WHITING: You talkin’ to me?

I'm not chatty by nature, but I'm getting better, nurtured by the plethora of people at a school of nearly 18,000 undergraduate students. I admit, though, that it is often easier for me to put in my earbuds &- so as to convey the idea that I am hard at work listening to Vampire Weekend, and am therefore not to be disturbed &- than it is for me to make the effort to speak to my fellow immigrant Bostonians.

But I've found that life as a silent and secluded individual, if not balanced with at least some vocal chord usage, offers far less than the life of the exuberant extrovert. And while I know that few people actually enjoy it when a stranger speaks to them for no particular reason and for a potentially infinite amount of time, I've as of late become interested in speaking with the people who accompany me in the crowd of Commonwealth Avenue. I wish I knew more about everyone I pass by on the street. It's an unfortunate truth of life that we will come to know so little of the world's population, not to mention so few of the people with whom we attend school.

Lately, I've been enjoying some rather unexpected conversations. And surprisingly enough, these uninvited exchanges have been some of the most interesting ones of my entire week.

Like the other day, when I was late for a meeting and there was a guard sitting next to a staircase I was going to take, so I asked him what he was doing. He said there was voting taking place in the back room. I wasn't participating and thus planned on proceeding on my merry way, but it seemed I'd caught myself in a dialogue about the wrongness of Reaganomics and the economic benefits of legalizing certain illegal substances.

I missed my meeting but realized that whatever it had to say to me was far less exciting than the issues the guard had brought up in the meantime.

And then there's Michael, the very Irish security guard who works the day shifts in Myles Standish Hall. I was swiping into home as usual once and we somehow got to talking (probably because he's very friendly). I learned he has a son who's an artist in Oklahoma, who once drew a picture of a naked woman on the wall of his Rich Hall dorm room and who also likes poetry and can read Beowulf in German.

Now I get to wish Michael good mornings on my way out to class, and I get to hear about his days when I come back. I get to hear, for once, about someone else's life after obsessing so much over my own throughout the school day.

People we pass by daily have quite a bit to say. It's amazing to think what there is to learn about the baristas who ring up my Starbucks purchase or the man who drives my bus. About the students who serve us dinner and who sit next to us in the Shelton Study Lounge. I wish I knew if the girl reading Kakfa across from me is enjoying what she's reading and what Melvin, the man who sits outside of the CityCo on the corner of Comm. Ave. and Deerfield Street, thinks when he sees me pass by with my earbuds in.

Solitude is a gift, but at the same time I'm starting to think it could be one of our greatest follies. I mean, what is the point of not speaking to someone? Of not saying hello and commencing conversation, asking a name, an origin and more importantly, about someone else's interests? I'm beginning to think we could get a lot more out of our days &- or at least make them more exciting if class isn't doing the trick &- if we were to befriend and learn about our fellow man a little more than we typically try to.

I'm not saying I'm going to ask every passerby his or her life story. But seriously, we have language, we should use it. Humans developed speech to convey to each other their thoughts and yet it appears to me that the act of actually conversing with one another is quite a radical idea, indeed. We have the capacity to know and experience so much more than what we allow ourselves to. It just doesn't make sense.

We're all people, but we seem to forget that. We run with our heads down on the Esplanade and avoid at all costs any awkward eye contact on the T. Heaven forbid we smile at each other. I admit, I sometimes prefer eavesdropping to using my own voice, but I should no longer be wary of doing the latter whenever the opportunity arises.