An evening out on the town with my closest friends — I love the promise of a night out. Maybe I’ll meet someone or learn something that could alter the trajectory of my life. And what a promise that is.
Music is playing, bodies are swaying, it’s about 12:30 a.m. — and I’m leaning against the wall clutching my cup and looking out into a swarm of people whom I do not know and may never know.
I am left utterly alone and defenseless. My friends are sprinkled about the space and I am now operating solo. Perhaps I could strike up a conversation with the girls dancing next to me or that girl I’ve seen in the street before or that cute guy in the corner.
From experience, I can say that those conversations never really go too well. It’s hard to get past the name-and-major small talk and when I try to push beyond it. I’m often left feeling like an odd duckling in a pile of chain-smoking swans.
And then I am back to square one — the wall I am leaning against. There is so much noise, but so little conversation. No one is looking at me to talk. In fact, everyone seems to be entirely in their own world. Sometimes I want to turn the music off and scream out to the masses:
Talk to me.
Life changing conversations seldom occur for me, due to this wave of I’m-not-interested-in-chatting culture. I usually stay for an hour or two, grab food with my friends and sit in the Uber, as I wonder about what might have been if people had just spoken to me.
And if I think about it enough, it truly ticks me off.
While this urge is amplified at parties, my anger is felt beyond an Allston apartment. I feel it in my small English classes and my day-to-day experiences — I feel it everywhere. I get upset about this because I believe social connection is one of the most special components of being a human. In fact, I am of the opinion that we should aim to connect as often as possible.
The prospect of a new friendship is one of the most beautiful things in the world. In fact, I set a goal for myself to make at least five new friends each semester. That comes with a lot of work and awkward conversations.
I wish other people were game. A lot of the time, when I approach people, I’m met with tension — like it’s wrong for me to talk to them. It reminds me of elementary school: the looks you’d get when you’d ask to play with a new group on the playground. It’s like I’m stuck in this eternal loop of being forced to be with myself, dragging my feet and making shapes in the wood chips.
Why can’t we all play together? Or, in more adult terms, why can’t we talk? No one likes a ball hog. I want someone to pass the ball to me, and pronto.
I am fine with the name-and-major intro. I think that can stick. But I need people to trust in what comes after. There’s so much to learn from simply listening to someone else. Ask the weird question, talk about that pressing topic, get into it! So much beauty and knowledge stems from the action of getting to know someone.
I wish it was normal to tell someone that you’d like to be their friend. I’ve met so many cool people I’ve wished and hoped would be a friend of mine, but because I never expressed that, our friendship ceased to exist.
In a world where we could all talk to each other, I’d definitely run over and say hello to those people. You really never know who you’ll meet, which is why you need to keep your heart and mind open.
I can’t talk to people who don’t want to talk to me. So, if you’re reading this — talk to me.
