2004-06-17
The Stranger
The intense rain resembles an impenetrable haze as each cold drop flies down to dance upon those parched leaves of summer. Once more I sit inside the comforts and confines of my room, my soul, and breathe life into an unimaginable instance through this quaint description.
These feelings dance and fly elegantly inside me, and I fail to catch one when I wish to capture them all. My soul stays hungry to grasp and taste the sweet emotion whose fragrance greets me every morning�something quaint, and perpetually bright, even in a tempest.
This morning I was accompanied by the chirping of two young birds, and the lonely sounds of my footsteps. Such perfection must be ephemeral, for I have never felt such infinite bliss. Perfection with the looming green trees and their aged barks awaiting to whisper the secrets confined within each crevice. Perfection was my face bathed in the soft and forgiving sunlight of the awaited morning as I stepped through and over each red brick on those uneven sidewalks. Some bricks lay scattered around, due to the hilly demeanor of the ground. Quaint houses of canary yellow, rose pink, sky blue, and with small gardens whose soil lay wet after the owners watered their plants. I thought that all of that was perfect�what I have been dreaming of for so long. I was reminded of �My Name is Asher Lev� and the fondness with which Potok describes those warm Brooklyn streets.
I felt so happy, as if I were finally in the world, which rightfully belonged to me�an unclaimed territory where my soul could grow in peace sans the torturous disturbances of memories. Home--however beautiful it is�is filled with too many memories. I need something fresh, and something that will be mine in this world�ungoverned, untamed, and never before seen�a Garden of Eden that draws the imagination.
The young man that I met earlier, with short dark hair and intense dark eyes taught me more in fifteen minutes than any scholar could ever teach me in a lifetime.
�I have trouble putting faith in humanity, and I feel that as if everyday I grow more and more pessimistic�� I said to him, with an air of pragmatism.
He looked at me directly and I saw his eyebrows arch in some expression conveying surprise and compassion, and then he spoke,
�I don�t put all of my faith in humanity, and don�t get me wrong, I�m not a religious person either, but�you are human, and you need to believe in something�anything. Otherwise, you will be empty inside�
He seemed sensitive at the core, no matter how much he tried to disguise it with a stoic countenance. I then spoke:
�It�s still very difficult to wake up with optimism, when one has been disappointed too many times. I refuse to believe in God because I refuse to be blinded by any sort of idealism.�
�I agree� he began, �but I think you are only blinded if you want to be. There is no final answer to everything, but at least, you have to believe in something! Stop looking at life as a straight road�nothing is one-dimensional, and you can�t be afraid to admit that you�re human and you�at the end of the day�have hope. You know it�s true. You know that in reality, you feel more than you want to. You deny many things because you are afraid, but me, for instance, would rather skip all of that. Not to offend you, but�let go of those damn inhibitions.�
And so, I continued the conversation with the young man in the dark hair whose name I did not quite catch, but who greets me every morning and every evening when we cross paths. I would not have imagined that I could find enlightenment in a stranger. The boy with the dark hair�