world walker

by ed shen and katie wang

the world material

I smile at the lady at the door as I walk into the room, the subtle murmurs of ambient chatter blanket the air, the hum of the air conditioning blending into the symphony of white noise. 

The elegant flow of the mass of people on the floor reminded me of a whirlpool, or hungry sharks circling around a target. I’d been lucky to receive an invitation, but I wasn’t the only one. We were all thinking the same thing, all of us in sync. The intense pressure of competition made the air feel thick, like a moist cake waiting to be cut.

I approach the dance floor and slowly glide my way across the room until I am face-to-face with them. We share few words, a smile, and maybe a chuckle. I extend my hand, and tuck the little card into my jacket pocket and walk out the door. 

My inbox blinks, and I see the first word “Congratulations…”

Awash with relief, I open the message, thrilled at the prospect of acceptance.

I imagine the wondrous possibilities for a minute before the heavy pit in my stomach returns

The gnawing returns, the what ifs and the fears. The game takes its tithe. The shiny new watch and freshly pressed suit form but a lousy recompense. The prize awaits me, I know it does.

It’s only during my lunch breaks

That I’m no longer the model intern,

Saying yes to everything

With bottomless enthusiasm and an ambitious eagerness to please.

Two months into my internship and

I’ve found my favorite spot in the office, which is out of it.

It’s a burning hot iron bench

Tucked away in an unassuming concrete corner of a never-resting city,

Hidden snugly inside the shadow of a diaspora of glass towers.

I lean back and close my eyes, taking in the sun, the cars, and the vibrant energy of everyday life.

The worst part about smiling when you’re discontent

Is that you’re lying to yourself, creating two illusions of your identity.

There comes a time when you’ll have to choose:

The world within, or the world material?

But when I sit camouflaged amidst the city, I no longer have to choose.

Instead, 

I enjoy counting the number of sirens that pass by

I enjoy feeling lost among a sea of people

And I relish the feel of the hot iron against my thighs

Because it’s something new.

Here, in the summer, life is simple:

a neverending samsara between work and friends.

Somewhere in this cycle lies time for myself, but it’s never enough.

Who’s to say I broke the cycle?

I’m still walking those thin lines between worlds

But at least I’ve learned to smile less

And that’s made me happier.

in dark rooms

A new name on the winds this month, was it an old house bringing back classics or some new up and comer with an incomprehensible name. It was the same last month, and it will be the same next.  

The reservation was for 7:30, the concierge reassured us, we had a table. I always hated places like this. maybe in a few years i’ll love the gaunty chandelier spinning above or the carefully pressed table butter. it didn’t matter, because there i sat, beaming when i wanted to cry.  

yesterday we went with someone’s assistant. she was waiting for us right outside the subway station, her pen clicking incessantly, impatiently. she only had until 3 and it was already 2:10. would there ever be enough time. we still managed to get everything and by 3:14 i already found myself behind a bar drinking on someone’s black metal.  

“have you been here?” i look up, someone compliments a bag by me, “oh i got that last month, i’ve been looking for other shoppes” i hear. 

i hear myself start again “there’s this lovely place on the upper west side…” 

i knew the names, i knew the places, i knew the people

i knew it still didn’t matter

because they knew

in dark winds, a candle flickers

there’s a ghost inside of me

just waiting to be heard

don’t look at me with those eyes

and think you see all there is

there’s a ghost inside of me,

and it’s pounding on the bars

now sometimes I wonder:

am I just a cage for myself?

the candlelight flickers in the autumn night’s breeze

one shines bright and proud -- 

the other flickers, struggling against the current

I guess I’m staring at a reflection.

Surrounded by others

yet it feels more bitter than sweet

I don’t know, can anyone in this crowd

free the she I carry inside of me?

I miss when we were starting anew

Then perhaps these doubts wouldn’t have formed,

and the shadow of myself

Wouldn’t collide with the darkness in others.

I wonder,

Why do we always have these conversations in the dark? 

I bet,

You can barely hear me over those voices in your head.

Let’s step outside those gates

Free ourselves from ourselves

All along, my ghost becomes me

And the false idol shatters 

Perhaps if you’ve taken a step forward

You’d have realized

The cage wasn’t even locked

and freed her sooner.

the usual

it was the same every week, pushing the same old heavy windows out to let the light in, the aroma of baking bread wafting from the back, and the same old dusty floor to sweep over and over again. the customers would be here soon, there was still pastries to put out and coffee to brew. no place for lollygagging

i want to go back to the summer, when the garden was blooming and you would show me the flowers. yesterday, we argued about politics and the price of oil. today we talked about love lost and faded dreams. it’s was always the same. but it was different than this

we sat in the wicker chairs on our breaks with our dreams on the air, everything that mattered was there. you had your goals, i had mine. we just wanted things to change. it was so simple then. 

open

close

clean

clean

clean

close

open

clean

clean

clean

it always begins with someone leaving. we were so happy for her. upwards and onwards. it was a family that could never stay. everything was moving. always. there was little yellow flower on the edge of the patio and and an oven that had its own name. a box of cups that had its own corner and the bubbly cook who would carefully blend the sauces for us.

it was always the details, the particular notes within the roast or the volume of the music. somehow, it all mattered.

the stories we tell ourselves

you held my hand as we dreamed into the sky

our palms pressed together in the wind

i could do anything and the world was so small

each day was a new step into the fog

our bare feet on dewey stone guided us

pulled by the same invisible thread connecting 

us to everyone else, because we were the same

it was fruitless, but the scent was already on the wind

the sweet, and luscious taste that too often escaped

us & everyone else. to capture it, was to stop, and we were

never going to stop

you told me i was beautiful and i

believed you, because that was all

i knew. and that was all i needed

and before i knew, it was the numbers that i needed

and i slowly

forgot what

it felt like

the freshness of the wound i would show you and how you

would clean it up and adorn my scars with gold like

that vase you still have on your standing desk

i miss the freedom of answering to the wind

and hearing your whispers float on by

i tell stories now

about love lost and times long gone

but how i wish

i had a story about

you

on the stage, off the stage

Yes, she’s the Valedictorian

Strutting her way to the front of the stage

Approaching the podium with a practiced balance of poise and excitement

Her white gown stacked heavy with a rainbow of cords

nestled around her neck like royal jewels.

For this singular moment,

A culmination of four years of dedication.

Who is she?

Others might know, but she still doesn’t. 

Even as she’s giving her graduation speech

She’s wondering if she’s ever been good enough.

She admires others without realizing how much people admire her.

She’s more talented than she gives herself credit for

And this makes her doubt herself all the more.

Her white robes hide her insecurities

But perhaps they also reflect her childlike innocence.

She approaches the world with a pure heart

But has since learned to hide it behind concrete walls

To those in the audience, 

Perhaps she’s the epitome of academic excellence and rigor. 

But those close to her know

She skipped almost half of her classes senior year – a troublemaker through and through.

In reality,

We’re always treading the lines between 

Who we appear to be – and who we are.

Sometimes those worlds converge, and we find harmony in ourselves.

The gown fits us perfectly, and the speech flows smoothly from speaker to audience.

Other times, we might feel uncomfortable in our own skin.

But that doesn't mean we step down from the podium.

Instead, let’s add one more experience under our belt,

and let us learn how best to approach the next stage.