Essi Wunderman
Yesterday, when I thought about history, I thought of old
men in stiff white coats, layers of dust coating everything, a distant event
years removed from my life. Today, U Street changed my mind about history. I
guess you could even say I had a epiphany. I saw the lives of many, weaving
together, building up into a street, a neighborhood, a city, a dream. I saw
connections, how life was art and art was life and how every second led up to
the next. I would have never been able to sit at Ben’s Chili Bowl if Ben and
Virginia Ali, the restaurant’s founders, hadn’t had the courage to persevere
through the tremendous obstacles that they faced. I would have never been able
to enjoy tea at Busboys and Poets if Langston Hughes hadn’t found inspiration
and hope in language and writing. Everyone that I met, my waiter and friends,
the street performers strumming their guitars, sending their music out into the
world, have built me up into the person that I am today, a fifteen year old
girl who is a writer, a teacher, an activist. My life has importance because
everyone else’s life has importance. We are all pieces of a big puzzle, trying
to find our niche in the world. We all take up space, connected by the
commonality of our genes and experiences, our language and heritage and
interests and goals.
Yesterday, when I thought about history, I thought of old
men in stiff white coats, layers of dust coating everything, a distant event
years removed from my life. Today, U Street changed my mind about history. I
guess you could even say I had a epiphany. I saw the lives of many, weaving
together, building up into a street, a neighborhood, a city, a dream. I saw
connections, how life was art and art was life and how every second led up to
the next. I would have never been able to sit at Ben’s Chili Bowl if Ben and
Virginia Ali, the restaurant’s founders, hadn’t had the courage to persevere
through the tremendous obstacles that they faced. I would have never been able
to enjoy tea at Busboys and Poets if Langston Hughes hadn’t found inspiration
and hope in language and writing. Everyone that I met, my waiter and friends,
the street performers strumming their guitars, sending their music out into the
world, have built me up into the person that I am today, a fifteen year old
girl who is a writer, a teacher, an activist. My life has importance because
everyone else’s life has importance. We are all pieces of a big puzzle, trying
to find our niche in the world. We all take up space, connected by the
commonality of our genes and experiences, our language and heritage and
interests and goals. 
With this in mind as I walk, I
smile knowingly at the man on the corner, smoking a cigarette, staring at the
gum-coated ground. The man is me and I am the man. We are one in the same, born
from the same fibers of the earth, the same stardust. I understand his
struggle, although I have not lived it. My empathy stretches out and
encompasses all of the beings of the world, the humans and dogs and bugs and
trees, because I believe that they all harbor certain knowledge, a thread of
hope. When we are able to accept this knowledge and unlock the truths that all
things hold, we would discover the meaning of life. Until then, we as humans
must accept that there are things that we don’t know, that we can’t know, maybe
not ever. We must just be open and accepting of others and ourselves and know
that we have a home somewhere. Today, I found mine on U Street. 
No comments:
Post a Comment