“Whaaaaat?” Meera demands into the phone. “Honey! Desi Girl is talking about moving to Queens.” Okay, I thought I was the drama queen! “No, no, what I said was next Saturday I am LOOKING at ONE apartment in Long Island City – it’s one stop out of the City – it’s not Belmont!” I explain. Rohit gets on the phone, “Are you moving there for a man?” he asks, joking. I snort into the phone, “Absolutely not. It’s a big apartment, brand new, with a gym – luxury building – I want to see how the other half lives.” “Well, once people leave Manhattan they never come back into the City, and you don’t work in the City.” “I need to volunteer twice a month – I’ll come into the City,” I reply. “We’ll see,” Rohit says. “I haven’t even signed a lease,” I reply.
We hang-up and I flop onto the couch, rather amused with RoMe (Rohit and Meera). I love living in Manhattan, even way up here in the Heights. Do I wish I lived on the Upper East Side? Sure. Would I mind living in walking distance to Bloomingdale’s and a life in the East 60s, heck no! However, I really cannot afford a downtown lifestyle so I am okay where I am. But it is a little like dating; you want to see what is out there until you find the right fit.
The phone rings again and I answer without looking, “What do you want now?” I say, teasing my caller, assuming it is Meera. “Hey, Desi Girl,” a man’s voice comes. Shoot! Not Meera! “Heeeey…” I reply. “Are you expecting someone else’s call?” Possible-Mate-from-Chicago asks. “No,” I say and laugh. “I thought you were Meera, we were on the phone right before you called.”
“So how have you been?” he asks. “Good, and you?” I ask. “Great – volleyball is in full swing, we are losing, but it is fun to get out there and be active,” he shares. “What about you? How’s the gym?” he asks. “It’s fine – I assume it is fine. Have not seen the inside of it in some time,” I mutter.
“That’s not good, what is that about?” he asks. “Ugh, biting off more than I can chew, I’d guess. My volunteer position takes up so much time. It annoys me sometimes that I put in all the hours and the work is not done – it’s frustrating actually – to be well intended yet project finalization never manifests,” I say. “It doesn’t sound like it makes you happy. Why are you doing it?” he asks. I’ve been doing it for eight years, I don’t think I know how to stop. “Can’t you quit?” he asks. “No. I don’t quit anything. I give everything my all - 157% all the time,” I reply. "Even if it kills you or makes you miserable?" he asks. "Even if," I reply.