Last Thursday, Joe Tedesco was indicted for first degree murder, unlawful concealed possession of a weapon (or something like that), and unlawful use of a weapon.
People say that time heals wounds. Time does not heal wounds. Time allows us to become accustomed to our wounds, to learn to use them and to learn to live our every day lives with them,and to not let them control us. The way someone who looses a limb learns to manage without it. But just like a wound or a bruise, we have only learned to be careful for it. Exposed, newly agitated, it still hurts as much as ever.
Monday, August 23, 2010
four months later, part 2
this is going to be nutshell style. I decided to stay in new york, thinking staying could have as much adventure as going. I have since accepted a full time position with the animation company I am working for (and I will begin full time september 1st. As part of this, sometime this fall I will be going for a period of time to our Bangkok office. So I guess I will be going away after all.
four months later...
it has been a very long time since i posted.
less than a week after Alyssa's murder, in the middle of Pesach, I moved back into Manhattan. Through craigslist I had found a reasonable, comfortable, furnished month-to-month arrangement. This was perfect, since, still nannying, i had neither stable income, or a real idea of how long I would be in New York for. I had applications out to two programs abroad, an academic fellowship studying European Jewry in Stockholm, and a working fellowship with the JDC to somewhere in Europe, likely either Berlin or Serbia.
In the meantime, in New York, I was living between worlds. Coming from fresh crisis, I was now living with people who didn't know me, and didn't know about this; how could I explain? How could I have made it sensible, how would it have been fair to inflict strangers with this tragedy because I had to deal with it? At times, in my apartment, walking down the street, I would look around and just want to scream at the top of my lungs, "My friend has been murdered, how could this have happened!?!" the first weekend after I had moved into my apartment, I was out with friends; it had been too much, and i broke down.
I started finding ways to stay busy. I walked a lot, both to save money on the subway since income was unpredictable, to use time I had, and to exercise off the fat that had stayed with me from Israel. On average, I was walking 5-6 miles a day. I was aesthetically attacking my apartment, reorganizing all public spaces, cleaning with a vengeance, and finally, painting. This started with the window in the door of the bathroom, never a good idea. I put a Marc Chagall image on the inside, Frida Kahlo on the outside. Then I stenciled a tiled-look to the ceiling. Then a dandelion mural on one kitchen wall. Pineapples along the other kitchen wall. The apartment reminds me of Berlin.
And the job hunt. When I wasn't painting or babysitting, I was writing cover letter after cover letter, going through revisions of resumes, trying desperately to find, well, anything really.
Generally speaking, being back in the city was good for me. I began to regain control of my life, myself. There were days that I even felt like myself again, or what I thought that meant, at least. Things were here to distract me, seeing friends regularly, frequenting old locations and new ones. The volcano in Iceland occasioned enough to be talked about, and T, who had been in the city on a lecture tour, was around for a while. Got to see the Daily Show (thanks again), and I convinced him of the magnificence of Artichoke Pizza (he had been skeptical).
Beginning of May, I accepted a part time morning job at an animation company, going in from 7am-10am and, essentially, copy editing the animation. Shortly after, I was offered and accepted a part-time position at a locally conservative synagogue working with their teen-group, and teaching their once weekly gan-class in the fall. As a summer event, I went with the group to Six-Flags--the bus company had made a mistake, and we went in a luxury tour-like bus. Sweet.
Soon, I began to help out at a friend's art company (elementem.com). We revamped the website, and developed a marketing plan. At the beginning of June, I began management of a project at The National Urban Technology Center, a non-profit working for academic, life and professional skill development through the use of technology in urban communities. I suddenly found myself with 4/5 (part-time)jobs, plus occasional babysitting. At best I was working nearly 12 hours a day, and sometimes up to 18. things were becoming more comfortable.
At this point, I heard back from the programs in Stockholm and mainland Europe. I had been invited to both; from Stockholm, especially, this was a huge honor, since they only sometimes accept even 1 American. However, at the time my life was just gaining some stability. I was reeling still from the successive deaths of 5 people I had known (including Alyssa, and another of our high school classmates, who succumbed to cancer after many years), and bracing myself for two more still expected (one has since occurred). As much as the idea of going to Stockholm or back to Berlin appealed to me, enticed me, I couldn't bring myself to leave at this point. In addition to not trusting how I would do for a year in a foreign place without a support group, I was afraid of leaving again, and coming back a year older to the same instability I'd found after Israel. And so, I decided to turn down Stockholm and Berlin. Perhaps the greater adventure would be in staying, afterall.
less than a week after Alyssa's murder, in the middle of Pesach, I moved back into Manhattan. Through craigslist I had found a reasonable, comfortable, furnished month-to-month arrangement. This was perfect, since, still nannying, i had neither stable income, or a real idea of how long I would be in New York for. I had applications out to two programs abroad, an academic fellowship studying European Jewry in Stockholm, and a working fellowship with the JDC to somewhere in Europe, likely either Berlin or Serbia.
In the meantime, in New York, I was living between worlds. Coming from fresh crisis, I was now living with people who didn't know me, and didn't know about this; how could I explain? How could I have made it sensible, how would it have been fair to inflict strangers with this tragedy because I had to deal with it? At times, in my apartment, walking down the street, I would look around and just want to scream at the top of my lungs, "My friend has been murdered, how could this have happened!?!" the first weekend after I had moved into my apartment, I was out with friends; it had been too much, and i broke down.
I started finding ways to stay busy. I walked a lot, both to save money on the subway since income was unpredictable, to use time I had, and to exercise off the fat that had stayed with me from Israel. On average, I was walking 5-6 miles a day. I was aesthetically attacking my apartment, reorganizing all public spaces, cleaning with a vengeance, and finally, painting. This started with the window in the door of the bathroom, never a good idea. I put a Marc Chagall image on the inside, Frida Kahlo on the outside. Then I stenciled a tiled-look to the ceiling. Then a dandelion mural on one kitchen wall. Pineapples along the other kitchen wall. The apartment reminds me of Berlin.
And the job hunt. When I wasn't painting or babysitting, I was writing cover letter after cover letter, going through revisions of resumes, trying desperately to find, well, anything really.
Generally speaking, being back in the city was good for me. I began to regain control of my life, myself. There were days that I even felt like myself again, or what I thought that meant, at least. Things were here to distract me, seeing friends regularly, frequenting old locations and new ones. The volcano in Iceland occasioned enough to be talked about, and T, who had been in the city on a lecture tour, was around for a while. Got to see the Daily Show (thanks again), and I convinced him of the magnificence of Artichoke Pizza (he had been skeptical).
Beginning of May, I accepted a part time morning job at an animation company, going in from 7am-10am and, essentially, copy editing the animation. Shortly after, I was offered and accepted a part-time position at a locally conservative synagogue working with their teen-group, and teaching their once weekly gan-class in the fall. As a summer event, I went with the group to Six-Flags--the bus company had made a mistake, and we went in a luxury tour-like bus. Sweet.
Soon, I began to help out at a friend's art company (elementem.com). We revamped the website, and developed a marketing plan. At the beginning of June, I began management of a project at The National Urban Technology Center, a non-profit working for academic, life and professional skill development through the use of technology in urban communities. I suddenly found myself with 4/5 (part-time)jobs, plus occasional babysitting. At best I was working nearly 12 hours a day, and sometimes up to 18. things were becoming more comfortable.
At this point, I heard back from the programs in Stockholm and mainland Europe. I had been invited to both; from Stockholm, especially, this was a huge honor, since they only sometimes accept even 1 American. However, at the time my life was just gaining some stability. I was reeling still from the successive deaths of 5 people I had known (including Alyssa, and another of our high school classmates, who succumbed to cancer after many years), and bracing myself for two more still expected (one has since occurred). As much as the idea of going to Stockholm or back to Berlin appealed to me, enticed me, I couldn't bring myself to leave at this point. In addition to not trusting how I would do for a year in a foreign place without a support group, I was afraid of leaving again, and coming back a year older to the same instability I'd found after Israel. And so, I decided to turn down Stockholm and Berlin. Perhaps the greater adventure would be in staying, afterall.
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