my new york city dorian gray

it is saturday afternoon and i lay here, on my 800 thread count sheets, living an existence typical of cherried new york living: having an indulgent read of the new york times dining and fashion & style pages with a npr feed of iron & wine playing in the background; a belly full from a seared lamb osso bucco and slow brewed tea from burmese plantations. yet my zipcode, or the lack thereof, belies the fact that i have found a new home with the himalayas serving as real everyday wallpaper.

the irony is that returning to new york pains me. the thought transports me into a dark hole which any recovering addict will recognize. one knows how wrong it is to retreat into a pattern that only reveals one's weaknesses and flaws, yet there is something awkwardly right and somehow poetically beautiful, borderline cowardly, to show one's vulnerability and addiction. what better way to fight off the tormenting daze of temptation that is nyc, that is of nyc, than to avoid it all together, merely to replace that track of addiction with another more socially acceptable euphemism for "obsession" ?

i left nyc behind to fulfill my fantasies of doing development work; to remind me of what i have rather than what i don't have.
and yet after 6 months of being clean, i make a trip to bangkok to replenish my need to consume, to remind me of the pleasure of possession. i leave bangkok thousands of dollars poorer, but materially wealthier with a new macbook, ipod, jbl speakers and a bottle of truffle oil. i caress the sleek curves of my macbook and gloat in merely having truffle oil; too scared to open the bottle due to the realization that one day it will be gone.

i try to reflect upon why i avoid committing to an answer when the people i left behind ask me of my return date. i wonder why i dread to go back: is it because i will no longer be able to afford eating decadent meals of imported steak and wine in a hindu country; is it because i will have to leave behind the woman that comes to my house 6 days a week to clean up after my trails of privilege; or is it because i know that i will go back as a changed person but nyc's selfishness will not allow me to maintain my new perspective, outlook and habits? it will claim back the old me in order for me to assimilate into the old role and place i once held.

i think of the portrait of dorian gray as nyc reflecting back at me my own disfigurements and affinity for debauchery. and so rather than to gauge my day by day demise, i keep my distance and reel in proximity when i need to, with a virtual leap to nyc through nytimes.com. and so i continue to read the ny times with my curtains drawn, watching the sun sink into the himalayan horizon.