DISPATCH | Memories of last summer
Dispatches at The Prospect are brief reflections from our writers that focus on their experiences during the summer.
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Dispatches at The Prospect are brief reflections from our writers that focus on their experiences during the summer.
In movies, books, and real life, we’ve all encountered the classic scene when one person drops the L word. Finally, after waiting many moons for the honeymoon stage to pass, a lover professes: “I Love You.”
Two young people meet on a train, each on separate journeys to find themselves. Instead, they find each other. In the “Before” trilogy, Jesse and Céline find love and romance, laugh and bicker, and lose and regain each other through a series of disconnected conversations — once in their 20s, again in their 30s, and then as parents. The films repeatedly confront and resolve the contradictions of an ideal love interrupted by the demands of real life.
From the first floor of East Pyne, I head toward Chancellor Green and turn right just before reaching the doors of the rotunda. There are four benches in total, three on one side and one on the other. The three oriented toward Nassau Street face a rusted statue of John Witherspoon, and the last one stands alone. Even though these wooden benches seem old and worn, often suffering the harsh wind and rain without proper support from the slanted ground underneath them, they have character. One is more intimate than the others and hides me from the open space of Firestone Plaza. Another encourages vulnerability as it inches me toward a pair of trash cans.
The last time I tripped over a rock and cut my hand, I didn’t cry. It hurt so bad I think I even laughed a little. Instead, the last time I cried was after reading a poem. Writing right now, I find it a bit absurd. But after sitting with a couple of silly words on a gloomy Wednesday afternoon, I found myself repeatedly running my eyes over Baudelaire’s “Correspondences,” forgetting each word as I read it.
Growing up, people would tell me I was (too) hyper and (too) excited, so I began to see myself as a sort of excessive personality. As the youngest of three, I learned a lot from my older sisters; from lessons on boys to old clothes, everything I know and own is a hand-me-down that I acquired through the art of anticipation. From my family’s semi-dysfunctionality, I quickly came to learn that “family” was something of a group of random people placed together by the hands of fate.