When i was in sixth grade, watching Robotech set off a pronounced depression in me. I remember crying myself to sleep after watching the episode where Claudia recounts her troubled relationship with the late Roy Fokker to Lisa over a cup of coffee on a rainy night in Macross City. Perhaps my adolescent psyche wasn't ready to deal with this kind of heartache (i'll save my essay on the emotional maturity of Robotech for another day). I recall a collection of other instances of depression, in particular spending a weekend on the couch reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory because if i stopped reading and thought for a few seconds i felt like crying. Maybe i had some certifiable issues. But who knew?

As i've entered adulthood, i think i've conquered my depression for the most part and am in general happy with my life. However, there is one situation that continues to produce a hollow, empty feeling in my stomach. I've developed a sort of separation anxiety. It comes in several forms, but is usually incurred after bidding farewell to a friend or set of friends. It can happen when i've spent a week at a conference with a relatively new friend from work, or when i spend a few hours with some old friends that i don't see very often. After going our separate ways, my mind wanders and i find myself lamenting the fact that the fun we had is over, and wondering when or if the group of us will ever find ourselves in this situation again. Perhaps it's a cynical way to assess your life. But my brain falls into this pitfall time and time again.

This afternoon our old friend and Boston roommate Rudha was in Santa Cruz with her new boyfriend, visiting his family from NYC. Veronica and i awoke a bit earlier than our usual Sunday schedule and hopped in the Mini to drive down the 17 to Santa Cruz. I hadn't been down there in quite a few years. We met up with Roo, Doug, and a collection of old SF friends including Greg, Noel, Juliet, baby Josey, Nate, and Green, at Zachary's on Pacific Ave. in downtown SC, and caught up over brunch while Josey stared me away from her yogurt. Our group then drove a few miles toward the ocean to meander around the Boardwalk, another activity in which i hadn't partaken in ages. We went in search of a rollercoaster Greg was keen to ride, but found it was closed for the day. I guess the Boardwalk isn't really a January activity. After Josey and dad took a spin on the merry-go-round, our collective wound up at the arcade. To our amazement we found a four-player Mario Kart setup and had a bunch of multiplayer battles. However as always the good times must come to an end, and we dropped Roo off at Doug's house after leaving the rest of the crew at the old-time ice cream fountain Marianne's.

Maybe it was seeing a group of people that used to be frequent chums for just a few hours before saying goodbye once again. Maybe it was heightened by seeing Marianne's and remembering that i went there once with my old bioengineering class, another group of so-called lost friends. Last year i felt a profound loneliness when Arlene and Ana left after an extended winter holiday, so perhaps i was feeling the effects of their departure earlier this week. By the time the Mini pulled back into Redwood City, that emptiness had taken residence in my gut once more. I think part of my malady relates to a guilt over my inability to keep in touch with friends. That's something i could certainly do something about, but somehow i never seem to. Well, it is the new year ... and i haven't made any resolutions yet. A part of my is afraid of making that promise for fear of letting friends down further. But perhaps the best solution is to use that fear to ensure it doesn't happen.