Sharing

Throughout the month I am generally am on the look out for something to blog about; often I am surprised how the smallest of things impacts me while larger issues don't seem to produce the same effect.  This month, yet again, a small instance looped together several experiences for me and the story begins with a book case...


My neighbor had  had an old box spring sitting awkwardly on our landing since I had moved in.  I had often wondered about it, but it never occurred to me to ask if she needed help disposing of it or what her intentions for it were. One afternoon, a friend of mine was visiting and the idea of using it as a bookshelf occurred to him and he mentioned this to me.  I looked over the course wooden structure and observed that if stood up on the short end it did truly look like a bookshelf. All that it was missing were the shelves themselves.  As is typical with  me, I dragged the whole process out.

Two weeks passed before I asked the landlord at the church if the bed were his (at the time I didn't know whose it was). He said that it was my neighbor's.  Two weeks after that, I knocked on my neighbor's door and asked her permission to appropriate the crude assemblage.  Permission granted, I left it right were it was.

Mom's visit, we did do fun stuff too

I don't remember how much later it was that my mom came to visit.  Once arrived, she completed her motherly duties of making sure I had everything I needed in the apartment (buying pillows for the couch and some wall decorations).  At one point while passing the box spring, she asked about it and I explained my plan.  She then made the plan concrete by saying she would help me tear off all of the matressy beddy part of the frame leaving me with just the wood.  So, one rainy afternoon, my mom is in BRAZIL and helping me tear whatever-the-heck-matress-are-made-of off the wood.  It was hard work; everything was well stapled on and stuff reminiscent of insulation flew up into our eyes and burned our fingertips.  We finally got the main parts off, scooted the frame into my apartment and cleaned up.

A few weeks later, I moved the futures bookshelf into my room and during the next few months I told any visitors of the future plans.  My idea was to ask at the grocery store for any wooden boxes they stored produce in (in Brazil they still give these out for free, in CT they do not), pull them apart, borrow a hammer and nail on the slats of wood.  My plan never got beyond thinking, "maybe I should ask for boxes today...."

Months later, the bookshelf was still there and I had a friend over for lunch.  It was the first time she has been in my house and I gave her the tour, dutifully explaining the future of the box spring.  She was in the process of moving in with her boyfriend (who lived across the street from me) and mentioned that she had a piece of furniture that she was getting rid of.  I could take it apart and use it for shelves.  I accepted.  A week goes by and I see her again and she tells me that the furniture is at her boyfriend's old place and I can coordinate with my other friend there to pick it up, which I do a week later.

I realize that even though I have five months left in Brazil, I really only have three left in this apartment because two of the months I will spend elsewhere.  This bookshelf must become a reality.  But as I look at the piece of furniture, I am becoming doubtful because I am going to need a lot more than a hammer to make it work.  Fortunately, I am reminded that I have friends through caopeira who are well equipped to handle such circumstances; even better, they'll do it for me!!!  So, the same day I pick up the piece of furniture (I call it this because I actually have no idea what it was supposed to be), I contact one of my capoeira colleagues (actually I got confused and messaged the wrong one first; but eventually it got straightened out) and two days later he came over to assemble my bookcase.

Now is the part of the story where I tell you that the bookshelf has absolutely nothing to do with my reflection apart from that my friend was putting the bookshelf together for me, and it was an interaction that we had that inspired the reflection.  I just really wanted to, and enjoyed explaining the story of my bookshelf for you all. 

While working, my friend accidentally stabbed himself with a nail and went into the bathroom to clean it up.  When he came out, he commented on the smell similar to incense within, and jokingly asked if I was a macumbeira.  I had no idea what he was talking about and he reminded me that it was his religion; I then felt quite silly because I have been told the name of his religion numerous times.  I explained that I had essential oils in a jar with two wooden sticks dispersed the scent.  I also commented that I do frequently burn incense as well. My friend started a bit, looked at me and asked, "Doesn't your religion prohibit it?" I responded that, no, it didn't and in fact many Episcopalian churches will burn incense during the service.

Mentioned capoeira trip

This, the smallest of interactions was what impacted me.  Nothing more than a few sentences, but sentences that drew out other memories.  A few months ago, I was heading to a capoeira event with three other capoeiristas including my bookshelf making friend when I remembered, after months of meaning to ask, that two of my colleagues were macumberos.  Being of an extremely curious nature, I began the interrogation.  For probably about an hour I asked as many questions as came into  my mind about Macumba. Once I finished, I turned to the remaining friend and asked, "So, what do you believe?" He responded, "I am an atheist." I laughed and smiled thinking of the interesting religious mix we had in the car that were all united through capoeira.

Research team minus one member at a conference in 2015

On the same day as the book shelf project I was also working on an article from some research I had worked on back in grad school with one of my professors and some fellow students.  We were trying to finally get something written based on our findings.  The research method was based on reflexive writing we had done as researchers while actually completing our investigation.  Again, this theme of shared stories and experiences surfaced.  All the memories I had while researching came up, the experiences we shared together, the exchange of ideas, stories and moments.

In Spanish, the word "compartir" means "to share", same as in English, but it can also be mean as in to share time or an experience.  My friends would often invite me to hang out just to "share," to share our time and moments together.  It was always and expression that I found lovely.  In Portuguese I haven't learned a word that has that same meaning, but they have another word that is very similar, "conviver," to co-live, live with.  I've never looked up the exact definition but I understand it to mean, to live our lives in a connected, interlocking way.

To me, these three experiences: bookshelf building, religion swapping and researching, were all just that, sharing moments of our lives, sharing parts of ourselves, accepting the shared parts of others and learning.  They were moments in which I felt like a bit of something larger, where someone tried to understand a bit of my humanity and I attempted to do the same.

The finished book shelf