from my notebook
things that i wrote down and then "polished" for you to read here, on the internet.
09/23
This morning, I was sitting at a bar in a diner reading my book and sipping my coffee, eavesdropping on the conversations around me. Down the bar, a group of three friends sat and listened to one another’s travel stories and recommendations within the neighborhood. Mainly, the friend in the middle talked while the other two listened. He was sharing stories of being what I can only assume is a travel photographer, recalling all of the different places he has gone to. It seemed to me that he was passing through, his friends reaching for excuses to get him to stay longer. He quite liked them, I could tell—he too, tried to find excuses to stay. I wondered why any of them refused to ask for more time outright.
09/24
At the park, I notice an older couple—man and woman—walk up and sit at the bench across from me. Immediately, he begins to fiddle with his hat, glancing at her, then back to his hands, and then at his feet. She watches the young 30-somethings having a party in the field. I wonder if she is remembering what it felt like to be young. She blinks and whispers something to her husband. Then, they stand to leave. I think about how painful it must feel to look at younger people and feel like a life lived and not a life living.
09/24
A woman in a black jacket with a small black dog, watches the party. I passed her earlier on the path. She complimented my sweater which made me feel warm, like I could feel the sincerity in the sentiment. I observed that she tried to spark conversation with everyone she passed. Aloud, to her dog, she said “Oh buddy, they must be having some sort of party.” How desperately I wanted to say to her, “Hey!!! I’m lonely too. Let’s get a cup of coffee and pretend that we have known each other for ages.” Instead, I watch her walk away, out of the park, back home.
Of course, what I was seeing was only a slight glimpse into the complexities of the relationships in front of me. My own imagination fills in the gaps, I could never possibly know all of something that is not my experience. I collected these entries because I was able to make sense of them. Sometimes, I write things down and I have no idea why I did so. Was it interesting? Was there something peculiar? Why did I find it so special?
These are recorded moments of complete humanity, which despite my pessimistic tendencies and my nihilistic rants, I think I am unable to give up on. I am always searching for these moments of brief vulnerability. I like to watch people open themselves up to the entire world as if to say “What can you possibly do about it?” But most times, they don’t even realize they’re doing it at all. This is when it is the most special.
It is interesting to become an unbiased observer of a particular relationship. Watching the group in the diner made me wonder how many times I have avoided asking someone for what I want while they were doing the same. Is my love lost in translation? Why is it always so hard to just say it?