In Search of Humanity

Turns out, the American suburb is actually hell.

Less than a week ago, I was in sunny Havana, living in a renovated house from the 50s in el Vedado, the nice suburbs of the city where the University of Havana resides. This is what I did every day: I walked outside in shorts and a tank top, with no cell phone and no watch, I saw the sun, I saw people sitting outside, sometimes we would greet each other, if they were men they might throw some piropos at me, I walked a few blocks to a busy street and bought food, or caught the bus, if I needed the time I would ask someone on the street. I lived in a city full of people, and lo and behold, I could see them, right there, on their porches, in the streets, la la la la la.

Now I am back in America, in my parent’s house, which is lovely because my parents are here and I love them. Unfortunately, however, it is located in suburbia, in one of those subdivisions on a golf course surrounded by other subdivisions on golf courses. It is also desafortunadamente located in Michigan, where it is freezing. A few days ago I was trapped at home (no car), and felt a desperate urge for human company. I was not bored–I had lots to do, things to read, emails to send, instruments to play, and the whole world wide web at my free speedy disposal for the first time in four months–but I was a little lonely. I decided that I could easily fix this. I put on my coat, gloves, scarf, and boots and went on a walk in search of humans. After all, I live in a residential area, where people supposedly reside.

I ran into three people and a lot of empty looking houses. The first was a woman who was running with her dog, I smiled and waved at her, her dog stopped to bother me, and I didn’t even mind (I don’t normally like dogs), but she yanked at its collar and told it to get moving. The second two were a daughter and father taking a walk together. I greeted them, too, of course, and thought about starting small talk or asking to join them, but decided against it because maybe they were having special daughter/father bonding time. A few cars drove past me, and I guess there must have been people in them, just like there must have been people in the houses, but I couldn’t get past the shiny metal exteriors and tinted windows in the little time that they rushed past to make eye contact with the drivers. One honked at me in an unfriendly way, because I was walking in the street (the sidewalk was icy), and that startled me a bit. By this time I was frozen. I had forgotten how being outside could do that to you, even if you were walking briskly (strolling also doesn’t exist in this country/weather). I ran into my house again, and started to make phone calls to friends, which required a boost of courage because I much prefer conversing face to face. But it was nice nonetheless, especially since I hadn’t spoken to some of these people in a long time. In the end I guess I found humanity, if accompanied by a few degrees of technology-separation.

Here is my rant: there is something wrong with a society in which I can be physically surrounded by lots and lots of people (all the houses and cars! one after another after another) yet NEVER see them, even when I actively go looking, where a cell phone–something that is obviously not fundamentally necessary–becomes a necessity for sanity, where I yearn for a car even though I am morally against private cars because without it I am trapped and cannot live. Why did we do this to ourselves! This kind of lifestyle, while addressing the individual-society conflict by allowing us to tap into a warped version of society when we want if we want on our own individual terms, cannot be the answer. The cold, of course, doesn’t help either. Conclusion: suburbia is hell, long live warm weather.