The other day, a friend and I were discussing how one should approach a friend who has recently experienced a death of someone close (gee, I wonder who we were referencing during this). My friend, who has also experienced a number of deaths last summer (it was seriously the Summer of Death for both of us), said that oftentimes, because death is not a comfortable topic, people tend to veer away from it because they are scared of offending those who grieve. So we should forgive them and not take it personally. I said that I acknowledge it’s uncomfortable; obviously no one wants to deal with or talk about it, especially those who are experiencing it. But in the best case scenario, one who truly loves and cares about you will ask you how you are doing in that respect. If the grieving person chooses not to share, fine, but at least give him a choice to share. Hesitantly, he agreed I was right.

It also reminded me of a video I recently watched about how people conduct themselves around others and the types of relationships they choose or choose not to form. Perhaps the reason that those who choose not to ask because they say they are fearful of offending are really just scared about how they themselves will react to such raw, deep, and real feelings. Oftentimes in today’s fast-paced world, we form “friendships” with others in which all we do is talk about what we are doing and when we are doing it. Feelings and vulnerable thoughts aren’t shared because that seems like too much, too frightening. Do I really want to know this person on that level? How will what I learn about this person affect me?

Maybe what we all need is to expose ourselves just a little more, and be just a little bit more vulnerable. We’d be more real human beings then, and maybe we could attain just a fraction of the genuineness Ed had (that apparently intimidated a lot of people).

Tonight, my former colleague friend and I went to dinner at Banjara in the East Village. We both had our own lamb dumpakht (a Northern Indian/Mughal dish in which a meat curry is cooked and encased in a beautiful naan-like bread), shared a kati roll, and complimentary mango kulfi. The dumpakht was delicious – thick, rich, savory yet sweet at the same time, and so satisfying with the bread encasing it. It was like an Indian version of a chicken pot pie – just with lamb and slightly healthier bread.

During our eating and our chatter, I thought about Ed and how much he loved Indian food. Even when I wasn’t with him and he’d have an Indian craving, he’d go by himself to Star India or India Clay Oven in the Richmond District for their lunch buffet and eat to his heart’s content. Once, we tried to introduce our mother to Indian food by taking her to India Clay Oven. She picked at her food the entire time, which made her feelings obvious. At the end of it, Ed asked her if she liked the food. My mother usually doesn’t like to explicitly offend anyone, so she responded, “I really liked this bread (the naan). What’s it called?” At least we tried to get her out of her comfort zone, even if we failed.

Ed would have really liked the dumpakht. I wish I could have taken him here when he was visiting in July 2011. He probably would have devoured his, and eaten what I couldn’t finish. He always had a big appetite.

Today, Chris and I went all over Manhattan for Open House New York (OHNY) weekend, an annual event that happens in New York City where residents and tourists can get free access to many private innovative homes, public sites, and landmarks that are usually not open to the public. The description doesn’t sound that fascinating until you go through the OHNY handbook to realize exactly how creative and mind-boggling a lot of the architecture is here in the city, especially given that the majority of these spaces are really small. In total, we saw eight sites ranging from a private home built from a former garage and petroleum tank (the tank now houses two beds!) to a Frank Lloyd Wright-style, two-floor home of an architect on the Upper West Side. Needless, to say, we were both exhausted at the end of the day. Last year, we only went to two sites in two days.

One thing I noticed during our constant running around today that had nothing to do with OHNY itself is that everywhere we went, I saw a Missing Person sign posted with a man’s face on it. It was probably on every other block we walked on. It made me feel empty every time we passed by it again and again because it reminded me of the less than 18 hours when my brother was missing. How much hope can one realistically have when a loved one has been missing for 12 hours or 24, a week or a month, a year or ten years? When Ed went missing, I knew he was definitely gone forever after just six hours; I could feel it in my gut. But there are always those more fortunate instances, such as the recent Ariel Castro kidnappings, where missing people turn up after over a decade. It takes a lot of faith to keep believing someone is out there for that long. I don’t know if I could keep believing.

We took Ed (through Bart) with us today during our open house viewings. I know he enjoyed his time (and was probably the most fascinated by the beds in the petroleum tank). He always never understood how anyone could live in such tiny, cramped spaces in New York, but these spaces we saw today give hope that sometimes, you can get have more light and sense of space with just the right amount of creativity and time.

On Wednesday, Chris and I had dinner at Daniel, which is a renowned New York French restaurant and one of just a few in the city that has been awarded three Michelin stars. Over the phone, I told my mom that Chris was taking me, and she said how nice it would be and how good it is to indulge every now and then (she was obviously in a good mood because she doesn’t say that very often. Her mentality is to save every penny for my future mortgage, children’s education, etc.).

Today, I’m on the phone with my dad, and out of nowhere, he says to me, “Next time, when you and Chris decide to go to a fancy and expensive restaurant, can you not tell your mother?” Confused, I asked him what he meant. He said that yesterday, she picked a fight with him about how he never takes her anywhere fancy or expensive, and barely even initiates buying a $5 sandwich out. Well frankly, all that is true, so I didn’t really say anything when he said that.

Then I realized something. When Ed was around, my mother probably spent most of her time hounding Ed about not working or trying hard enough at work, at doing chores, etc. She spent some time obsessing over the mundane with my dad, but if I remember correctly, her focus was on tormenting my brother. Now that Ed isn’t here, she probably doesn’t know what to do with all her energy (plus her new nervous energy since she has lost him), so she probably picks even more fights with my dad now. I have to hear about these fights from both sides.

Thank God you never have to go through another one of these pointless, excessive stress fests ever again, Ed. I’m so happy for you. Even though I miss you.

Today, I saw a John Lennon quote that made me stop and think for a bit. Then, because I wanted to read more quotes of things he’s said that are seemingly obscure, I Googled him and found this one:

“There are two basic motivating forces: fear and love. When we are afraid, we pull back from life. When we are in love, we open to all that life has to offer with passion, excitement, and acceptance. We need to learn to love ourselves first, in all our glory and our imperfections. If we cannot love ourselves, we cannot fully open to our ability to love others or our potential to create. Evolution and all hopes for a better world rest in the fearlessness and open-hearted vision of people who embrace life.”

That’s Ed, I thought. My brother was always afraid and rarely did exactly what he wanted. The truth is what Lennon says here – if you don’t love yourself first, you can never be fully able to create and flourish. Ed always had so much potential, from his drawings to his wood shop models to his karate and Chinese language skills. This world weighed down on him so much that he couldn’t see his own abilities and succumbed to believe that he was worthless. It’s painful to think about now and will probably continue to hurt decades from now.

One part of this quote that I do not agree with in the context of Ed, though, is that I do believe that despite his inability to love himself, he fully loved me and showed it in all ways imaginable. Take that, Lennon lovers – he wasn’t right about everything.