Screen People Vs. Meredith (Hint- Meredith wins)

I was having a conversation with a friend the other day about how "kids these days" don't know how to authentically connect with others. So much of their friendships and connections are through a screen, they are losing the sense of closeness that used to come with spending quality, unplugged time with another person. I too realize I am guilty of too much screen life. Living abroad, I do so much communication online. The people I am closest to in the world I can only reach thanks to technology, and while I am certainly not ungrateful for these means of communication, I also miss the connection. I miss knowing someone so well that we laugh over a look, predict each other's next phrase and anticipate how they will react to the weird dude behind us in line at the 7-11.

I am so #blessed to have had the same best friend since I was three years old. Her name is Meredith, and I miss her something terrible. I miss everything about her and about us that I took for granted when we were young and wild and free roving the 757, wreaking havoc on the roads and leaving no Chic-Fil-A unvisited. 

I miss her hands. She has beautiful, small hands, with nails she keeps meticulously painted. I miss the scientific method she uses to doctor up her coffee, and then how long it takes her to drink it (days). I miss her lack of appreciation for condiments- all she puts on a hotdog is mustard. I miss  how she reacts to cats, with the same begrudging indifference cats normally give to people, except cats are stupidly obsessed with her, probably because she views them with such begrudging indifference. I miss watching her drive while smoking and drinking coffee and shifting- her flow with this multitasking feat is an art form. I miss hearing her laugh with abandon. I miss watching her pick out what to wear; despite the real struggle this presents her (and all of us women, let's get serious) I love listening to her unpack her reasons why or why not certain outfits. Her ability to talk herself out of things is truly something to witness. I miss the way she listens without thinking of the next thing to say- she just listens to make sure she understands. I miss the way she says "awww, Hetero" when I am crying, because I know "awww Hetero" means "God I love you and I am so sad you are sad".

I miss everything about Meredith, but I am grateful that we grew up together and the her I know is the real her. We have spent countless real moments together. We have story after story of shenanigans, gut-wrenching sagas, dramas we survived together. We may not have been physically together for all of our stories, but man, we have such an amazing foundation, built from our years together as kids. 

I hope the current generation has Meredith's in their lives and not just screen people. I don't know what I would do without my Meredith. Even with all the screens, it doesn't make up for just sitting with her in the flesh. I guess I wonder if this is something kids these days even miss.

Patience

I am often amazed by the depth of rage some people display in the face of minor inconveniences.

Yesterday, I was stuck in traffic. This is a normal, abet frustrating, daily occurrence in San Jose. But, by virtue of being a daily occurrence, it is if nothing else predictable, so I sat patiently in my car, listening to music and waiting for the trail of brake lights to indicate forward movement. Without warning, the driver’s door of the car in front of me flung open and a man jumped out, and even in the fading twilight, I could see his face was purple with rage. Some clearly defined chest-bumping-fist-flailing movements alerted me that this purple-faced fella wanted to release a volley of fist-a-cuffs upon the driver of the SUV beside me.

What. In. The. World.

Having arrived late to the scene via a side road, I could not fathom what previous infraction occurred that warranted this scene. As Purpleface approached the driver’s window, my attention returned to the car in front of me, where the woman previously in the passenger seat had jumped into the driver’s seat and was yelling imploringly in Spanish. By now, I had obviously rolled down my window as I wanted to be a good witness for the police in case of bloodshed, yet I couldn’t make out what she was saying. I can only imagine it was the Spanish equivalent of “WHAT IN THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING GET YOUR ASS BACK IN THE CAR.” I also, sadly, could not see what was transpiring on the driver’s side of the SUV, but in short order, Mr. Purpleface returned to his vehicle. As he tried to return the driver’s seat, the woman promptly (and wisely, if you ask me) sent him around to the passenger side. At first, the passenger door was locked, to which my brain immediately rejoiced “YAS GIRL SLAY YOU TELL YOUR MAN THAT SHIT IS UNACCEPTABLE”. However, a moment later the door popped open and Purpleface got in, and as I followed them for another few moments, I watched with relative amusement at their ensuing frantic and bombastic hand gesticulations. I can only imagine the verbal lashing he was (deservingly) receiving.

Next, the airport.

Airports are not efficient places. No one is happy to be there. They all want to be somewhere else. Literally. I include the people who work there, as I am sure they would all pursue other career opportunities should they present themselves. Given this, my bar for humanity in airports is so low I have to dig for it. Yet, oh yet, some people still sneak under right on under it.

I’m in a clusterfuck of humanity at my gate and we have begun boarding zone 1. I am zone 5. I know this clusterfuck will continue for at least a half hour. I figure, everyone else in zone 5 understands this as well. That is how zone boarding works. Clusterfuckery followed by sitting in a confined space for hours. Cha.

The man behind me was enraged by this sequence of events. How did I know he was enraged? Constant verbal diaharia. This man had never heard of an internal monologue. “God, why can’t they get in a line”, “They aren’t listening” “God pay attention” “Can’t you read the number” “What is wrong with these people” “Jesus”. Huff, puff, headshake. Repeat. By the third repetition (zone 3), I moved farther back in the clusterfuck. I’d rather get on the plane six people later than spend another moment in his energetic orbit. By the time zone five began boarding, he matched Mr. Purpleface. When my turn came (a mere six passengers later) and I saw him (thankfully) a few rows in front of my assigned seat, he was still purple, huffing and shaking his head. I couldn’t help myself. In my chipperest kill-em-with-kindness voice, I said “Don’t worry, we are still well ahead of schedule I am sure we will take off on time.” He looked at me and said, in a patronizing tone “You think?” Despite my overwhelming desire to verbally castigate him over his horrible behavior, I simply replied, “I do” and went to my seat.

We took off at 12:40, a mere six minutes behind schedule, and by Latin American airport standards, a good half hour early.

To return to my original statement, I am amazed- no, I am flabbergasted- by this rage at little things. While Airport Purpleface was ranting on, all I could think of was the people in Florida, Texas, Louisiana and Montana literally losing everything they own. The earthquake in Mexico, the flooding in India, the whole North Korean regime. And you want to lose your Goddamn bananas over an inefficient boarding process? Really?

Have our modern conveniences only served to make us selfish assholes? Are we now treating each and every one of our minutes on earth as our own private commodities that simply cannot be wasted on something as useless as waiting….for anything? Alternatively, maybe we are all just sleep deprived and cannot self-regulate? Or are we all texting so much we forget how to comport ourselves like civilized humans IRL?

I don’t have the answers, and I am certainly guilty of this rage myself. The other day, I nearly lost my bananas on the pharmacist of the eighth pharmacy I visited that did not have the medicine I needed. I also laid on the horn for a good 20 seconds at the guy who nearly clipped my car as he tried to whiz around me as I backed out of my driveway. So there; I too am guilty of giving into The Rage.

Maybe just identifying the problem is half the battle towards solving the problem. I know I will certainly be more cognizant of my patience and subsequent anger in the future, because frankly, there is no time or place for these shenanigans. We are all fighting our own personal wars. All trying to get to the same place: home, happiness, a life well lived. Who am I to make someone else’s road that much harder over the slightest of inconvenience? I am so blessed, and I should carry my blessings like a badge of honor and a great responsibility. Those who have much should give much. And if nothing else, I never, ever want to be “that purplefaced girl” some random person blogs about. 

Words

Words. I love words.

Words, neatly typed

On a page that smells like home, dust and imagination.

Words, softly spoken

Meant only for me to hear.

Words, breathlessly giggled

Before we all dissolve into stomach-stitching peels of laughter.


I like words on a screen less.

They lack emotion, yet often carry undue weight.

Shouted words I like lesser still,

As they are often used as daggers against the unsuspecting.


I love words, but I also fear them.

Words wield an incredible power.

They can surprise, they can maim, they can resurrect the dying

Or lay a family to waste.


Words can be fickle.

Said with conviction one day,

Only to lose their luster in the days that follow.

Their meaning has changed, but the original intention cannot be unremembered.


Words. I love words.

May they be full of love,

Or full of threat.

May they result in unstoppable joy

Or life-bending pain.

Words are the best chance we have

To finding meaning while we are all together in this place.

Glorious

I play the same song on repeat.

Macklemore, Glorious.

I play it so loud my doors shake with the bass.

I yell along with the lyrics,

But can’t hear myself scream

Over the refrain.

In my car, I could escape.

I don’t, I can’t- where to?

Surrounded by mountains, oceans,

The America above me and America below me.

So I drive home.

But on the way, all I hear

Is Glorious.

If only all I could hear

Was Glorious all day.

If only I could drown out

The rest of the refrains.

Shit, drama and pain,

Rinse, refrain, repeat.

If only, if only

The one single in the disc drive

Was Glorious. 

Trigger Warning: Family

Secrets cycle through, generation to generation,

At first, lost in the last rays of dusk,

Awash in white light and then consumed by the rising darkness.

But then, with the first orange glows of dawn

Secrets cycle back down to the next of the kin.

They were secrets for a reason.

Ugly, unbecoming of good southern folk.

Uncomfortable to tell, more uncomfortable yet to receive.

Words come in short breaths, ears hang on to every syllable,

Desperately seeking the ultimate gift: answers.

Answers for the sobbing 16 year old.

Answers for the lost 24 year old.

Answers for the lonely 30 year old.

A sense of understanding for the woman standing before you.

So many whys answered in brief half-truths.

So many hours wasted in contemplation,

Only to, at long last, have the cycle of secrets circle back.

Finally. Understanding.

Acceptance will come, not today, or tomorrow.

And the secrets will stay secrets, lost again

To the rising darkness of the night,

Until the morning of the next generation

Begins its ascent over the horizon.