And sometimes you form your own conclusions about that person (maybe because you assume that you will simply never know the answers to those questions, or because you feel that must be the case for that person) based on the (very) little you know about him or her.
This past semester I was taking a writing course called Research in the Disciplines: Exploring Asia. My class had only 10 students including myself. This was one of those classes where every single person-
EVERY.
Including the teacher . . .
Was interesting.
Not in a weird way.
Just . . . interesting.
But this has nothing to do with the point I am trying to get to . . .
There was one girl in particular who for some reason sparked my curiosity. It was her quiet nature- the kind that hinted intellect. It always seemed to me like she was somehow ahead of the game, understanding and noticing things about the world and life that everybody else couldn't grasp- and she couldn't understand why she was the only one able to comprehend seemingly simple things. But it wasn't in a cocky way- it was more so in a disappointed manner as if waiting for somebody to see what she sees.
She intimidated me.
A lot.
And I hated it.
Not simply because I hate feeling intimidated (who does?), but rather because that view of her made me consider that maybe there was indeed something I was missing. I felt intimidated by the fact that she was so much wiser than me (this was all in my head. All I knew about her was that she was majoring in Chinese. She could've been the biggest idiot and how would I know?) and that I couldn't see what she saw.
The only interactions we had were me passing the sign-in sheet to her, for which she would turn her head slightly (she sat directly in front of me) and proofreading each other's papers. She would write her comments on my paper in a very neat and small print. She used the word "perhaps" a lot and I decided to start using that word more often (it makes one sound proper and smart).
Oh, and I couldn't pronounce her first name. Her last name clearly was Italian though.
Cool beans.
Still not the point.
My assumption that she was very smart, was verified by my reading her papers- they were always well-written. This increased my intimidation. Not the point though.
Throughout the majority of the semester, my view of her was such: she was much too smart and mature for the average person. She was nice and friendly, simple and straightforward. She had set viewpoints and equally intellectual friends. Not the type of girl I would be friends with though (I am much too quirky and probably on a drastically different emotional wavelength than her- I am a spaz while she just would (just simply would) do things properly the first time and wonder why other people can't just get their act together).
Last week, on one of the last days of class- we had to get into pairs of two to discuss our presentations for our papers. Through facial expression, she asked if I wanted to work with her and I responded in the same manner.
She sat down next to me and asked with wide eyes, "do you know how you're presenting your paper? She (the teacher) makes it sound as if it's so simple, but it's not," she continued. "I'm not good at public speaking."
It was interesting to me that she would reveal her weakness. I had created her personality so much in my head. I knew I needed to stop doing this.
As we finished our discussion and she shifted her body away from me, I wanted to continue the conversation.
I don't remember exactly what I said, but we ended up getting to the topic of school almost being over. She was so excited, it was almost as if she was a different person. She never showed emotions like that before.
I learned so much about her in the next several minutes during our conversation. She was talking so much.
She was only a junior but was graduating a year early. She was in the middle of applying to graduate programs. She was so excited to go home . . . she spent her past two summers working in New York while living on campus . . . she hadn't been home in three years . . .
She was from . . .
Italy.
"I'm sorry- what? You're from Italy did you say?" I asked confused. "As in, like, you were born and raised there? As in, you were in the states for just three years and your real life (family and home) are in Italy?"
This hit me hard and I couldn't understand why.
I was so enthralled by the fact she was from Italy- a different world I know nothing about- that I actually continued to sit in my seat after class and everyone else had left, and sort of just thought about it- about the fact that her life is so different from mine, her childhood was so different, the place she calls home, the culture she was raised in . . .
And I began to think about all the ways she must view life, people, and basically everything differently than how I view those things. I began to think about how in several weeks she will return to Italy and I will remain in New Jersey. I began to think about everything she mentioned in those past several minutes- how in Italy families eat dinner together always, how she feels guilty when not eating dinner with her family, specifically on Sunday nights . . . and I began to think about all the things that I truly must not know and understand that she knows and understands because she lives in Italy. Maybe there are many things that the culture there does right, that the people do correctly, that I am missing out on because my American life and culture do not care for those things that maybe they should . . .
I came back to my dorm room in a haze, still enwrapped in this idea. I told my roommate about these thoughts- and even the next day to my other best friend. I was obsessed with the idea of actually looking up different cultural practices in different countries, and trying them out- just to see what I was missing (or if I was missing anything at all). Maybe those practices and perspectives and beliefs of other places, resulting in a better quality of life.
So this is what I have decided to do.
. . .
Maybe it seems that it was pointless for me to go through the details of my encounter with the girl from Italy, but if not for that 3-month long thought process, I do not think I would've come to such a major realization (or at least felt the same way about it).
She will never know the effect that she has had on me (and will continue to have). I do not think I will ever forget her. I will be 70 years old and wonder what happened to the girl from Italy.