travel light / people skills

good writers copy
great writers copy haruki murakami

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I glance over at my finger, scar tissue forming. A plastic, pink patch of flesh that will never look the same again. Not that it worries me. Surgeons can do all sorts of miracles with some skin and a scalpel. All you need to attain physical perfection is a fat enough wallet, and yet the market value of beauty is not plummeting; either the price is too high or the stigma too severe. But imagine a world where a woman wasn't judged based on the symmetry of her features or the proportions of her figure.

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There is a girl sitting in the airport reading a thick paperback novel. Engrossed in her book, it's intriguing the way her features are both calm yet intense. As if she can hear me, she suddenly looks up like a deer who has heard footsteps. As she pivots her head left, the muscles in her neck become prominent; one in particular - sternocleidomastoid. The word doesn't mean anything except to me and perhaps a handful of other people in the boarding area. It's a name made up of three other equally obscure names - a secret language for common things. Anatomical landmarks aren't on many maps - not that they're difficult to find or anything, it's just that people care more about what they do rather than what they're called. But words can only say so much. A word is just a metaphor for a different bunch of words, but the combination and particular arrangement of that set of words gives rise to a novel meaning greater than the sum of its parts. Often, it has to be phrased a number of ways - approached from a few different angles - before its precise nuances are gleaned - for all of its dimensions to be fully appreciated.

Complex words are always built on the backs of simpler ones. You can't skip steps. The word 'gender' would hold no meaning unless the words 'male' and 'female' had already been established. The idea of opportunity cost would be incomprehensible without first knowing what cost and opportunity were. I think that there are still many things we've not yet invented names for; some of them insignificant, others, of utmost importance. Until we run out of original ideas or expressions, there will always be things for which there are no words.  The next new one is pretty close, I imagine. It'll most likely be discovered mathematically, and when the scientists are finally able to explain it, they'll dig up a few latin syllables and stick them together, or perhaps they'll give it a name like 'superstring theory' or coin a new proverb for it, not that it'll be any of our concern of course.

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She flies over to our table and glares in a manner both pleasant yet impatient. 'Anything to drink?' she asks. 'Got any teh-tarik?' 'All out I'm afraid.' I smile half-heartedly. It's tough being friends with someone who excels at pretending to be friends. You have to sell half your soul to succeed in this industry. As branch manager of a small japanese restaurant franchise, dealing with people you don't like is part of the job, as well as getting them to like you. I remember watching her entertain tables of drunk 50 something business-men who would call her by name and slur compliments at her in cantonese. She would laugh heartily and perhaps reply with some witty repartee then excuse herself and disappear as quickly as her smile. I wondered if it was because she disliked their company or because of the dinner rush. When I first started, she wasn't overtly friendly, but not cold either. After 2 months of working part-time, I had gotten well acquainted with her brusk manner and oddly endearing scowl, but also her infrequent explosions of laughter, which were as brief as they were loud. She always maintained an insulating layer of professionalism whenever there were customers around but it never felt like she was the boss and I was an employee. She became sort of an older sister to me, or at least I imagined it to be so. After work, she'd sometimes give me and another coworker a lift home. On one such occasion, she told us about how she dreaded the end of summer break because they were desperately short of workers. Her extra miles were appreciated, but I still wonder if she would've done the same if they had not been understaffed. Now, I only ever see her when I visit her branch. Quick and cordial, I'm not sure how much of her hospitality is real or reflex. She always spends an extra few seconds at our table and occasionally makes small talk, but I can't help but wonder if the attention is genuine or if I'm just another regular customer.