red rule or the fact that New Yorkers say “standing on line” instead of “standing in line.” For years I carried a map of Manhattan in my pocket, memorized the street names on my free time, and even designated a dream apartment (820 Fifth Avenue). Much to the shock of my family and friends, this obsession did not take me to New York for college; instead, I ended up spending my four years in Portland, which only confirmed my suspicions that I really needed to move to the City at some point in my life.

Like any typical recent college graduate, I had been encouraged to either enter the workforce as a useful member of society (apparently I had just been taking up space before) or to immediately continue on to graduate school. Uninterested in starting a professional career and burnt out from school for the time being, I spent a month in Southeast Asia instead. I road tripped up-and-down the U.S. west coast.  I played tour guide to two of my best friends who visited me in Hawaii. These temporary activities distracted me from the lack of specific future plans I had for the upcoming year. Besides living back home in Hawaii and applying to both the Fulbright Scholarship to teach English in Korea and to grad schools in New York to study urban planning, I had no idea what to do with myself. I reluctantly applied to jobs for which I felt overqualified, while feeling extremely nostalgic for my college friends, Portland coffeeshops, and that general feeling of productivity that I felt at Reed.

Bored and nearly broke, I hatched a plan: join OkCupid, that free dating site that was so popular in Portland, and go on a string of first dates. Lots of free meals and cheap entertainment to pass the time – what a perfect way to try new restaurants! Since I had just created a restaurant blog a few weeks ago, trying new restaurants around Hawaii had become one of my new favorite hobbies. It wasn’t until later that I noticed how much my string-of-first-dates plan seemed to be taken straight out of a bad romantic comedy.

My plan began to unfold smoothly. I was having fun creating my profile and taking the personality quizzes the site uses to match you to potential dates. I described myself in the most pretentious way possible by immediately discussing my senior thesis about the perpetuation of inequalities in the public school system, and I made sure to only upload photos in which my face was covered by a hat and my body hidden under modest attire. I figured this would be the most efficient way to avoid spending a first date with someone who was a complete imbecile and would waste my night with non-intellectually-entertaining conversation, or someone who only cared about looks and would just make me feel uncomfortable the entire night.

Since online dating sites lay out everything about each user in front of you, they allow you to be superficially picky about every little aspect about a person. Thus, I immediately ruled out any non-Atheist/Agnostic, anyone who was not college-educated, who was under the age of 21 or over 28, and who was over 5’7”. I had been on the site for only a couple of days, and my inbox was already full of messages from the typical idiots and creeps I had so painstakingly tried to avoid. So much for my plan to sit back and let my filtering method magically bring only desirable potential dates. Not all messages came from idiots or creeps; some actually seemed quite promising. I even responded to a few, one of which came from a Berkeley grad who, according to OkCupid, was an 86% match for me.

The message was brief, but from those two sentences it was clear that “Berkeley” had taken the time to read my entire profile, as he referred to four things that were the keys to my heart (or at least to a first date): social constructions, trying new restaurants, foreign films, and my thesis. Even more exciting, he made it clear that he was interested in meeting up for dinner.

Who was this guy? I looked at his profile and recalled why I had initially written him off while previously browsing it. Although the depiction of himself was appealing (he was obviously smart, honest, and had a sense of humor), one glaring thing stuck out and had led to my immediate dismissal of him: he was too tall for me. He was 5’9”, a whole two inches taller than my height limit allowed.

But our messaging was going so well! I convinced myself that it was only a date – why was I so picky about his height for a one night event anyway?

After a few more online exchanges, I eagerly sent him a list of restaurant options (as well as links to their menus) for our date, and we made plans to meet the very next evening. Operation String of First Dates – ready for takeoff!

We met at Formaggio’s, a wine bar and restaurant in Kapahulu. I was glad he had chosen this restaurant because I was familiar with the area and had a friend who bartended there; if the date went poorly I had some escape options up my sleeve. I was pretty confident; I’d been on first dates before and, while they almost never turned into anything serious, they’d usually been pleasant because I enjoy attracting people for short periods of time, and I always get a free meal out of them. I expected tonight to be no different.

I arrived at the restaurant at exactly 8 pm and spotted a man in a white button-up shirt sitting at a table facing the door near the entrance. He certainly looked like the guy from the photos but was cuter in real life. Just to make sure, I asked, “Anthony?” It was him! Yup, he’s much cuter in real life. He stood up, shook my hand and hugged me awkwardly. Great, now everyone in the restaurant knows we’re on a first date.

Conversation flowed smoothly. It helped that we already knew basic facts about each other; now we could actually dig deeper. A lot deeper. In fact, we stayed at Formaggio’s for over three hours, discussing his road trip, my aspiration to study urban planning, our hero Anthony Bourdain, love for New York, shared interest in photography, and eerily coinciding plans to teach English in Korea. His English teaching plans were more up in the air as he hadn’t begun the EPIK application yet, whereas I had turned in my Fulbright application a few weeks ago. Apparently I felt so comfortable with him that, by the time our entrées arrived, I confessed to him that I had applied to teach English in Korea mainly because I wanted to live abroad, not because I was interested in teaching.

I was enjoying the date too much. He was a good listener, made me laugh, didn’t just blindly agree with every eccentric opinion I decided to divulge, and had that rare ability to laugh at himself. I knew even before we agreed that we were too full for dessert that I didn’t want this to be my last date with him.

I was certain he felt the same way until something happened that really made me question whether or not my life had somehow turned into a romantic comedy. When Anthony tried to pay for our check, our waiter solemnly returned and informed him that his card had been declined. Anthony tried another card, but apparently plastic just wasn’t working for him that night. He found some cash in his wallet which covered about half of our meal but had to ask me to help pay for the rest.

Just my luck. I try to date for the free meals and end up paying for my own on the very first one. I was so amused by the irony of my situation that I couldn’t have cared less about paying (trust me, $40 for a three-hour dinner with this guy was completely worth it), and my only fear was that he felt too embarrassed to ask me out to another date.

When I got home after our short post-dinner stroll, during which I gleefully decided that he didn’t seem too tall for me after all, I told myself I’d give him four days to contact me again; if he doesn’t, then I’d go back onto the site and reluctantly continue my string of first dates. Much to my relief, about half an hour after we said good night to each other, he called to ask me out for a second date later that week.

Operation String of First Dates had been officially terminated.

Five and a half months later, Anthony and I returned to Formaggio’s for the first time to celebrate Valentine’s Day, which we celebrated on the 16th because being a repulsively mushy couple on the actual day would have been too cheesy for us. Although we were sitting at almost the exact same spot as on our first date, we were both in a completely different place than when we had first met in September. It’s hard to believe that only a little while ago we had once been complete strangers and were now almost inseparable.

It had already been over two months since we decided to move to New York together. In December, around the time grad school applications were due, I finally admitted to myself what I didn’t want to believe: I was using grad school as an excuse to move to New York. Knowing Anthony wanted to move to New York with me if I got into grad school, I asked him if he’d come with me even if I wasn’t a student there. Apparently New York had really worked its way into his heart during his road trip, because, without any hesitation, he said yes.

In June we’ll be moving to New York, not because I’m heading off to grad school, but because, for the first time, I am finally doing everything I can to fulfill my dream, and the 5’9” guy I love is coming with me.

You can find more of Jenn’s writing at her own blog: self-indulging in hawaii

Jennifer Bautista, guest writer

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Young Man Went West #35: Playing House

I haven’t said a word to my roommate since I got back from the Big Island. This is less due to the fact that I’ve given up all pretenses of civility and more due to the fact that I simply haven’t been around; for the past ten days, I had been staying at my girlfriend’s place. With her parents gone on vacation in the Philippines, she invited me to a little retreat from my own residence. I gladly welcomed the chance away from my awkward living situation.

I hesitated in writing about this experience for two reasons: 1) I don’t want this blog to get all mushy and Jenn-centric (says the man who posted his Valentine’s poem); and 2) not much happened, and I mean that in the most positive way possible. Living with Jenn was simply. . . simple. Uncomplicated. Comfortable. We cooked meals together and washed the dishes afterward. She dropped me off for work and I picked her brother up from martial arts class.  We passed the afternoons watching movies on her projector screen and spent the evenings walking her dog. We fell asleep in each other’s arms and woke up to each other’s smiles.

(Sorry, that last sentence was cringe-worthy.)

Though our cohabitation stint was only ten days long, it gave me a good look into the future, cooking cheap meals together in our tiny outer-borough studio in New York. It didn’t erase any doubts I had about living together because I had none to start with. If anything, it made me anxious to go, and now seven months never seemed so long. Good thing I have a few big distractions ahead to help my time left on O’ahu move by swiftly.

For one, I did manage to find a new place to live. Shortly after coming back from the Big Island, I discovered that one of my new coworkers will have an open spot in her place at the start of March. Finding that out was almost serendipitous as she was the second person I randomly asked. The place is only a few blocks away and within my budget. I will be sharing a room with her brother, which Jenn isn’t too psyched about, but the back patio, kitchen, and living room are all pretty spacious. Plus, it’ll be interesting living with and getting to know three new people, even if they are all under the age of twenty. There is a downside: the place is only until the end of June and then I’m going to have to find a new place for my last few months, but that’s a problem for Future Anthony. Present Anthony’s problem is having to pack up everything for the move.

Another great distraction to help move along the seven months is my Cousin Jen’s wedding in June (congratulations, Jen and Dean!). Not only are trips back home a wonderful change of pace, especially for big family celebrations like a wedding, but this time, Jenn is coming with me to California! My family is excited to meet her and she. . . well, she’s gearing up for a lot of new faces and names to remember. I have no doubt that my fantastic, gigantic family will make her feel welcome, just as I have no doubt that Jenn will dazzle them with her smile. And if a family wedding wasn’t enough excitement, I get to show her around the Bay Area before and afterward. Berkeley, San Francisco, LIVERMORE! Oh, man, is she in for a treat!

Between those distractions, I’ll still be having fun working at Bubba Gump’s, even more so now that I’m a server trainer. I became a trainer not just because I felt our new hires were getting sloppy, but also because I want to transfer to the Times Square location and being a trainer would make that easier. It will be nice to have an immediate income while I apply for grad school in New York.

I couldn’t think of a poignant observation about life to thematically tie up this post. I’m surprised I even wrote as much as I did. Tune in next week when I will again attempt to make my life more interesting to you than Facebook.

My favorite picture of Jenn from this week. Her initial attempt to find a poking stick on the Maunawili Falls Trail was a failure.

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Young Man Went West #31: Evolution of an Escape Plan

And now what?

The road trip is over and I’ve been on this island for nearly two-and-a-half years, which is a year-and-a-half longer than I had schemed. My original game plan for life after college was hopping from one city to the next, a year here, a year there. Repeat ’til fully jaded or satiated. I wanted to know several regions–inside and out–before settling down in one of them. While I’m still on the first stop of that master plan, I can assure you the travel bug has not vanished.

Had I no upcoming plans around the time of my first kama’ainiversary, i.e. my first full year on this island, I’d have made some to move elsewhere. However, several months before that one-year marker on September 16th, Ian proposed his idea for the cross-country road trip. Obviously, I wasn’t going to go through the hassle of moving back to the Bay Area and finding a new job, so I stayed put way past September. The road trip became, for me, not only a chance to see the country with my own eyes, but also an opportunity to scout out that next stop.

Change #1: Move out of Hawaii after one year –> Move out of Hawaii after 21 months, before the road trip

Regardless, I had a candidate picked out: the Emerald City. I left my heart in Seattle when visiting my cousin Avery for her graduation from SPU. It looked and felt and smelled like San Francisco, but it was, at the same time, completely new. That fascinated me, and I was dead-set on relocating there. I planned on moving off the island, driving around the country for a summer, then starting anew in Seattle.

Then I realized I was going to be crazy broke by the end of the trip and decided I should return to Honolulu for three months and save up a bit of cash before heading somewhere else. Seattle was still my target destination, unless something on the road changed my mind.

Change #2: Move to Seattle right after the road trip –> Return to Honolulu for three months, go home for Christmas, then move to Seattle

Of course, something did change my mind, I just didn’t expect it to be Seattle itself. Upon my arrival in that familiar, rainy wonderland, it hit me: I knew I could live in that kind of city. I knew I could fit in with those types of people. Growing up near another progressive, West Coast city, I knew I’d be immediately comfortable in Seattle, and that goes against the whole point of moving to different places. I wanted to learn, I wanted to adapt. Seattle was out of the picture.

As we journeyed on eastward, I kept my eyes open for new opportunities. I’d have considered Minnesota for its mix of big city feel and small town friendliness, but the weather blows on both ends. Chicago is undoubtedly a great American city, but after the food opportunities, there’s little charm left. Madison and Ann Arbor seemed like delightful college towns, but I’m not in college anymore.

Then, we stumbled across the border.

Toronto offered the same laid-back, big city vibe as do San Francisco and Seattle, but because it’s in Canada, it’s inherently different. Despite its proximity to the border, there are still enough cultural difference to learn about between the US and Canada to keep me intrigued for at least a year.

I was researching dual citizenship all the way through Boston. . . until we hit New York.

Change #3: Move to Seattle after three more months in Honolulu –> Move to New York City after nine more months in Honolulu

As soon I stepped foot in New York, I knew where my next stop would be. The promise of burgeoning opportunity oozed out of every crevice. The City moved in a million different directions, none of which would be a dead end. It activated my curiosity, my imagination, and all five senses. It was certainly a place one needs to live in once, but can only move to before a certain age. I was set on making that move before the opportunity passed. Of course, I’d need to save up a lot more money to make such a big move, so I figured I’d stay put in Honolulu until the following summer.

All the way down the East Coast and through the South, I told every new friend that I was moving to New York.

Then I met up with my oldest friend in New Orleans: my sister. She’s been a fountain of helpful advice my whole life–from preparing me for my first school dance to guiding me in picking a college–so when she has something to say, I listen. She liked my decision to move to New York, but wondered aloud if I should utilize my youthful freedom, i.e. lack of responsibility, to pursue an opportunity and discover where that led me, instead of the other way around. It made sense. She sister’s advice always does.

As we roamed Canal Street, I pondered on my wide, open future a bit more, then was struck by inspiration. My first and last nights in the Crescent City were spent with my old college buddy, Josh, who relocated there after graduating to work for Teach For America. I come from a whole family of teachers, and everybody says I’d be a good one, so why shouldn’t I teach, too? And it doesn’t have to be for America; countries around the world are constantly seeking English teachers. If I have nothing leading me to New York, maybe I should let this idea lead me to another country.

Change #4: Move to New York City after nine more months in Honolulu –> Apply to teach English in Korea and stay in Honolulu until I’m accepted

After a bit of research, I discovered that because Japan is the number one destination for foreign teachers, Korea offers plenty of benefits to lure potential teachers away, including cheap living and a good salary. On top of that, Korean food and movies are amazing.

I had planned my future. Again. From New Orleans to the West Coast, I told every new friend that after I returned to Honolulu, I’d apply to teach English in Korea. By the time I got to LA, I started thinking about what to do with all that money I’d save. The website said teaching abroad is a good way to save up for grad school. I had never considered grad school because I didn’t think I had a passion. Well, after I moved to Honolulu, I discovered I liked to write. And during the road trip, I discovered I had an eye for photography. Put two and two together, and you get another plan: grad school for photojournalism!

Addendum to Change #4: Apply to teach English in Korea, stay in Honolulu until I’m accepted, buy and learn to use a good camera in the meantime, use the teaching money to pay for grad school for photojournalism after I return

So, my near future plans set. They were peer- and parent-approved. They involved travel, teaching, money, and school. That’s all that matters, right? I returned to Honolulu and told everybody I had everything figured out.

And then I met Jenn. . .

No more need for Roxy Models at the end of the posts

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Young Man On The Road Says. . .

Sorry for the delay!

I just wanted to send a quick message to those who follow my blog.  Thank you for doing so and sorry for not keeping up with it.  I’m in New York right now and there’s too much to do and not enough time in which to do it.  As soon as we’re back at our New York hosts’ place, we crash.  So, sometime in the near future, I’ll have the New York post up.

. . . After I write the Massachusetts one.

. . . As soon as I finish the Ontario one.

On a good note, though, I’m all caught up on my photo albums on Facebook!  Yup, everything’s there up to Massachusetts.  Feel free to add me as a friend on Facebook if we aren’t yet, even if we’ve never met.  Just accompany the friend request with a message so I know you’re human.

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