Earlier this evening, I ran into this one lady at the local bar– clearly, she was an outsider, she didn’t seem to know anyone nor did she have any clue with her way around the place. She sat there in the café with jazz music floating in the air, closely observing everyone in the room. If she had a notebook, I imagine she would have taken copious notes. She scanned the crowd, carefully paying particular attention to detail.
When she glanced my way, I became the fly on the wall. I wonder if she found me interesting. How did she view me? Was the color of my skin of interest to her?
I could see in her eyes that she paid close attention to the group of college girls in the corner of the room – dolled up with laces and satin, fresh make up powder that decorated their rosy cheeks. I assume they probably attended Vassar or Smith – that’s where all the well-off ones go.
She stopped by my seat and muttered: “American women – why are they the symbol of independence?”
I don’t know if she intended for me to hear this or not, but I couldn’t let her words slip away from my mind.
Because are we truly the “independent, free-willed” women that other women around the world idealize? Or do we merely triumph a life of “success” that our society has constructed for us? Sure we’ll get a college education – we’re "different" from our generations before, but for what? Do we pride ourselves by “earning” a wealthy husband that can let us into a social circle of other elite, frivolous women who like to sit down for tea in the afternoon? Is that what we want?
On my way back home, I accidentally walk across a large puddle in the street. I look down to see a reflection of my face: dark curly hair, round nose and large hazel eyes. Somehow, the girl that I see in the pool of water – the one I’ve grown up with all my life – seems peculiarly unfamiliar. Almost as if she is not real.
Are we truly independent? Or is there never a void between society and our own identity?
Is any of this real?
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