Neither is ego.
Aside from my affinity for words, probably the only thing keeping my interests in journalism whet is my genuine love for people and conversation.
I have never been shy, have always been cordial and pleasant-at least I seem to think so-and I've learned how a quick smile can open the doors a sour puss does not.
To me, the best part about having a career in journalism will have been the thousands of people I will have met and enjoyed.
Having heard stories which will have helped shape my character in the end, having taken from each confabulation pieces of different people's experiences to help me get along with my life better, and literally doing and experiencing something different each day, will help make my life livable and enjoyable.
As I walked back to the Humanities Building Wednesday, in a rush because we were in the middle of production, when I was happily distracted I thought, "Oh my god, they are going to be so pissed 'cause I'm not there, but this is awesome!"
I overheard a gentleman reciting poetry, but then I thought he was flowing-not rapping-flowing.
He wore a white and blue-striped button-down shirt, a blue tie, loosely fitted jeans, wore his hair in skinny rows of corn and was smoking a cigarette. Shortly after, I would find out his name was David.
He stood next to two men seated in wheelchairs in, like, a semi-circle over by the Student Services Center.
So, I turned on my heel, a complete 180 degre turn to face them as I walked past and then David said something.
"Oh, I was trying to hear what you were saying. 'Thought you were flowin'," I half-yelled as I continued on, walking backwards as he responded.
"Oh, I got something for you."
I walked toward them and with my right hand outstretched, shook Vic's hand first, one of the young men who sat in a wheelchair who confessed to me that he had been shot and paralyzed as he had met his fate on the streets a while ago.
He apologized for his weak,awkward grip.
I told him, "Man, it's all good! I understand," and patted his left shoulder lightly.
Then David started "poeticizing" me.
I've made up this word because that is the only way I can describe what this man was doing.
It was almost like being serenaded, only better and more intimate and so very impressive.
He went on about me a little bit, described what I was wearing, my smile, our brief little history of acquaintance and how the world should be peaceful and more people should be at peace and not be afraid to talk to one another; like me and them.
His vocabulary vast and his rhyme on point and meaningful, I could not stop lifting my fist to my mouth, saying "Damn!" or just lifting my fist to my mouth and kind of laughing or something.
After he was done I asked him his name.
I eagerly shook his hand because his flow had blown my mind.
I backed away from him a little bit, but only because he was smoking. I do not.
Then, Vic confidently told me, he had something for me as well.
He started off, "So, your name is Pearl..." and began describing me like David did, but quickly his flow became devastatingly real,"..but this wheelchair, it aint no joke.."
I really cannot recall his exact words, 'though I know exactly what he said-ha, if that makes any sense whatsoever!
He described how he felt as the bullet punctured his flesh, as he lie on the pavement "asking God why?", waiting for the ambulance and inevitably, he described his life now, as a disabled person.
The two men and I, all kept saying "Wow," as he concluded his story-rhyme.
I live for intimate moments like these. It's amazing how much we let stragers know about ourselves; things we don't let the people closest to us know, breaking down the "stranger" persona and building up the potential "friend" through trust.
Then, I met Dwight, a disabled man as well, who quickly said, "Oh, I don't do that stuff."
He meant, he doesn't rhyme on the spot, or flow, or "bust," whatever the proper terminology is.
I laughed and told him to try; he said he couldn't but they all hung out anyway.
He told me they were all friends.
They were waiting for their rides to arrive.
I was with these men for about 20 minutes.
We all agreed that more people should take time to see what one another is doing on campus.
David said something to the effect of, "I know this campus is small and that the university community is going to be larger, we should still see what one another is up to on campus. We are all here for the same reasons, we should get to know eachother; back each other up. Yeah, some of us are just here to transfer, we're in and out every day, but it's good to know other people are
going through the same things you are."
I kept saying, "For sure," and "Yup."
Some vocabulary for a journalist, but that was real.
I told them I had to go back to the newsroom and that they could come and find me there at anytime.
I got all of their names, first and last, along with their phone numbers.
I always wonder at the ethical boundaries I cross.
I usually become friends with a person before or after I interview them.
Is that bad?
Sometimes, I do not even consider writing stories; simply because I'd rather just be cool with that person.
In situations like these, I pass the story ideas on to other people.
People are good, you just have to let them come to you and in turn allow yourself to approach and meet them.
Always smile, nod or greet people, ALL people, you pass by or see on the street, at the mall, wherever you frequently visit.
I've met lots of good people by doing the forementioned, and have met with perilous craziness when I would walk in straight lines, with head held high, as I bumped whoever came between me and the line I was crossing out of my way with a very, "Well, YOU saw me coming, YOU should have moved.." attitude.
It doesn't pay to behave like a dick, ever.
Especially in journalism.
Plus, you run the risk of not meeting some of the most beautiful people in existence.
