Every moment feels like another hit contributing to my high.  And through the troubles, I appreciate being able to eventually come unscathed.  It’s not that I look through life through rose-colored glasses, it could not be any further from that.  And sadly it is not always friendships that keep me going as well; I have had my share of cynicism and self-doubt.

The high-speed blur of my life, I’ll instead describe as yearning for perfection and completion.  I make up my mind quickly and strike out to accomplish as fully as I can what I need to accomplish.  Sometimes that makes others view me as excessively carefree and opportunistic.  But then, I will ask, why not seize opportunity when it presents itself?  And so, I have learned much, obtained much happiness, yet have also suffered in same kind.  What I feel makes me different is that I force myself to learn from mistakes instead of being tied down by them.

I admit I have my own indulgences in this imperfect world.  My lust for life that sometimes borders on hedonism, the stimulation of experiencing that carries me, the joy of laughter that accompanies happy times, and the deepness of self-introspection that brings us out of self-imposed seclusion.

This year certainly personifies all this as it comes rapidly to a close.

As I look out of the window of my 21st floor suite at The Peninsula, I can still feel the rustle and bumble of Times Square still is strong in the heavy New York City air.  In less than 24 hours, I’ll be on an airplane over the Atlantic, en-route to the eclectic mish-mash that Paris could only be.  A chapter falls behind me, and another is opened.

I wonder where I will go next?

The rain pitter-patters coyly on the windshield, before the wipers scurry to chase away the offending droplets.  We have no direction to go, yet it doesn’t matter today.  The skyscrapers keep us company, towering along both sides of the 110, seemingly bowing over to shelter us from the rain clouds.

It’s days like these that I wish would never end, when things seem to fall into the right places.

The Sun is bright this Sunday afternoon.  Outside the balcony, I can see the leaves quivering slightly in the Santa Barbara breeze.  The streets wind along, spelling out an indecipherable soliloquy that embraces a still drowsy city.  Opening the glass door gingerly, as not to upset her sleep, I step outside, the slate cold against my bare feet.  With a sigh, I plop down on the deck chair, sinking deep into the cushions.  The breeze caresses my warm cheeks, brushing my hair aside.

It makes me remember the previous night, running hand-in-hand, yelling at the top of our lungs like children through the empty streets.  “1-2-3″ she yells before jumping onto me.  Surprised, I instinctively cradle her under my arms as she chuckles under her breath.  She leans up, kissing me on the cheek, before letting out a sedated sigh.

There were those times, where we sat solemnly on the swing under the willow, the drooping branches swaying as gently as we rocked back and forth.  The good times, I guess, where only the blood coursing excitedly throughout our veins took care of the talking.  Her spring time youth had a way of mollifying my tendency for rigidness, making the edges of my lips crease with smiles.

She understood my deepness without really understanding it.  Once upon a time, I thought myself a White Knight.  Once upon a time, I could save the world.  Once upon a time, I cared much more. I don’t want to save anyone.  I don’t want to change anyone’s life.  I don’t want to be a giver, without being a taker first.  In a way, I’m content with the here and now.  The future, they say, can wait.

But there are a few places; the lonely beach bracketed by cliffs, the hills above the city, the quietness of the mountains, carving lines down a windy road, that somehow bring solace.  It is here that he breathes easily.

There’s this thing he learned in years since gone, and it’s that the slow life is worth living.  Good companions, good food, the laughter and chatter that whispers into the night.  The rustling of the fireplace, that seems to sing a quiet lullaby for a troubled soul.  Throwing his head back, accompanied by Steinbeck, Ellison, his lips slowly musing to Ginsberg and Plath.

He prefers small groups, intellectual conversation, art and soul moving literature… perhaps a production here and there, things that the fast moving life of Los Angeles often leaves behind and forgets.  As a child, he had a penchant to approach total strangers, striking up conversation with simple, open-ended questions such as, “what’s your life all about?”  From these multitude of people, he’s learned a lot about life; his views stitched together from bits and pieces of his experiences.

But still, a deep realist, there is a certain understanding of how things should be, and how things are.  Somehow, for all the travels spanned across 44 countries, there’s still a feeling of loneliness in the world where not many people take the time to reflect on even the most mundane things anymore.

So there he is, alone by the beach, the crashing of the waves deafening like a rising concerto grosso, there is real peace.  Perhaps one day he’ll share this with a beautiful woman, but for now, he prefers to rise and fall alone.

I’m romantically laconic, using that loaded word sparingly, and even then, uneasily.  I shy away from PDA, at times walking briskly one step ahead, as if I was trying to escape.  Affection and emotions cause me to tense up, widening my eyes wild with the next chance to bolt.  And it’s not that I don’t care to be leashed; I would prefer it to calm my endless wandering, as long as it’s a long leash that still gives me the freedom of movement.

I feel a bit sad that she might never see the high times that identified my early 20′s, because now I don’t care about those things anymore.  The last minute flights to Europe, just because I wanted to show a girl Paris.  The nights out dancing at a top floor nightclub, overlooking the city.  Swimming lazily in the azure waters of Costa Rica.  No, these things, the money and the who-has-what don’t matter to me, anymore.

But I can promise I’ll care in my own way.  It’s those small, seemingly insignificant gestures that light up my eyes and make me come to life.  We’ll share a deep understanding and introspective view of Life.  And I’ll value the tiniest of moments that others often overlook, quietly understanding her thoughts before she has to tell me so.

And when the wind is calm and quietness surrounds us, I’d still be astonished by her inherent beauty.  How her hair falls on her neck, the slight curves of her body, the subtlety of her light perfume.  Or maybe the corny way she laughs, because with it, her dimples seem to have a life of their own.  And, I think, sometimes words don’t need to be exchanged; most of the time, a smile is enough.

I hope she’d be willing to work as hard as I will, because I know I can’t do it alone.  To build something together that can be quantifiable and measured.  Maybe it won’t include riches, or fame, but those are meant to be afterthoughts, anyway.  There might be men who want the perfect trophy wife, the women who want a Prince Charming that doesn’t exist.  But me, I want to build something great, together, from nothing.  People tend to get caught up and want the prepackaged, and forget that a foundation of mutual respect and understanding is often more than enough.

Everybody seems to have a bulleted list of what they want in the other now, so this is my own.  Yes, the woman that haunts me in my dreams is different from those average girls out there.  She is a real woman.  Honest, encouraging, the firm strength behind my inherent weaknesses.  She’d bring class but won’t forget the sass.  But sometimes I wonder, does she even exist these days?

For the first time in a long while, I feel so burnt out.  Truly, deeply exhausted.  With my feet up on the couch, I wiped a bead of sweat off my brow.  Leaning over to my friend, older brother, and mentor, the words seemed to come out with difficulty.  “I’m ready.”

For someone who has been in my life for the last 15+ years, I’ve watched him mature with a marriage and children, as he has watched me establish myself in career and life.  The consequence of being 15 years apart in age, I guess.

He knew what I meant, though the words exchanged between us are always short.  Maybe, it’s enough.  Maybe it’s time to settle down, and start something more meaningful than the endless wandering, traveling, friends, women.

I cropped my hair short again.  Looking into the mirror, my youth is still undeniable.  But behind my boyish looks, the wrinkles are creeping out at the corners of my eyes, and the strands of white hair are starting to look a bit too comfortable perched above my temple.  I’m 26.

It seems just yesterday that I was the shy 5 year old kid that tagged along with the older guys.  21 years have really gone by fast…

And in this time, I’ve been blessed with wonderful friends to replace the ones who turned their backs on me.  Continual success in my career in an area that I enjoy.  A chance to see the world, again all over, and then some.  Countless memories engraved into my heart, mind, and soul, both good and bad.

I’m ready, to settle.  I think I understand how to, now.  I’m prepared to open up my mind again, to soften the harsh outlook on relationships that developed over the years, jaded not only from my own experiences, but from those of my friends.  Maybe all a woman needs from me is a chance, and it goes mutually both ways.

In this world of 4.5 billion people, I always wonder if others strive to understand, too.  Even now, I find myself wandering, still.  Searching for meaning, trying to find the Truth.  And sometimes, it’s a daily struggle that I consciously choose to numb out through both my action or inaction.

Sometimes I wonder what exactly I’m searching for.  No…  It’s this clarity of soul.  It’s this ubiquity of desire.  It’s this essence of thought.  Beyond the rag-tag rabble of my daily life, that sometimes makes me forget what I’m looking for, in the quiet moments, I remember exactly.

Thing is, it feels so unbelievably hard to even connect with someone nowadays.  People live their lives, disembodied from their true selves, just drifting around in the uncaring void of consciousness.  It’s excruciating, but somehow we still stay alive, even if just on life-support.

But why…?

It’s like eating fine Mediterranean cuisine without tasting the crisp coarseness of the salt, the tangy olives, or the tart sun-dried tomatoes.  Like kissing a lover deeply, without smelling the subtle hint of her light perfume or the way her dress flows around her slender legs.  Or trying to understand someone, without first, listening.

Maybe I’m just the kind of guy who either puts it all in, or nothing at all.  Maybe that’s the wrong way to do it.  Maybe it’s right.  I don’t know myself.  All I can share is what’s my own, what I’ve seen, touched, smelt, tasted, experienced with my own senses.

And tomorrow’s always another day.  I still swear to myself that it gets better.

But for tonight, I still wander, not out of want, but out of necessity.

You were so captivating.  I remember the first time we met; I was 15 and you were 14.  Already beautiful, but I was chasing other girls and gave you the cold shoulder.  But in the back of my mind I always thought about you.  Maybe I thought you were out of my league and I didn’t pursue you.  Funny how things turned out.

You were such a great dancer.  And then the first time we danced.  I’m not the greatest dancer, but I’m rather okay in my own right.  Your sisters pressured you to dance with me.  We both had that “whatever” attitude towards the other sex that for some reason attracts people, anyway.  And damn, were you a great dancer.  That night, we danced for hours, hiding away from the world at large.  We were in our own world, and it was nice.

You were so exquisite.  You always had this charm about you that drove me crazy.  Sensual, crazy sexy, yet so damn classy.  You were that girl that no man could have, and when I swept you off your feet, I really valued every moment.  The flowing dresses, that accentuated your lithe curves.  The trends that you set, one of the first girls to start the whole retro-scene again.  How your short bob fell around your neckline.

You understood my soul.  The quiet nights by the harbor still burn in my memories.  You understood my appreciation for the simple moments.  And in return, I always encouraged you to meet your goals.  I guess I’m a facilitator.  Beyond my outside outrageousness, I’m content with being the secret protector, nurturing possibility with quiet hope.

I don’t think anyone expected this.  Too bad no one will ever know, we two included.

So it’s a shame.

Nearly a year later, it’s still a shame.

She props herself up on one elbow, her hair cascading down, flowing like the river, in the valley between her breath.  Her face seems to shine with the intensity of Suns, the dimples bracketing her smile, her brows relaxed in thought.  My fingers lace into her hair, behind her ears, and I could feel the warmth radiating from her body into the cold night.

It’s this green meadow up high in the Hayward hills, across from CSU East Bay that we used to come out to, where you could see from San Francisco to Oakland, from bridge to bridge.  Here, the heavens seemed just that bit closer to our outstretched hands that reach out in earnest yearning.

I slowly roll the butt of my Dunhill between my fingertips, the smoke swirling upward like an opium-induced dream.  Within the thick clouds, the future seems to be well-defined, ethereal as it may seem.  Here, it was just us, and the worries of that time period were far away.  And I wondered, if the troubles made things worth it to work for.  It’s those split second decisions that really define our character, and who we are.

The moon wanes as the night creeps onward, as we too, waned.  Sometimes it gets past a certain point where even the light gets sucked into a black hole.  The last goodbyes are always the most bittersweet.

Lately, I don’t know if it’s me, but I’m getting rubbed the wrong way on dates.

I have this massive list of pet peeves.  Hit one of my peeves on the mark and I’ll soon be walking out the door, with hardly a word.  I think the problem is that there is a shortage of quality, classy women.  There are so many wannabe-women, essentially little girls who are trying to be classy, but come up way short.  It’s interesting how as I get older my patience for girls has dropped quite a bit.

1)  Why are so many people *always* bored?
I mean, find something to do, right?  The world is a huge, wonderful place, even more so when we take people out of the equation and are only left with nature.  Go hiking, take in a beautiful view from the ocean, admire fine art at a traveling exhibition.  Work on one’s personal success, one’s career, one’s hopes and dreams.  Meet new people, learn something new.  Do something.

2)  People who don’t say what they mean, and don’t mean what they say.
I guess I’m always in work-mode, having been used to corporate life where people need to not only be politically correct, but also get their point across.  If someone tells me they can do something, they shouldn’t let me down, because I don’t do that to others.  They they get annoyed at me for one of my bad habits, I would prefer they would tell me instead of telling everyone else except for me, thinking that it won’t get back to me.

3)  People who think they are awesome, when they’re not.
If someone seems like they are trying too hard, then they probably are.  What’s with people showing off when they have no base?  Or people who are prideful when they don’t know anything to back it up?  The $70,000 car doesn’t really impress me, because I’ve got one too, and I don’t have to be a cheapskate just to try to pay for the lease each month.  People who act like they’re so rich and successful, wearing expensive clothes or sporting designer items, yet never pay their way and leech off of others really, really, really annoy me.

4)  People who think they deserve everything.
I’ve met a few girls lately, even ones in their mid-30′s, who told me that they wanted a “handsome, rich, generous, obedient man” who would give them everything.  Yet, they don’t want to put in any effort themselves.  Unless the dude is a total pushover or a really old dude, no man will fall for that.  A relationship takes two people to be successful; maybe one half is more successful career-wise, but it’s the job of the other half to equalize things at home.  Either that, or the girl better be super-model hot, sweet with her words, and basically be the guy’s slave — and I don’t think that’s a very ideal situation either.  Not everyone can be a rockstar; everyone has got to pull their own weight.

5)  People who insist on arguing, about the little things.
I’m so busy with work and life, that seriously, I don’t have time to deal with that stuff.  On the little things, people should be understanding and not nitpick, and if it really bothers them, at least find a better time to bring the subject up.

And I keep on wondering why I joke about being the perpetual bachelor.  So many people, in general, annoy me.