If the Walls Could Talk.

Charleston, SC
My kitchen table, in my PJs.



It has been an incredibly busy last few weeks. I am trying to wrap my head around the idea that it is mid-August. When?! How?! The passage of time is at an all time high. Is that just the pace of the world in your mid-twenties or have I somehow skewed into a time warp and one month is actually one week and an hour feels like one second? Regardless, there is work to be done, travels to take, people to see, and things to love.


On my last trip north to Boston, I hopped on the "T" to headed towards Sutherland St. with full intention of finding the nearest open seat and taking a short nap ( it had been a taxing day of travel). It quickly came to my attention that sitting, was not going to be an option, the "T" itself almost wasn't an option if I hadn't asserted myself at the front of the long line of people that had materialized as soon as the train pulled up. There was standing room only by the time I made my way to my little corner. I clutched my camera, my backpack and my hat, three essentials when traveling with me. I had forgotten what a culture shock a Boston is compared to Charleston. I overheard a conversation being held in something that sounded like Farsi ( most exotic language that crossed my mind at the time), there was rapid Spanish speakers in the next corner, complete with expressive hand movements. I craned my neck to see what the girl who had managed to grab a seat was listening to on her ipod, something written in Korean, and last and most definitely my favorite was the Hasidic Jew sitting to my right reading a book that titled " Sex and Salvation: Virginity as a Soteriological Paradigm in Ancient Christianity." I reeaalllyy wanted to know why he had bought that particular book. I almost asked him, I almost took a picture of him; both were out of the question since my camera was buried in my bag and he seemed perfectly content ignoring the world around him, enthralled in his book. I did not want to disturb him, plus I would have had no string of sentences that would have made sense or sounded unoffensive. So I stayed quiet and people watched.

The differences between Northern and Southern living are pretty dramatic. I am not a foreigner to either side of the Mason-Dixon Line. I find that the overall persona of the cities can be seen in the people who live there. It would be one thing if I were comparing Boston and Charleston on their historical Landmarks or oceanfront views. But if I am trying to find the personality of a city, the only way to do that is to talk and observe the people who live there. It is here where I wish I could transmogrify myself into the walls of the subway, house, or local bar and get the latest gossip. They, without question, see and hear more than most, more the we may like to admit. The underbelly of a city is exposed only when all things are out in the open. Sitting there on the subway gave me a taste of Boston, I watched people interact with strangers ( which was minimal), address friends and relax into their natural habitat. It stood in contrast to Charleston since people are known for their "hellos" to perfect strangers, while the public transit is substituted with a bus rather than the "T", people still interact, and eye contact is made. It used to be quite unnerving when everyone on the street would say, "hello, hey, hi, how are you, good morning..etc", or some form of greeting. But I find myself doing it now, a sign of internal growth perhaps. I wonder what the walls would say about me if they could speak their mind?...If they had minds. Do you ever wonder that too? Most people shake their head and don't want to know; some jokingly roll their eyes. I wonder if that is because we feel as though the way we perceive ourselves is not accurately shown to others? Or do we have something to hide? Is our outward portrayal incongruent with our inward one? I imagine an infinite number of responses from the walls. And depending on which walls I can also see the answers not portraying a full and whole person, much like using landmarks to solely represent the heart of a city. The walls of a church, house, bar, bedroom, bathroom, or subway depict who we are in that moment however fleeting or lengthy it may be. We can leave the walls behind, break them down, or build them up, it still does not allow us to leave our bodies or our thoughts behind. We have to live with ourselves every hour of the day, and learn to be okay with who we are, understand our flaws, and acknowledge our strengths.

So, IF the walls could talk, I would tell them to mind their own business.