I’m in a somewhat poetic mood today, internet. Perhaps because I’m listening to the Civil Wars and it’s about to rain and it’s been a moody and lackluster Wednesday, or perhaps because it’s my parent’s 20th wedding wedding anniversary or because I just moved into a new apartment or because I’ve written over 200 blog posts and it’s finally starting to shape into something worthwhile.
The internet is funny, because when you follow people on the internet, you get to see little bits and pieces of their lives. I’m an avid follower of John Green on Youtube (of the Vlogbrothers) and I’ve never met the guy, but I know he just went on paternity leave and loves pizza and cares deeply about FIFA and his wife and his brother and people thats he’s never met who follow him on the internet.
I guess it’s funny, because I just realized that this blog is like that too, and if you read all the posts from December of 2012, you’ll find out that I love dogs and dislike cats and went to Puerto Rico and have loves and fears and passions all my own. You can see that I’ve have my own ups and downs – that I lived in my parent’s house for over a year, that I was denied to grad school but I got a new job and then another new job and that I too have overcome heartbreak and love and loss and learned many things about myself over the years, and that all of those things are relatable.
But you don’t know me, really.
Or do you?
I guess it’s just like that, life. You get little snippets of information about people and you have to shift through the pieces and figure out what’s important, but what is knowing a person? What does that look like?
If I had to pick who in life I’m the closest with, it’d be my mum hands down, but do I really know her at all? I could tell you mi Madre’s favorite color is green and she loves mussels and rice cakes and hummus but hates eggs. I could tell you she likes thank you notes and hates to come home to a sink full of dishes, and that her favorite thing at the end of the long day is to eat sushi, watch the Food Network, and curl up with the dogs.
But does that mean I know her? Or do I have to also know how she’s going to react to everything I say or do, and how she’ll react to what everyone else says or does, and whether or not she’s sick or irritated or just really wants a basket of french fries, and if I fail at guessing just once, does that mean I don’t know her at all?
Do I know me? Because sometimes I want pizza and sometimes Chinese. Sometimes my favorite color is red and sometimes its purple and sometimes, inexplicably, grey. Sometimes I cry or get angry for no apparent reason. I thought I hated clams but I had them just the other day and they were okay. I told myself I’d never move back to my hometown – I just committed myself to staying for at least another year.
What is knowing a person, exactly? Is it knowing how to comfort someone? How to stimulate them? How to feed them and take care of them? Or can I stop at a middle name and a birthday and call it good?
Just thoughts, really.