Old Stuff

I came across an old diary today and was flipping through. It's interesting to see my mindset leading up to my move to Monteverde.

12/5/08

Tonight I ask Raquel: "So, if I'm not a teacher, what should I be?" And she responds,
"I dont know. What did you imagine yourself as before you became a teacher?" A beat passes and I want to lie and say "I don't know" but instead I choose the silly, childish truth:
"A farmer."
"Then be a farmer." Her response with no hesitation. "Like these people", she adds, turning around the magazine she's reading to show me a two page shot of two young white people, a man and a woman, in an agricultural field. How did she just happen to be opened to that page? The field is small and imperfect and not monoculture. I think of my 19th birthday in my freshman year of college. We volunteered at the Food Bank Farm and got burnt and sweaty and dirty and happy.
I get embarrassed and say, "Eh. They are so hippie", and make a disgusted face. Raquel gives a little laugh, a "Who are you kidding?" laugh.
"You are a hippie!"
"I know", I say, smiling and looking back down at my tea. I remember a conversation from last week when I had jokingly suggested that we do mindful breathing for community meeting. Kunal blew all of his air out in one big woosh and said,
"You are such a hippie!" and I smiled and laughed because he was right and I knew it and because it's not always so bad to be a big hippie.


Then this from 1/17/09:

Today on the subway a man fell. I looked and then went back to my book. He had been seated, leaning against the conductor's cubby and his large, rolling luggage. When he slid off his seat and crashed onto the floor it made a huge sound and I'm sure he must have wacked his head. His luggage also fell, along with a wooden crutch.

He didn't get up right away. He just moved around a bit. Maybe he was waking up or coming to. Maybe he was asleep or sick or drunk or deranged. I don't know.

When he fell, it made such a noise that everyone in the subway car looked, though there were not many of us. I looked away quickly and went back to my book. I focused hard on the pages, feeling like the Uber Queen Ice Bitch, thinking, "What is wrong with me? Look at what this city has done to me." But now thinking back on it I wonder, "What have I let this city do to me?"

The couple sitting across from me looked and looked at the man who couldn't get up. He finally got himself back up into his seat but struggled with his luggage. This, actually, I just inferred from what came next. I had my nose glued to White Oleander, remember? The man sitting across from me got up, walked to the end of the subway car, and righted the man's luggage for him. I was filled with self-disgust, burning at my insides like acid.

It's ok to help people.