I Made Friends with Strangers that I Will Never See Again
When I decided to be a writer for life — three years ago — I never quite anticipated what it would entail. I knew I was and still am talented — but I never imagined that being able to successfully juggle words would work against me in the most ironically fucked up way.
They want social media scientists who can create formulas that prepare the future with a plethora of awe-inspiring stats.
I am an outdated concept. Anyone who is passionate about delivering essays that are devoid of typos — will be amazed to discover that they actually chose a route that leads to disillusionment.
This past summer of my discontent was supposed to end with me filtering the cool waters of Venice Beach into my ears without them ringing in dismay.
Instead I am here talking to you.
This isn’t because of the support of friends and family — although they may have tried but unfortunately that card has been declined too many times. It’s time for a new institution that breeds the paperwork furnished for the unexpected pleasure of findings — buried in the domain of an Airbnb.
I met a group of depositors — who like me are wanderers — in search of the solution that will save them.
The day I transported myself to a hostel — that would serve as my hideout until life embraced me again — was the signal of things to come.
I convinced myself that I was out of control and therefore open to all the qualms that come with sharing bunk beds with characters that you should have created after a drunken fest of booze and Netflix.
It’s okay. There is no way this script could’ve been conceived without the pertinent experience.
The long and short of it? I moved into a space that didn’t resemble my usual swagger. The first day was good. The days after that were even better. Turns out that I am not alone in the quest of finding my place in this world.
There are plenty of prototypes that match my DNA for contentment. They have everything to lose but travel from miles away to challenge how high the mountaintop hovers.
Together, we discovered that the journey to the top has to be aligned with the ability to make friends with strangers who you most likely won’t ever see again — but the possibility to refute that notion — keeps you secured in the shell that is breaking.
The shell is broken.
The exposed skin is raw with rejuvenation and promise. No over-paid life guru could’ve predicted the antidote to my near-death experience.
It took bonding with other gals — sharing the walls that surround me — and propelling our space into a dramedy of immense proportion.
We did everything together for nothing less than a week. Then the shift…
One of us got a job, another found a way out of a bunk that didn’t quite feel right. Through it all we were convinced that life is a series of rollercoaster moments that will manifest the possible.
I believe that I submitted to an itinerary that was planned without my input to protect my interest.
I met four girls from excerpts of a poem that is in the making and they fulfilled my need to respect the existence of energy. The kind that synthesizes according to the movements of spiritual blasphemy.
When the arrangements were made — nothing steered us towards the emotional pull of like-minded folks — frolicking in a circus of vibrant abandonment provided by the playground of our enhancements.
The curtain call is slathering the play dates that can’t be honored — but in the midst of channelled confusion is the joy of betterment and assurance that you can begin the trek to redemption without the compass of familiarity.
Strangers will never break your heart.
They arrived to infuse you with the serum to stand by yourself. They don’t demand explanations and they cuddle every evidence that proves how dope you really are.
I will may never see you again Elizaveta, but life is full of surprises. Bernie, I know I promised that Belgium is on my list but even authors are victims of circumstance. I hope I will be the exception. Alina and Salem — we will try to stay in touch.
But, who knows?
I hated the notion of being introduced to a new crowd until the room of my future was occupied by the electricity of faith that only desperation and exasperation can unleash.
So, you wanna be a writer?
Dig into the fodder of impossibilities that converge to create a graph.
This blueprint was constructed while you were figuring out how a plane ticket to the City of Angles would affect the budget of uncertainty.
I am certain that any Airbnb that is stationed for your immediate needs will produce the cast of your imagination.
I am now smiling as I wreck a bug with sprays of poison.