Dear Guinea Pigs of My Mind

   Yes, that's what you are. Face it. I test out my ideas on you; see how you react. I find it fun to have place where the rash and irrational don't have their normal consequences. That is to say, that not all of my ideas so I necessarily hold of. Sometimes I just put an idea out there to see your reactions. Therefore, for those of you who know who I am, I'm willing to let you know that these are my ideas, and I'm also willing to bear the consequences. But for those of you who I didn't let know my identity, I wish to keep it that way.

    So I put out this request to you, dear guinea pigs of my mind:

    If you know who I am, please don't tell people who don't (yet) know. If you don't know who I am, ask yourself: Is there really a reason for you to find out?

Chezky
   

Children at Heart

   The child I used to be was free. He was the sort of child for which the world was a perfectly just place. Just black and white - nothing in between. Life was good, at least as long as he listened to the rules. To be sure, things did happen that opposed his sense of justice, but those were wrongdoings. No-one would ever come out to defend those actions.

   They claim they're still free; still children at heart. But I'm hard pressed to believe it. To believe that the child that's in them is the child that used to be there. The child that they now have is too intelligent; too biased, to view the world with a child's eye. The eye to which every loved one is beautiful. The eye that envisions dancing in the rain.

    And when someone does try, try to be a child with children's eyes, the same 'they' will give you a look as if to say: "You don't belong. You've seen it all. You've lost your 'child'."
  

Martian Friends

   Again. Someone I barely know sees me, and he greets me like an old friend. There's good reason, though. We're both away from home. For reasons unexplained, we seem to have a closer friendship when we've flown the coop. Fine, I understand. But there's more. It seems like the farther away we are from home, the closer we will feel toward each other. Big deal, you say. That is, until I ask you: "At this rate, how many friends will you have on the Moon? Mars, anybody?"

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Thanks for the Revelation

I never had a normal haircut. It was always 'Wow, who gave it to you?', or 'Nice'. But just a plain simple thing like a buzz - never heard of, even by the boys. What's interesting is that not only do they comment and compliment, but they seem not to realize that they're actually talking to you about something that isn't there. Your hair is gone. I know I sound stupid saying this, but the hair left after the haircut was there before too. So they are really complimenting on the revelation of previously concealed hair. Quite a deep idea, I say.
   

Striking Skills

   In my yeshiva there are two people who (unfortunately) Daven for the Amud. I'll call them Mr. P. and Mr. H.

   Mr. H. - Will light the candles by himself. After Davening, he extinguishes the candles with one stroke of the hand.

   Mr. P. - Always manages to get someone to light the candles for him. Usually the boys that eat at his house more often end up doing him the favor. When this happens I'm reminded of a child whose mother always spoon-fed him, and still can't eat on his own. Do you really think you're doing him a favor?

    After the Davening is over, Mr. P. goes through what seems to be the agonizing process of extinguishing the candles. See, it takes him five individual waves of the hand to do it. He resembles to me what I think the Queen of England would look like trying to brush away a fly... (as daintily and as unsuccessfully)

    Which one of these people are you and who do you want to be?

On Plasticware and Pollution

  
   The cook in my school turns to me and says: 'You know, this whole plastic business, it's really bad for the environment. I think we should all be using real silverware. After all, the used plastic is thrown in the garbage and dumped, and is never used again.'

   A sound opinion, I thought to myself. But two minutes later: 'But sometimes it's good to have plastic; after you just finished making a party, and you're dreading the cleanup, using plastic makes it just so much easier.'

   It just left me wondering if she realizes that even after a party the plastic is thrown out and dumped, never to be used again.

   Maybe the accent barrier played a part in me not understanding what she said. She is "Ehhsssaaan" after all. (Asian, for all you who don't get it.)
  

Soon To Be Gone

   He is soon to be gone. He'll almost vanish into thin air.

   But he's a good guy. I don't want to forget him. He's worth enough in friendship terms that I should want a place for him in my heart. You know, the place where all my good friends are stored, them and the good times we had.

   It doesn't come easy, though. A constant effort is needed to keep him alive in me, untill I see him again. Because for now he may be as good as non-existent. After all, all the good times we shared are not to be repeated. When I see him next it will be but for a moment; a day at most. Not a year. A year in which we lived, grew, shared - all together. So things  -as much as I wish to deny- will indeed be different. Vain thinking it would be to conjure a scenario where all this can be repeated. It just won't happen.

.   .   .

   But does that mean I should forget? Just because there seems to be no point in remembering?

   Let me tell you something: All these memories, times, and the spot in my heart for them, their benefit is only mine, only mine. They are there for me to be able to use them when the going gets rough. In the future I'll need to have what to reminisce about; something to pull my own heart with. And if I don't treasure these moments and store them now, I just won't have them; my loss.

   So he's a good guy. That's who he is. But for me, to remember him is a tool; a way to reach my emotions with my own bare hands. For that - he's in me, and he'll stay in me.
      

Mivtzoim Musings

  
   On mivtzoim I go to Uffizi, a Jewish owned coffee shop. Though not especially a kosher place, it nonetheless attracts many Jews, and needless to say has Jewish workers. Today, upon entering, my partner and I met two Jews of the old school; Yiddish speakers.

   One of them says to me: "What are you doing here? This is not a kosher place!" To which I explained that we are only going in to leave some pamphlets for the two workers. He wasn't satisfied: "People like you should not be seen in a place like this!", he says to me.
  
    Now, since he was knowledgeable enough to ask me such a question, he obviously knows I wouldn't eat in such a place. Rather, he was asking me what I thought about other peoples' impressions of our being there, concerning which he raised a valid point. Can my well-meant actions be (in this case) taken by others in a negative way?
   

Dunno

 
   He is a master shoulder shrugger. He does it all the time. To every question I ask, I know by now that I'll receive the same response: "I don't know".

   Just a second. Before you start chiding me for saying that being truthful is a bad trait, allow me the liberty of explanation. If he'd only tell me this when I asked him a thoughtful question, I'd understand. But when I ask him a question like 'How long will you take to finish your shower', or 'Do you want me to wait five minutes for you', it gets annoying to have someone who is unwilling to take the responsibility to keep his word and therefore shirks into the amazingly wide expanse of uncertainty. In a way I'm jealous; he can do whatever he wants. But is that the way to deal with a question posed to you by someone who wants an answer?

   I'd love to tell him what I think. I want to say to him: "If you give me an answer, you'll have a goal to attain. When you then keep your word, you will have checked another box in your minds' chart. You will have grown."

   But what can I do? If I give him a piece of my mind I'm scared I'll receive the response: "Maybe your right; I don't know".
   

Strange Smiles

     
   Two stops after me, a thin man boards the tram. Glancing cautiously around him, he chooses to sit next to me. I shift - uncomfortably. He's not exactly my type of guy, you know. His breath smells of alcohol; he cuddles his hands as if they're cold. "Don't do anything foolish", I say to myself. "Just let him be".

   "Hi", he says to me. I uneasily reply with a hello, hoping he won't start a conversation. Seemingly content with my reply, he proceeds to occupy a little more of the bench space.

   I continue counting the number of stops left. Abruptly he turns to me and asks: "How was your day?", to which I -curtly enough- reply: "Good, thank G-d". Once again he's quiet.

   Who is this guy, I wonder. Bald, with a stylish but well-worn cap on his head, he looks to me like he's seen better days. I just hope he doesn't want anything from me. But he doesn't seem to. I get the impression that he's content just being next to me. Why, I don't know.

   After the next stop, he stands up and prepares to leave. He has kind of a spaced-out look to him, I notice. As though he has what to think about. Or maybe he's tired.

   A minute later the tram pulls up to the stop where he'll leave me. Exited enough at the prospect, I look his way as he departs. As he does, though, he looks my way again. Lifting his hand to resemble a wave, he smiles and says: "See ya later".

   After he was gone, I smiled back.