The Influencers - Volume I

W:
The door swung open unexpectedly and W walked in. I froze, the bulb still clutched in my hand as the column of mercury gradually fell. "I told you not to touch that," my mother scolded.

"Scar on left temple."

I found my mother's citizenship certificate in a sheaf of estate-related papers. I don't have any recollection of the scar; the memory of her physical form becomes more fuzzy in my mind the more time passes. I wondered what the story was behind that "visible distinguishing mark". My right temple mirrors hers with a different story behind it. A faint pinkish line by my right eyebrow is a memory of the mole removed to make sure nothing malignant lurked within. The lesion was benign but the scar remains as a souvenir. I remember my friend removing my stitches with a pair of nail clippers.

I have been fascinated by scars for as long as I can remember. The majority of people might find them ugly and aberrant but I've always thought they were interesting. They all tell a story, whether it's one we want to remember or not.

"There's nothing more we can do."

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel as I drove home and replayed the conversation in my head. You can try to couch it in euphemisms or change the wording to soften the blow, but regardless, the message is the same. Despite advances in modern medicine, there always comes a time where our best efforts to stave off the inevitable become futile. I wondered how many times I'd had the same conversation thus far - certainly more than dozens, maybe even a hundred. The same tropes played themselves out on the family's receiving end - the elderly patient's daughter in denial; the wife sorrowfully accepting; the son, guilty as he had avoided the burden of his father's disease for so long, forced to confront the gravity thereof. Like a prism, the same message refracting many different ways.

I remembered the first time I ever participated in such a conversation.

"Have you caught any fish?"

I missed the turn again. I laughed to myself as I turned around again. I could see the rental car agency employees watching me - I imagine they were quite amused by the person in the Smartcar who was comically circling the rental return lot and repeatedly missing the right turn. The early morning darkness and confusing signs weren't helpful for someone who has poor navigational skills at baseline. I finally made the correct turn and triumphantly whizzed up to the return kiosk. I felt a bit sheepish as I traded in the keys and shrugged on my backpack. I would miss that little car - I'd had it just a few days but already it felt like mine.

"Do you know how long it takes to grow a pineapple?"

(Part 2 continued from the prior entry)

The restaurant wasn't what I pictured what it would be. I expected an old-fashioned mom-and-pop type of establishment but it was more like a modern day cafeteria. The afternoon sun shone through the glass walls and the minimalist furniture was reminiscent of a popular Swedish chain's aesthetic. The signs boasted of the usage of local products and I looked forward to the salad recommended by P. As luck would have it, they had none left and I opted for a different salad. They gave me a number and I sat at a white Formica table and waited.

"Just do it. Just jump."

I'd been excited about this activity the entire trip. As I donned my rashguard suit, which was exorbitantly priced but I justified its purchase by working yet another weekend, I was brimming with excitement. I grabbed my bag, left the hostel and waited on the corner keeping a sharp eye out for the white van. I was grateful that we were blessed with clear skies on the forecast, though I knew that the island weather turned on a dime.

"Don't worry, you'll meet people."

Despite those telling me that travelling alone would afford many opportunities to do so, I wasn't so sure. I knew it would certainly be a new experience. I had planned a few particular activities and tours but knew there had to be a good deal of flexibility; I welcomed that change compared to my usual trend of micromanaging my vacations. I was going for the laid back approach to focus on enjoying myself rather than worrying if I was having enough fun or doing enough day by day.