i haven't been writing much lately, not only for the blog, but just in general. but this weekend, i graduated again. i finished grad school and in an effort to explore and document some of the things i'm thinking and feeling and wondering, i was able to get myself to write for a while tonight. as sometimes happens, it came out as a short dialogue. the writing's not great, but it means a lot to me. and as i read it over after, it reminded me of something i wrote about year ago. the format is the same, but the emotions and philosophies expressed are not, really.

although i'm not one to post creative writing on the blog, i feel compelled to do so for some reason. i would doubt that these short writings would mean anything to anyone else, so i'm not sure i care if anyone actually sees them or reads them. nonetheless, i feel like posting them. to me, they exemplify huge changes and prevailing insecurities. the first, titled dialogue #1, was written about a year ago, in march of 2009, as i was coming to the close of my undergraduate education and weighing my final decisions about grad school and other future plans. the second, dialogue #2, written completely separately of course, was written tonight, the night after graduating with my social work degree and facing a whole other world of uncertainty.

dialogue #1
“Why do you think I’m here?” she asked quickly with a voice attempting calm restraint, poorly masking the intensity with which she wanted an answer. She quickly moved her hand toward her face to take another drag of her cigarette, the other arm still folded tightly around her chest.
“I don’t know,” he said quietly.
“What do you need from me?”
“Nothing,” he whispered.
“But look at you!” Her voice was beginning to betray her. “You’re a mess! There’s almost nothing left of you! What do you mean ‘nothing?’” She was beginning to feel as if emotion, any emotion, only had one way to express itself. Perhaps any intense feeling, by the time it had forced its way through the psyche from wherever it began and reached the level of communication, could only express itself through this choppy language varying widely in volume and sentence length. Or perhaps she only ever felt one emotion anymore.
“What do you think you can do for me?” he offered. It seemed that while her voice was growing more intense, his was fading. It seemed further away to her. In reality, it did not change.
“Well, there obviously must be something I can do. That’s why I’m here, right? That’s what the point is? Look at you. And then look at me. There’s a reason we’re like this.”
“What do you think that reason is?”
“I don’t know! Why do you think I would know? If I did know, would I be asking you? This isn’t something you would know any better than me. But, does anybody really know? I mean, who should I ask? What should I read? People have ideas, I know, but I’ve never really bought those. How do they know so confidently? They can tell the whole world, but do they do it themselves? No way. They just end up as more fucking hypocrites.”
“You seem upset.”
“Of course I’m upset! I’m here, right? If I didn’t care, if it didn’t upset me, I wouldn’t be here!” A surprisingly comfortable, almost relief-bringing silence passed. “Sometimes I think that would be easier.” Her voice was moving into a more somber tone.
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t know. And I wish I did. It just seems right, you know? Like I should, because…I should. Because that’s the point of it all.”
“The point of what all?”
“Of this! Of why we’re here. Why you’re like that and I’m like this.”
“Is it about me? Or you?”
“It’s both. I think. I mean, there’s a reason we are the way we are, right? And I should do something, right? Right? It’s just…right.”
“Say’s who?”
“I don’t know,” she murmured with frustration. “I don’t know anymore. I’m not sure I ever knew.”
“What if you never know?”
“Is it possible? I’m not sure I’d make it. How would I know what to do? What should I do?”
“Listen.”
“To who? How will I know what’s right?”
“Listen.”
“To who?” Her varying levels of volume continued as she nearly shouted.
“Listen.”


dialogue #2
“what are you thinking about?” she asked sweetly, in a way that revealed genuine curiosity, and only a slight sense of naiveté.
“i don’t know,” she answered, in a way that revealed nothing.
a comfortable silence passed.
“well, that can’t be true, right? i mean, you must have been thinking about something, even if it was nothing. and you’re the only who would really know if it was something or nothing, or if the something was nothing, right?”
“i don’t know,” she repeated. “what are you thinking about?”
“i’m thinking about that movie i saw last week. it was so crazy violent, almost in a desensitizing way, you know? it really affected me. i’ve been having trouble sleeping, actually.”
“wow, really?” she asked sincerely.
“yeah. and it really made me think about all the violence in this city lately, too. and i just wonder how stuff like that is related, you know? and of course, i think about my students, and the situations they have to grow up in—the shit they have to see. it just seems like so much. they’re so young and already have so much to deal with. and on top of it all they have to worry about whether or not they’re going to make it to school and home again without being shot or beaten. and then they might have to take care of a parent or grandparent who is naturally or chemically ill. and they might not have a dinner to eat. and then they go to bed, knowing that they’ll wake up tomorrow and brave it again to go to a school that will almost assuredly leave them unprepared to achieve a basic level of living security in the future without putting forth an unbelievable level of effort--way more effort than i ever had to exert at their age. maybe more than i ever will. and at the same time, they know that just one misstep will make them a statistic, like everyone expects them to be, like most of the people around them will be. it just doesn’t seem fair, you know? it just doesn’t seem right.”
“wow. that’s a lot to be thinking about.”
another comfortable silence passed.
“now do you know what you’re thinking about?”
“that young girl that was sitting across from us on the train. did you notice her?”
“no. what about her?”
“she was sitting cross-legged next to a man who was probably her dad. she couldn’t have been more than 8, but was probably closer to 6. her hands were folded in her lap, and her thick, wavy brown hair was hanging just to the tops of her shoulders. she was cute, but without any really distinguishing features. she seemed a bit tired. and as i looked across at her, she smiled a very gentle smile. she slowly turned the edges of her mouth up, softened her eyes, and then inhaled and exhaled deeply. there was something about it that just made me feel so safe and peaceful. it was like she saw into me and said, ‘it’s okay. it’s going to be okay.’ and i believed her, you know? like, for a moment, we weren’t strangers on a train in the city, but we were everything—the two pieces of the whole, that have been friends and sisters forever. it was as if i had glimpsed the wisest being in the world in the smile of this little girl. and i thought about how sometimes i feel so unknown by the people around me, the people who seem to know me the best. and sometimes, which is scarier—terrifying to be honest--i feel like a complete stranger to myself. and yet in that moment i felt completely known and understood. and completely safe. and i knew that she wasn’t a stranger at all.”
“that’s a lot to be thinking about too.”
“yeah, and it just made me think about how rare those moments are and what that means. and if they can be manufactured. and if i can ever really know myself the way that girl knew me in that moment. and what it means if i know i can’t. and what it means if i don’t know.”
more silence passed, although it’s unclear for how long.
“so, what are you going to do?” she asked.
“what do you mean?”
“well, if you’re wondering what that moment means, what have you decided? what does it mean and what will you do about it? will you keep thinking about it? will you manufacture more? will you think about my students and the movie and the violence?”
“i guess i’ll just keep asking you what you’re thinking. i’ll keep trying to know you. and when those moments come i can rest in them. and maybe someday, when i’ve asked enough and i’ve seen enough, it won’t be so terrifying anymore. maybe then i can just be.”