Author: The Arts Are Life

I am a writer and musician. Lover of music, movies, books, art, and nature.

Review: Drive My Car

I first heard about Drive My Car when my parents told me about an article they read about it. I thought it sounded nice but at first wasn’t so gung-ho about seeing it. Then my aunt told me she fell asleep through it because it was such a long movie, so I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see it. But I’m glad I did see the film anyway, because it is truly a deep film. It does require patience to get through the movie but it is totally worth it. I definitely recommend if you can reading the short story by Haruki Murakami first. The story is from a collection of stories he wrote called Men Without Women, and while I haven’t read the entire book I really loved reading the story “Drive My Car.” Honestly, I don’t know how to describe Murakami’s writing. I’ve read The Wind Up Bird Chronicle; After the Quake, another of his short story collections; 1Q84 and now I am reading a novel he wrote in 2017 called Killing Commendatore. The books are pretty intense and it definitely takes patience to read his works, especially 1Q84, which is more than 1,000 pages long. But they dive into very deep human issues, and each of the characters you meet in his writings are so complex in their own unique ways. I really love reading the philosopher Daisaku Ikeda’s writings on the importance of literature because he says that reading literature gives us insight into the human condition. Reading Murakami’s works showed me how complex human life is because the characters find themselves in various situations that would be fantasies in real life.

The film Drive My Car opens up with the protagonist, Yusuke Kafuku and his wife, Oto, having sex. She is telling him this really wild story and he listens to her tell the story (my description of the story she tells wouldn’t do it justice. Also, At first I didn’t even know that the opening credits hadn’t rolled until they started rolling 40 minutes into the film, and I thought, Dang that was the opening. Anyway, back to the plot.) They seem to have the perfect life together, but then when he comes home one day he finds that his wife is having sex with another man named Koji Takatsuki. Still he continues to stay faithful to her even after she slept with another man. He is driving his car one day and then gets into an accident. He and Oto go to the doctor and the doctor tells him the accident messed up his eyesight and to take eye drops for glaucoma or else he will lose his eyesight. Later on, Yusuke goes into the living room and finds Oto dead. The rest of the film is about how he handles her death. He takes on a position as a playwright-in-residence in another city and the people in charge of the residency program tell him he needs a driver because it’s their policy (they add that one time one of their artists got into a bad accident and so they made it a rule that any artist in residence needs someone to drive them.) They hire an introverted young woman named Misaki Watari to drive him, and at first Yusuke refuses but Misaki refuses to let him drive and has him get in the car so she can go on a test drive in his car. She doesn’t speak for most or any of the drive, but she lets him listen to his tape to prepare for the Anton Chekhov play he is in charge of called Uncle Vanya.

The film also navigates the challenges that Yusuke faces as a playwright. He auditions different people for the roles in the play, and it’s awkward because one of the people trying out for the play is Koji, the man who slept with Yusuke’s wife Oto. The movie also navigates how Yusuke confronts Koji about sleeping with his wife, and how Koji also misses her instead of just seeing her as just another woman to have sex with. During rehearsals for the play, Yusuke is harder on Koji than he is on the other actors because of their shared history with Oto and Koji always initiates these conversations about Oto because both of them are processing their grief at losing her. However, Koji has his own complicated history because he was framed for a variety of crimes, including sleeping with an underage woman. He gets arrested when, while at the bar with Yusuke, he beats up a stranger who took a picture of him. At first I didn’t understand why the person was taking a picture of him, but then I remembered Koji got framed for something.

One scene that was really poignant to me and my parents were the scenes where one of the actors, Lee Yoon-A, speaks in Korean sign language. After getting really excited for CODA, which is a film in American sign language, it really gave me hope to see someone who spoke sign language being included in the play. Her audition was incredible and moving and it was the first time for me seeing a play where the language was communicated in sign language. Normally the plays I see are in English (or if it’s an opera, in Italian, German or French). There is a beautiful scene where the casting judge working with Yusuke takes him and Misaki to his home, and he reveals that Lee Yoon-A is his wife and that he learned sign language because they were together. The dinner scene where Lee communicates with her husband, Yusuke and Misaki is very beautiful and is an every day conversation but was just so profound and heartfelt.

Misaki doesn’t talk much during the film and she keeps to herself, but she has a keen sense of empathy and relates well to Yusuke, and ultimately helps him process his grief over losing his wife. She can relate because she lost her mother at a young age, and her mother was abusive but she taught Misaki how to be a good driver so she carried this skill with her throughout her life. After watching the film I had a lot of respect for Uber drivers. I know that sounds random but watching this film made me think about all the Uber drivers who drove me when I went to L.A. for vacation, and one person was super quiet but they were trying to get through L.A. traffic. At first I was put off by the driver not engaging me in conversation but at least I had my book on hand to read during the drive so that was nice. The film also gave me a new appreciation and outlook on driving in general. It’s an everyday activity that people like myself do, but lately this week while driving to work I started thinking a lot about life and death, and I started chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo while driving and it helped me a lot with my anxiety. I’ve realized in the few years I’ve been driving myself to work that driving can actually be a chance for self-reflection. Of course, I have to concentrate while I drive so I need to pay attention to the road but I still find myself contemplating a lot about the meaning of life when I drive. Kind of like the Saturday Night Live skit where Jim Carrey parodies Matthew McConaughey driving with this contemplative look on his face in the commercials for Lincoln cars.

On Leave, Chapter 11

I opened my email. I wanted to know if they had an orchestra I could join while I worked as a barista. I got a Facebook message from Sharon. It popped up on the side of my computer, on the bottom right hand side.

Hey, girl, I just wanted to check in one you. How are you doing? I really miss you. Call me sometime, okay?

I looked at my phone. I dialed Sharon.

The phone rang a few times, then I heard, “Hello?”

“Sharon, hey, it’s me, Natalie.”

“Hey Nat! Can I call you back in a bit? I’m heading over to Professor Blumenkorpf’s office hours. I got an F on my–puff–last—puff–essay exam, and I need help distinguishing between all the chord progressions. The class is hell without my bestie there to support me.”

“Yeah, sure. Okay…well, have fun at office…”

I trailed off because she hung up before I could even say “hours.” I flopped on the bed. Why couldn’t I just go back to school after this stupid medical leave was finished? Wait, would it ever be finished? What if I ended up at 30, still making lattes and letting my cello rust and wither until the bow hair exploded from lack of use?

I eyed my lonely cello. My lonely companion, so lonely without me. I heard myself singing the song “Lonely” by Akon in my head as I looked at the sleek curvy case. She was beautiful and she was mine. She was the one friend through which I could communicate my innermost thoughts, and yet I was throwing a pity party for myself.

I vented aloud to her.

“Why can’t I just go back to school? Why are Mom and Dad putting me under this life sentence called medical leave? All I did was drink some gin, it was no big deal. This is punishment, I tell you, punishment. And work today–it freaking sucked. We made thirty drinks in less than fifteen minutes and my coworker shouted at me. My life sucks.”

The cello listened intently. It was such a good listener.

But it called to me. It called to me to play on it, so I struggled to lug my lazy depressed self off the bed and play some tunes. I placed my bow on the string. The cello was getting caked with rosin and I needed to get it cleaned, but I didn’t really have the money to do so. Well, I thought, at least I have a job where I can make enough money to pay a visit to the local luthier once in a while. I started with a C major scale, bowing the string close to the bridge so it produced a beautiful resonant sound. I envisioned myself performing the C major scale for everyone in Carnegie Hall, where, after I returned to school and received my diploma, I would perform the Saint-Saens Cello Concerto in A minor for everyone to hear. I then played some random notes. A, C, F sharp, G sharp, back to A, E flat, F double sharp…before I knew it, I was improvising.

Then I took out my blue book. The Cello Suites by Benjamin Britten. I remember struggling through them during my first semester of conservatory. They are truly a delightful challenge to practice and perform. I bowed the notes with an astounding grace befitting to that of a queen. I didn’t feel depressed when I played. I felt like I was on top of the world. I continued to play.

“Natalie! Come help me put up the dishes.”

I groaned. My idealism, my dreams, shattered by a mother’s shrill voice, telling me to put up the dishes. But I walked down the stairs and went over to help her. I really couldn’t afford to be a brat. After all, Mom and Dad were letting me move back in with them so I could get myself together. I had already scared them by getting alcohol poisoning.

I had my headphones in. I heard muffled talking as I put up the hot and steamy dishes. And I felt a sharp yank as my mother grabbed my headphones, letting them dangle in the air as I looked at her with a face of embarrassment.

“I said how was work, and you pretended not to hear me,” she snapped.

“Oh, it was good, I guess,” I shrugged. I didn’t really want to talk about it.

“Oh, I see how it is. You can talk to your friends about anything and everything, you have this illustrious career ahead of you in music and everything fine arts. And yet you can’t just stop acting like a brat and have a single heart-to-heart conversation with me while we do the dishes.”

And with that, she left the room, trying not to let me see her cry. I know I let Mom down easily, but this must have been the final straw for her.

I looked sadly, put away my headphones and my phone. I was going to put up the dishes in silence. No music, no TV, no nothing. I was going to reflect on how bad of a daughter I was to my mom, how stupid I was to not talk to her or treat her like a human being.

List of International Films I Watched This Winter Break

January 8, 2022

Some friends of mine and I watched these films over these past couple of months. They rented them from the library and all of them are really good.

  1. A Borrowed Identity: This movie takes place in the Israel-Palestine area and it’s about an Israeli-Palestinian boy who grows up during the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. He is conflicted about his identities since there is so much tension between Israeli people and Palestinian people, and he ends up going to a school where most, if not all, of the people there are Israeli. He meets a young Israeli man who has muscular dystrophy and has to use a wheelchair, and he strikes up a friendship between him and his mom. The Israeli man at first doesn’t like him because he is Palestinian, but as the protagonist shows this young man his compassion and friendship, they develop a deeper bond, but that bond is jeopardized continuously by the ongoing war between Israelis and Palestinians. Also the guy falls in love with this girl who is Israeli, and they have to keep their relationship hidden from the public. The young man ends up adopting an Israeli identity by taking his friend’s ID and passing as Israeli.
  2. Julieta: this film is by Pedro Almodovar, a Spanish film director who has directed numerous films, such as The Skin I Live In, I’m So Excited, Volver and other films. There was recently a New York Times article about him that I still have to read, but basically the film takes place in Spain and it’s about a woman named Julieta (played by Emma Suarez) whose daughter has gone missing. She goes through a long process of grief and memory, and discovers many haunting things about her past.
  3. Young Ahmed: This film is set in Belgium, and it’s about a young man named Ahmed who practices Islam, and he takes what his imam tells him to the extreme and puts together a plan to murder his teacher.
  4. The Way Back: This film is set in South Korea, and the film was released in 2002. It’s about a little boy whose mom takes him to live with his grandmother, who is both deaf and mute. At first he rejects her kindness, but then he learns to love and appreciate her because she shows him unconditional love. It was a deeply touching film.
  5. The Keeper: This film is set in England after World War II, and it’s about a German prisoner of war who falls in love with football and an Englishwoman. It’s a true story about Bert Trautmann, who was a professional goalkeeper for Manchester’s football team. At first the woman doesn’t trust him because of all the bad things the Nazis did, but then she falls in love with him and the movie is about how he overcomes a lot of prejudice from others and wins the trust of his teammates and the fans of the football team. It was truly a deep movie.
  6. Honeyland: this is a documentary set in Macedonia, and it’s about a woman who lives with her aging mother and harvests honey for a living. She goes to the city and sells her honey to people, and is happy with her life in general. But then a family moves in next door and takes on the art of beekeeping to help their business run. At first the woman who lives with her mother is fine with it, but as the family starts to overstep their boundaries and take control of the area, tensions build between her and the family and it becomes harder for them to live harmoniously. It is a beautiful moving film that also made me appreciate bees so much more. In the film, there’s several scenes where the people eat raw honeycomb that the woman freshly pulls from under a large stone fixture in the earth, and it reminded me of these ASMR videos (autonomous sensory meridian response) where people in the videos eat raw honeycomb from the store. I actually really love the chewing noises when people eat honeycomb and find it calming, so the scenes where the people are eating raw honeycomb were pretty relaxing.
  7. True Mothers: this one was deep. When I first watched it with my mom and dad I was super tired and had very little sleep, and so I unfortunately started nodding off. But I watched it a second time, and holy smokes it blew me away. It’s about a couple named Satoko and Kiyokazu Kurihara who tries to get pregnant but end up not being able to conceive, so they contact an adoption agency called Baby Baton, where mothers who can’t raise their kids give their kids to new parents who can raise their kids. At first, the biological mother of the baby the couple adopts lets them raise her baby, but then later on, when Asato (the child’s adoptive name) is six years old his biological mother, Hikari Katakura, calls Satoko (the wife of the couple) and says to give back her child. The movie explores Hikari’s past as well as the difficulties that the mothers at Baby Baton face in giving up their children. It truly was a powerful movie, and there were a lot of intense plot twists.
  8. In Between: This movie takes place in Israel, and it’s about three independent-minded young Palestinian women who share an apartment together in Tel Aviv. In the movie, they navigate the complex social norms of womanhood that people expect of them while trying to remain true to themselves.
  9. A Tale of Love and Darkness: I watched this today (1/8/22) and it was a really deep movie. It takes place in the British Mandate of Palestine, and it’s the film adaptation of a memoir by Amos Oz, an Israeli author.

Album Review: Brown Sugar by D’Angelo

So I had been meaning to write this review for a while, because honestly Brown Sugar is one of my favorite albums of all time. It’s by an artist named D’Angelo, and I don’t know, it just takes me away. When I need chill time or whenever I was working on stuff for work, or knitting something, or just needed some music to relax to, listening to this album’s songs has always helped. I just decided to listen to the full album today and just see if I could write about it. At first I was worried about not sounding perfect but I realized that it doesn’t have to sound perfect at first. Of course, when I publish this I want it to sound cohesive and to the point but at the same time I have to just start off with listening and appreciation of the music. I’m going to try to sound objective when reviewing this album, and hopefully I accomplish doing this. I’m going to be honest I may not be able to pick out all the instruments that are involved on the album, but I am going to try my best.

I think the song that really got me started with D’Angelo’s music was the 1st song on the album, and it’s also the title of the album, called “Brown Sugar.” It is smoky, sexy, brilliant. It is everything. And it was really hard for me to figure out what to say about this album because it elicits so many emotions and feelings for me, and his singing and instrumentals are just so raw and beautiful that putting it in words, I mean, I don’t really know if it will do the album justice. And honestly while I am writing I am going to spout some hogwash and my writing for this first draft will make very little if no sense. I sound really self-critical here, but I’m just getting my thoughts out.

Anyway, I’ll just write my basic feelings about the album even if it’s not totally comprehensive or put-together. I first heard about D’Angelo when I was browsing iTunes, because there’s another neo-soul artist named Joss Stone, and what iTunes did back in the day is compile a playlist of the songs that actors, musicians and entertainers love. One of the playlists was for Joss Stone, and one of the songs on the playlist was “Brown Sugar” by D’Angelo. The first time I heard it, it sounded okay, but then I didn’t know if I would pursue D’Angelo’s music again after that. But back then, I was still exploring the soul genre and had just started with artists like Joss Stone and Amy Winehouse, then slowly started moving towards classic singers such as Marvin Gaye and Aretha Franklin over time. In college I had a few D’Angelo songs on my iPod Nano (it was the super skinny one and it came in the red color as part of the Product(RED) campaign. I still have that baby to this day.). But when I actually listened to the full album Brown Sugar, I came to more appreciate D’Angelo’s artistry and the different influences that appear in his music. Also, reading more about who he is as a musician was amazing because he plays multiple instruments and although he had help from other artists in the production of Brown Sugar he produced the majority of the album in addition to writing the songs. According to the Wikipedia page about D’Angelo, he was influenced to do this because of Prince. Prince took full control of the production of his music, and was really serious about copyright, probably because he knew the music industry might try to control his rights as an artist. Especially as a Black artist, when you think about how historically Black artists were robbed of their rights and copyright while working under white record executives, it’s not surprising that artists like Prince or D’Angelo would take full control of their albums.

If you’re looking for an album that will help you relax, this is definitely one of those albums. And especially if you’re a huge fan of R n B or quiet storm music, this is an album that many fans and critics loved and still celebrate. I don’t know too many close friends who know about his music, but a couple of times I talked with some fellow R n B fans and we have gushed about D’Angelo’s music together. It’s a mature album, and not just because it has the Parental Advisory sticker on it. It’s an organic, beautiful album that must have involved a serious process where D’Angelo thought about and worked really hard on, along with his team. It’s incredibly sophisticated, and is reminiscent of a lot of classic Motown R n B artists. Of course, I can’t exactly compare Marvin Gaye’s music and D’Angelo’s music because they were produced during different times and with different recording equipment, but the crooning of Marvin is similar to the crooning of D’Angelo, as well as the song content. Marvin Gaye’s songs have a lot to do with romance and sex and love, and so do the songs on Brown Sugar. This album also reminded me a lot of Thundercat’s album Drunk because both albums mix funk, R n B and jazz, and both vocals are incredible on both albums. I guess also because both are alternatives to mainstream R n B.

The album

  1. “Brown Sugar”: The song opens up with a smooth jazz riff, and then D’Angelo delves into an incredibly beautiful story about his encounter with a beautiful woman named Brown Sugar. He can’t help but be attracted to her because she is so attractive and he needs more of this woman to be satisfied. This song was caramel, brown sugar when you melt it in a pan and let it simmer. It is delectable, juicy, sexy, and sweet. The drums and the voices make it feel like my body is melting in chocolate. I close my eyes and I’m just totally taken in. The background noises convey the narrator with his friends as he’s thinking of this beautiful woman he can’t get enough of. The more times I listen to this song the less tired I get of it, and the more I crave it. I can’t help but move my body to this music. It is incredible. I know there is a Rolling Stones song called “Brown Sugar” but this version (which, of course, is totally different from the Rolling Stone one) is pure beauty.
  2. “Alright”: The song opens with some old school radio crackling, giving the song an old school feeling. The album overall has a very old-school feeling and of course that’s not surprising because it came out in 1995. I really love D’Angelo’s soaring vocals. The song is in a major key, A major. I found myself closing my eyes and swaying to the music. It just has a sweet groovy feeling, like those 90s movies you watch when two people meet in high school and do old-school romantic things together.
  3. “Jonz in My Bonz”: this song has a really cool hip-hop beat to it. It’s almost like a mantra that repeats through the song, “I’ve got a jonz in my bonz” and this mantra over the really chill percussive rhythms.
  4. “Me and Those Dreamin’ Eyes of Mine”: I love this song. I listened to it in college and I have always sought comfort in D’Angelo’s rich sophisticated voice. I love the key it is in G Major. There is a beautiful bass beat underlying the song. I love how the chorus sounds, too, just so beautiful. And I love how the drums sound throughout the song it gives it its jazz and R n B feel.
  5. “Shit, Damn, Motherfucker”: I love the intro to this song. It has a groovy feel in E minor and has a sort of dance rhythm. Like “Jonz in My Bonz”, “shit, damn, motherfucker” is like a mantra throughout the song.
  6. “Smooth”: the jazz intro is absolutely gorgeous. Then it moves into old school rhythms. And like the title of the song, the song itself is smooth. I love the use of piano in the song, too. I found myself bobbing my head to the rhythms.
  7. “Cruisin'”: This is originally a song by Motown artist Smokey Robinson released in 1979, and D’Angelo gives it a new spin. It just sounds sexy as hell, just being perfectly honest. It’s like D’Angelo’s voice just took me away. It also relaxed my muscles and helped me destress. I also love the strings and the drums backing up the vocals. It’s like D’Angelo’s voice wrapped me up inside it and never let me out.
  8. “When We Get By”: This is actually one of my favorite songs on the album and it’s the one I can’t stop listening to. I love the key of F sharp major, and I see the color gold when I hear it. This song had a very pleasant feel, like when you wake up in the morning and don’t have to rush about, you can just take your sweet time and eat your breakfast and make your coffee and smell the roses. It made me want to take a nice stroll outside.

On Leave: A Novel, Chapter 10

I was tired. I walked to the cafe head hung low and eyes strained bloodshot red. I had worked a dreaded clo-pen, in which you close until midnight and then get back up at 6 am to open shop. I practicalled tripped over a stray dog laying on its stomach, chilling out. It yelped.

“Sorry, Cheddar,” I mumbled and stumbled my way to the cafe.

I got in. Jessica Royals was preparing the teas, brewing them with a delicate manner so hard to master that it would take years before I could catch up to her level. Jessica was a brilliant young diamond, 5 ft 2, eyes of blue, and was finishing up her final year at Westwood High School. She told me she was saving up money to go to college. Smart young woman, loves books, movies and music. She reminds me so much of myself because I, too, love those things.

Today, she was in her usual calm mood.

“Hey, Nat,” she said casually.

I ignored her and stomped over to the back of the house to put my stuff in the closet. I went back out.

“Can you get me some mocha powder? I forgot to make mocha last night and we’re expecting a pretty busy crowd today.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Or I can do it,” she suddenly threw her hands up in exasperation.

“No, fine, I’m sorry, I closed last night so I’m pretty burnt.”

“Whatever,” she said going back to brewing the guava fruit tea. “Just make that mocha sauce before the customers get here.”

So I went to the back of the house and did what she said. I went over to the shelves and got a large bag with brown powder caked on it. Our in-house mocha. I grabbed a cube-shaped bin and put the mocha powder in it. It wafted up to my nostrils. I bent over to cough, hacking up all the mocha powder that accidentally made its way through my nasal passages. I hate it when that happens. I just didn’t want to cough all over the mocha powder since I didn’t want people to consume germy mint mocha lattes.

I went over to the hot water dispenser and put the pitcher under it. The thin stream trickled out slowly, releasing steam as it did so. A little bit of water hit my fingers and I whispered a curse word or two. Sometimes when things happen like that you just have to brush it off. So I did. I grabbed the large whisk from the cupboard and whisked together the mocha powder with the hot water. As bad as it smelled in powder form, it actually smelled good when mixed together. It formed a pudding-like consistency at first, but then as I stirred it more, it became smoother and had a more liquid consistency.

I grabbed the container of mocha and made my way out of the back-of-house. When I got to the front-of-house, it was already mayhem. About twenty people were in line.

“Natalie! Get to the bar, quick! We have to ring up these orders.”

Was this the sweet relaxed Jessica that was greeting me earlier? What happened to her?

I shook myself out of my daze and quickly went over to prepare the drinks. About thirty drink cups were lined up. Plastic 16 ounce, small hot 12 ouncer, venti in a double cup. A writing was all over these cups, so much writing I coudll barely understand half of the things Jessica wrote.

“You need better handwriting,” I said aloud to her, but she didn’t hear me, instead focusing on the customer in front of her. I aspire to Jessica’s work ethic so much it’s not even funny.

Ok, let’s see. A grande passion tea lemonade with eight Splendas, 1/4 pump of classic syrup and blended. Weird, but I didn’t have time to ponder on how weird–I read the cup–Amina’s drink was.

I put the tea and scooped a small scoop-ful of ice into the blender.

“Oh, you can put more ice in it than that,” a diminutive lady squeaked. She was wearing the fanciest clothes and had these aviator shades on. It was like I was interacting with a shorter version of Anna freaking Wintour.

I nearly rolled my eyes in exasperation but caught myself. I didn’t want to risk being fired for something as simple as rolling my eyes and showing a bad attitude.

I grabbed all the ice I could. It felt as if I was digging for diamonds or going on an expedition to the North Pole.

“Now, blend it up for 30 seconds.”

I had a momentary moment of bewilderment. Who did this woman think she was, my manager? I turned on the blender.

“One, two, three…”

And I knew I was done for. This stranger was actually counting aloud. She was micromanaging my drink-making instead of trusting me to make the drink for her without worrying.

“I want to make sure it is 100 percent perfect. If I don’t have the perfect passion tea blended drink, I will perish in solitude for the rest of my life.”

Geez, I thought, she should be an actress. Maybe she is an actress and I just don’t know it. Sometimes when living in New York City and working at a coffee shop, you can meet all kinds of people here.

I finally finished it for her. She tasted it.

“Eh, it could use something more. Try putting in six pumps of hazelnut syrup, three pumps of toffee nut, and dash it off with a little heavy whipping cream.”

I nearly barfed. That sounded grosser than having a possum crawl into my room. But I needed to get paid for my labor, so I did what she said. The mixture looked like someone drank this kind of monstrosity and pooped it all out. It looked disgusting, but according to the woman’s face it tasted like heaven.

“Thank you, dear,” she said. And before I could say thank you, she had slipped me a $10 bill. I quickly stashed it away in my apron pocket and continued making the drinks.

“Hey, where’s our caramel Frappuccino?” A moody teenager confronted me. She had blonde hair in two cornrows and was wearing a Victoria’s Secret jumpsuit. “My friends and I are waiting. Hey, girls, come here.”

They all swarmed on me at once. It was like I was meeting an army of Mean Girls Plastics. They were all dressed up in pink matching jumpsuits.

“I also had a drink!”

“Me two!”

“Me three!”

“Me four!”

“Me five!”

“Me six!”

“Me seven!”

The ringleader turned back to me.

“Get us our drinks now or we’re calling the cops on you.”

Why was she calling the cops on me? Because I was Black?

I didn’t say anything and quietly made them their drinks. They hovered like hungry vultures, their bodies and faces screaming, Where’s the caffeine, the sugar, the good stuff that makes us bounce off the walls? I bet once that sugar crash hit, they were going to crash with it.

I scrambled to find the syrups, and pumped them one by one in the plastic cups. Sarah got a mint caramel Frappuccino with extra toffee syrup and mint caramel sauce around the cup. I took a brown sauce dispenser and masterfully made a work of art in the cup.

“Oooohhh,” a girl who looked like Sarah mused. “That’s beautiful.” She was the only one in the group who genuinely seemed interested in the aesthetics of the drink. I blended up the mocha sauce and caramel syrup with the whole milk.

“Did you use soy?” Sarah asked. I snapped out of my reverie. Shit. I stopped the blender, threw out the gloopy Frappuccino mixture and started over, grabbing the soymilk from the fridge this time.

An angry pregnant lady and her husband accosted me from the front.

“Hurry up with our drinks!” she shouted.

“I’m trying ma’am, I’m so sorry,” I said.

“You know what, forget it, we’re going elsewhere for our drinks. Honey,” she turned to her husband, “let’s go get some lattes at the nearby Starbucks.”

I gulped. To any small coffee shop owner, the mere mention of Starbucks sounded like a four-letter word. I freaked out.

A diminutive kid wearing Coke bottle glasses and a pudding bowl hairstyle rushed in.

“Chuck, you’re late!” Jessica snapped.

“Sorry,” he said, and went into the back of house to retrieve his apron and put away his stuff. He looked sheepishly at me when he came to the front.

“Sorry,” he laughed weakly. “I overslept. I took a huge nap and then–“

“Can you put extra caramel sauce on my macchiato?” a young woman asked nicely from where I was making her drink.

“Yeah, sure.” I turned to Chuck. “Sorry, man, it’s just that we’re pretty backed up.”

“No problem,” he said quickly, and with that, helped me with lighting-speed churn out the drinks.

—

By the end of the shift, we were burnt. However, this is why weekends are the best time to work at a coffee shop, because people tend to have sympathy for the baristas. They know we are so busy, so they tip us a lot. Even though we nearly killed ourselves making so many drinks, we ended up splitting $15 each in tips. You’d think we were servers at a five-star restaurant or something.

Chapter 9 of On Leave: A Novel

Everything was great until I met the new girl. She was from Iowa and had moved to New York City for grad school. She was fiery in temper and stomped in a bad mood.

The line was backed up. I was preparing to take out the trash.

“Natalie, we’re short on dark roast.”

“Hold on, let me take out the trash.”

She spun on me.

“THIS LADY HAS BEEN WAITING FIFTEEN FUCKING MINUTES FOR HER COFFEE! TRASH CAN WAIT!!!”

Ouch. That really stung. I smarted. A lot.

“Fine, sorry.” I rolled my eyes and brewed the coffee.

“Hey, where’s our coffee?!?” A tall angry-looking man yelled.

“Yeah, we all have to get to work!” a young mother looking like a caffeine-crazed zombie shouted at us.

The new girl, Cassidy, gave me a dirty look. When the coffee was finished, she said something real petty.

“Thank you for your patience. Sorry, my coworker is so slow. She doesn’t see the customer as important.” She flashed me a cunning wink. Jerk.

—

While I was cleaning up the countertops, I saw Cassidy put some straws in the condiment bar.

“Cassidy!”

She turned and gave me a blank look.

“Thanks for shouting at me. In the future, I will put the customer first if you don’t scream at me next time, okay?

She shrugged.

—

She showed me photos of the Black guy she was trying to find on Tinder.

“He looks a little bit too dark for my taste,” she said, not realizing that she was saying this to me, a Black woman.

“Isn’t that a bit racist?” I straight-up asked her.

She gave me a quizzical look.

“Are you calling me, of all people, racist? Just because I make a comment about someone’s skin color doesn’t mean I’m racist. I have Black friends, therefore I think I can pull the race card for once.”

What the hell? I thought. But I didn’t want to fight with this oblivious person, so I dropped the matter altogether.

—

The next day, I walked in. Cassidy was supposed to be on the schedule.

“Um, John,” I asked my coworker.

“Yeah?” he looked up from the tuna steak he was grilling for a customer’s breakfast.

“Where’s Cassidy? You know, the girl from Iowa.”

“Oh, her! Yeah, she quit.”

I couldn’t believe it. I was both immensely overjoyed and also perplexed.

“What happened?”

“She just didn’t want to show up anymore. Not surprised that she called in last minute to call it quits. You have to be a pleasant person to work here, and she was anything but pleasant.”

I couldn’t come back from that. It was pretty much true.

I got home. I was lonely, and I wanted to play my cello. So I unlocked the silver beat-up case I have had since middle school (I guess now that I have an actual job, I can save up to buy a new one) and took out my 1776 Stradivarius cello. The school loaned it to me and then at the last minute let me have it for free. Pretty sweet deal considering Stradivariuses are extremely expensive and valuable instruments.

I tried to play some Bach, but after a few measures I didn’t feel inspired. Then I just started playing random notes, kind of just fucking around on the instrument, and I realized I was straight-up improvising.

I immediately wrote down the music on some old unused pieces of blank sheet music I got from the Internet, and titled it, “F My Life.”

On Leave, Chapter Eight: Sleeping in Class

I remember that day. I was sitting in class taking notes, and then a sleepy feeling came over me. I had stayed up the night before practicing for my big gig that I didn’t have time to sleep. I remember taking notes, writing things down about Les Preludes, trying to pay attention as Professor Jones played the ancient recording. And then I remember opening my eyes and having a piece of paper sit at my feet.

“That’s the class notes,” he told me. “Pick it up.”

I did. And every day after that I walked sleep-deprived into the 8 am class, wondering why I was so tired.

I remember every morning at breakfast I would have this tea. It had a moon and some stars on the packaging, but I didn’t mind because I wanted to calm my nerves. Somehow being around other people makes me nervous. So I drank the tea.

“I wouldn’t drink that if I were you,” Sharon said one day.

“Why?”

“Read the packaging.”

I saw the package said Sleepy-Time tea. Damn you, Bigelow.

After that I started drinking just plain water and it really helped. I stopped sleeping and started paying attention more.

On Leave, Chapter 7: The Shift

Today was the day. It was my interview with the cafe I just spent time at two weeks ago. I figured out what to wear, then remembered the barista behind the counter saying to war a regular T-shirt and some jeans. So I put on my green American Apparel unisex T-shirt and my faded Gap jeans, and also my lime-green Toms Shoes.

I walked out of the apartment, down the steps, and up the street. I passed kids playing hopscotch, hopping around on those colorful squares. I passed the empty hot-dog stand that Willie, our next door neighbor, ran from approximately 11 in the morning to 6 pm in the evening. I could have used a veggie dog right now. Willie always makes them especially for me.

I passed graffitied walls. I passed Wall Street’s glimmering skyscraper building. I passed dozens of people who walked past me on their headsets, wearing their dapper business suits and leather loafers. On a day when I finally had my first job interview, today seemed like a freaking symphony, alive with all kinds of clors.

I walked into the cafe. A tall guy with tattoos was working behind the counter.

“Excuse me?”

He looked up.

“I came in a while back, and I asked this pink-haired chick who works here about setting up an interview.”

“Oh, cool, okay, yeah. I’ll tell her you’re here. Just give me a second.”

I nodded.

The pink-haired chick came from the back of the kitchen.

“Hi! What’s your name again?” she asked in her cheery way.

“Natalie.”

“Natalie! I’m Sam. Nice to meet you. Let’s have a seat at that back table.”

We walked over to the back table.

“So tell me, have you worked as a barista before?”

“No. This is my first actual job, so I haven’t worked a 9-5 or anything in food service before.”

“That’s cool. We’ll get you on-the-job training so you don’t have to do any computer programs or anything like that.”

Sweet deal.

“Do you have a history of health problems that could prevent you from carrying anything more than 30 pounds? You’ll just be carrying boxes of inventory from the truck outside to the back of the house every Wednesday.”

“No, that’s fine.”

“So the position pays $9.15 an hour, but we can get you a raise if you work hard enough at the job.”

I didn’t care. I just wanted to take this job because Abe told me to.

“That’s fine.”

“Cool. Can you start today? We could really use a hand in our kitchen.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Great! I’ll go ahead and give you your green apron and you can come in the back with me.”

I followed her to the back of the house.

An old guy towering about 6 ft 4 inches was grilling patties in the back of the kitchen.

“Oh, I have someone I want you to meet! Kapel, this is Natalie. She’s our new barista.”

“Pleased to meet you, Natalie,” Kapel said, not turning around. I figured he had to keep an eye on the burgers.

“Ok, let’s get you your apron.”

We walked over to the closet. A massive cooler sat behind it.

“So this is where we get our ice from. This is the ice we use for our iced lattes, our waters, and for chilling our evening wines and beers. This is where you will keep your bag, in this closet.”

She fished out a green apron, much like the one people at Starbucks wear.

“We’re gonna put you at point of sales today. It’s basically where you stand at the register and ring up people’s orders and write their names on the cups. Do you think you can do that?”

A five year old could take my job right now. So easy.

“Yeah, totally. I can do that.”

So she took me up to the front. My palms got sweaty. In the conservatory world, I could hide in the practice room and not talk to anyone. I could go into class and sit through the professor’s lecture without talking to a single soul. In this place, I couldn’t do that.

I stood at the front. Okay, not so bad, one person.

I froze. The lady stared at me blankly.

“Well, are you going to just stand there or take my order?” she smiled sarcastically.

Ouch. That hurt a lot. I hate sarcasm.

“What do you want today?”

Sam gently nudged me.

“Not “What do you want today”. Say “What can I get you?” Ask how she is doing first.”

The lady looked at us quizzically.

“Forgive us. Natalie’s our new barista and she’s training.”

My face flushed with embarrassment.

“Sorry,” I said, trying not to curl up into myself and stare at the floor. “What can I get you?”

But by then, the lady had already turned to Sam.

“She knows my order. Watch and learn, sweetie. I will have a triple mocha espresso macchiato with whipped cream, 5 Splendas and sugar-free toffee nut sauce. Oh, and with soy milk steamed to 120 degrees.”

I froze again. This lady basically had put together a drink our of Frankenstein. It was trying too hard to be both healthy and unhealthy. This drink in and of itself sounded more unhealthy than a Luther burger. For those who don’t know, the Luther burger is in an episode of a show I watch called The Boondocks. The grandfather whips up this burger made of a hamburger patty with bacon and cheese, all held together by two Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Even an artery-clogging invention like the Luther burger seemed like a fresh kale salad compared to the drink this lady got.

“Go to ‘drinks’. Go to ‘coffee’. And ring her up for a macchiato with soy milk. Add a sauce.”

I typed it all in. The total ended up being $6.99. For a fucking drink you were going to throw out when done.

“Can I get your name?” I grabbed a cup.

“Oh, you don’t need to put my name. Sam knows,” the lady said, thrusting her bejeweled leathery hand into her alligator skin purse and throwing a bunch of pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters on the counter at me, as well as a five dollar bill and a one dollar bill. It seemed rude that she would just throw her money at me like I was a dog, but I guess that’s part of the job.

“Count that for me,” she demanded.

I sorted through the mess of change while she impatiently tapped her foot.

I pressed the button on the register for cash, and the register opened up to reveal a fresh assortment of compartmentalized bills and coins. I put the change in and asked her if she needed the receipt. She snatched it out of my hands and moved to where Sam was making her drink. Well that was embarrassing, I thought. Maybe I shouldn’t internalize things so much.

A cute guy wearing a waiter’s uniform walked in. He kind of looked like Simon Baker, the Australian actor with wavy blonde hair and a muscular build.

“Hey, how ya doing?” he grinned at me. Then, I saw an equally attractive woman come up to the counter and sidle up next to him, playfully kissing him on the neck. He pecked her on the lips. Crap, I thought. Beefcake is taken.

“Give me an iced coffee with almond milk and three Raw Sugars. And–what do you want, honey?” he motioned to his girlfriend.

“I’ll just have a 5 shot mochaccino with extra chocolate sauce,” she shrugged.

Damn, I thought. That’s not something to shrug about; that’s dessert! A girl slim as her would probably never gain weight drinking those every day. I bet her and Simon Baker-look-alike regularly go to the gym just to show off their tanned bodies to passerby.

“Ok,” I motioned for Sam to come and help me, but she was gone. I fumbled with the machine, and then it froze up on me. I saw one of my fellow employees sweeping up the condiment area. I motioned over to him but he had his earphones in.

“It’s cool. We’ve gotta go and sit down. Can you give us these drinks on the house?”

I hesitated. Why would they not want to pay for their drinks? I mean, we’re people, too, you know, even if we spend hours a day making these nasty sugary drinks to make you bounce off the walls.

“Ummmm…okay.”

“Thanks! We’ll give you a tip after we finish dining in,” Beefcake grins, and winks at me.

“Pooky bear!” the ditz giggles, and playfully slaps her boyfriend on the shoulder. “Don’t flirt with her.”

“You single? You can sleep with Ginger and I; we could always use a threesome.”

I looked at him with an embarrassed forced grin. Gross! I thought this dude was going just get his drink and leave me alone, but looks can be deceiving.

“I….”

“Leave her alone,” a voice behind me said,

“What?” Beefcake turned to find the voice.

A tall guy with glasses and a gangly build, wearing a green uniform, came up to where I was standing.

“Yeah, I told you to leave her alone.”

Beefcake held up his hands in a fake apology.

“Fine, fine, I was just teasing her.”

“Sir, that is technically sexual harassment, and I can have you kicked out of this store any time I please if you are going to walk in and make unwanted sexual advances towards any of my employees.”

The guy sighed, then turned to look at me.

“We’ll be sitting right there. Just hurry up and give us our drinks.”

I nodded. This day was going to be interesting.

—

Beefcake and his girlfriend didn’t even leave the tip they promised. He walked in, so cool as a cucumber, and here he had to go being petty. Fuck him and his dumb girlfriend.

It was the end of my shift at 2 pm. I grabbed my stuff from the closet. When I closed it, Sam surprised me on the other side. It was like a scary movie and I was the person who closed the door only to find a possessed something-rather standing right in front of me.

I jolted.

“Hey, how was your first day of work?” Sam asked me, her dimples beaming from left to right.

“It was good,” I said.

“Will you be coming in on Wednesday for the 5 am shift? You’re on the schedule for that.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll see you then.”

And with that, I grabbed my baseball cap and went out into the New York City sun.

Blackish: Season 8, Episode 9, “And the Winner Is…”

Tonight I watched episode 9 of blackish’s farewell season. I’m rather behind in watching blackish so I need to catch up at some point on the episodes I missed this season. In this episode, Dre enters his ad into an advertisement award ceremony and finds out that it got nominated, but his coworkers warn him that another ad has gotten more popularity and thus he doesn’t stand a chance against it. Meanwhile, Dre’s coworker, played by Reid Scott, has already won several ad awards for his past work and makes sure to let Dre know that he won those awards before so it’s nothing worth getting excited about. Dre, however, refuses to give into defeat and tells everyone his ad will win at the award ceremony.

Meanwhile, Olivia, Junior’s girlfriend, is returning from Yale to Los Angeles and Junior plans an entire week packed with fun for her and him. They have been making long-distance love work even though it’s been hard, but Junior imagines that he is going to give Olivia a bouquet of roses and she is going to be in a beautiful dress and they are just going to dance to The Weeknd’s “Earned It” and falling in love with each other. Jack and Diane, his siblings, aren’t convinced that this is how it will turn out but Junior is convinced that it will and hangs onto that idea of him and Olivia continuing their relationship together.

Dre and Bow are at the awards ceremony and so far the popular ad, which was something along the lines of “girl on a horse,” gets all the awards. Dre is discouraged, but then the host announces Dre won an award for his ad. At first, Dre is in disbelief and thinks that he lost, telling Bow he was just happy to be at least nominated for the award, but then Bow snaps him back to reality and tells him that he did in fact win the award. Dre gets up to the stage and thanks his family and the late Nipsey Hussle, but then the orchestra cuts him off and he calls them out on it. Dre’s coworker then approaches him and tells him a story about how Tom Brady won many awards but then getting those awards motivated him to be more competitive, and tells Dre that he is in competition with him for the awards and that Dre should watch out. Dre doesn’t back down and accepts the challenge.

Olivia finally comes home to Junior late at night after a long trip, and he begins to tell her all the fun stuff he has planned for them both, but she dozes off before he can continue because she is exhausted from her trip. Junior feels crushed. While Olivia is sleeping, he plans a food tray with all these fancy food items for her but then Pops asks him more about how things are going with him and Olivia, and Junior says he wants to make the long-distance relationship work between them, but Pops tells him that relationships are challenging, and that him and Ruby’s relationship took work. Later on, Dre and Bow come home from the ceremony to find Pops staying up at the dinner table with Devante playing a song on the keyboard. In that moment Dre realizes that while he was happy to win the award, he missed Devante’s piano recital and actually wants nothing more than to be home with his son hearing him play piano and seeing absolute joy on Devante’s face. Later on, Dre decides to take a day off from work to spend time with Devante and hear him play on the keyboard.

Junior and Olivia meet and Junior is excited to hear about her journey at Yale, but then Olivia says they need to break up because the long-distance relationship just may not be working between them. Junior, absolutely crushed, ends up depressed. At the end of the episode he tells his phone to play “Unbreak My Heart” but it tells him that the person he shared the music account with (aka Olivia) has denied Junior access to it, so he sings aloud to himself the song.

I really loved the part about where Dre realizes that even though he won an award, it doesn’t define the trajectory of his life. Dre spent his entire career dealing with racism and microaggressions at work and people telling him his ideas weren’t good enough, and he had to work twice as hard as his (mostly white) coworkers to get to where he is today and move up the corporate ladder. But after seeing Devante’s joy when he plays music, he realizes that he has been missing out a lot on the little things in life, and realizes that even those seemingly small moments of joy are part of success. It was a lesson for me because there were definitely times where I thought, if I win a Grammy or an Academy my life will be perfect because I have been working so hard towards those dreams. But this episode taught me that at the end of the day, I’m not competing with anyone else for the award. Maybe on the surface, but in reality I can only compete with myself. Dre realized after seeing Devante experience that pure joy that his life was so much more than just a single award. I’m proud Dre won the award and for all the hard work he’s done, but I’m glad he realized that he can be successful while also living as a human being. It reminded me to enjoy life itself, that while I can appreciate success, I have to understand that sometimes living life itself is a success because it has its challenges and I do my best to get through them. Also, I realized that even if I do win a Grammy or an Oscar that’s not the end of my career, and that the award ceremony isn’t going to happen everyday. Every day it will feel like work, but that’s part of the process of growing and maturing is showing up to do the work even if I may not feel like it. Also, Devante is adorable and I loved seeing him joyful when playing piano. I was pretty heartbroken alongside Junior, though. He and Olivia were such a beautiful couple, but definitely I feel that from my own life: long distance, while people make it work, has its challenges. I remember when I had a long-distance relationship with someone from millions of miles in another continent, and we made it work when we were together in India but then as time went on we stayed in touch but then naturally we lost touch and I guess that was our closure. It was a challenge not being there with him, but I guess that’s why I’m glad I had a religion or philosophy to keep me going even when it got tough.

On Leave, Chapter Six: The ASMR Video

I came home and rested. I had nothing else to do without having schoolwork to finish so I sat bored out of my mind on my bed. I browsed YouTube and looked up “ASMR videos.” I knew some kids in college who liked watching those videos because it not only helped them with their depression and anxiety, but also just because they got tired of watching cat videos in their procrastination time and wanted to watch something different. There was something satisfying about these videos, maybe just seeing people do the easiest thing in the world that could be monetized: eating leftovers or takeout, whispering into these jumbo microphones, giving Turkish massages. I hadn’t watched them before; in fact, I sort of poo-pooed them because it just seemed weird to watch people doing an everyday thing that shouldn’t really deserve any likes. But I was bored, so I thought, “What the hell?”

I typed “asmr eating.” There were thousands of videos that popped up in the search showing people eating Taco Bell, eating raw honeycomb (I don’t know if that can even be called a legit food), or whispering French into the microphone. Some people even read racist, sexist and homophobic comments from haters of their channel. Somehow that didn’t seem too relaxing to me, so I went with the whispering Spanish video by ASMR Afficionado, a girl with cornrows and excessive makeup.

“Holaaaaaaaa…” she whispered into the microphone. “Me llamo Tricia, y hablo espanollllll…”

All of a sudden I felt this weird tingling sensation down from the top of my head to the bottom of my spinal cord. Was I experiencing ASMR, too, even though I never knew all these years that like those kids in college who liked ASMR, I had the same response?

She continued to speak into the microphone, reading from a novel in Spanish that she must have gotten from the library. Then all I heard was jumbled noise, and I was asleep before I knew it.