I’m currently sitting in the far right seat, two rows from the very back of this dimly lit lecture hall. Behind me, two boys– one with a snapback too big for his head– are hovering over a shared phone screen with anticipatory grins, waiting for the funny part of what I presume is some Instagram video from one of those “Daquan” accounts. Such accounts are why vine did not last very long. To the left of me, a girl is eating a Quaker’s granola bar. From her seating choice, and too small of a backpack, I can tell she isn’t the studious type– only here because her major requires it. You’re perhaps wondering what that suggests about myself, as I am sitting right next to her. Well, the difference is that my school bag is quite full, and I typically sit in the very front of every class, I’m that student. But this is just psychology class, no offense
The edge seat is most suitable for those who intend to do other than pay attention to the professor. I never quite understood the students who sat in the middle of the room, with their screen brightness fully on, as they peruse YouTube, Facebook or even porn. I, of course, haven’t seen the latter happen in any of my classes, but I’ve heard a fair share of stories. Such people are either fools or too comfortable with themselves. Sometimes the two are indistinguishable
While I find psychology fascinating, it’s all too instinctive, or at least the introductory courses are (to undo my prior offense). It’s much too common sense. Rather than catching up on FKJ and Soulection tracks on Soundcloud, or inking my planner with ambitious tasks that require me to be up past 9:30 pm, (not happening, I need my sleep) I may as well start this blog.
I don’t know how this stuff quite works; and while I’ve always considered starting one, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that Ifemelu from Americanah was to me, like eating the whole bag of chips because you didn’t ration the serving by eating from a bowl. In other words, a fictional character brought me to impulsively buy a membership for this WordPress thing, without first putting my thoughts into the bowl and eating slowly, making the snacking a more thoughtful process. I could have just opted for the free version of WordPress, but a personal domain is more aesthetically pleasing. The aesthetic of things is what makes life more than passive breathing. Anyhow, the deed is done now, and so far I have no regrets. I suppose the membership will keep me consistent about blogging, then again, I’ve said that about the gym too. I’m on my third gym membership. Coincidentally though, this is my third attempt at a blog. 3 is also my favorite number, my mother will tell you.
I remember a couple months back, say mid-June, I had my first day of clinical. I was taking the morning train, thinking of all the things I could call the blog I intended to start that night. I impatiently wanted a side hustle. I spent more time planning clickbait blog titles and strategies to solidify a viewer base, all before even thinking of the blog content itself! How in-genuine and passionless! I’m usually not like that, I promise. I was simply broke, and I think that explains enough. Anyhow, God quickly put me in my place that morning.
I glanced at my google maps and saw that my train stop was next. It noted that I’d get off at 40th & Colorado and then board the 40 bus
I got off the train, thinking a bit of what my clinical preceptor would be like, but I was again overcome by thoughts of what niche I should pick in the blogging world. 15 minutes passed by and the bus came. The driver got out to take a smoke break and closed the bus doors. I stood behind the light pole, standing in its slim shadow. I’ve always been good at finding the in-obvious shadows produced by the side of a building, or the height of street signs. It’s a skill a commuter picks up real quick in the heat of the summer.
As the bus driver got back on the bus, he opened the doors. I rummaged through my purse for my wallet to scan my RTD pass. My wallet. Damn it!
Trying not to lose my cool, I asked the driver for an RTD pamphlet with the numbers for the A-line train. I called, praying unceasingly while on hold as I waited for the tasteless elevator music to end. I couldn’t help but give myself kudos for leaving the house 2 hours early. I intuitively figured I’d need buffer time in case I got lost on the first day of clinic… or lost my shit.
Finally, someone picked up. From her soft nasally tone, she seemed to be in her mid-twenties. She was so immune to calls like this, giving no assurance or sympathy. I was burdening her, keeping her from online shopping, or her unfinished text.
“Is there really no way you could simply call the security guard on the train, I literally just got off!”
“No it doesn’t work that way, sorry” I swear I almost heard her filing her nails to accompany her bland customer service voice.
“You have no form of communication with the security on trains?”
“So what are my options then? Everything is in my wallet.”
“You either wait till tomorrow and call the RTD lost and found, or wait on the opposite platform for the same train to reroute in 20 minutes”
“Alright, thanks for your time”
“Good luck with your wallet”
“Good luck”, why do people feel the need to retrieve such empty phrases. They don’t say it because they mean it, but rather because they think you expect to hear it.
I waited on the opposite platform, and in my anxious loneliness, spoke to the most high, God:
I’m sorry for wanting to start a blog as a side hustle, I could probably just put that time into worshiping you better, or exercising. I don’t know, I suppose you and I both know I would taint my essence in the pursuit of a money driven hobby. It’s unlike myself. Do you want me to stay more low-key? A private life is a happy life they say. Or is my influence best for a different platform? You know what my soul needs. You know I’ve never been into the radio because it’s too mainstream; or read a book recommended by enough people to push me (to the edge, lol) away from my remote initial interest. If it is a thing made mainstream, or a space too saturated, I want no part. And not because I intentionally steer from things that are common, but because I subconsciously feel repelled. You know this already.
But SubhanAllah, what a paradox! As I embellished the idea of starting a blog for money, I became so consumed by the thought that I forgot my wallet and lost my money. Not to mention, my social security card was in there. So in a sense, it’s as though the idea of profiting in in-genuine ways was compromising my identity. My truth.
Oh most high, if my wallet is still on that train, I won’t start a blog.
Before the train arrived, I came to terms with whether or not I’d find my wallet. I always went the extra mile to look out for others, always washed my hands long enough to notice if a woman was leaving the restroom without her phone or lipstick. I had everyone’s back when given the opportunity. I knew God would not forsake me. The wallet isn’t a big deal, it’s all material. But it’s the time I’d have to spend replacing everything that made it not worth considering. And my faith surged. The train blew its horn three times as it approached the platform. My anxiety drifted and I felt calm.
The train doors opened, a Hispanic officer smiled at me and said, “Have a seat, I have it!” Praise be to the most high, I was so grateful.
“I knew it was you as soon as you entered, you look just like your I.D,” he said, & we both laughed warmly.
“I don’t know how to than..”
“Ma’am if anything looks out of place, it’s because I was trying to find a phone number, I really didn’t want to have to turn it in or RTD would take it to their lost and found and that would have been a headache for you, hardly anything is ever really found with them.”
He handed it to me. His finger nails were trimmed. His hands were browner than his face and wrinkled, he had to be about 45.
“Oh thank you so so much, everything is in here, God bless you”
“Don’t thank me, ma’am, I’m happy you have it. Aslam alaiku”
He smiled with an innocence that died in most adults at 27, and I smiled back with glassy eyes– biting my cheek so that I did not cry. He didn’t pronounce ‘Assalamu ‘Alaikum‘ quite right, but I knew his intent, &that’s what mattered.
I got off the train, put my sunglasses on, and allowed my tears to fall. People can be genuine. And so I gave up the idea of starting a blog.
And yet, here I am… It has been a few months since then.
At this point, I don’t really care for a side hustle or any sort of egotistical attention. I observe nuances others often overlook, and ponder things like eschatology and whether or not I should have another cup of coffee. It’s thoughts like this that I want to preserve somewhere, and if you enjoy my words in the process of me doing this, then I suppose that’s good too.
Peace and Blessings,