Never Lonely Alone.

I have a confession to make. Besides being a pretty shy individual, I also have a bad case of paranoia. As a student journalist, I realize that this is a terrible quality to possess. So last night, I spontaneously decided to go out to North Beach by myself after my last class was over. I remembered that the owner of Cafe Grecos, Hanna Suleiman, mentioned to me that every Monday night they host an open mic event. After parking inside the North Beach Parking Garage and reading my parking stall fortune (which had something to do with conquering my fears ironically), I walked over to Cafe Grecos. Once inside, I ordered an espresso and made my way into the back of the room. I noticed people looking at me, but shrugged it off, until I realized that I was one of the few women there and the second youngest in age.

I made it just in time to hear a few poets and a couple of musicians express their souls. Some of them spoke of broken hearts from a love that once ran so deep, some spoke of loneliness, while others cracked crude, yet funny, jokes. There were a lot of older men at the event. They seemed to me as though they were yearning to share their life with anyone who would listen. Yes, some of them were a bit eccentric, but in an imperfect and beautiful way. They spoke of the lonely San Francisco nights and of the drunken memories of their youth.

As I sat in the back of the room by myself, I realized that every individual, if not most, yearns for a connection. I stared into the eyes of the old artistic poets and I heard their confessions and vulnerabilities. In physical being, they were dressed, yet spiritually they were naked, clothed only with scars; scars of a past memory, a past regret, hope, love, hate, fear, etc.

After the event was over I was approached by a few members, who insisted that I come back. They were all very sweet and I felt immediately welcomed. I even made some contacts.

The night was still young so I walked over to Specs, my favorite dive bar. The sounds of a stranger playing piano filled the bar calmed me down a bit. I sat in an empty seat at the bar and ordered a White Russian. I met a man there and we had a wonderful philosophical conversation about life, death, spirits, the human adventure and art. We talked about random connections and listened to man play “Say it ain’t so,” by Weezer outside.

As nice as our random meeting and conversation was, the man and I left on our own separate ways. I then proceeded to walk to my car and made the unfortunate mistake of walking past the strip clubs where ignorant men made crude remarks and a man selling toy swords poked my belly.

Fin.