Slowly but with meaning

A year ago, I was afraid to eat alone. Just a silly phobia that haunted me. I told my mother that I don't think I could ever travel alone, for business or otherwise, because I was afraid to eat alone. How awkward, sad and lonely those business men look when they enter cafes with their newspaper, and sip their coffee while watching wistfully the display of people walking by on street sidewalks outside. I didn't want to be one of them.
Now, 8 months in, it's a rarity that I don't eat alone. Silence has become my strange travel buddy, often leaving me to my thoughts and memories. Quite a dangerous partner for a poet. And she's caused me lots of trouble, for sure, but more than anything she's forced me to cope with my true fear, a fear that has always followed me throughout my life; exposed just for a moment when I was 10 and my uncle said to me -You entered this world with another. You've never liked being alone, not even in the womb.

A few weeks ago I was at sitting at a bar in Prague, watching this girl socialize with everyone. She was a friend of mine, and the life of the bar, mingling around starting random conversation with whoever was willing to talk. I remember sitting there and wishing I could do that, that I could be that character. A student of Public Relations, this girl could spin anything. And it never occured to me that perhaps wishing to be like her was silly because I already was like her. It never occured to me until one night in a basement dive bar in Vienna (the walls streaked with black sharpie marker graffiti and flyers painted with brilliant colors duck taped to the walls with writing in half german and half english). I was talking to a girl about her dreadlocks, and the various ways one can acquire such cranial decoration. I was with an acquaintence from Hamilton (how I love to meet with study abroad students! So new to life outside the states, outside the strict confines of college society, where no one gives a care whether you were a part of what fraternity because no one knows what a fraternity is). And as we walked away from our dreadlocked conversation, he turned to me and said

-Well, that's where we differ
And I, completely clueless said
-Oh no, I don't want dreadlocks either. They're too much work.
And he said
-No, I mean, you started a conversation with a complete stranger about her hair. That's where we differ.
And I immediately thought of the girl in Prague, and smiled to myself. Surprised and somewhat embarassed by my ignorance to my own social tendencies, I realized that I, despite how awkward and strange I often felt, had the capability to cause random conversation.

So we sat in that bar, and listened to bands play. A sweet singer songwriter from Scotland played love songs on the guitar and I thought about everywhere I've been, and everyone I've met. But then, oh then tricky little miss silence moved in. Apparently the next band was running late, and they needed a time filler.
-Anyone know how to play guitar?
the MC shouted.
-Any stand up comedians?
Nothing.
-Hey! She's a poet!
Crap. I had been outed. Maybe if I held real still, and acted like I was in an intense but enjoyable conversation, he'd leave me along.
-No wait, you! The one in the green sweater!
I turned slowly to the stage
-I don't know you're name. But you're a poet. Come up here!

So I got up on the stage. Because let's face it, I love it. And I poured my poor little poet heart out to a mob of strangers, as usual. And when I paused between poems, I noticed the bar had gone silent. Completely silent. As I stepped off the stage, awkwardly after my five minutes of talking to bright lights and blurry silohuettes, I thought about how life really is about making connections. Whether through music or conversation or poetry. It's all about breaking down those walls we put up between each other, to protect ourselves from "getting hurt". Because things are temporary, and attachment is natural so why even get involved with all that? But to me, I just love that connection too much. The feeling of looking out into the bright lighted, blurry abyss and *feel* something looking back at you. And it hurts because after making that connection, Loneliness and Silence seem to win. But really, all it does is motivate me to make more connections. Maybe I'm just masochistic. But, as trite and silly and emo as it all sounds, getting your heart broken is the best way of knowing it still works. And I'd rather have a broken heart than a lonely one.