Being Human

“The difference between dogs and people is that dogs know how to be dogs.”
-Peter Berger

A great sociologist, Peter Berger, tells us that people do not know how to be people. Spiders come into this world knowing how to build a web. Birds know when to fly south. Every animal knows how to be an animal. Except us. People don't know how to be people. We do not know why, and we can only begin to examine its effects. Many people believe that life is made up of a series of stages. Each stage holds its own conflict that must be resolved in order to move on. The teenage years are perhaps the most difficult, as they bring with them the conflict of identity. Perhaps it is that panic, the desperation to be someone, to be accepted, that sparks the cruelty, the unfairness, and the mockery. If that happens to be the real reason, I have no idea as to why I'm different. Or maybe I'm just the same.

The minutes have rolled into hours, many students long since drifted off. The lights speed by the window, screaming against the vast black sky. Souvenirs from the museum rest on the floor, gently nudging my ankle when the bus lurches. The hushed laughter from the back drifts up to the front of the bus, enticing, like a siren song. Laughter soon gives way to gossip, until one phrase floats over the rest. "Let's call someone." It seemed harmless. Simple, children will be children. Lights from phone screens shine up on the ceiling, reflecting the frenzy for a victim behind me. Suddenly, "Her." For the purpose of storytelling, let us refer to the following victims as X and Y.

"Oh, my God, you have her number? That's perfect! She's crazy!"
"What do I say to her?"
"Oh, she's obsessed with horses. Tell her one died. She'll flip."

With pained disbelief, I listen as they talk X into the death of her horse. X, my best friend for all of grade school. Even from my seat, I can hear hysterical panic on the other end of the line. The phone is clicked off, and it gives way to hysterical laughter behind me.

"Oh, my God! Did you hear her? She totally believed us!"
"Who next? Oh God, her! Call Y!"
"Perfect! I call her all the time. Just mention her weight, she starts crying, it's hilarious."

I cannot tear myself. I listen as they go through their phones, insulting everyone they can, reducing people to tears. My own throat burns from holding back sobs. The girl in the seat next to me slips her hand in mine, and I see she's close to tears too. "Tune them out." She whispers. I nod, and slip my earphones in. But, no matter how hard I try to focus on the music, I cannot. Their words echo in my mind. The rest of the ride is not at all better. They move on to impressions, and I'm an easy target. They mimic my voice, mock my clothing and hair, and make me out to be a bossy, over dramatic, self-centered outcast.

I do not know why people fight so desperately to find themselves that they only hurt others. However, I cannot blame them; it's only part of being human. I do not blame them. After all, they don't know how to be people. None of us do. Deep inside, I'm no different from them. Deep inside, none of us are any different. We're all human. We just don't know how to be.

"You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. I hope someday you will join us, and the world will live as one."

The Stranger in my Kitchen

Strangers are just family you have yet to come to know.
-Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet in Heaven



She looks grandmother-ly enough. Silver streaked hair cropped close to her head. Wrinkles outlining her mouth and eyes. There must be something I'm missing. Perhaps it is the spark, or lack of which, in her eyes that I imagined should be there. This woman is my grandmother. This woman is a stranger.

When I was born, my family moved to Connecticut. Not all of my family, just my parents and I. Siblings followed. Grandparents did not. I see them once every few years, if I'm lucky, that is. Or perhaps, I'm lucky not to see them. I don't know, I barely know them.

I clip my hair up to the side, and take deep breaths in front of the mirror. She assumes every teenager is just like the rest, and therefore, her and my sister to get along. My sister has always been the cute chubby baby, the angelic blond child, and now, the stereotypical teen. I'm different. She will judge me. Just like everyone else.

When I'm finally satisfied, I go downstairs to say hello. She wraps me in an awkward hug, and studies my face for a minute. "You cut your hair," she observes, "Since when has it been curly?" My fingers jump to my head, self consciously trying to tame the mess. "I cut it two years ago, it curled on its own," I stammer. She nods, but her eyes still shine with disapproval.

I don't know what having a grandmother should be like. I guess I've created my own idea of it. I figure a grandparents house would be a home away from home, a place of smiles, a place to be spoiled. A safe, comforting, homey feeling. I'll never know for sure. I'm wearing an over sized knit sweater, I taught myself to knit. I've never tasted her cooking, nor listened to stories of her childhood. Perhaps it is the lack of grandparents that continuously drives me to make other people proud.

She talks to me like I'm still a child, naive. I don't blame her. She doesn't know me. She doesn't know my age, my birthday, my favorites, my friends, or even understand my acting. She has never heard me sing, never seen me perform.

After a few minutes of inane chat, I join my neighbor on the couch. It strikes me that my neighbor is closer to being family then my grandmother will ever be. Strangers are just family you have yet to come to know, but really, our family is just strangers that we have come to know. The people you surround yourself with are your family. Surround yourself with love, love your family, and love the strangers in your life.

Gives me Hope

I woke up one morning to hear the birds outside my window and my mother cooking breakfast downstairs. I've never cried so much in my entire life. I have been deaf since the age of 8.

Freshman year, there was a crippled girl bound to a wheelchair. For 4 years, she did physical therapy and progressed to crutches. When we graduated a few weeks ago, she handed her crutches to an officer and walked across the entire stage. The applause from the seniors was deafening. She cried the whole way.

Today, I found GMH. After reading all the heartwarming stories, I walked into my room, and tore my suicide journal to shreds. I'm shaking out of happiness.

The previous quotes are from posts on www.givesmehope.com . It's the optimistic equivalent of FML or MLIA. Instead of complaining, people share beautiful and heartwarming moments. If the book "Chicken Soup for the Soul" were to come in bite sized pieces, it would be here, on GMH. I read this site for nearly five hours yesterday, crying the entire time. People can be harsh, unforgiving, close minded, and cruel. Slowly, I'm finding my hope for the future again. People like this, determined, generous, kind people, are becoming my inspiration.

What little things in life can do! In my sadness, I've often failed to realize how much people care. Last year, after breaking up with my first boyfriend, I was heartbroken, absolutely shattered. I messaged one of my close friends online, and not only did she automatically figure out something was wrong, she arrived at rehearsal with open arms, a box of tissues, and a bar of chocolate. She held me while I cried all over her shirt. I remember this only yesterday, and it sent me into tears of happiness. Her love and care gives me hope.

Sometimes just a simple kind word is enough to save a life. I've joined Operation Beautiful, www.operationbeautiful.com. I leave notes around, whenever I can. They're simple, saying something along the lines of "Smile! You're beautiful!" or "You're perfect the way you are". I slip them in lockers, in backpacks, and especially on bathroom mirrors, anywhere someone could use a boost in self confidence.

Please, continue to hope. Become an inspiration. After all, to make one person smile counts as a a success. Be generous, be loving, take that one extra step out of your way to help someone else, and I guarantee, you will not be disappointed.