awkward first date

For months I’d imagined my first post to be a big bang, fireworks, trumpets sounding in the distance; I have to say I was left feeling a little “meh”.  After some soul searching and an apple fritter donut, I’ve come to terms with it, and have moved right on to my second post.

This blog, myauthenticlifeness, is like the interesting-looking person waiting at the bus stop with me every morning. I get a good feeling when I’m near that person, and I’m pretty sure I want to get to know them better. So I’ll just pounce on them and give ’em a big ‘ol slobbery kiss right on the lips, right? Ummm, not unless I really like hard slaps on the face. (Hey man, whatever you’re in to these days, but remind me never to take advice from YOU again!)

A true relationship takes time and patience to cultivate; I may have the urge to spew out all my deep, intimate thoughts and dreams, but that might be too much for them to handle (considering we’ve only met like, three seconds ago)

A sincere friendship requires some good judgement of when, where, what and why, at least initially. And believe me, good judgement has never been my forte, so this is a huge learning curve for me.

You must have gotten the feeling of what I’m talking about by now-it starts with a nod and a shy smile, then maybe a neutral statement about the weather or the upcoming holidays. If they’re more interesting than the “Adele” song I was blasting in my earphones, then I can strike up a non-committal conversation about superficial things such as work, school, the best place to get your legs waxed, why on earth bananas are so expensive. This could go on for weeks without even had exchanged numbers; I would’ve asked for their name at least twice before making up a stupid rhyme to remember it, and so the relationship begins to develop.

It’s still not time to open up that closet full of skeletons just yet-well I could, but I would probably end up drowning my regret in a giant mixing bowl full of chocolate pudding. So let’s just take it slow, chit chat over coffee, test the waters a bit, collect some seashells and pick the sand out of our bathing suits whilst singing “the pina colada song”. Ok I’ve gone too far.  Give me an inch…

First thing’s first-Hello, my name is Justina! It’s nice to meet you. I really love your kicks! Did you get them off eBay or did you buy them directly from a sweatshop somewhere in Asia? Oh shit. I blew it.

a little nibble

The word “privilege” has been floating by me for the past few months, so I’d like to take some time to chew on it, understand what it’s made of, digest and assimilate its meaning.

What  does it mean to be privileged? Does guilt go with it, hand in hand, like ketchup to the proverbial hotdog? Now there’s some food for thought. I’ll order two of those with some fava beans and a nice chianti. Uhoh, I digress already. Let’s try this again.

I am continuously reminded that the image I see when I look outside my window is not at all the same in 95% of the world. I am not referring to the esthetics, but to the general outlook of life, the feeling of safety, of the subconscious “knowing” that when I leave my four walls, I will most likely reach my destination unscathed. (If we’re talking metaphorically then I’ll scream at you with certainty that nobody comes out of “this” without some wicked scars, but let’s keep it literal, shall we?)

I was riding the bus to school today, and, as usual, people watching; everybody had their “train face” on, but that didn’t stop me from trying to make eye contact with somebody, anybody. I needed just a hint of understanding, that just one other person was also picturing all the passengers in an improv musical about their Monday morning lives. I can’t be the only one, can I?

Back to privilege.

On the subsequent train ride, I sat next to a pretty young lady. She mostly ignored everyone until two young guys got on the train, cool sunglasses and all, towering over us, faces turned towards our seat. She and I started chatting; it so happened that she was on her way to work in a dental office, and that she and I went to the same school. Beauty AND brains. Turns out we had much in common. One of the towering guys started waving at her, and bluntly asked her if she wanted to go have a coffee with her. She politely answered that she “was good” and continued telling me about her program. Somehow the coffee guy ended up in the seat beside us, and almost as if she’s been through this before, she half mutters to me, “Oh I see what’s happening…” Now my stop was coming up next, and she was already preparing herself for the ramped-up onslaught of this guy’s pursuit for a coffee date. Is it not a right that when a person says “no” to a request, that it means “no”, and not “try harder”? It’s becoming more and more clear to me that it is in fact, not a right, but a privilege-but where can one buy this privilege, the mystical fruit that allows a person’s voice and message to be heard and understood? I’ve yet to find the store that sells them.