October 16, 2008

I’m sitting in Seattle Central Community College, the SAM building. I keep telling Leasha that SAM makes me think of the Seattle Art Museum, but she just ignores me and maintains her position of Science & Math. Whatever.

It’s a nice place this cozy little college in the heart of the city. Out of the corners of my eyes, I enjoy watching the diverse mix of people walk by me in my spot where I sit invisible in this chair. I’m not an actual student here, but that’s not important, is it?

I’m spending the day with friends, doing something different. It’s a big school, they don’t care if sit in their lobby typing whatever words I may type. I’m not actively doing anything disruptive. If I was going to do that, I would have followed Stasie into her math class and shown the professor who the heck is boss. It’s numbers, plain and simple. Algebra, geometry, you never really learn much beyond the basics, it’s just different ways to do the exact same thing.

There’s a broom leaning against the wall across the room from me. It’s casual, like it’s some sort of cool cat over there next to the fire extinguisher. It’s seen better days since it was new. The black paint of the shaft is beginning to wear away near the handle, and the bristles all curve inward where you can tell it’s taken the brunt of the impact from sweeping the floor.

I wonder idly if it gets used. I want to touch it, to feel it, to acknowledge that it exists with something other than my eyes. But I won’t. I have no qualms being that crazy guy who everyone remembers for molesting the broom – I’ve done worse things – but it seems almost rude to disturb its peace. It’s sleeping over there in its corner. It hasn’t done anything to me.

I feel like it should be able to come alive at any moment and start dancing, or grow arms and start gathering buckets of water like in Disney’s Fantasia, but there’s no Mickey Mouse with a wizard’s hat here, just me, my imagination and a bunch of college students passing through on their way to classes. The fluorescent lights aren’t flattering to its figure, but it would be pole thin no matter what light I saw it in.

I want someone to spill something. A bag of chips or bread crumbs, give it a duty.

“NO FOOD in recycle”

The sign is just to the right of the broom, above the recycle bin. It’s commanding and forceful. Someone probably put it there because people were putting food in with the recycling. The three arrows in that familiar triangle mark the bin, each opening labeled. Glass, cans, plastic, paper. I wonder if people listen to it.

Displace Me

On April 28, 2007, I displaced myself as part of a national demonstration on behalf of the peoples of Northern Uganda who are forced to live in grossly overcrowded camps due to the civil war that has been fought there for the last 22 years. Over 70,000 people took place in the event across fifteen cities, including myself and six friends.


For one night, we slept in ramshackle cardboard huts, shivering as the cold air from over Lake Washington settled over Magnuson Park and the thousands of bodies therein. For one night, we gave ourselves to the cause of peace, demonstrating in hopes that we could gain the attention of our elected leaders and affect them to make a difference half a world away. For one night, we were displaced.

I still think on what that event has come to mean to me. It marked the moment when my eyes were opened to the world around me. I’ve always known that there was suffering in the world, but like most suburban American teenagers, I had no true concept of what that meant. There was war and poverty and unfairness, but it was always remote, distant. Like a colony of ants in the backyard, it was never something you noticed.

But since displacing myself, I’ve felt that knowledge pressing on me, pulling at me to do something. You cannot remain apathetic when it is within your means to improve the conditions of the world around you. Doing so would be a gross irresponsibility.

I pre-ordered a copy of Black is for Sunday the DVD and bracelet set documenting both the displaced in Uganda, and those who forwent the comforts of their life for one night to help them. It was on the honor system. They would send it to me with no guarantee that I would make my donation in return.
At the time, I thought the $35 was nothing in comparison to the difference it would make. When the set arrived though, my family was not financially well off and as a high school student with no job; I was not going to rely on them to pay off my obligation. So the DVD sat unopened on a shelf in my room gathering dust for almost a year and a half.

I looked at it nearly every day, and felt not only guilt for not honoring my promise to contribute but also responsibility. It was a reminder that there was something else in the world that deserved my attention. The petty struggles I faced in school were nothing in comparison to the challenges in the world. It became a source of strength for me. If they can live their lives and survive in the conditions that they did, nothing should stand in my way.

I got a job this past September, and with my second paycheck, I went to the bank and ordered a check for $40 addressed to the Invisible Children organization. Only since that check went in the mail have I felt closure enough to finally open Black is for Sunday and start wearing the bracelet. I now wear my reminder around my wrist where others can see it and be inspired to make a difference.

When my mind speaks and no one listens

Yesterday I slept in until well nigh noon, and while some would call me blessed to be able to do so, I'm not so sure.

I'm a morning person by nature. If I get up at 5 o'clock in the morning, I'm awake. There is no grogginess to compete with being aware; that only ever happens if I sleep too much. The idea of sleeping the day away itches at my sense of responsibility. Who am I to stay in bed when so many around me are up?

In my defense, I did wake up at 4:30 on Thursday and in the subsequent hours afterward took many buses and a train, traversing many miles across and to the greater metropolitan area around Seattle. Travel makes me tired. So does disappointment. I wasn't quite in time to see Alex or Sam at their school before they had to get to class. I got home about twelve hours later only to be in time to leave for an admittedly short three hour shift at Quiznos.

So I was tired the night before.

Part of me says that that is no excuse to laze the day away, but I didn't have work, I didn't have school and I didn't want to get up. In a sense it was balance. I wake up extra early Thursday to wake up late Friday. My body is rather skilled at doing that.

I've noticed the world always seems to work in balance with itself. When one event goes to the extreme, another counteracts it in some kind of cosmic enactment of Newton's third law of motion.