Jan. 19th What’s Good (Or Bad)

Go Ahead, Toss Away Those Fries

I have put up some weight ever since I fully moved in at the Casablanca West apartment complex five months back. Ten lbs are quite a decent amount that I’m supposed to be content about, for it’s what my roommate Jeremiah says and refers to as ‘probably just healthy muscle gain’. Though I didn’t make it manifest, my inner guilt quickly dissipated as soon as those words are uttered as we were sharing a gigantic serving of salmon sashimi & uni combo, along with a side of chicharrones. It’s way past dinner hour in our time zone and I did not bother to meal-prep, despite it being something we firmly stated on the to-do list since the start of October. A resounding “I’m craving some Japanese” from Jeremiah and a corresponding “Actually thooo” coming from me was all it takes to break our Ubereats-fast, again, submitting to the overpriced service rendered by a big corp.

As I was eating away my cal grant money, I felt very much appreciative and entrusted to the expertise of this cogent, well-thought remark rendered by my body-building companion. Jeremiah is far from burly and very unlikely to be targeted as being toxically masculine, still, his physique and persistence are something I long looked up to. I used to jog and that was it, while he has a whole gym stationed in the living room, it’s pitch-perfect enough to put you right in the ‘grindset’, as Jeremiah or whoever he saw on Tiktok says. His proclivity towards everything related to Japan was the first thing I noticed about him two years ago. I laughed it off when I first heard Jeremiah’s exclaim “I’m officially Japanese” after getting a 97 on his Japan 50 midterm. It took me no longer than two weeks to corroborate the seriousness of the statement from his Spotify playlist and our shared bookshelf:

“They did imperialize us though and that was kind of messed up, like the massacre and everything in Manila..” I wasn’t entirely sure if he was sober “The Nanking thing too, right? was terrible. But they are kind of paying reparations now through anime and everything else tho, like”. One thing that made Jeremiah and me friends is how naturally comedic he is, in both good and bad ways.

Our relation as cohabitants is far more transient than we as friends, yet I discover myself worshiping protein and despising everything carbs, although not to the point of Jeremiah’s religious powder-chugging every night. Even though it’s already two months into fall with an average weekly temperature of fifty-five degrees with our AC malfunctions about half the time, this guy seems more than comfortable to remain topless, while I was constantly (and involuntarily) imprinted by his contagious laughter (to be fair, twenty percent of the sound can be classified as laughter, will probably need a professional to identify the rest) at 2 am during his ‘last’ Halo: Infinite deathmatch, and no, I didn’t have to eavesdrop, thanks to our spacious triple that constitutes a total of 1000 sqft, quite representative of the glamorous name, Casablanca.

I surmised more than once that it’s due to this vibrant energy, Felipe rarely came back to the apartment for the full week. “Where you off to?” “San Diego. You know..for Vanessa”. The same conversation happens between us two every week as if we are rehearsing for a sitcom, usually followed by me going off crazy on the “Itinerary: Dec 2021” folder, counting down the exact days left for my Christmas trip with Heidy.

I wasn’t entirely envious, perhaps just a little. San Diego to Westwood is still quite a distance. Can you imagine the public transit? It probably takes six hours back and forth. Do I cherish time solely because we are apart? Some couples close the gap every two years and Felipe and Vanessa do so almost every week, are we doing the right thing? Are they doing the right thing?

With Felipe gone, so is our thrifty meal planning. The day before Jeremiah was defeated by a sore throat and the ‘common cold’, we ventured out to Sawtelle. Correction. Early morning, we jogged for 3 miles to the one and only Yoshoku place nearby. The spot has delicacy embroidered by made-in-Tokyo Americanism, almost the counterpart to those depressing onigiri at 7–11, or the so-called Chinese cuisine at Panda. “What cultural desert this country has turned into,” we both sighed while ordering six items off of lunch specials.

Nothing except some fries was leftover. I almost fell into the guilt trap until reality hit and I realized we came here without a car. The extra pieces of calories neatly fit the to-go box, yet they no longer stimulate our appetite. “Let’s get Yi Fang first”, the selfless hero has spoken, “then let’s gift the fries to a person who’s actually hungry”.

Since we are no longer jogging, no more kinetic energy is being generated from our bodies. I, whose workout outfit has been a copypasta of that of Jeremiah’s, regrettably paced in this frigid air.

The homeless population in this town is flourishing. When the pandemic first embarked in 2020, numerous tents have settled along with their tenants on Veteran Ave amidst the housing crisis. Jeremiah calls those villages in Westwood, I think of them more as reservations, only less touristy and glorified, where the penniless veterans and the mentally challenged loiter and mumble. They are confined and off to nowhere. The Navajo descendants who took out student loans for a Bachelor’s degree in Ecotourism; growing up in Page, Arizona, will forever greet the English-speaking tourists and put them in awe by the basic Navajo greetings, pretty much what Jeremiah did to the waitress earlier. They will dwell in this planned territory by the benevolent federal government for eons.

I slowed down slightly as I spotted our potential candidate. Jeremiah ignored my hint and kept walking, “Dude seems like he’s in another dimension”, which translates to the person looking too sketchy and not worth the risk. As two able-bodied men in their early 20s, we are, needless to say, vulnerable targets to any assailants. I couldn’t see the person’s face as they were asleep on the stairs in an eccentric posture, wearing only one layer. Jeremiah could be right: we do travel to a different dimension as we dream, whether it’s a good one or a bad one.

Regardless of my friend’s remark, I took the risk and put the fries beside the 4-dimensional, sleeping individual. The fries no longer manifest a decent taste, being a savior does. Telling myself that the minuscule, temporary ‘act of kindness’ resolves the occurrence in a bigger picture, also does. Lies, especially the ones that come naturally, have the irresistible umami that I long for, a favor that makes the extra 10 lbs healthy, the jealousy into repeating small talk, the no longer appetizing fries a life-saving charity, and the shabby into decent.