Personal musings. Views are my own.

I lost my orange hat

It was a long morning today, I woke up at 6a and practiced for a bit, then made some breakfast and tea for Sheena’s parents who are staying at my place. Sheena’s mom is in town for a conference she’s attending in Rosemont, so we took the train to O’hare, and we dropped her off at the shuttle bus that was to take her to the hotel for the conference. From there, uncle and I took the train back into the city so I can go to work, and he’s hanging out a bookstore right now. On the train on the way back in, I took my hat off and rested in on my lap for the 45-minute ride to relax a bit, but as we rushed off the train at Washington, I must have forgot to pick it up off my lap before I got up, and it must have fell onto the floor of the train. I realized after we had gotten outside and I wanted to put my hat back on that I left it on the train…

That hat’s been every where with me for the past 8-some odd years. It’s been to India with me twice, to Brockout, to Seminar, through finishing up school, through me and my sister running our own business, through me moving out of my parents house, to me starting to study the sitar, to doing metal covers of Bollywood songs, to playing covers songs on stage at Mugwump, to me rappin, to Smart Bar, to Liar’s Club, to Big Wig, to hip hop shows, to metal shows, to Indian classical music shows, to Experimental shows, to me emceeing shows, to performing in shows, to raves, to club nights, to farm parties, to house parties, to road trips to New York, to sitar lessons in California, to Cubs games, to Bears games. It was always the way people remembered me, that dude in the orange hat, and always the way I still stayed myself no matter how I dressed, in casual gear, or dressin up. It was my way of saying I’m still gonna be myself in a crowd of business people, or blending in when rolling with mah boys. Fuad gave me an orange shirt from his trip to Thailand to match my orange hat, my friends Eric and Kelly gave me a pack of white socks and orange die one year for Christmas so I could make socks that matched my hat. I knew one day I’d proly stop wearing it, but I was hoping I’d retire it by choice, not something lame like losing it on a train… worthless. But maybe God was telling me it’s time. 2 days before I get engaged, I lose my orange hat. Talk about a symbol of me moving on to a different phase of life….