The Taste: A Frightening Childhood Experiene

A Frightening Childhood Experience: All that I've been tasting

The mini-bus came to a halt. This should have been a relief after five whole minutes of it jerking backward and forward beyond the driver’s control. Yet the ever-so-present darkness lingering outside intertwined with the sudden moment of silence did not make it any better. This very factor completely debunked the idea of walking home no matter how close it now was. The two men got out of the vehicle with the driver sliding underneath it as the conductor directed the torch for him. That’s when the song began to play; as I sat isolated, the only remaining soul on the bus.

I was five years old when I began to hate the song, seventeen years later and I still do. 

It was raining quite heavily that evening (the five PM light was non-existent due to it being winter). It really was the perfect desolate scene for that song and although it could have only been between three and five minutes it felt much longer because up to now I cannot remember any other song that played before nor after that one. The radio must have been jammed, that’s the only explanation, jammed by the universe. 

***

This past August I reconnected with a…friend…to put it lightly. Post-meet-up, one of our WhatsApp conversations revolved around a period of infatuation I experienced with a mutual acquaintance when I was a wide-eyed teenager. This, friend, said something along the lines of, “you must remember every detail of that time, down to the weather, I did when I was borderline in love with this other girl,” this statement has stuck with me. I wasn’t anywhere near in love, true love, that is. I do remember the weather. But not because of the individual, infatuation seldom has anything to do with particular individuals. As I explained to this friend, I remember every detail, every emotion, and every person I’ve ever encountered between the months of August and October. I remember the people and the details because the weather that time of year seems to hold some sort of importance in my life, not the other way around.

This period has always either been romantic in a moody way, or spiritually transformative, or both. I dread it just as much as I hold my breath in anticipation. I guess it’s kind of like that saying about not being afraid of the dark, but rather, afraid of what one can’t see in it. I’m not afraid of the silence, the moments of becoming a recluse, I’m afraid of what that means and the person I’ll discover when I’m left all alone. 

As a child, I was seldom afraid of the monsters under my bed. Today, I’m not afraid of monsters. In fact, The day I wake up and find myself surrounded by aliens is the day I’ll know I’ve finally landed home.

Since I was a little girl, I’ve always felt like a Martian drifting through planet Earth. I’m convinced I landed here by accident, a giant cosmic joke, perhaps. I never fit in growing up—be it in my family or with the kids at school. If human socialization were an exam, I would definitely fail with falling colors.

My cousin and I like to joke that we’ve glimpsed spaceships in the night sky on multiple occasions. Maybe we have, or maybe we’re delusional (likely both), but something about the stars and galaxies above and the possibility of extraterrestrial activity has always called me home. It’s as though I belong up there, rather than down here. I’ve gotten tired of crossing my fingers and holding my breath, hoping my kind will come back and scoop me up any day.

As an adult, I would say that I am learning to adjust a little better than when I was a child. It could be because I’ve learned the art of “faking it till you make it”, but I’m pretty sure it has more to do with the fact that I have accepted and settled into my alien weirdness. What used to be a source of pain, I now try to use as a source of connection. I’m still anxious-avoidant, and so every tantalizing step is matched with equal terror, but it’s the effort that counts…or something like that.

But enough of my contemplation, back to the bus.

*** 

The song blaring through the speakers that evening was “Lonely” by Akon. I’m sure back then my five-year-old intuition noticed that something about that entire scenario did not make sense, but I have only begun to really think about it recently. Why would that song heighten my fear at that moment so drastically that it caused my hatred of it? Was I really afraid of being left alone in a bus on a dark and rainy day with two possible monsters outside, or was there more?

“The song” came in many forms after that, and I’m sure before as well although I don’t recall that much (but then again how often do I recall much). “The song” came as the ringing question I could not put into words when I would be doing something as simple as walking and my feet would be stopped. A little girl in wonderment? Maybe a little more. I felt it, I can’t truly convey the feelings because they were really out of my body. I, or some part of me, would come to play and make me wonder where I was, what I was doing, who I was, and why the silence rang so loud. 

Yet it was far from a physical experience. 

“The song” came as the boy’s mocking laughter as I had asked a girl from school to be my best friend and she declined the request for a more familiar friend. I didn’t make much of it, or so I thought, but the experiences continued.

That ride back home from school that day may not have been the main issue. Neither was the laughter or the physical stopping of my feet. My being alone in that bus as the song played was but a part of it. My out-of-this-world experiences were too. I was afraid indeed, afraid not of temporary disconnection, but afraid of being eternally lonely. 

Somehow my fear became a more evident reality as I grew up. A roller coaster reality, unfortunate for one prone to nausea. From being an outcast to being included yet still feeling alone, a line from one of my favorite musician’s songs comes forcefully to mind,

“If lonely is a taste then it’s all that I’ve been tasting.”

The taste takes on different forms now. Or maybe my buds are adjusting. They say finding yourself is the key. Indeed the deeper I go in my search the more I feel more real. I feel like the tangible person who brought on those questions when I was younger. 

So what could be the problem now? 

The more real I feel, the more the world becomes a simulation.

But I still long for a different taste. I have for a lot of my life. I’m not going to stop until I find it. This sim has built a battle warrior. I won’t stop until my soul lands home.