Children whining in different languages always sounds more forgivable. When it’s in English, I get annoyed. “Stupid kid, he’s going to grow up to be a jerk” and all that. When it’s Spanish or Thai or Khmer, it’s easier to feel the temporality of it. By not hearing what they are saying, I can see what they are trying to do. 

The other day, it was Japanese. A little girl was in the tech repair shop with her Dad. When she would speak to her little brother, her voice was clear and almost mocking. She circled him, too, swaggering like a great cat. When she talked to her Dad, her inflection would rise, and her shoulders would drop. She’d seem prey-ish. Her dad said a word, grunted through a smile, held the door wide, and they left. 

I got a kick out of this. I was extra aware of this family because Father and I had a unilateral connection that was my entire reason for being in the store at that time. A dozen or so minutes prior, I had briefly left the shop to grab my book. I held the door open for him, and we exchanged nods. I came back in, and we were sitting across from each other. Some mutant child of reggaeton and lo-fi was screaming through the speakers. I was tired, and words like illocutionary and constative binary started popping up. Those words would intimidate me if I were in a quiet mountain meadow. I was completely defeated by them with this neon toddler gnawing at my eardrums. 

I decided I’d walk around instead. While I was coming to that conclusion, I made eye contact with the Father; he smiled at me, and I think I smiled back at him, but I looked away quickly. That uncertainty of whether a smile occurred on my end becomes important later. A walk it is, I shot up out of my chair and headed for the door. I startled him slightly. I put my book in my car, and when I turned around, Father was looking at me with shy eyes. 

He was alone in the store, and I began to panic. It was one of the most comedically unnecessary spirals I’ve had in a very long time. “Does he think I left because of him? Did I smile at him? Did I even make eye contact with him? Does he think I am racist!”. These were some of the thoughts going on in the aisles of a 7/11. I went to get a drink for my walk. “I should have asked if he wanted one. Maybe I’ll get him one anyway.” 

I didn’t. I left the store and first started left, back towards the tech store, then right, that way would take me out of the strip mall and towards my walk. I went left, then right, two more times each. I felt such a deep sense of obligation to this man; I truly, truly felt like I betrayed him by leaving how I did. I went right, then turned around and kept on that way.  

I spent the beginning of the year traveling in Southeast Asia. A new city every few days meant new friends every few days. That is only half true; you wouldn’t believe how much you run into the same people across countries and borders. Point being, it was a lot. There was not much time for downtime or routine. I would be actively living a dream of the past, romanticizing about sitting at my desk writing at night, tired from a workout earlier in the day. Always a dragon to chase, never one caught, it seems. This would cause some deep dissatisfaction in the earlier parts of my trip. At about a month in, I was able to relax into my experiences, not needing them to be much of anything other than what they were. This allowed me to enjoy the trip in full authenticity. Still, I had a slight yearning for a quiet, familiar day. 

Almost immediately after returning home, I had a break of heart and future (significantly intertwined but not completely dependent), and found myself remarkably free. Soon enough, the plans for a new future were made, one that would start in the fall and be full of friends and discovery. So for the summer, I retired. Sleeping, reading, writing, exercise, and I even picked up golf. A routine. I was methodical, but only in pace, not in attentiveness or effort. 

Now, in what seems like a month, three months have gone by. I haven’t left the house much. Remote job, home gym, friends are away, no energy for hobbies (at least not ones that take me out of the house), and a breakup. Part of me craved it, a slowdown and an internalizing. But it’s losing its luster. The hands of the soul are like the ones on our body; they point outward and are meant for interaction. 

I’ve fallen in love with several handsome trees. I am friendly with at least one, though I think it’s two, young rabbit(s); they very well could be twins. Skye, our dog, is my main source of physical touch. 

As far as humans, I’ve plenty of interaction with my family. I am living in the family home, I work with my Dad, and my little brother is my closest confidant. But I find myself craving encounters with those who do not know me so intimately. The chances are rare these days, so when they occur, no matter how awkward or pleasant, they make me feel a bit more alive. I leave with a smile and something to think about. The eyes of a stranger can, at times, hold our purest reflection after all. They know nothing of us other than what we are in that moment of being. Of course, there is a lot more to us than just what is observable. Yet, whatever we are acting upon, at least for that time, is the most powerful thing. Whether we have a meltdown, snap in anger, or act in a culturally appropriate way, some internal part gains the right of expression. When seen by a stranger, they can only take this at face value; there is no other story or connection available, nor is it needed. Thus, they may be equipped to react to you most appropriately, even better than a loved one might.  

I grabbed my book from the car again. Through the glass door, I could see his leg bouncing up and down. Restless. Mine does that too. I pulled it open, gave him another nod, and he reciprocated. I sat and began to read my book. I peeked up a bit and saw his leg was still. He seemed to be leaning back into his chair a little deeper. 

Even with a stranger, sharing can be an easing experience. 

A few minutes later, the lioness and cub came in, and he had company. Guess he didn’t need me after all. Still, I had a feeling I didn’t lose anything by coming back. I smiled, then heard a whine.

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