#introductions
I used to introduce myself as such:
"Hi, I'm Racquel. My friends call me Rocky."
Not long after everyone came to know me as "Rocky".
...
Who the **** are all you people?
...
Allow me to reintroduce myself.
"Lovely to meet you. My name is Racquel. Please don't call me."
Dec 2, 2025
Dec 2, 2025 at 9:16 PM UTC
Hold the phone, hold the freakin’ phone. Lisa’s got a boyfriend!
I’ve never seen Lisa with a boyfriend. Lisa draws men like fireworks on a dark night but I’ve never seen her keep one. I mean, it’s not unbelievable but it’s on the edge.
Then, one Friday evening, he came to visit. His name’s David - “call me Dave,” he said, meeting eyes and offering micro-expression smiles as he nodded around the room. Knowing he was coming, our suite’s common room was full, as if everyone came to see Lisa do a dangerous magic trick.
Dave’s got a young, Michael Keaton vibe going (the original movie batman), with a cocky, easygoing confidence and comedic snark that suggests he has everything under control. He’s 26 years old, about 5’11’ (a little shorter than 5’9” Lisa in heels - but he doesn’t seem to notice or mind), with brown eyes and unruly brown hair.
With some cagy sleuthing (I asked) it turns out he met her at her father’s (company's) Christmas party last year! I was there - and they’ve been secretly communicating for ten months!! How did I miss that? My situational awareness is obviously porous, and unreliable - was the room spinning?
You know, I hadn’t really focused on it before, but one of Lisa’s flaws is that her feelings and opinions don’t always show up in her expressions - it’s very annoying.
I’ve always been interested - umm, obsessed - with fashion. If I weren’t going into medicine, I’d have majored in fashion (called ‘Interdisciplinary Studies’ at Yale). Anyway, Dave’s been “dropping in” for the last few weeks - every Friday afternoon - arriving from Manhattan in his (my guess ~$6,500) business attire. What does Dave’s fashion sense tell us?
His business suits (charcoal-gray or olive-green) are Brioni, his dress white shirts are Thomas Pink, his ties Hermès and his shoes are Santoni. He’s slim and well tailored. I give him 5 stars.
If his work attire is lux, his casual attire speaks volumes as well. His weekend wear is a white dress shirt, open at the collar and jeans - both crisp and starched to hell and back. The long, stiff, white shirt sleeves are never rolled up. The jeans - deep blue and new - have a razor sharp crease down the front and his shoes are burgundy, Timberline, boat shoes with no socks. That outfit screams (Texas) oil money.
“What is it you DO?” I asked him, that first night, as Lisa was off getting ready to go out.
“I’m a “M & A weasel,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. (that’s Mergers and Acquisitions, if you don’t know - with one of the Morgans - JPMorgan or Morgan Stanley - I can’t remember which).
He’s one of those reviled, monied, ‘Wall Street’ guys. Yep, he‘s in control of everything.
“Tell me about you.” he said, giving me a serious, intense look that held immediate charm. He seemed relaxed, his suit coat off, his white dress shirt glowing in the suite’s soft lighting.
“I’ve got the highest GPA in Yale’s pre-med program,” I informed him, adding, “..in my opinion.”
He chuckled (which, of course, made me like him more).
You know, life in an education bubble can get tedious. Sure, it fills our days from edge to edge and satisfies our basic needs but it can be stifling - a faraday cage filtering life into carefully measured doses. Come Friday nights, we’re ready to hit it.
One thing I like about Dave is that he wants to be one of us and he’s never tried to peel Lisa away for himself - I think that shows an ease and generosity of spirit. Did I mention that Dave’s a Yale alum? He KNOWS New Haven.
The first night we all went out, it was the whole clan - my roommates, the girls in our sister suite, Dave and Andy (a friend of Sunny). We went to an expensive harbor restaurant to get to know Dave and seafood-martini celebrate. We had an epic time. Dave fit in like family.
I’m kind of used to paying for off campus stuff because some of these girls are tight and I’ve got a bag, but when the waiter brought the check, Dave and I found ourselves both reaching for it.
“May I?” He asked, with his Keaton-like smirk. “This time,” I said, with my own shrugging smile.
Later, back at our suite, Dave’s heading back to his hotel (less than a mile away) and slowly, quietly, saying goodnight to Lisa by the front door. “You’ve got some awfully long legs,” he said, like a 1940s black & white movie gumshoe. Taking her gently by the back of the neck and waist and twisting her tall, thin frame in a dancer’s backbend dip where she hung, suspended in his arms.
“I’d like to shimmy up one of those legs like a native boy looking for coconuts.” She chuckled.
Leong and I, sitting on our red corduroy couch, exchanged eye-rolls and smiles - he’s a romantic goof, but somehow, he carries it all off - right down to the kiss.
Oct 14, 2023
Oct 14, 2023 at 2:12 PM UTC
It’s Saturday morning. I’m at the acorn, my favorite coffee shop, on my iPad and deep in concentration. I’m time traveling back, to things seen and said, trying to create a story poem about recent happenings - or failing that - something quick and arbitrary.
I hear an “Ahem” and look up. A skinny, twenty-something man, with tousled black hair, clumsily dressed in drab browns and tans, was standing before me - a satchel over one shoulder and a coffee in hand. “May I join you?” He asked.
I looked around, there was only one other empty seat available, far at the back. “Sure,” I said, then, noticing my book bag filled the empty chair. I said “Sorry,” and moved it to the floor.
He took a seat.
He introduces himself, “Peter, “ he says.
“Anais,” I say, going back to my writing.
After a second he says, “What are you writing?”
“Poetry,” I answered, not looking up.
“So, something imaginary,” he said, it sounded condescending and irritating.
“Are you a student?” I asked, looking up to watch him settling in.
“Particle physics,” he says, cutting directly to the chase.
“Things too small to see,” I said. “Imaginary things,” I add a moment later, in revenge.
His mouth quirked, the suggestion of a smile dancing at the corners of his lips. He finished his coffee after a while and left. I saw him on campus a time or two after that - we would nod.
Then one thundering gray Saturday morning he was back. “Ahem,” he said. Then a moment later, before I could even look up, “ May I join you?” I looked up, and then around - there were plenty of seats. ”We can be imaginary friends,” he says. I smiled and nodded ok.
Feb 27, 2022
Feb 27, 2022 at 9:13 AM UTC
a stranger to all and family to few I stand before you,
unknown and masked in anonymity my pen speaks volumes my voice could never reach,
today I lift the veil and show you the woman hidden between the lines,
introductions.
Jun 8, 2021
Jun 8, 2021 at 9:46 PM UTC
can i introduce
your windpipe
to my gold fork
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 11:03 PM UTC
can i introduce
your face
to the concrete?
May 14, 2019
May 14, 2019 at 11:52 AM UTC
Trusting Erik Satie
I introduce myself to
Her
As an absurdist.
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 10:11 AM UTC
Hello, hey, hi
or some other opposites
of goodbye
Introduce us to new possibilities
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 6:35 PM UTC
for 8 years i have been wrapped up in him
memorizing every part of him
the way you memorize
the lyrics to your favorite song
but despite sharing a bed
and falling into each other every night
i don't think he knows me
not really
he doesn't understand why i bite the insides of my cheeks
or pick my fingers ******
i haven't introduced him to the demons resting on my chest
or the skeletons in my closet
he hasn't had midnight conversations with the monsters in my head
never truly seeing all of the bad
the hurt
the confused
maybe it's time he danced with the things haunting me
took a look into the book that is me
i think it's time he knows me
really knows me
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 4:15 PM UTC
I had no filter
I said what
I was thinking
Like I was talking
To my walls
I ran in messy
Spoken circles
With no
Conclusions
No concise plan
No destination
And you, you
Followed my
Footsteps
And thanked me
For the walk
You'd never seen
Such scenery
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 1:40 AM UTC
I’ll accept you
If you accept me
If you can endure my stories and scars
And reach through the bars.
You are not alone
In loving with your whole.
Scars in my opinion are beautiful
Not something to be hidden, but something to behold.
Scars have turned a person into who they are today
And without them a person would never be the same.
Everyone has insecurities
That form their personality
Their fears and what bring them to tears
Their mind and what makes them kind
Their heart and what pulls them apart
Individuality
Is what i find most endearing.
So tell me,
All your stories theories and your favorite series.
I’d genuinely like to know
What drives you, what IS your soul?
Complicated?
Differences that make you not like the rest?
I personally think people like that are the best.
Those who have gone through life
And have survived their fights.
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 7:52 PM UTC
Hello, my name is selfless, I only care about other people so don’t ask me how I’m doing I am only concerned with your well being.
Hello, my name is forgetful and I keep forgetting you name and pretty much everything else about you.
Hello, my name is confusion, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be here or not. Can you help me out??
Hello, I’m apologetic and I’m sorry for everything thing I’ve done, or have done, or things I never did I’m sorry.
Hello, most people call me silence, you can find me in many places but I find the most comfort in peoples discomfort of awkwardness.
Hi, I’m solitude, and I don’t want anything to do with you STAY AWAY FROM ME.
My name is anger and I hate everything and everyone for absolutely no reason, but if you want I can give you a million reasons to justify my actions.
My name is lonely, and I just want you to hold my hand so that maybe it can stop shaking so much.
People sometimes call me disappointing and I hold onto that like it’s the only part of this cliff I can hold onto to keep myself from falling.
Hello, I’m transparent and I’m thinner than the page of the book you used to read, so thin that you can see right through me, or maybe not even see me at all.
Hi, my name is dictionary, and I know how to describe your whole life in many words you may never understand.
Hello
My name is Swingline.
And I would make a name for myself to describe what I think I am or what I’m supposed to be. But the name I seek…
Isn’t in the dictionary yet.
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 10:13 PM UTC
it’s the first day of a fresh new school year when
one of your teachers looks you dead in the eye and says,
“introduce yourself.”
your classmates,
familiar to you yet all somehow strangers,
scramble for some short snippet of a way to encompass everything they
have spent the past sixteen to eighteen years accumulating.
when it’s your turn and every eye turns upon you in anticipation for you to “introduce yourself,”
you taste iron in your gums and say,
“i’m not sure yet.”
and every last one of your peers agrees.
see, for the past three years every time someone asks me how old i am,
i start to tell them “fifteen”
and i don’t think that i’m the only one when it comes to this whole crisis of identity.
see, for the past three years i look back on who i used to be
and sneer at past versions of myself,
a babushka doll of self-loathing as i once saw it so eloquently put.
how am i supposed to introduce myself
if i’m going to hate what i see looking back in probably three months?
it’s some kind of family event or holiday when
one of your relatives, or friend of a parent, friend of a friend of a friend of a coworker,
looks you dead in the eye and asks,
“what are you doing with your life?”
your cousins are all too much older, family and yet strangers,
staring wide-eyed because they remember the horror of
getting asked this by every other adult in sight.
you take two short breaths and taste iron in your gums and you say,
“i’m not sure yet.”
and everyone rushes to assure you that it’s fine not to have decided yet,
as though anyone ever actually sticks to the career path they choose when they are just
eighteen, seventeen, sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen.
when i was thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten,
took every single interaction as an attack upon my person.
i was selfish and self-absorbed and, quite frankly,
one of the most problematic kids that i know.
not in the “scene kid who won’t stop talking about anime” kind of jokingly problematic
but the kind of problematic where i thought it was okay to
repeatedly ignore a gay friend’s request to stop throwing around the word ******
how am i supposed to tell you what i’m doing with my life
when less than a decade ago i was everything that i have now come to completely
and utterly hate?
it’s a social event full of friend-of-a-friends,
people who are complete and utter strangers,
meeting you for the first time so of course
they’ll look you dead in the eye and ask you,
“what’s your name?”
suddenly your heart is in your throat because there is power in names,
power that you will never shake,
and to be quite honest you have too many names to pick just one.
in a split second decision you have to assign this new person as a peer, an acquaintance,
figure out who you are mutually in contact with.
when the silence stretches a beat too long,
you taste iron in your gums and say,
“i’m not sure yet.”
maybe this time it’s not as appropriate of an answer,
and all your friends are looking at you strangely.
see, everyone i know has a different name to call me.
my best friend calls me ‘jack’ and my mother calls me ‘claire.’
my teachers struggle to figure out which one i prefer.
see, once upon a time i read an essay about how names have power.
you summon spirits by their names.
you control demons by knowing their names.
an angel’s song is its name.
i tried to divide myself into tiny pieces so that no one could ever have full control over me.
i have accepted a handful of aliases and nicknames that i respond to
sooner than the one on my birth certificate
so that no one may ever own me.
i write a lot of poetry about not knowing where i’m going.
the problem with dwelling on these things is that i am still going,
going,
going with still no destination determined.
how long can a train go in a straight line before it derails itself?
how far can a train go before it runs out of fuel?
hi, my name is jack. i like
outer space and poetry,
physics and creative writing.
hi, my name is jack. i am
not an earthling-- my home is in the stars,
somewhere far away for which i am still searching.
the marrow of my bones whispers for me to just go go go go go--
but i can’t drive on the highway without inducing anxiety,
and i don’t think i’m quite smart enough to become a rocket scientist.
i’ve just got to cross my fingers and pray
that somehow they’ll pick me to revisit the moon someday.
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 1:19 AM UTC