I am a

Willingness to

Report

Investigate

Tell

Expose our

Reality

I'm a softy for the Softee

After moving back to Manhattan three years ago, I came to the conclusion that there was only so much snow I could handle. Before that I was living in San Juan, Puerto Rico, and needless to say I was quite spoiled when it came to weather conditions. Don’t get me wrong, I was born and raised in New York City and there is no other place in the world like it. The Lower East Side of Manhattan is my hometown and a place that I’ve lived on and off for over ten years. But what once used to be the highlight of winter vacation, is now something I lose interest in very quickly. Sure, the first snowfall of the season is beautiful and romantic, especially on a brisk Manhattan evening, but after a while it loses its luster. By February I am absolutely sick of it and I can get excited just at the thought of spring arriving. Even the process of registering for the spring semester gets me excited because I know soon enough it’s going to be April and soon after summer vacation is upon me. And for the last two years, something simply amazing has happened in the middle of February; a magical phenomenon that cannot be explained in words, only in the sounds of its sweet euphoric existence. On Wednesday, Feb. 11, at 6:07PM, as I was typing aimlessly away on my laptop, I heard the greatest sound I have ever associated with New York City spring time: The Mister Softee Ice Cream Truck. Yes, I did. I could not believe my ears. I had to stop what I was doing and sit back and hear the mystical and magnifying melody as the sound waves flowed through my ears like a lullaby of season’s change. If you spent your childhood in New York City and have no idea what I am talking about, then shame on you! I spent many adolescent spring and summer afternoons chasing after the Mister Softee truck with my wrinkled dollar bill (ice cream used to be cheap back in the 90’s, go figure) trying to buy that one piece of frozen bliss that I would devour as fast as the speed with which I ran after that damn truck. And while I rarely purchase ice cream from Mister Softee these days, I always get a giant smile on my face when I hear the music of the moving joy machine and I see children lined up to purchase that vanilla cone with rainbow sprinkles. There is nothing that signals spring’s arrival more innocently and more vividly than the Mister Softee Ice Cream truck coming out of its six month slumber to make its way around my neighborhood. I don’t have to see, smell, or feel anything. All I have to do is hear it. A thirty second loop of a song older than my parents tells me all I need to know: Spring is coming and I can’t wait!

The Letter

You know that once I get in front of this PC and get to writing, it’s on. And trust me, today, it is on. I love starting letters by enticing you into my emotional whirlwind so I can keep you reading. But today there is hardly a breeze, let alone a whirlwind. There is not a day that goes by where I am not thinking about you. I keep saying to myself that the brain is a manifestation of millions of thoughts and you are nothing but a single thought among millions. But thoughts vary in significance and memory value. I have, in essence, committed more of my short and long term memory for you. There is value for me in keeping you in my thoughts. I love originality. And I especially love originality in language. Even me saying “I love originality,” is me being unoriginal. It’s no one’s fault but my own. But here is something completely unoriginal that I nevertheless still love: The little things matter to me. The quality of my life is better because of you. Every attempt, calculated or miscalculated, that you make to better my life, is infinitely appreciated. Whether I am able to display that appreciation or not, is another story for another day. Every single day that I don’t see you, I miss you. And when I do see you, time, which has a complex way of fucking up my pleasure, travels at the speed of light. The term “speed of light” is a nice way to describe the passage of time. For one reason, the more time that I spend with you, the brighter your eyes become. And at that exact moment that your eyes begin to illuminate my emotional circuitry with its sunshine-like quality, I begin to feel like I am on Speed. If someone said it perfectly before me why should I try to make up my own quote? So I’m going to quote someone that I have a lot of respect for: the rapper Drake. “I was trippin’ off of the Speed at which life progress.” The friendship thread constructed on a premise as delicate as the thread itself, has seen better days, to say the least. The fibers on which trust and honesty lie, have struggled to remain intact. Even as I am sitting back and writing this letter to you, I feel like the connection we once shared has fell into a void of no return. Actually, I feel like I shoved it into the void with my constant irrational decisions. We are still young, and we are continuously struggling to find the meaning of love and how it affects our lives. Love, like writing, does not always make sense nor does it have to. But the time spent trying to decipher the code of this four letter more becomes more strenuous as the days go by. “ Life ain’t meant to come around twice,” (Lupe Fiasco) is the only code that I live by. And while I’m getting a little quote happy I will finish it with one last one, “I ain’t got time to waste.” (50 Cent) Life is a ride that doesn’t last forever. And by the time we realize it, the ride is over. The only way that we’re going to enjoy it together is if you sit next to me and never get off. Ultimately, that decision is up to you. My seat isn’t always going to be empty forever. And it is not going to be easy for you to make that big step. But nothing of value in this world is easy to acquire.

-Angel