SYA ENGLISH ASSIGNMENT - Creative/Photography inspired by Teju Cole

  Abigail Thurlow

A Girl Sitting on a Rock

So, here I sit on the top of a random mountain in a random small town in France, watching random people live their lives, observing from afar. They do not know who I am or, where I come from, or why I am here. If I am being honest, I’m not sure I know the answers to these questions either. The random people don’t know why I sit here on this rock, listening to the sound of the small stream next to me, feeling the wind brush against my neck, listening to the sound of my pen writing on the notebook that sits here on my lap. I don’t think the people care that much or realize I even exist. That I am observing them from afar. I don’t know exactly who they are, where they come from, or why they’re here. All I can do is assume, and the same goes for them. 

There are many questions I have unanswered. I don’t know where the water flowing next to me is going; I don’t quite know what I’m writing, why the thoughts I scribble down materialize in my head, and why my neck is so cold. Well, I suppose I do know the answer to the last question. However, that is not what I focus on. I choose not to linger over the long questions that soon become tangents and then manifest into a cloud of anxiety that floats over my shoulders until I decide to think about it again. So, here I sit, thinking about all the clouds that loom above me, some real and some a figment of my imagination. 

 I focus on the people who practice their daily routines, utterly unaware of my existence or purpose—something I have been becoming less and less aware of since first sitting on this rock. 

I see a woman taking clothes off of a hanging line. I hear a dog barking in the distance. I hear the sound of tires rolling slowly, with the distant sound of a ball bouncing, both on the bumpy asphalt of driveways. 

I wonder to myself, as I imagine they wonder about me, if they had any idea I sit here, notebook in lap, scribbles for handwriting, mind in overdrive.  

The woman with the clothes catches my attention first. I can’t help but wonder if she is happy with her life. This might be an optimistic thing to assume, that she hangs up clothes with ardor and takes them down with pride. Or it may be a harsh thing to assume that with every sock hung up, she wonders what the point is if she is only going to take them down again to be worn and then dirtied and then hung up again. Is it worth her effort to clamp down on a damp sock that will soon be dampened again? She squeezes the clothing pin, opens it, and then uses her other hand to place the sock on the rack. As she sighs and releases the pressure from her fingers, the clothing pin closes on her other fingers, pinching and creating the beginning of a bruise that will last the next couple of days. The bruise will stay on her finger longer than the sock will be clean. Is this the life she imagined for herself? She smiles when her husband comes home from his nine-to-five corporate job, a job she once had but gave it up to hang up socks. She hated that life too: same schedule, same routine, same faces, same work, same deep-rooted feeling in her stomach, something that seems to have started in high school and hasn’t ceased yet. Is it the same feeling that has begun to develop in me? Am I on the same pathway to her life, a life I look at from a distance and never wish upon anyone else? Did she see it coming? Did she not see something I had yet to discover so I would not end up as a housewife with bruised fingers? 

However, I look at this from a pessimistic perspective. She may have the life I run from, but be the happiest woman alive. This could be the path she always imagined for herself or a path she learned to be comfortable with. She is pleased to be hanging up socks. She hears her husband’s tires rolling up the driveway, returning from work; she smiles, knowing he has a good meal she prepared on the table inside. She squeezes the clothing pin, opens it, and then uses her other hand to place the sock on the rack. Before releasing her grasp, she looks to her right to see her daughter chasing around their yappy black dog and then to her left to see her son dribbling his new basketball on the ground, another new hobby he recently picked up. She closes the clothing pin, only pinching her fingers slightly. The next day, there will still be a bruise, and her finger will remain a mangle of green and blue when the sock she hangs up inevitably becomes dirty again. However, she is okay with that. Am I okay with that? Am I okay with this life I’ve created for her? Is it subconsciously a creation of my own future? How did I get here? My legs are falling asleep from resting my weight on them, and I realize I am beginning to spiral. 

I take a breath. I listen to the water trickling. I do not know its destination, but I don’t think it worries about that. I do not know where my destination is, my future career, my future failed aspirations, how many socks I hang up until I give up and just wear the same pair until they become too tattered to stay together. I don’t know who these random people are; they don’t know me, and I am okay with that. I’m not sure if I know myself, either. I know that I am sitting on a rock in the middle of France; I feel the breeze against my neck, and my hand is growing tired of scribbling. I am just a girl sitting on a rock. I know that now, and that is all I have to know.

A Sense of Independence

My first independent travel trip at SYA was to Le Mans with Rena and Violetta. I learned many things during our time away from the comfort of Rennes. Still, the two points that break through the surface are; always trusting an alley cat and that independent travel isn’t actually very independent at all.

We were finally doing “the thing” we had heard whispers about but had no idea what it was like: independent travel. We stepped off the train and found ourselves met with cobblestone streets with pastel-colored houses lining them, hours in our day to explore, and a cat in the middle of the first street we decided to look down. We all stopped dead in our tracks, making sure not to make any sudden movements to scare the creature in front of us. It was medium-sized, with brown and black fur and long, wise whiskers, making its face appear as if it had seen many things in ‘its time.’ We approached the cat, not knowing where it would soon take us, what it would show us, or if it had fleas. However, we decided to take the risks on all fronts and extend our hands to run our fingers through its soft and, hopefully, flea-free fur. 

When the cat had finally gotten tired from all the affection you can give a cat, a gentle caress along its back or a stroke behind its ears, and the cat had reciprocated all the affection you can get from a cat, a simple head bop and a purr if you’re lucky, the cat decided to walk away from us. We sighed from the discomfort building up in our knees from sitting on the cold cobblestone street and from a lack of knowing what to do. 

We booked our adventure knowing that we would have fun, but we did not necessarily know what that fun time would be just yet. However, this is when the first lesson from independent travel was taught. 

The cat strutted away from us, its tail raised high and carefully stepped on each cobblestone in front of it. Maybe it was this alley cat's utter confidence, or the foolishness of the three of us put together, but we followed the cat. Sneaking up behind a cat feels more stupid in the moment and definitely feels very stupid looking back at it now. There was no noise apart from our feet scraping on the street under us. Then there was the sound of whispered apologies for the noise and then having to apologize again until we were inevitably hushed. If cats could laugh, the cat would have laughed at us as we were laughing at ourselves. The alley cat had no plans for us; however, it took us on an adventure.

As we aimlessly followed this cat around the uneven streets of Le Mans, I learned the second lesson from my independent travel trip: that independent travel isn’t very independent at all. Here we were, relying on a cat to show us around the trip we booked for ourselves. There we were, giggling and prancing around, disrupting the people who lived in the pastel houses around us. We may have been on an independent travel trip, but we depended on each other and a cat to show us the way and make each other laugh. 

How Far I’ve Come and How Much is Coming

I smell the tang of the ocean’s breath and hear its soothing noise flooding the cracks between smooth oval rocks and then crawling back to its home. In front of me are two of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen. I can’t see their faces, but I don’t need to to feel their beauty. It is not the superficial beauty that people reconstruct their faces in a desperate desire to conform to the made-up stereotypes of our society. I would never want these girls to change anything about themselves. They could do nothing to make me love them any less than I do now. 

I feel the gratefulness flooding over me like the water flowing over the rocks. I can’t help but feel my eyes filling with salt water, too. They are the only people in this world with whom I can be myself, and I feel grateful knowing they can be their authentic selves around me, too. I am lucky to experience all their traits, little quicks, and the faults they may struggle to accept.  I would never not want to experience any of them if it meant spending time with them. The corners of my mouth start to turn into a smile; something that once felt like a contorted feature on my face now feels so easy to embrace. 

I look outward at them in front of me and the ocean in front of them. I close my eyes for a moment, taking in the warmth I feel, not from the sun, as it is not shining now, but from the comfort of the people close to me. I know that I have found it. 

I may be uncertain about my future, how I want it to look, who I want to be, and how I want to be perceived. But I do know the people I want to fill my life with, and that is all that matters to me at this moment. I don’t need to present myself in a way that isn’t my authentic self or act like I have my life planned out; I can just feel the air expanding my lungs and then the sweet exhale of ease. These are the people I want to sit and do nothing with, laugh and run around the streets of foreign cities with, watch the ocean with, and just experience in general. 

The ocean stretches out in front of us. We cannot see the end of it, but that doesn’t worry us because we are together. I look out at the beauty of the world before me and smile. I know they are smiling, too.