They say fences make good neighbours.
It was part of a poem in the 10th grade – not
that I can remember much more, but I remember this. Fences also have gates or entrances. Perhaps it’s not about the fence but about
the other side of it.
Do we ever really know what’s on the other side? The others
side of a job interview? Of a plane ticket? Of a long overdue fight? Or that
email that took you two days to write because you had to sleep on it? Of a date?
I’m not sure we do, and I’m not sure that if we did we’d
know how to handle it.
My first job interview went well. I walked out feeling good about it. I got a call exactly 3 hours later saying
that I got the job, but little did I know that my superior was going to tell me
I’ve got a demon because I stutter. Not
exactly what I had in mind for a good entry into the workforce.
A friend of mine had a hectic year last year, but in March
last year she said that she wanted to go to Mexico . Somewhere in December she climbed on plane,
flew 20 hours to the other side of the earth, to Mexico . She spend Christmas eve walking down streets
as the locals were singing Christmas songs… She came back amazed by the little
bit of earth she got to explored.
Do we know what we’ll find on the other side when we step
off the plane into a new country? Google, as much as I like it, cannot tell you
everything. It can show you some insights into the life, the costs, the
traditions, the transport system and the housing but it cannot prepare you for
its hidden secrets.
It cannot tell you about the homeless guy, who during the
summer months, sleep on a ledge on plastic, because then at least his blanket
won’t get wet. It cannot tell you about
the guitar player in town, who owns nothing, who walked away from his family
when he lost his job. He eats one meal a
day and plays guitar for small change. It
cannot tell you about the Mama who walks her 6 year old son to school every
morning, quietly praying that he creates a better life for himself, while she
cleans houses. It cannot tell you the
way the city smells after a thunder storm.
Perhaps it’s not about knowing what to expect. Perhaps fences are stuff that conforms us,
that keeps us safe, that we grow out of.
Stuff that are not meant to last forever.
The demon lady didn’t last.
The Mexican holiday came to an end. But the sun rose again the next day.
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