Tonight, we went to see the Samuel Beckett play Waiting for Godot on Broadway. I read this play (and watched the movie alongside) in my senior year Advanced Placement English course….and I was not a fan. The play’s main themes are around existentialism, loneliness, questioning religion (waiting for God(ot)? According to this play, you may be waiting a long, long time….for him to never come), and questioning why we even exist and what are we as individuals really about? Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellen made the play more enjoyable than what I remember from high school.

One question that the character Estragon raises made me laugh out loud. He says during the first act, “We are happy.” Long, thick pause. “What do we do now, now that we are happy?”

It reminded me of my friends, my family, the world around me in their quest for purpose and “happiness” in life. Sometimes, it’s like we are spending so much time chasing lofty ambitions or doing things because they claim to make us calmer or closer to “enlightenment” or peace that it just becomes a laughable charade. Like if you think that having a stable job, getting married, having two kids, and owning a house all equal “happiness,” what do you do once you get all those things? Is your life complete? Could you die happy that way? What do you then live your life for once all those things are checked off the list? Do you just…exist at that point?

Happiness is a state of mind, a way of seeing the world around you. I don’t really think it’s about “If I have X, then I will be happy.” That just seems so superficial. But that seems to be what our society has become.

So while I am at work this morning, I find out on the news that around 9:30am, two neighboring buildings in East Harlem blew up from a gas leak. Many people were injured, and by the end of the day, six people were confirmed to have died from the explosion. Metro North stopped running for hours, and all I could hear outside the window were sirens.

This is the second devastation that has happened in the last several days that has a lot of unanswered questions. The Malaysia Airlines plane is still missing, and apparently no one on this earth (who is still living, presumably) knows where the freaking plane is, and now these two buildings north from where I live have become a great big pile of ash.

One woman who died in one of these buildings had taken a much needed day off from work. She apparently never really took time off for herself. And then on this day she finally does take a one day vacation to rest at home and ends up getting killed in this freak explosion. I have no words. Life really isn’t fair.

One of my goals this year is to learn and read more history, and One Billion Customers: Lessons from the Front Lines of Doing Business in China, is on my reading list. I just picked it up at the library yesterday and began reading it today. It’s reminded me of a number Chinese proverbs and sayings I learned while studying Mandarin Chinese in college (chi ku, or “eating bitterness,” is a very common one), as well as how Chinese philosophy is probably one of the most obvious reasons for a lot of the stupid beliefs my family has had – e.g., “emotions damage your body” (therefore, don’t show them!), “too much happiness hurts your spleen” (well, wouldn’t this explain a lot), and “suppress, suppress, suppress” (this should go without explanation). It’s almost like these philosophies pave the way to a miserable life. Or, maybe that’s just my white-washed American side speaking.

Last night when we came home, Chris was reading the news online and informed me that a Malaysia Airlines flight completely lost connection. The plane was flying from Kuala Lumpur to Beijing, and all signal was lost somewhere over Vietnam. The news said that 239 people were on this flight, including the flight crew. I immediately felt this sick sinking sensation in my stomach. And since then, whenever I can, I am refreshing BBC and Google News to see if there are any updates.

The news has already reported that about 80% of the passengers’ “next of kin” have been contacted. Family and friends have even gone to both locations’ airports to congregate for support and the latest news. It reminded me of when my mom told me that Ed was missing and how scared and helpless I felt. All of these people on that plane have people who love them but can’t do anything to help. And it’s just a matter of time that we find out whether they are still alive (doubtful at this point) or dead in some ocean, body of water, or forest. The pain they are feeling is something I am acutely aware of. The worst thing is when the only thing you can really do is wait – wait for news of an outcome that you have absolutely zero control over.

Your parents will likely be the most honest people you will ever know – at least, honest when it comes to what they think of and how they perceive you. Sometimes, you will love it, and other times (maybe most times) even hate it, but let’s face it – they’re probably doing it because they know that no one else has the guts to be as blunt. When you have crappy grades, they will remind you to work harder. You, in turn, will resent them and curse under your breath. When the guy you love dumps you and they tell you that they saw it coming ages ago, you will cry and want to hate them. And when they tell you that you are getting older and can see the age on your face, you will give them a look like, “great, I already knew that, but I was hoping no one else could see it!” That was me last week.

My mom was reminding me that I am 28, and I will turn 29 next year (yes, I know how to count, Mommy). You’re not getting any younger, she said (I don’t believe anyone is?). And then comes the very hated yet anticipated “when are you getting engaged/married” discussion, where she basically tells me that as I am getting older and my face shows it, men won’t want to marry me once I get past 30. So much for Sex and the City changing the genuine perspectives of this world.

I don’t look that bad, do I?

So I booked this trip for my parents, Chris, and I to go to Phoenix in April to see the Grand Canyon. We have one day completely dedicated to the Grand Canyon and Sedona, but we have 1.5 days where we have nothing planned yet. I’m really trying to keep in mind things my parents would not like to do or eat (you have to eliminate a lot to get to what my parents are willing to do). Frank Lloyd Wright’s Taliesin West is right in the area in Scottsdale, so I sent the link to my dad and asked if he or my mom would be interested. His e-mail reply: “She’s not interested in seeing anything. She’s suffering from depression!” Well, guess what… I booked this trip for all of us to enjoy the area and see as much as possible, so as much as you would like for us to sit in the hotel and do nothing all day, I’m not going to allow that to happen. So I’m booking this event for us, and they’re just going to have to come along whether they want to whine about it or not.

The trouble with having parents (or, a parent) who want to see the worst in everything and everyone is that they, without knowing it, really prevent you from actually enjoying things. Even the littlest and most trivial events or plans become massive problems and causes of pain.

My one week has passed in San Francisco, and I’m back to New York today. Time really flew by quickly, and I feel like I really didn’t do that much.

In March of last year when I came home for two weeks and flew back to New York, I felt miserable. I was scared about my brother’s future and how he was going to cope with his problems and life overall, I was scared about my mom’s health and the stress she felt around my brother, and I was scared about my family in general being in such a sad, negative place and seeming to be unable to get out of it. Now, a year later, Ed is gone, and each of my parents is struggling to cope in his and her own way. The stress of worrying about my brother’s future is gone because he is gone, but now there’s a different type of stress that looms – thinking about my mother’s ability to cope without him and retain her health, and my dad’s ability to stay healthy and not be so negative and irritable. When we become negative and saddened, we are at more risk to fall ill.

My biggest fear used to be that I’d lose my brother in the way that I did. Now, it’s that I could lose my parents because of how weak and vulnerable they are, especially my mom. And then I think about the same things I used to think about with Ed – how I’d cope knowing he wouldn’t be here the rest of my life to see big potential events happen for me – engagement, marriage, pregnancy, children, buying homes. I think about that now in the context of my parents, and I’m scared. I don’t sit here and obsess about it, but it’s a fear in the back of my mind that they won’t be here when any of those things happen. I don’t have a schedule for any of those things, and none of those thing seem very close to happening. Sometimes, it’s like you are waiting for something to happen, but you have no idea what will happen and when. That really sucks.

It’s interesting how we all cope with pain in our own ways and choose (or not choose) to show it. Ever since my good friend from college got diagnosed with a rare form of lymphoma last August, every time I’ve spoken with her, it’s been hard to detect any true fear or pain on her end, yet I know she is scared and worrying every day. I have no idea what it is like to think that I could possibly die of an illness. I still struggle to understand what Ed felt like in his own despairing, lonely flesh and blood existence.

Human beings are such strange creatures. We live our lives every day going through different motions and habits, trying to achieve certain things that are tangible or not tangible. Yet in doing that, we all have different adversities and demons we grapple with that may make achieving any of those things even more difficult than for another person not facing the same set of issues. I sit on the bus or train and walk by thousands of people every single day. We pass each other, exchange a glance across a subway car, bump into each other in a rush. We have everyday conversations – “Hi! How are you?” Fine, thanks! How was your weekend? Did you do anything fun?” Yet we have no idea what each others’ feelings or pains or demons are. Sometimes, that must feel really alienating and lonely. We’re in this big world full of billions of people surrounding us every day, but if no one really understands you, it’s like this big sun-lit world is just a small, dark hole with just you in it.

I went in to work at my company’s office here in San Francisco, in the “up and coming” Design Destrict that is borderline Portrero Hill where tech startups are signing leases, and where homeless men peeing while smiling at you as you are walking to a food truck is completely normal. A colleague whose sister lives in my parents’ neighborhood was nice enough to offer me a ride home afterwards. As we were exchanging notes on overprotective parents, he asked if I had any siblings. “Yeah, I have an older brother,” I said. He’s dead, but you don’t have to know that, the voice in my head said silently.

It’s such a normal, everyday question to be asked if you have any brothers and sisters. No one thinks anything of it. I freely ask people all the time if they have siblings. But now that Ed isn’t here, I really hate the question. It’s like I have to pretend that everything is normal, that yes, I do have an older brother, and of course he’s around! No one wants to know if you have any family drama, or if your sibling died in some freak accident, or if he committed suicide. How do you go about telling people about your sibling who is no longer living anymore, anyway? If you never talked much about your siblings before, why would you suddenly start just because they are dead?

I still have a couple of friends I haven’t told. Part of me thinks they wouldn’t really care – we weren’t that close to begin with. I don’t really care to share the information because it would just cause me needless anguish, and they don’t gain anything from it, anyway. I don’t want any more pain.

I’m going home tomorrow. I feel a little happy about it because I get to see my parents again, but I mostly feel depressed since I know Ed won’t be there. I spent most of today in a frenzy with work since a lot of my responsibilities are changing and I have a lot of different things to accomplish with my newly defined role, but aside from that, I just kept thinking about the idea of going home and knowing that Ed will never be there again. Actually, he’ll never be anywhere other than in my dreams. I hope he’ll be there when I eventually die and join his world. He’s supposed to open the door to heaven for me. We never talked about this out right, but we agreed… sort of. Okay, fine. I told him he has to do this for me, but he’d do it anyway because he loves me. But I can’t even count on that happening.

Is this how I am going to feel every time I go home – miserable because he will never be there again? Am I always going to wonder if I in some way contributed to his life’s misery or if there was really, truly, absolutely nothing else I could have done to help him?

I keep looking at the Lenox Butterfly Meadow cups he gave me. And then I started Googling the entire line, wondering if maybe I buy everything Lenox Butterfly Meadow related that maybe he’d be happy for me to continue what he started to buy for me. I don’t have enough space in this apartment for all this china. I don’t have space for all of this stuff in any New York City apartment. I think I am just looking for something to obsess about that is Ed-related.