Random Social Encounter

So, I had another funny bit of college nostalgia light up the tired recesses of my mind at some point yesterday. Or maybe last night. Perhaps in the wee hours of the morning... in any case, I remembered it in the bathroom and it made me giggle.

For a little background, I remember it was at some sort of International event at BYU-Idaho, a dinner with the various cultural groups performing demonstrations of what they did in their clubs. The Russian Association were dressed in white and gold and did a dance-- I recognized a few members from Russian 101 there. That was a tight class, by the way. It was only due to meeting my friend David in that class that I was there at all. I'd seen him on a Saturday and he had pulled me into the Capoeira group. I was terrible at Capoeira, but it was so much fun, so I'd shown up with the other crazily amazing Capoeiristas, representing Brazil. Since it was a martial art/dance/game, to stay warmed up while we waited to perform, we were bouncing and cartwheeling around the lobby. (Well, we'd do that anyway. No one quite goofs off like a group of Capoeiristas.) Around us were members of the Japanese group with their white and red flag of the sun, and some other countries that have blurred in my memory. While catching my breath, I saw an Asian guy sitting in a chair lining the 2nd floor wall, and, in my bubbly mood, decided to accost him.

I asked him if he spoke Japanese. I'd loved the language ever since my brothers had shown me "Advent Children." He replied that he didn't. Right then, my friend David landed a cartwheel nearby, and I, as if it was some terrible shock, said, "David, this guy doesn't speak Japanese!"

My wonderful, quick-witted friend immediately responded with a mock frown, "I'm offended!" and bounded off again.

"I do speak Chinese," the poor Asian guy said.

"Oh, that's cool," I think I said, and sat down next to him. We had a friendly conversation, where I found out that one of his parents was from China, and he was majoring in Art, as an illustrator. So that was fun. A nice random encounter, and not without a sequel. I met him again some time later in Tomassito's.

Again, some background-- Tomassito's was a splendid little restaurant on the bottom floor of the Manwaring Center, the bottom floor of the same building as before, tucked away in a corner of the food court. I loved it. The dining room was so small that even if you were sitting alone, you were still sitting near other people. And even if you didn't share a table, the walls were mirrored so you could at least watch other people. That might sound creepy, but it was a wonderful place to be social. And the food was cheap. A lot of my lunches were just a little more than a dollar for a mini loaf with honey butter.

Well, I was probably scarfing down one of those mini loaves, when we happened to make eye contact as he sat down at a table really close to mine. We smiled at one another, as most students did back then, and then I was struck with the awkwardness of realizing how odd I must look, smiling with my mouth full. Cheeks bulging, crooked smile. After swallowing, I turned to his table and said, "You know how awkward it is when you see someone while you're eating, and then they smile at you, so you smile back, but your mouth is full, so you know you look weird? I mean, what can you do? I don't want to not smile." He just laughed. He nodded in a friendly fashion as I hurried off to class, but totally thought I was crazy. He had just happened to catch me twice when I had no problem blurting out exactly what was on my mind.

Later on, my roommate's boyfriend AJ told me that he worked with someone who'd met me-- apparently this same Asian guy, whose name I may have learned but don't remember. I don't know how I came up in their conversation, but when AJ told him that I was probably the most normal of all his girlfriend's roommates, this Asian guy looked horrified, and said, "Her?! The most normal???" 

That was the end of our story: myself and the Asian artist who was half Chinese and had interesting hair. I was much less reserved as a freshman in college, perhaps because I was anxious to make those college buddies I'd always wanted, or perhaps because only three people knew me there when I started out, and I had nothing to lose by a little embarrassment. Well, I've done plenty of stupid things. Appalling a random guy with my weirdness is nothing to regret.

The Unreachable Itch

You know that spot in the middle of your back that you just can't quite reach? No matter how you twist or contort your arms, you can touch it but not scratch it? It's the kind you can get with some kind of stick or back scratcher, but then you tend to scratch too hard, and now it just hurts. Oh, and now it itches over there too! And over there. Sound familiar? It occurred to me today in the shower (https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/) that there might be a reason for that terribly unreachable spot. I couldn't reach it today. I get the itches just remembering. Ughghgh.

I think it's why we humans need each other. Because no matter how many nice back scratchers we can buy, nothing beats a compassionate human touch. It's frustratingly difficult to try and communicate exactly where it itches to someone else, just as it's irritating to try and follow someone's directions in search of the traveling itch, but when it can be done: bliss. That would be where the phrase "you scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours" comes from. I always found that phrase somewhat uncouth, like it's said by a fat man in a wife-beater who might have fleas. Putting that mental image aside, it's about a mutually beneficial relationship, and hopefully, never involving fleas! Friends helping friends and finding satisfaction when their needs are met. It's one of many reasons that our species forms communities and civilizations. We can't quite reach that one spot in the middle of our backs.

Why are we designed that way? Why, in a world where we have to be tough and independent to survive, do we have to depend on others to be truly satisfied? Who enjoys needing someone else? I like having someone there to do the things I can't do, but the unfulfilled need is quite dreadful. This is probably the very lightest of examples. I am only scratching the surface (hehehe) of the drawbacks of loneliness. I can't do more than mention how much it aches to be lonely, because so many have felt it much deeper and longer than I.

Why do we itch? Because we need a scratch. Why do we feel hunger? Because we need to eat. Why do we feel lonely? Because without that feeling, we would never know that we needed anyone. Without the need, we probably wouldn't take all the time and effort to seek out or maintain relationships that bring us the most happiness and satisfaction. We need each other. Even though I like being alone, I don't think I'm ever as happy as I am when I can be around other people, helping them and being helped. I don't know why we are designed this way, but man, I do enjoy a good back scratching.

I regret writing this. It's the most itchy I've been in a week.

Congratulations on Your Future Suffering

The thought of listing everything that I want to complain about is exhausting. It's such a broad topic. I will try to focus on only one thing: the congratulations I got-- and that everyone gets-- when they are expecting a baby.

Well, what else are you going to say when someone tells you that "happy news?" Of course you congratulate them! You can't very well say "I'm sorry," and "You're going to have a bad time," especially if you don't know them very well. It would be mean to forecast pain and suffering in their future, even if it's true. So congratulations on the creation of a thus-far healthy life are the best way to go. It seems nice to say you're happy for the new parents... until they are crying at 3am, desperate for more than 20 minutes of uneasy sleep at a time. Then they remember that sentiment and wonder why you must secretly hate them, to say such a thing.

Being a mother for two months now has probably been the hardest thing I've ever gone through-- and I thought that most of college was freakishly hard. But at least I had two hands during college. Now I have a daughter that requires at least one hand constantly. Typing with one hand only is agonizing. But wait. I did not come here to list all the complaints I have about parenting and how much it sucks at times. That list would be too long. I don't have long to type.

There, see? I had to stop just now so my baby would stop crying and not fall off my lap.

You and I have not secretly cherished thoughts of a new parent's pain when expressing our gladness for new parents. We are not closet sadists, for the most part. We are being nice and are wishing them well with every congrats. We are happy for them because we get to see this family grow. We get to hold the sweet, warm baby and then give it back. We get to give hard-earned, unsolicited advice. We get to help and serve. We get all the benefit without the struggle.

The call for celebration and congratulation cannot be denied. The only other thing we can do is help. To offer specific kinds of help, such as holding the baby while mom naps or cleans, or shops. Saying she can call you anytime. This can save those parents in danger of becoming psychopathic zombie slaves (like me). It's a sort of mix between congratulations and condolences. I personally cannot express how much I appreciate it. I did try just now, though.

It occurred to me just a few days ago that babies are a gift to everyone else. As a new mother, I don't feel joy as much as I feel responsibility when I see my little one, but when I walk by with her, total strangers smile. Their faces light up and soften involuntarily at the mere sight of her car seat. Elderly people especially. She brings joy to everyone who sees her, just by existing. It's the strangest thing. And I can feel proud, because I've somehow managed to keep her alive since the day she was born. Two months now. I'll accept congratulations for that. Whew!