Lovers and Fighters
I was talking to one of my favorite conversationalists today, and we were talking about our friends, who they are to us and what they mean to each other. (that conversationalist is my as-often-as-possible counterpart, and we occasionally blog about similar things around the same time, because of our great conversations and shared experiences). As long as I have been studying in the school of social-chameleonism, I have had a widely divergent spectrum of friendships, little pockets of meaning scattered across this great nation. Around this little bubble of academia where I now reside (surrounded on most sides by people of equal fortune but different skin-tone as myself) I have become an anthropologist, trying my hardest to truly meet the people that I come across. Here is what I have come up with so far:
When I first came to college, I immediately joined up with the activist crowd, a sparse but genuine group of those that see the wrongs in the world, and try (often futilely) to right them. They sometimes live stressed out, angry existences, but boy do they know how to party. They are usually pierced or tattooed or dyed somewhere, and will someday be the reason that capitalism tumbles. I am glad that they (we) exist.
More recently, I met a group of closer-to-mainstream people who would never label themselves that way: the lovers and the fighters.
The lovers are the high-brow intellectual moralists, who wish they were on the road but whose roadtrips only last until they run out of comfort in their wallets. They live a theoretical existence, rarely doing anything real but with strict guidelines of right and wrong, good and bad, beautiful and ugly. You can usually spot them because they will dwell on their fears and esteem problems longer than people with other things to worry about. They are nice people to be around, who tell jokes and open doors and would take punches if you needed them to, but they probably couldn't dole it out too effectively. I love them because it's just so damn easy to do.
The fighters are the ones I love most actively. They are the carpe diem people, who jump onto trains and laugh too loudly and color my existence with the things that matter. They do things with their hands and make art and smoke cigarettes and live out every part of life that they can feel. I have a new level of comfort with these people, who truly look out for each other, active and vocal participants in their own brotherhood. They are upfront about their respect--you'll know when you have it. The jokes they tell aren't always appropriate, and sometimes you can't tell if they are kidding or not. Maybe their ideas of right and wrong aren't exactly by the book, and sometimes their ideals don't make sense, but they are organic, tomatoes from their gardens of experience. Not everyone likes the fighters; they can be tough nuts to crack and have no qualms about pointing out your flaws or getting into trouble, but we seem to have a soft spot for each other.
Where do I fit in here? I'd like to think I am enough of each of them to get along with all of them. That's why I spread myself so far...a different part of me is nurtured by each person, and I'm thankful for knowing them.
When I first came to college, I immediately joined up with the activist crowd, a sparse but genuine group of those that see the wrongs in the world, and try (often futilely) to right them. They sometimes live stressed out, angry existences, but boy do they know how to party. They are usually pierced or tattooed or dyed somewhere, and will someday be the reason that capitalism tumbles. I am glad that they (we) exist.
More recently, I met a group of closer-to-mainstream people who would never label themselves that way: the lovers and the fighters.
The lovers are the high-brow intellectual moralists, who wish they were on the road but whose roadtrips only last until they run out of comfort in their wallets. They live a theoretical existence, rarely doing anything real but with strict guidelines of right and wrong, good and bad, beautiful and ugly. You can usually spot them because they will dwell on their fears and esteem problems longer than people with other things to worry about. They are nice people to be around, who tell jokes and open doors and would take punches if you needed them to, but they probably couldn't dole it out too effectively. I love them because it's just so damn easy to do.
The fighters are the ones I love most actively. They are the carpe diem people, who jump onto trains and laugh too loudly and color my existence with the things that matter. They do things with their hands and make art and smoke cigarettes and live out every part of life that they can feel. I have a new level of comfort with these people, who truly look out for each other, active and vocal participants in their own brotherhood. They are upfront about their respect--you'll know when you have it. The jokes they tell aren't always appropriate, and sometimes you can't tell if they are kidding or not. Maybe their ideas of right and wrong aren't exactly by the book, and sometimes their ideals don't make sense, but they are organic, tomatoes from their gardens of experience. Not everyone likes the fighters; they can be tough nuts to crack and have no qualms about pointing out your flaws or getting into trouble, but we seem to have a soft spot for each other.
Where do I fit in here? I'd like to think I am enough of each of them to get along with all of them. That's why I spread myself so far...a different part of me is nurtured by each person, and I'm thankful for knowing them.
Comments
nice post
L,
Santa
<3 always your amazing sister
Miss Andrea Rose