crown 14A

For the last two years, here lived three goofy guys, and here a part of me was made and kept. I know we'll continue to see each of you and all of you together, but not in this place and this space anymore. I will miss so much about this--

The dirty kitchen floors. The mismatched chairs taken from different rooms for gatherings, a chair without a back, a wheely desk chair, some with cushions. The South Asian spices, and the blender where anything goes, where juice can be bright purple (beets) or conventional. The impromptu fruit salads, multiple colors eaten with condensed milk; or an all-orange salad of oranges, mango, cantaloupe. And mm, cantaloupe juice. How they never let guests wash the dishes. The balcony, for eats and smokes. The made-up songs about fruits and family and inappropriate things, the electric guitar and the acoustic guitar and the belt-out voices. The room with the gadgets where the "practicing" of video games takes place. The rooftop with sunsets, on clear nights and foggy nights, where we sit on ledges and crouch in corners to escape drizzle. In the room with the balcony: how he was always rearranging the furniture, the posters of nature and quotes. The door open and the half-clothed tall boy walking by ("that's the apartment"). The laughs, how we grew to know and identify each one. The odd potlucks, delicious and distinct items, a glass jar of kimchee and a plastic jar of yogurt because he loves yogurt, and discussions like yogurt or cheese? The planned gatherings, the spur of the moment invites, the random passings-by. The meals that are made as he goes along and can't be replicated. The big pots of rice, corn on the cob dipped in salty water, the rows of yams in the oven. The long talks, the quiet naps. The honesty and vulnerability, the disinhibition. The addition of lemon to water, and to anything. The wind through the windows on hot days, and the sun warming couch and carpet on winter afternoons. The bareness of that room, the sparse bathroom. Taking off shoes, and the too-big sandals for guest use. That one day the room exploded with clothes, to be placed into piles and piles. The ready spaces to fill and the complete acceptance freely given. The no need for apologies and thanks, and the response of gratitude to gratitude.

Thank you. Thank YOU.