To the Russian kids on the metro today
I don't know you, and you know me as nobody more than the girl sitting by the door, scribbling notes on the back of a receipt. I'll probably never see you again. And in fact, we're not even going to exchange any words on this metro ride, since you are caught up in your smart phones and inside jokes and flirtations. And why would you want to talk to a foreigner nearly twice your age anyway? But I want you to know you expanded my understanding of life.
Because you and I--we are the same.
In you I see that universal junior high existence. That desire to be loved, accepted, to be cool, to fit in, to understand life. The carefully masked excitement of a field trip with a couple dozen of your peers. The boys seeking to be tough to impress the girls, and the girls giggling in response. The quiet kid who gets up to give his seat to a girl. The bold little guy who steals that seat before a girl can get it. The two serious kids standing away from the rest of the group, deep in thought. The laughing. The teasing.
And in all of this I see the transcendent human experience.
Though our childhoods were separated by a decade, an ocean, a language, a culture, you are me.
I have felt--and still feel--what I see you are feeling. I have thought and acted much as you have.
And yet, you are not me. And what I would not give to see as you see and know as you know! To walk in your old shoes through the playground of the preschool you attended so long ago. To run with you down your stairwell, chasing one another and giggling before bursting out into the sunlight. To dress up for the first day of school and sit with you in your classrooms and learn your language and history and culture.
Long I've wanted to see the world from the eyes of another. To understand a different upbringing, a different world view. A different dream. A different vision of life.
What would it have been like to grow up in a two-room apartment on the 10th floor in the middle of Moscow? To go to sleep each night listening to the words of Pushkin? To go to babushka's apartment and hear her stories and eat her blini?
And I will never know first-hand. But in my study and observation of humanity, I step by step come closer to understanding life through the eyes of another until one day my world view is that much richer because I see not only through my own eyes. But through yours.
And it's not just the distance or time or language that intrigues me--I want to understand how even those who grew up with me see the world. Because we are all the same. And yet different. I want to understand the essence of humanity. And see it through the eyes of many.
I crave that empathy that can only come with a fuller understanding of our sameness. And of our differences.
If I could just borrow those worn, детские shoes for one day . . .
. . . this is my stop.
Because you and I--we are the same.
In you I see that universal junior high existence. That desire to be loved, accepted, to be cool, to fit in, to understand life. The carefully masked excitement of a field trip with a couple dozen of your peers. The boys seeking to be tough to impress the girls, and the girls giggling in response. The quiet kid who gets up to give his seat to a girl. The bold little guy who steals that seat before a girl can get it. The two serious kids standing away from the rest of the group, deep in thought. The laughing. The teasing.
And in all of this I see the transcendent human experience.
Though our childhoods were separated by a decade, an ocean, a language, a culture, you are me.
I have felt--and still feel--what I see you are feeling. I have thought and acted much as you have.
And yet, you are not me. And what I would not give to see as you see and know as you know! To walk in your old shoes through the playground of the preschool you attended so long ago. To run with you down your stairwell, chasing one another and giggling before bursting out into the sunlight. To dress up for the first day of school and sit with you in your classrooms and learn your language and history and culture.
Long I've wanted to see the world from the eyes of another. To understand a different upbringing, a different world view. A different dream. A different vision of life.
What would it have been like to grow up in a two-room apartment on the 10th floor in the middle of Moscow? To go to sleep each night listening to the words of Pushkin? To go to babushka's apartment and hear her stories and eat her blini?
And I will never know first-hand. But in my study and observation of humanity, I step by step come closer to understanding life through the eyes of another until one day my world view is that much richer because I see not only through my own eyes. But through yours.
And it's not just the distance or time or language that intrigues me--I want to understand how even those who grew up with me see the world. Because we are all the same. And yet different. I want to understand the essence of humanity. And see it through the eyes of many.
I crave that empathy that can only come with a fuller understanding of our sameness. And of our differences.
If I could just borrow those worn, детские shoes for one day . . .
. . . this is my stop.
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