I order a coffee and momentarily stare at the girl’s tattoo that’s carefully inscribed on her neck as she punches buttons and takes my order. The tattoo is a Chinese inscription. I’m thinking of saying something about it but I don’t. I take my coffee and add sugar. I take a sip; it’s too bitter. I continue adding sugar, but it’s pointless. I pour the milk and continue stirring in the hopes of being rewarded with a sweet taste. I give up. An empty couch is to my right, I almost sink in, take out a book, my iPod and read, unwillingly, yet dutifully. The woman next to me is taking notes on the book she is reading. She doesn’t distract me; in fact, no one does.
Outside the Starbucks there are plenty of empty chairs. I sit to enjoy a cool breeze. But I am somewhere else, somewhere past the empty parking lot in front of me, somewhere past the lonely streets. Tonight is Friday and I am restless. I am depressed but I can’t even rationalize my feelings of despair. I have an urge to jump into a big pool and drown, sink, be weightless. Would that be too crazy, too insane? Am I angry at the world? No. Am I angry at myself? No.
I hug my pillow. Mother walks in and sees me sobbing by the window. She is hurt and I hate myself for hurting her. It’s nothing, I say. How can I explain what is inexplicable to me? You are tired, is that why? No mom. It’s not that. Talk to me. I don’t know what to say maman.
I don’t know what to say.
But I do know that I’m never going to order another coffee. I will stick to my vanilla latte. And if I ever get a tattoo, it won’t be on my neck.

The ride back home was long. I didn’t say a word. I stared out the window, watching the trees like I was 12 again, curious to see nature’s wonders. We drove in silence, a heavy, unbearable silence. The roads were clear, the sky a pale blue, limitless, inviting. I wish I could ask her to take me away. I wish I could ask her to drive to Manhattan and leave me there. So what if I’d be alone, so what if I’d have to find my own way into the city. I wish I could…
Maybe it’s my pillow or my old, rusty bed that squeaks with my every turn. Or maybe I just have insomnia. I haven’t been able to sleep the past few nights. I turn and wake up in between meaningless dreams. My body is soar but I don’t fall asleep. Perhaps I’m still thinking. Thinking about him, you, me…
In my dreams I don’t see trees or the pale blue sky. My dreams are insignificant; I can’t even recall them. I wish my mind would shut off so I could just…sleep.
I am going to bed, hopefully to sleep, hopefully to dream. Please don’t disrupt me. Please don’t follow me. Please don’t make me think. Let me be a dreamer. I will be a writer when I wake up. I am watching the sparking moon and I’m wishing upon a star. If only I were 12 again.

The balcony has become a refuge for me and my lonely mind. Every night, before I go to bed, late into the night, I sit there on a white chair. My iPod is in my lap, my cell phone by my side, with a cup of Nescafe or tea, interrupted by no one, disrupted by nothing. I think as I breathe in the fresh September air. I daydream by the moonlight. I watch planes that ascend into the pitch black sky. I forget all; I am forgotten. In my head, I continue to write and sometimes I do not remember a single sentence. I become nothing. I become the night’s shadow and feel the lightness of my being. I submit myself willingly to the night and endure the unbearable lightness of being.

Mom smells the Caspian Sea when I open the window. Hurricane season has arrived and we are drenched by heavy rains and storms. Inside our cozy apartment that has no particular smell, we are trapped. But it’s a good entrapment, one that I want to cling and hold on to. Perhaps for security or to stay dry.
I have long forgotten the smell of the Caspian Sea. I have forgotten the feel of its sand, its soil, its shells and rocks. I long to touch the sea shells, the imperfect cream colored rocks that sparkled in the sun, the sand that cloaked my feet, keeping them warm and dry. Why is it that I long for things that now seem so unreachable? Why am I haunted by childhood memories that make me want to be a child again?
I was too absorbed by the American dream. And what I ultimately lost as a result was my childhood dream, the dream that I have no recollection of now. What was that dream?
Storms come and go, take things away, disrupt peace for a little while. Then we have order again. We go back to the norm. The sea does the same. After the calamity and the heavy waves, it calms itself. Once tranquility and peace arrives, we can sit by the shore, watch the waves, count the shells, wet our feet…perchance to dream.
Since writing is my American dream, I will take my pen and I will write about me and the Caspian Sea. I was a child then and the sea was mine. Now that I’m too far away, on another ship, living to the sound of rivers and lakes, the Caspian Sea has become my dream. I will find it again. One day soon, I will find my way back to its sand stones…I will build a sand castle right by the shore. I will watch the waves as they wash my castle away, as they destroy my only masterpiece. Only this time it won’t be fiction.