Moments of Exchange in The Lonely City

Searching for new sparks

I started back at university this week. It’s nice to be around people again, to let in all these little sparks, with the hope that some of them will turn into flames. During the thick of the pandemic, I could only try to keep my existing flames alive — some died out and some grew bigger and brighter. It feels good to start new. That period of stagnancy meant that a lot of corners that were once populated with those sparks grew cold, and now the new heat feels more intense than ever. It rises to my face. It can make me feel tired or anxious. But most of all, I just feel the warmth.

I’m not sure if it’s because I’m so sensitive to it, but being alone in a new city has really amplified the value of my minuscule interactions. Back home, I drove everywhere alone in my car, and I’d have a small interaction with the store clerk or the drive-thru employee before driving back home to my existing flames. I walk a lot here, I take the bus and the tube, I stop into stalls and wait at street corners. I’m constantly surrounded by people, and there is something special about a stranger thanking me for giving up my seat, or complimenting my dress, or calling me “darling”. I think about how London tops lists for the loneliest city in the world, and how we all seek refuge from that in our daily interactions. All these paths crossing in a city of 9 million.

Today’s poem is one of my favorites, “Small Kindnesses” by Danusha Laméris.

I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead — you first,” “I like your hat.”

I grew up with social anxiety, and from that stemmed a lot of insecurity about friendships. I craved human connection in a way that wasn’t really human. I’ve spent the past few years basking in my own human-ness, and from that, I’ve learned to appreciate it in others. I can have conversations with classmates, or go to a social, or have coffee with someone new without the (often desperate) desire for an immediate deep friendship. To me, now, those small interactions are also fulfilling. That recognition has made me become more purposeful in my own initiations.

by Joey Yu

Chen Chen writes in his poem “Elegy”:

...I will find 
that the littler the light, the better it tastes.
On Earth lately, I’ve been looking at everyone

like I love them, & maybe I do. Or maybe I only love
one person, & I’m beaming from it. Or actually

I just love myself, & I want people to know.

In his novel From A to X: A Story in Letters, John Berger calls the small acts we do for each other “commas of care”. I love this phrase. Periods of our lives can feel like very long run-on sentences. Punctuating our days allows us to bask in the beauty of our shared humanity. It relieves us of the anxious desire to reach the end of it, to find out what happens next.

I’d like to consider this as somewhat of an open thank you note to all the little sparks that have helped me through this transition thus far. To all the nice baristas, to my welcoming Airbnb hosts, to the stranger who asked me to get coffee on my first day here. To the people who start conversations before class, to the person who asked me for directions yet made sure I knew my way too. To the kind and creative people at the Writer’s Society social, who welcomed me so warmly, and to the girl who took the bus with me afterward. I’ve always been one for a few close friendships, wanting big and tall flames. But I guess I’ve learned that you can achieve the same warmth from dozens of tiny sparks. That’s all that matters, really.

Further Reading

“Poet of More Tolerant Tomorrows”: a 1985 interview with Nikki Giovanni

“Once The World Was Perfect” by Joy Harjo

Excerpt from The Prophet by Khalil Gibran

“The Kindness of Strangers” by Brian Bilston

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What I’ve Enjoyed This Week

Recent Reads

This was a week of poems!

• “October” by Alex Dimitrov. This has been a difficult month for me, so that’s likely why I’m especially drawn to October poems this year. I always appreciate when poets amplify the simplicity of universal experience, like setting the alarm but keeping the eyes open or the walk to the appointment now quicker. I feel like this poem really speaks on the dramatic shift into colder weather and how clueless most of us are at the beginning, trying to savor the last bit of afternoon daylight and finding our place in a new colder, darker world. My favorite line: When you see the world / introduce yourself as a guest.

• “Flare” by Mary Oliver. This is a longer one, which Oliver calls the “silly, comforting poem”. She reflects on her past and how to leave it behind, encouraging the reader to ground themselves in nature and live in the present. My favorite stanzas are 8, 10, and especially 12, in which she says: Let grief be your sister, she will whether or no. / Rise up from the stump of sorrow, and be green also, / like the diligent leaves. A lifetime isn't long enough for the beauty of this world / and the responsibilities of your life.

• “Good morning, the sun in October” by Sanna Wani. I find myself cherishing the sun a lot more these days. It does come out sometimes in England. I love when it reflects the yellow tree leaves. It makes everything feel so much brighter, sometimes even more so than in summer. Sunbathing is important, especially this time of year, / and you can never lose a body or turn into anything you weren’t already.

Other Wonderful Things

• Turkish Eggs with sourdough toast. I’ve had them a few times since I’ve been in London and they’re quickly becoming my favorite meal. The best one I’ve had was at Ozone Coffee Roasters in Shoreditch.

• I was never allowed to light candles growing up, and moving into a proper apartment has given me the opportunity. It’s the highlight of my day. I just bought a Boy Smells candle that I’ve been wanting for years, and I’m typing this as it glimmers on my coffee table. It feels better than I imagined.

• This song, this song, and this song.

P.S. Someone suggested I put all of the songs I include into a playlist! Here it is.

Thanks for reading as always,

<3

Tara