Orange plastic trays. Mine’s wet. At least I know it’s clean.
“I’ll take a turkey burger with fries please.” I politely told the lunch lady. Holding out my recently rinsed tray, the plate landed with a thud. “Next!”
Exiting the food line, the adventure of looking for a seat begins. My eyes scan from left to right. I feel my body hunkering down and my neck extending, like a submarine in water, with its periscope sticking out as to avoid being seen.
Jocks sit in the northwest corner. Cheerleaders right next to them. Glee club partially sits and dances in the southwest. Band geeks near the middle. Orch Dorks next to them, but loosely affiliated. Nerds are congregated in a circle around a strange twelve sided dice in the southeast. In the far off distance of the far east, the Asians sit in a shroud of exotic smells and interesting eating utensils. In the north are those weird Christians who bow their heads and hold hands before every meal. Excessive smiling all around.
My fingers start to get a little worn from carrying the burden of lunch. They start to fidget and get clammy.
“I don’t belong.” My mind starts to race.
“Just sit down somewhere, my hands are starting to hurt.” Another thought.
“What if they don’t accept me?”
Right foot forward. Left foot forward.
Repeat.
Within minutes I find my place. Outside. Alone. I don’t fit into any of those groups, my circles are too overlapping – an exhaustive venn diagram.
*Disclaimer: I like Christians. I am one. I like Asians. I am one too. This piece is not intentionally bashing these groups. The point of this piece is just to simply articulate my feelings of disjointedness I feel from time to time. I’m the type of person who can’t just check one box, but ends up checking a whole lot of them. For better or for ill, this is me. God created me this way and, honestly, I am very receptive to that notion. This is my internal dialog with this present suffering of living in a finite world, in a finite body, with a finite capacity of knowledge.
