I love winter in New York, and I was therefore not expecting to go anywhere. I was, in fact, getting set, quite determinedly, to be nowhere else but in New York. But then my sister called, asking if I want to visit our parents (and see everyone as well) for a few days over the holidays.

I haven’t seen my folks in more than two years. I am in touch with them everyday, thanks to technology, but nothing beats personal presence. (Everyone says so!) And so, we gamely plotted a surprise. The plan was simple enough: I just have to pop in.

The surprise worked. As far as I can tell, my parents were actually happy to see me. I suspect though that the fun of it was largely because not only were they not expecting me at all, but to their mind, the probability of me taking a trip was almost zero. (Yes, they are well aware of my uncommon preference for New York over Atlanta.)

So, there’s that. But you know how it is, specially with family—the surprise and the novelty and the idea wore off quickly.

That’s when another surprise came along. This time, it was on me.

Tearing myself away, being anywhere else other than New York for the first time in two year, I was caught by surprise with a realization: I’ve lost myself. I wouldn’t have found that out if not for this little trip. In a sense, from a good distance away from New York, I was reminded of who I am. That’s when I found myself again.

As I write this, I am getting ready to go back to New York. My bags are packed, and the last of goodbyes will be said in an hour or two. Everyone will be in a floating mood, and then it will be over. Things will be back to how they’ve been, and what remains are memories. (Yes, thank God for Facebook, the evidence of the family get-together has been recorded for posterity!)

As I get pulled back into the vortex of my chosen life, it’s good to know that, even if only for a few days, I’ve anchored myself anew. And I’m glad I met the self whom I seemed to have lost.

New York, I want to tell you this: I found my self again, and I’m ready for you once more.

You know you want something when you feel that ache inside of you—in your heart and in your mind, the moment when you are confronted with what you desire. You know there things you’ve always wanted, and you try to steer your life towards it. You aim for it, you pursue it, you seek it. But there are also those things you don’t even know that you want it until you know it. The very existence of a thing is all it takes for you to know that you want it.

How do you deal with what you want? Action—that’s how you deal with it. You do something, or in most cases, some things, about getting it. You think up of the many ways on how you move it from over there to over here. You scheme, you plot, and then you move. There is no other way how you can get it than to act on it.

The inability to act is the greatest barrier to getting what you want. It is possible that there could be a thousand and one reasons why you can’t have the things you most desire. But the one thing that stops you is really not the thing itself because you know it is there, but how you move forward to get it.

What do you have to invest to get it? The thinking, the effort and the time—all concentrated in order to achieve it. The first logical step is to gather all the information that you can lay your hands on. The second logical step is to assess the information that you have amassed. The third logical step is to formulate a plan that outlines the details of how you are going to move forward. And the fourth logical step is to take action.

Simple, right?

No.

This is a linear approach to getting what you want. It’s neat, organized, sensible. But life isn’t that way at all, not specially when you want to get something. And often it seems that the more you want, the harder it is to get it.

Here are the things that makes it harder than it already seems:

First, when you pick up information, when you add data, or when you gain intelligence, whatever you have gathered is always never enough. There is always crucial missing information. You can sometimes sense it, but you can never know this at that moment. Often, you gain the information you need not when you are in the act of gathering, but at those times when you should have known better. The information makes itself evident only after the fact.

Second, because of the incompleteness of your information, the plans you formulate are therefore flawed. When information is missing, you try to guess as much as you can and fit the pieces into something that will appear logical despite the gaps in what you know. You fill in the missing pieces with elemental conjectures and guesses, and you hope that it holds up. You, of course, learn that it doesn’t.

Third, you map out your course of action based on the imperfect information you have gathered and the intelligence that you have formulated and deduced from what you know so far. You begin step-by-step, from point A to point B, figuring out the actions that you must take, in order to reach your “destination.” The problem with having a plan is that it is based on so many assumptions, both big and small, about things that you know. Also, a plan is predicated on the predictability of certain outcome—from knowing the cause and its effect, over the course of the many steps that you are required to take. In most cases, it becomes a hit-and-miss scenario.

Fourth, life happens when you are trying to get what you want. You make your moves, and the reality of your situation keeps changing. A lot. A whole lot. Today is so different from yesterday, and you try to adopt or keep up, with what’s going on around you. Things change, even from moment to moment, that you often lose control of what’s happening, and even as you are trying to pursue something, other things get in the way. And there area many of these things that always get in the way.

Because of the obvious and inherent imperfection of how things work out in the general and particular scheme of things, many of the things you want in life seems to be impossible to achieve. You can motivate yourself endlessly, and pursue the things you love in a relentless fashion, and still, the things you desire the most escape your grasp. As you grow older, you begin to think that you learn a little bit more to deal with the vagaries of life, and yet, you still stumble, not only from things that are new, but also from things that are old—the ones you’ve already known, but never quite learned.

So, what is there to do?

The thing you love. That’s all there is to do. You wish, you aim, you dream. You can always vest your heart and mind on something that is beyond the grasp of the moment, but today, just today, do what you can do. It doesn’t have to be a big step. It doesn’t have to be a major step. It can just be the smallest of steps that makes sense today. The idea is to do something—to move, not by a long mile but by a short inch. Take that one easy step, that one painless step, that one harmless step.

But then again, it isn’t really that easy at all, is it?

When you are living life, when you are trapped in the middle of it all, when you are besieged from all directions with the things that distract and deter you from what you need to do, when the threat of the tempest swirls about you, you can only do nothing.

And doing nothing, at the moment, is the right thing at the moment. To stop everything that bedevils you, that could be the best at moment. And when everything has totally stopped, that’s when you can move again. And this time, one small step at a time, you can move on, from that one place to the next.

[Note: Dominique James is a professional photographer, writer and graphic designer based in New York City. Visit his website at www.dominiquejames.com or email dominiquejames@mac.com for more information.]

I used to say, and I still do, that I love New York. It has become a campaign cliche of the most effective sorts, but it’s success as a motto is because it really represents, in the most direct way possible, a feeling that is inevitably real, specially to all those who have come here from elsewhere in the country, and all over the world. The emblematic “I love New York!” is something that many can connect to, have connected to, and continues to connect to.

But if you look at the faces of the people who lives and works in New York, and despite the palpable vibrance of humanity, that promotional catch-phrase is just that: a catch-phrase. You won’t see that sense of love too many of the people’s faces. Maybe, it’s somewhere at the back of people’s minds, but it’s not front and center. There’s something else that’s occupying, or perhaps more appropriately preoccupying, people’s mind.

And so, the question must necessarily be asked: Have you ever, at some point in time, even just once, come upon a moment where you cannot move?

It’s the kind of moment where and when you are not just in some sort of a rut, which happens too often, too ordinarily, but those rare moments where and when you find no more meaning to whatever it is you were thinking about or hoping to do. It’s that crossroad in one’s life where you stop and cannot move forward, or even backward, because there just seems to be no more point to doing so.

Admittedly, it’s a scary moment, and that senseless sense of fright, real or imagined, adds up to the notion that nothing is worth it anymore—short of a suicidal tendency, but that even which, also holds no meaning and no purpose.

The sad part, perhaps, when you come face-to-face with this moment, is you are alone, and you often cannot speak of it to others, out of shame or out of being misunderstood. This experience, painful and lonely, is one that must be borne by one’s self.

I have heard of peculiar stories of people who, even at the height of their achievement or comfortable lifestyle, give up on it, willfully and drastically altering the course of their individual lives, only because they have come upon the revelation and to the conclusion that their existence, while not threatened, holds no meaning for them. That everything that’s going on all around, except perhaps for a handful of relationships they value, has lost the significance.

Parhaps, and because of this, of all the people that should be envied, the ones most worthy of our envy, are those who have found life’s meaning in whatever field or pursuit they happen to be fully engaged in, and moving about with exacting certitude that they cannot be distracted by every bit of the myriad things that are all around.

One of my favorite pastimes, if it can be called that, is during subway rides in the belly of what is dubbed as the world’s greatest city—New York. Whenever I have to take one of these rides, going under and allowing myself to be swallowed by that incredible engineering marvel that is the city’s efficient and almost meticulously controlled and token-maintained subway system, is to look at the people all around me. I look at as many faces as I can, not to remember them, but to observe them, and to draw out their secrets.

The subway scenario is perfect. Underneath, everyone there is practically a prisoner, from the time of descent to the time of emergence back to street level. It is a perfect pause, caught up in mindless transport that has everyone in a suspended state of animation. Even while everyone tries to make the most of the time, by reading a newspaper or a book or a monograph, or by listening to music or perhaps an audiobook or a podcast, nothing really goes and nothing really happens until one reaches the planned, or even imagined, destination. And so, while under this unusual spell that can happen at any time of the day or night, even if only for a few minutes, one is caught up in an almost temporary catatonic state of wait.

I fall into this sort of catatonic wait myself, but mostly, I indulge in my fascination and infinite curiosity about other people who might be around me, not just to see their faces, their general countenance, and their manner of garb, which can be very strange at times but which has become somewhat generally accepted and almost ignored in a city that is no longer a stranger to the idea of strangeness, but to try to fathom the depths of those whom I might look at.

It is, of course, considered rude to stare at strangers, my mother tells me so, and in effect, I generally try to visually absorb as much as I can in whatever I see, mostly and generally forming fleeting if not first impression, before quickly averting my glance to something or someone else and before I am suspected of rudeness.

It’s an exercise in sociology, if you will, but without any background in its underlying theory. Perhaps, I’ll also be forgiven for being a photographer, whose very essence of its business is to look. Despite my shortcomings in the science of it all, I try to pry, fathom and distill the meaning of people’s lives—what is it that drives them to whatever quest they are after at that very moment.

While the subway system and the train cars underground move people faster than all the frenetic walking that happens on all the sidewalks of Manhattan a few inches above (and New Yorkers walk really fast), people are necessarily and considerably slowed down in the caverns below. In that confined space underneath, the movement of people are almost always in slow motion. And I can imagine, that the sudden change in pace gives them the momentary opportunity to reflect upon things, which, if you look at their faces, are clearly etched.

While there will be those who will try to mask it, like bobbing one’s head to the beat of a music delivered through the ubiquitous white wires from an unseen player in a pocket to the ears, or getting lost in an intellectual exercise of sudoku, or really, through any number of portable distractions, majority are free-standing on their own, with nothing but the unfettered flow of their thoughts to occupy them for the time being.

Lost in the swirl of their temporary mental exile where there is no escape until the arrival at their destination, their faces are a fascinating study. You can see their struggles, their angers, their fears. Clearly etched on their faces are expressions of their concerns, real or imagined. It is, just as clearly, who they are.

While I cannot presume to read their minds and know of each particular case, it is interesting to “read” them by looking for clues—their outward physical appearance, the way the dress up, the way they carry themselves, the things they bring with them, and even their subtle interaction with strangers all around them, can often offer an insight into what or who they are, and perhaps, even intimate the state of their current circumstance.

Who am I to tell or to judge subway people by merely looking? I have no right to do so, to begin with. But it is not to them or for them that I do it. It is for myself. I do it because I seek understanding of my own life situation, or predicament, if you will, by visiting upon the countenance of other humans who trudge the subway system with me, and who may, perhaps, through the practice of casual glance or a more involved observation on my part, can lead me to the very answers I seek, of which, the meaning of what I am doing, and why I am here.

The other day, I decided to subscribe to the podcast of financial guru, Suze Orman. As I watched the first episode that just finished downloading, she was dispensing an advice to a couple, the husband of whom was contemplating of moving to another city due to some employment possibilities, and trying to grasp what it all means to the future of their financial well-being. I abruptly stopped the podcast in the middle of the episode as I was struck by what Orman said almost casually, as if she has been saying that for the longest time that it has become a common wisdom, a guidepost, a principle, by way of supporting a particularly recommended advise. What caught my attention was not the particular case that was being talked about, nor her particular advise, but the principle which she almost off-handedly stated: the realization of what is really important to one’s life.

If Suze Orman were to suddenly ask us, on TV or even face-to-face, we’d probably be unable to muster an answer with certainty, right there and then, and without the time to sort through the rubbles in our minds, what is it really that’s important to us.

And to some people, the answer may not come at all. Because there is no answer to that question. It’s like asking, “What is nothing?” What could possibly be the answer to that? Isn’t nothingness just, well, nothing?

The people whose faces I see in the subway, whose faces are contorted, and not even in a way that is consciously animated but pulled about in ugly, conflicting directions, by the palpable force of their inner struggles that’s raging, and being fought, are perhaps struggling to find something out of that nothing.

Again, I do not judge others, and not only do I sympathize or empathize, but, I connect to them.

Happy are those who have found the purpose of their lives, and have found the outlet and the means to express them. Unhappily, not too many have found it, yet, and so far. Many people struggle with the existential question of their lives, the meaning of their existence, and I don’t mean that in a religious or cosmological sense, but in the most practical of terms, of the deep-seated and utter conviction of the purpose of one’s moment-to-moment life.

There are not too many of that in New York City. And perhaps, not anywhere else.

[Note: Dominique James is a professional photographer in New York City. Visit his website at www.dominiquejames.com or email dominiquejames@mac.com for more information.]

Much has changed in recent times. Change is, in fact, the more obvious if not blatant norm nowadays. Look around you, things are changing at a fast and furious pace. Everything that change touches are so much more different than what they have once been. You don’t actually need to look very hard because the havoc that change has wrought are both in the small and big things. The paradigm we are all living in right now, as it has always been, but more so obvious now, is hinged upon one word, and what it means—change.

Surely, all along, change has been the engine of everything that’s been going on, but the velocity or speed of change has never been before as fast as it is now. The acceleration of change, whether within us or from without, has been so fast that many things simply whizz past us at an incredible speed, making us realize how things are different only after it has happened. Before we know it, things indeed, has already been touched by change.

Because of the dynamics of change, we cannot hope to keep things the same by staying put in a single spot. There is no comfort to be felt in the fact that we can save ourselves from the idea of perpetually changing. We cannot chain the moment and keep it hostage forever. Even in our deliberate inaction and inactivity, even in our studied inertness, things are still going to inevitably change.

And we are affected by it no matter how many times we deny it. We cannot cast it out or exorcise it. When we stay in a single spot, trying to stall change, it doesn’t mean that we will be unchanged or we will be untouched by change. A momentary pause can offer only a temporary sense of unchanging surreality. But that’s just what it is—a surreal illusion. It doesn’t offer any lasting value to us. It just hoist us up in the air for a fraction of a second, only to let us fall down with a painful thud. Like the irrefutable law of gravity, change is a definite agent that keeps things moving all around and about, and within us.

The best way to deal with change is to take an old adage and personalize it: go with the flow. Follow it with obedience to where it leads and simply enjoy being led. It is natural to feel anxious and nervous about change. There is so much that’s unknown and unexpected. We fear it because we are not in control of what’s going on. And even if we have a measure of control, fear still beats in our hearts.

While swimming with change is easy for some; for others, it is not. Change, for perhaps not-so-obvious reasons, can be like swimming with the sharks. There is danger all around, and the reasons are real enough to be very afraid. The uncertainty of change can shackle into an immovable state even the most adventurous among us.

Of course, we can, to a certain extend, direct the flow of change; but by and large, we are generally caught up in its vortex. We might as well just accept change when it happens, and face the consequences with uncharacteristic stoic bravery. At this point, we have no other choice it seems. To do otherwise, or to buck the trend, can only result in painful misery for no apparent reason. And definitely, that is not a good thing.

This thing about change, and the business of changing, seems to be relatively simple. Many of us don’t think a thing about it. Many flow through with it in easy cruise control. It is, as some may describe, elementary. And yet, with the fullness of its extent, it is not. Change holds too powerful a sway for us to either simply let it happen, to disregard or to go against. Ultimately, we take it upon ourselves to navigate it—taking responsibility by being at the helm, the captain of our own ship.

[Note: Dominique James is a professional photographer in New York City. Visit his website at www.dominiquejames.com or email dominiquejames@mac.com for more information.]

A promise, a simple promise at that, is far different from a legally binding contractual obligation. A promise is a word exchanged between two or more parties, and even if only to one’s self, idealized or spoken with the truthful and good intent of fulfilling it at a certain date. A promise is one that is usually made on a deeply personal level.

A contract, on the other hand, is a signed and attested document that states an agreement between two or more parties who may be involved, in the fulfillment of a deal, usually and typically in a business scenario. A contract is often made between persons representing business or legal entities, largely detached from a personal standpoint.

Both a promise and a contract involves a certain degree of commitment to fulfill the terms of what has been understood and agreed upon. However, I differentiate between a promise and a contract because, no matter the scale, a promise virtually entails no consequence other than one’s bothersome conscience and the breakdown of relationships between those involved, while a contract will certainly cover a set of harsh negative punishments among individuals within the legal parties.

I would like to talk about a promise, not a contract. While both promises and contracts have been dealt with extensively, I’d like to add my take on the word “promise.”

About three months ago, somebody made me a bright promise. It was the kind of promise that was, well, promising. That promise made me happy. It is the kind that propped me up in a major way. The one who made me the promise sounded so very sincere, and I believed it—wholeheartedly, in fact. There was no reason why I should ever doubt. Every single word said made perfect sense, and therefore, I was convinced. Was I blinded? Did the glitter of the promise make me not see the impossibility of the promise?

Well, in my judgement, I trusted the person who delivered that promise, and I held on to it. As a matter of fact, I worked very hard and delivered my end of the bargain, not only to show my sincerity, but to make clear to the other person that I take the promise seriously and was looking forward to its fulfillment. In other words, I fostered all the right conditions and I’ve delivered everything needed to deliver so that when the right time comes, when it is ripe, I can collect on that promise.

The promise made to me was categorically unfulfilled. And I was devastated. In fact, I’m trying to recover from it. I don’t quite know how, but I’m sure I will. There is always a way out of it, that much at least I know.

This is not the first time that I have been on the receiving end of an unfulfilled promise. There have been countless times before when promises made to me have gone unfulfilled. Most of them I have forgotten, consigned to the dustbin of memory, but there are quite a few that still lingers to this day, no matter how much I try to forget them.

Because I believe that all promises are sacred, at least, that’s how I have come to view it, I do my best to always fulfill whatever promise I make. As a matter of fact, I have a running list in my mind of all the promises I’ve made, and I will deliver upon that promise. Right now, there are about less than a dozen promises I have yet to keep. And each day, I inch towards the fulfillment of each one of those promises. Perhaps it is not hyperbole to state that I will move heaven, earth and even hell, to make sure that when the right time comes, I will fulfill the promises I’ve made. For one thing, it will not do me any good not to keep them.

I will be the first to admit that promises can be very hard to keep. And I’ve left unfilled a few promises myself. In fact, I must categorically say that there have been quite a few that I have regretted not fulfilling, which I’ve long ago apologized for and paid for dearly. But most often, because of certain circumstances, it takes me a little longer than usual to fulfill it. Since I value the trust of those whom I’ve given my promise to, there is nothing for me to do but to do it. In the same way, I value the trust I invest on those who made promises to me as well. If nothing else, I operate, and we all operate, on a complex set of promises based on varying trust and respect for each other.

If you come to think of it, there are promises, many, many promises in fact, that can actually be left unfulfilled, and I don’t mind it at all. These are the kind of small promises that doesn’t impact our lives, yours and mine, in any way. But then, there are promises that may look small, and yet, we are captive to its powerful sway.

As a rational person, I see that promises can be neatly categorized—one that can be done or not done without any grave consequence, and one that, if not done, can result to devastating consequences not only on a personal level but on so many other levels where things can literally tumble down quickly like in a domino.

Perhaps, people are generally unaware that when they make a promise, they don’t quite understand its consequence. They could, in fact, be totally unaware of the gravity of their promise, and so, are unable to distinguish between the promises that should be kept as opposed to promises can be let alone and forgotten.

We all have our own little ways of dealing with, and surviving, promises—both stated and expected. But no matter how we do it, it’s really the big ones that get to us. Yes, in both terms stated, and expected.

In the end, a promise that is given, and a promise that is unfulfilled, is open-ended. It is a state that doesn’t have a closure. And for all intents and purposes, that’s all we really need: closure.

Since I came to New York, a little over three months ago, I did my best to get to know the city, and fast. My mission? To familiarize myself with how to go up, down and around. In between the stuff I needed to do, and after doing whatever it is that I needed to do, I found myself wandering through the corridors of the city.

Uptown, midtown and downtown, I would walk and walk and walk, and then walk some more. I’ve learned early on that New Yorkers seem to love walking, and it’s not just walking short distances. Most would walk, as a matter of fact, for several blocks and at a very fast pace. I told myself that, wow, this is a great form of exercise! And I got a lot of it. (Something that my mother would be very happy about!)

And surely enough, I fell into the habit of walking. Short distances, long distances. At first slow, but then eventually, I got swept into the rhythm of New York City. That fast, frenetic pace where everyone is coming and going from all sorts of directions. I find the idea of so many people coming and going a bit odd. It’s not like that in the rest of the world, at least, not from anywhere I came from. (In the US, I’ve been to Chicago, San Francisco, Atlanta, and other places.)

One time, curious as to what’s really going on, and why most New Yorkers seems to be in a hurry, I decided to stop, literally stop, and just look around. Only my head was in motion, moving left to right and right to left, looking left, right and all the way back again and around. It’s amazing to see this almost non-stop human traffic, this unending movement of people.

Watching the velocity for quite some time can either induce a headache or a Zen-like state. Depending on your predisposition, that’s what you’ll get. In any case, it’s amazing and remarkable. It’s actually wonder to see, for just fleeting moments, how everybody goes about their business with mostly grim determination etched on their faces, as if, they are carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. I have a feeling I won’t see them again at all in my lifetime.

There are so many people in New York, and the diversity is amazing, but all the moments of disconnected encounters that happen all the time, when you bump shoulder to shoulder with each and everyone, creates a friction and spark of excitement, that in turn, results to the vibrant hustle and bustle of New York’s almost unique city life.

It’s part of the experience of being in New York, the melting pot of the world, where tourists, travelers and vacationers meet native New Yorkers, and immigrant workers from all over the world. And with almost incredible homogenity, the fun part is that there’s no telling who’s who. You can take a guess, but, be prepared to be wrong.

There are many surprising twists and turns to the people living, working and visiting in New York that stereotypes and whatever preconceived notions you may have are almost useless. Each is as individual and as unique as can be. Even the seemingly impatient way they walk the streets.

And so, this never-ending streaming of the masses, aided by the swift efficiency of the multi-stop transport system, from buses and subways to ferries and trains, creates a kind of velocity that runs the engine of the city. It is energetic, frenetic, and plainly, almost crazy. You cannot help but be swept by it. It is unlike any other city, there is no other city like New York.

BY DOMINIQUE JAMES

We are always looking out for tomorrow. The way we live and lead our lives right now, this very moment, is always seemingly in preparation for something that is yet to come. And it has been going on like this for a long, long time. And we are getting impatient, wondering, if things are going to be actually better tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow. We want to know if, finally, the tide will turn, and we would have had a handle on a force that we can ride on and take us there.

We are hoping that something better, something more wonderful and something that is of importance, will happen in our lives, some time in the near future. Meanwhile, we wallow in the common-ness and in the ordinary-ness of our present circumstance. We take things today so easily for granted, and we discount what we have today just because we are looking out to the future. And then, before it is too late, we know that we really missed something. The way we conduct our day to day lives, hoping, wishing and waiting for something to come, or even just by trying to get ready and to be prepared for something in the future, we have missed the whole point of living, which is living for the day, and making something out of the hours, the minutes, and the seconds that pass right now.

The question we want to ask is, will the “tomorrow” that we have been fervently wishing for, ever really come? With the way we waste and squander our present, will the kind of life we hope for and we wish for, ever really going to come? 

There have been moments when things happen in our todays. There are highlights that are quite memorable and those that move us forward. And yet, these are the things that carry us from here to there, but without really bringing us to where we want to go. We are lost in the shuffle and the movement of things. We lose our focus not because we want to lose our focus, but because we don’t know what’s out there that is better to do. We quickly move to where the opportunities lead us, but then again, we are not sure if that is where it will happen for us.

Our moment is the moment today. So that today’s moment will build upon more moments to come. That’s what they say is going to happen. But it doesn’t seem to be happening. There is no follow-through of each and every moment. It is not happening. Life is so disconnected. Our moments today doesn’t build on moments of the future. And so, we hop on different trains, hoping and wishing that those are the trains that will carry us to the moment we want and we’ve been waiting for.

So, the only way for tomorrow to ever come, is to fix our sight not on the moment we want for tomorrow or even the moment we want for now, but to take on the next available moment, sieze it, grab it, and latch on to it, until that moment that will yield and lead to the next. It’s the base moment that we are hoping to happen. And from one base moment to the next, maybe, that is what needs to happen.

For how long? And for how far? As long and as far as you can hold on to. Take it, one moment today at a time.

I’ve moved on, and I can’t say that it was a very wrong move, or that it was too soon or too late. Too early to say, but too long already to just hang out either. Many, many things have changed. And how quickly they all have changed. Time is warping things up, depending on who looks from the outside into the inside. Some says its long enough, and then there are others who say that it’s not nearly long enough. If I were to base my present experiences on the things that they say, I will end up really conflicted. There’s no way that different points of view can be merged. Time is time, and it is linear. Only the perception of it can be non-linear. Let’s say that I’ve taken up a month already. Is that too long? Or too short? I’m not sure what yardstick can we use to warp up an unwarpable time, but measure for measure, I’ve moved on, and I’m still on the move. It started October of last year when the actual, physical journey began. (But aren’t we always on a journey, anyhow?) But the change to this present journey from the previous one the first of many tectonic shifts that was about to happen in my life. The question is not just “Do you know where you’re going to?” but “What are you giving up and leaving behind?” There must be some compelling reason that motivated me right from the start to move from far there to the now here. Whatever that might be, and even if I cannot recollect it lucidly, it must have had such a force to move me from one time zone to another by the separated measure of a several time zones. The time of my life is what’s in there now, and yet, it’s not yet really now. It has just really began.

My sister, who is a medical doctor, told me that I almost died. I don’t know if she was serious or if she was joking, but I didn’t believe her when she told me so. This is a matter that you rarely joke about. And knowing her, she’s not the type to make such jokes either. But in any case, I didn’t feel like I was in the verge of dying. There was no indication that I was about to die, you know, the usual symptoms we see in movies when actors act out a scene that they are about to die, gasping for their last breath.

“This is your 2nd chance at life,” she said, almost frantically, as if to drive home the point. She might have read my unbelieving facial expression. Even if I didn’t say anything to her, she probably saw the reaction of disbelief in my face, and she just had to react to it. “You almost died,” she said over and over again. Alright, I believe her.

But, I’m still alive. And I’m feeling fine. But that wasn’t the case early this year. When I returned to my parents’ house in Atlanta from a business trip to California last January, I wasn’t feeling fine. The two weeks that I was in San Francisco, I had high fever and my skin just started to turn red all over. My condition started to deteriorate, and I was increasingly having difficulty to move about. What was embarrassing was that I had flakes that I was covering up and hiding all over. Only my face was showing. Like a burrito, I was all wrapped and bundled up. Good thing it was winter, I have an excuse to be wrapped up as if I were a mummy. My eyes constantly felt hot. It was reddish, and I felt constantly dehydrated and about to vomit. On top of that, I couldn’t walk fast or carry my heavy luggage. My joints were swollen, and my knees felt weak and painful. It was hard even to just stand up from a sitting position. It took so much effort to move.

My mother, who fetched me at the airport, was shocked to see my condition. She couldn’t believe her eyes. On the way home, while in the car, I asked everyone to throw their jackets and cover me. I was feverish. And I was having chills. Everyone was confused and nobody really understood what was going on. It was the first time that something like that happened to me. When we got home, I took some medication, went straight to bed, and tried to get some sleep.

The next two weeks, my condition worsened. I got more and more red, and my entire body turned totally red. My skin was swollen in parts, and like a snake changing skin, I was shedding profusely. That was when I earned the nickname, The Red Man.

Wrapped in thick blankets and comforters, with only my face showing, I would smile at everyone, beatifically, and that got them really worried. Instead of showing a pained expression, my smile was almost calm and well-composed. It’s as if I’ve learned to come to terms with my condition, and I’ve resigned myself to whatever fate I am destined to meet. They kept asking me if I want to be brought to the nearby hospital where my sister was working. I kept saying “no” and they couldn’t do anything about it. They felt helpless. And they kept praying for me to get well.

My mother immediately made an appointment with a dermatologist. I felt really embarrassed with my first visit to the new doctor. I couldn’t walk straight and I was all covered up. And I felt scared. I never liked the idea of consulting with a medical professional, and I avoid it as much as I can. But this time, it was unavoidable. What can I say? I’m just glad that my new doctor, was very kind and understanding. The first time I met her and when she saw my condition, she gave me a kind smile and said with a hint of compassion: “You’re really messed up, huh?” The session was quick, and she prescribed some medication, a routine to clean up, including a twice-a-week self-injection with a new drug. Now, you have to understand, I’m scared of needles. The nurse at the clinic taught me how to give myself an injection. I thought I was going to pass out, but luckily, I didn’t.

Little by little, and after two more visits, my condition gradually improved. My constant fever went away, and the new bath routine, the procedure that covered my entire body with sticky ointment, and the self-injection eventually alleviated my condition. While the redness and skin rashes didn’t completely go away, it was now manageable, and I can easily hide them with my clothes. The “normal” color on my face came back, and I started moving about with ease and comfort. I started going out again, and nobody seems to notice anything unusual. I was back to my old self.

I know I’m doing well because, all around the house, we no longer have to constantly sweep the floors and vacuum the carpet as much as we used to. The flaking of my skin was subsiding, and I wasn’t making as much mess as I used to. While I still have to allocate two hours a day to go through my personal routine: lubricating up my entire body with the thick sticky ointment after every ritualistic bath, I felt I was going back on track, regaining my old self, and moving up and about. My motivation to do the stuff I wanted to do was returning, and I started keeping myself busy all over again, forgetting the fact that my sister, at one time, not too long ago, told me, that I almost died.

If not for my skin condition, and my physical condition in particular, I would have already taken my next trip, to New York City. But because of my medical problems, I had to push back whatever my plans and dreams I may have, and concentrate on getting well. I just had to first work on improving my physical condition before I can go and do anything else.

When I was in Manila, I was managing my skin condition with a medication prescribed by my previous doctor. It was working for me, and I managed to somehow go about my business in the best way that I can. But when I moved to the US, I got “messed” up real good. The ointment that I used to use when I was in Manila wasn’t available in the US, and, the change in environmental condition, the change in weather, and the change in everything, which lead to so much stress, led to the breakdown of my physical condition.

Of course, I couldn’t believe that something like this would happen to me, but it did. And, I survived it. Barely. Because as my sister said, I almost died.

The skin condition that I have, which led to my near-death experience, is medically known as psoriasis. It is caused by overactive production of cells. Not a single doctor I’ve been to, and not a single medical brochure or literature, and not a single research, has told me what is the real root cause of psoriasis, and what is the definitive cure, for this disease.

I probably have had this disease my entire life, but it started manifesting only some 20 years ago. That was about the time when I started my career as a professional photographer. Somehow, it started to manifest at the time when I started using a particular hair gel product made by a popular fashion brand. As I was using it, I started developing dandruff, and from there, it started spreading all over my body, beginning with my back, then the arms and down to my legs. I can’t understand why it didn’t affect certain parts of my body. It just didn’t.

At first I was alarmed, but eventually, I just shrugged it off and learned to live with it. The first doctor I consulted diagnosed my skin ailment as psoriasis. From then on, and since I’ve been told there is no definitive cure, all I can just actually do is to “manage” it.

I’ve been through several doctors. In turn, and other than the progressively expensive medications each would prescribe, I was alternately told to try out relaxation techniques by meditation, learn and engage in the practice of yoga, immerse myself in the old Chinese tradition of tai-chi, and, enlist and call upon God’s help in prayer. In totality, what the doctors was telling me was: to just “take it easy.”

For someone who has a type A personality, this isn’t an easy thing. No matter how much or how hard I try, I’m always still trying to be on top of things with whatever it is I may happen to be doing, most specially when it comes to my work, profession, and obsession, which is photography. I would constantly remind myself that I will eventually kill myself if I keep up with a frenetic lifestyle and punishing work schedule, but, I only increasingly took on more jobs and more responsibility.

Looking back, I never really paid much attention to my skin condition. While it was bothersome, and it hindered me from engaging in some activities I would have loved to do, I tried my best not to mind it. In most cases, I’ve succeeded because I never actually think about it, that is, unless it feels itchy and it becomes bothersome. But other than that, I normally “forget” it’s there. It just wasn’t really a factor.

My skin condition would worsen and flare up about twice or so a year, and I would just try to work my way around it. Through the years, I’ve learned as much as I can, and I tried to just be even-minded about it, living with it, finding creative ways to make sure that it doesn’t get in the way of the things that I have to do.

Of course, I constantly envied how other people can have such great skin all over their bodies, and I certainly wished I were or I have the same. But these were fleeting emotions and fleeting thoughts. Unless, of course, I am in a situation that makes we wish for it really hard. But then, like cigarette addiction, the desire goes away somehow.

For example, I was in Boracay twice the past two years. I’ve always wanted to go to Boracay but I tried not to go there, avoided going there, or to any beach for that matter, because it is one sure way to make my skin condition obvious. During my two trips to Boracay, I had to do a photo shoot project for a male modeling competition. I would have wanted to just go around topless, with nothing on but a dramatically shaded sunglasses and scandalously skimpy shorts, but I just couldn’t. While everyone was in one state of undress or the other, I was trying to stay and look cool while still all ridiculously dressed up with nothing but my hands and my head showing. Believe me, I even tried not to sweat too much while stupidly bundled up in a hot, tropical beach.

I tried not to think what others might be thinking or saying. I just kept consoling myself that having this condition was God’s way of preventing me from getting into so much more trouble than I already am in. Of course, I couldn’t swim, and the only really sensible thing for me to do was to go out at night when it was cool, and stay indoors during daytime when the heat was overpowering. Anyway, I managed to survive Boracay, but, I’m sure I could have done better. Being all covered up isn’t exactly the most elegant way to be in a tropical island where everyone is barely covered. How I envied those who have good skin!

In most of my photo shoots, mostly in the studio, but also on location, my “costume” would be the usual jeans, shoes, belt. I also wear long-sleeves almost all of the time. I can’t wear shorts, or t-shirt, the way I’ve seen some photographers do, during their pictorials. Because I wear long-sleeves all the time, I imagine that, to others, I look somehow formal and maybe a bit dignified. (Although, they would realize that being dignified is just an illusion once I start moving about and talking loudly!)

I get really excited in all of my pictorials. I don’t know why, but that’s just how I am. Even with the most simple and mundane of shoots, I just get really jumpy. I can’t help it. That is my nature. Almost everyone who has seen me will attest to the fact that I am easily excitable. Other than being with my son and my partner, I am happiest when I am shooting. And so, I often forget that I have this skin condition, and I go about the pictorial without thinking about it. Good thing that my photo shoot assistants are constantly aware and alert, because every now and then, they’d make sure that I am decently covered while I lay on the floor, hanging on a ledge or on top of a ladder. Whatever position I’m in, on top or at the bottom, they would make sure that my “slip” isn’t showing. They’d watch out for me and keep me decently covered up all along.

Still, my assistants can only do so much. While they try to do their best, they cannot forever keep me protected from uncommon eventualities. One time, after completing a particularly difficult but successful and beautiful image layout, the celebrity I was shooting came up to me excitedly,  and started pulling my shirt up and down, exposing my stomach and lower back. I was surprised at what she did that I couldn’t move, and when she saw the red spots in my skin, she eventually stopped what she was doing and let go of my shirt. Good thing that no one was really looking at us, but I felt bad for her because she was embarrassed not so much with what she saw but with what she did to me. I knew she wanted to apologize, but maybe, out of shock as well, she just didn’t know what to do at that time or how to handle the situation.

Other than the surprise with the turn of events, I felt slightly embarrassed at being unexpectedly exposed like that, and I actually felt somewhat angry and frustrated at what she did. But, as I thought about it, I couldn’t put the blame on her, no matter how much I would want to. For one thing, she didn’t know. And another thing, she was just really excited at what we were able to achieve. I just took a deep breath and let it go. This female celebrity is actually very vocal. She’s always in the news over some controversy or an issue. I’ve always wondered if she’s ever going to talk about what she did to me? I guess not. I’m sure it’s something that the public won’t find interesting at all. And so far, she hasn’t. Which is just a good thing. Not that I’m trying to “hide” things, I just don’t see any sense in making this thing public. I’m far from being a “public figure,” and I don’t necessarily quality as a “poster boy” to give a face to the kind of skin condition that I and million of others are experiencing.

The past 15 or so years, and as a professional photographer, I’ve had the most amazing experience and opportunity of photographing almost all of the famous personalities in the Philippines. From entertainment personalities to fashion models and from politicians to socialites, my digital archive is a repository of who’s who in the country. Almost anyone and everyone who’s got a a name for himself or herself, who may, at one time or another, become popular, most likely has an image file in my archive.

I can say that perhaps, there are only two or three other photographers in the Philippines who can claim such a distinction for now. Make that five tops. If you think how many photographers there are today, and putting things in proper perspective, it becomes quite a bit of something. And although the idea tickles me no end, I am surprised that it is something that I actually do not refer to as a point of pride. It’s just a matter of fact. Before I even realized it, and except for Sharon Cuneta and those who are still inside Kuya’s house, I’ve already somehow photographed almost everyone who’s been kissed by fame.

Most of them are beautiful. Absolutely, stunningly beautiful. They have the most beautiful faces. They have the most perfect of bodies. They have the most flawless of skins. I am at awe with their beauty. Every single day, when I get to work, and as I raise my camera to my eyes, I am feted with beauty. My work, my life, has always been about beauty. I can say that I have one of the most interesting jobs. Imagine, all I have to do is to capture and forever preserve that beauty. It’s an amazing job, and I can’t imagine doing anything else.

Last year, before I left for the US, I mounted my 50th photo exhibit. It was was a solo show held at the Vargas Museum of the University of the Philippines. What an amazing event it has been for me. I was told that it has been one of the most attended photo exhibits in the museum. In a single show, I managed to put together the awe-inspiring and definitive portraits of 50 of the most beautiful women in Philippine show business whom I’ve photographed through the years.

One morning, just before the museum door opens, and as I was walking through the exhibit hall where the almost life-size images of the beautiful women were mounted, I felt my cheeks getting wet. I didn’t realize I was crying. It wasn’t obvious at first why, but, I was crying for their endless beauty. And I was crying for the irony of it all. For the first time in more than 15 years since I turned pro, and since I started photographing the most beautiful people, did I feel the heavy oppression of the irony of it all.

Here I am, photographing and preserving beauty, and yet, I myself do not possess such beauty. My skin continues to be ravaged by overactive cells constantly threatening to kill me if I do not properly manage it. I have to live with the fact, and die with the fact that, despite the beauty of all others that I preserve and create, it is something that I cannot do for myself. This is one fact that I have to live with all my life. It is a fact that I will have to die over. Ultimately, it is the over-arching story of my life and my work as a photographer. It is the heavy-handed and oppressive irony of a deceptive beauty.

I am not from this part of the world, the America. I come from halfway away around the globe, from Manila in the Philippines. In terms of time zone, I’m roughly 12 hours away from the sun, from where I come from. Surprisingly, I’ve never hankered going away far from home. I didn’t expect I’d be this far away for this long. This was not in my plans. I wasn’t planning to go anywhere. I’m well settled from where I came from, and most important of all, I have a life which I built through the years.

The main reason I often hear why people uproot themselves, in most cases, temporarily, is to find means to earn money to alleviate their family’s financial condition, and to afford a better life. That’s mostly the case why people go out of the country, and only to return a few years after, to resume what they would probably consider a better life.

That’s not the case at all with me. I had a good life in Manila. By any standards, I was living a comfortable lifestyle. I have a career. I also have the kind of job that I enjoy doing. And the reputation I’ve built so far, has carried me far and wide, which allows me to do every bit of thing I wanted to do.

And, I have a family. That, I have to leave behind. Only because I have the opportunity to go to America.

I’ve been around America. I spent my first year mostly going around. Not really concentrating and focusing on finding a livelihood. I wanted to “discover” what America really is. And so, I embarked on discovery trips, figuring things out along the way. I’ve been to more than 10 cities in less than a year. And nothing in all the places I’ve been to, no matter how beautiful the cities and how sophisticated the offerings, did I feel a sense of belonging. Each of the place I’ve visited never made me say that this is where I want to stay. I didn’t feel any connection at all.

It could be that I’m setting my mind on one city. Since I came to the US, and even before I traveled, I have always considered one city to be the place where I want to be. Maybe, I’ve conditioned myself that way, but, somehow, that’s what happened. For me, there is only one city in America that I want to live and work in. That city is New York.

The first time I came upon New York City, my heart skipped a beat. I instantly fell in love with it. I arrived by midnight train from Goergia, and when I stepped out of the Penn station, I knew that, finally, in almost a year, I found the city where I want to be.

I’ve been here 3 weeks, and so far, my experience has been rich and diverse and challenging. I’ve been through so many wonderful things, and I can only think of a lot more. My day to day life here is magnified.

One day, as I was taking the subway, I came upon a quote pasted on one of the train’s billboards. It was from the famous grammarian and writer, E.B. White. It was a quote taken from one of his weekly essays for The New Yorker entitled Here is New York written in 1948:

“There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born there, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size, its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter–the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something. Of these trembling cities the greatest is the last–the city of final destination, the city that is a goal. It is this third city that accounts for New York’s high strung disposition, its poetical deportment, its dedication to the arts, and its incomparable achievements. Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness, natives give it solidity and continuity, but the settlers give it passion.”

I was struck by this quote, and I knew and understand what kind of New York I am, and why I am here.

Of course, it shouldn’t take an E.B. White to tell me why I am here and why I want to be here. I already knew, deep down in my heart. The words of E.B. White seemed just to be the affirmation I needed to read and know, to truly belong to the city where I decided I want to be. It was the map I was reading correctly.