This is odd, especially given the fact that I’m addicted to social media—I’m a share-r in that respect but hardly in all others. I find that sharing opens you up to all kinds of possibilities for misunderstandings, especially when it’s not through paper (and even then, actually). I feel like you could mean one thing but inevitably sharing becomes a kind of photocopy of what you want to say: the outline remains but the details are blurred and so the picture painted a couple of “shares” later is something completely different than what you meant.
Today I was actually able to put in my two cents about a lot of things, even if it scared me—and even if there is always a reason to fear that the things we say or do will be misconstrued, I figured: is the possibility of being shamed or embarrassed so terrible as to not speak up?
Sometimes, but not in this case.
In a funny and spontaneous parking lot conversation with my friend Rain I was able to talk about perfume, boys and how everything is fair in love and war (charot). This conversation took place while Rain smoked and I drank my daily cup of coffee. Her day had just ended, mine had barely begun. Now I understand what my friend Nico used to tell me about enjoying watching people smoke even if you yourself don’t smoke—there is a kind of comfort that comes with seeing people exhale: a vicarious calmness.
This is especially weird for me because I used to be the chain-smoking, always-reaching-for-it person. It used to be the oddest thing for me to imagine—getting satisfaction from not smoking. It’s still odd to me that I don’t smoke anymore but I know it’s for the best. It’s one of those things that you would do all your life if your body would let you. Looking back at my adolescent life I feel like for a good chunk of it, I really expected to grow old a fabulous chain smoker (much like Ms. Dinsmoor in Cuaron’s 1998 rendition of Great Expectations).
Anyway, I digress. It’s really nice talking to my friend Rain. You know how sometimes you just get along with someone even if you’ve only just met them? It’s rare and when it happens, you grab it by the seaweed-colored-hair (hehe). Arthur C. Clarke said that friendships begin when you’re able to trade vulnerabilities and I suppose sometimes that means going the extra mile to participate, even if it’s scary and you run the risk of being wrong. Today I felt like Amy March, giggling with all the seriousness in the world.