Letters For Youth

how happy people are.

Gabriela Lopez tells me she's happy. As an interviewer, as a friend, it's good news. But, for some reason, it irritates me.

We're having the interview outside - the wind is blowing around and strong enough muffle thoughts. We're outside University Hall, so only a few feet away from the traffic on Cooper. How many people will pass by and not not hear anything we say? Tons, probably.

I sit with my legs crossed on one side of the bench. She's sitting on the other side, her back propping up against the arm rest. Optimal distance for a conversation as the wind runs its hand through my dandruff-filled graveyard excuse for hair. She's looks a little awkward, and I didn't think she's too excited about getting an integration out of someone like me.

She's 24. She's 3 years older than me. She's Mexican American. I'm Asian American. Born in Dallas. Arlington, for me. She's a lot like me actually, though not in appearance.

She has a few teeth in her lower jaw that emulates those that werewolves and vampires wear. Brown hair with enough frizz that could confuse people into believing it's a rose bush. Intimidating. The kind that delinquents would wear for a night on the town. Or a bookstore girl. The ones the peruse the shelves with the judgment and intellect of expert critics without needing the experience. The bookstore girls that give glances from across the store that contain few to no emotions. The ones that might look down on all the books one may like, one may suggest, or one may just simply touch. Imagine her crossing her legs and thinking of something that one couldn't fathom; a world across and a day drenching in that mysterious twilight.

Imagine her crossing her legs and thinking of something that one couldn't fathom; a world across and a day drenching in that mysterious twilight

Yet, she's an introvert.

I asked her why she is one. She pauses to consider it. I would probably ponder to question myself as well if someone asks that of me. It's a weird question. Who asks that? How can I prove that this generic trait to be who I am? No one asks why you love your parents. Or why you are a certain height. These things just are. They inform us as much as we inform those traits.

"I just really like observing," she tells me after taking a second to think. Most eyes could lose track of her. In a crowd setting - a classroom or on the street - she blends into the background. But she blends in like she actually belongs in the portrait. She says she shops at T.J. Max. I think it fits the look she's trying to go for: a kind of urban intellectual. Basically, the 'intellectual' college student that movies and televisions like to portray most college students. She doesn't open up much. She admits that much. Going up to others and speaking up first? That's a deal breaker. Tight lips keep a tight ship. She sits in class and doesn't participate as much, either. She doesn't want to reach out and say something potentially dumb, as unlikely as that may be, and resides firmly in her place; the observatory of her mind.

The edges around her grows softer. I can almost see the layers of skin under the armor she has on. I feel like I am seeing a different sky for the first time. Someone else's sky.

She doesn't have many people flying in and out of her circle. That's alright. She says she's not looking for people. The ones that are around her are enough. Maybe. "I don't really see myself as having friends," she says. "They were always more like my family."

Family. The kinds that add hurdles in life instead of adding hand-offs. Her immediate family is conservative. The father is the ruler of the house and the optimal distance away from him would be how long the length of a drawbridge would be. "He's very traditional," she tells me while giving a rundown of her family. Her mom and her are close – like people trapped in an ivory tower. Her father, however, is harder to approach. A tiger deep in a cave. It's best to not tread too far inside the cave. "My dad says, 'My daughter is going to school, and getting an education,' she says. "But he still finds this and that I do to be a waste." She continues to go down the family registry after my insistence. She has a brother that only recently she's been trying to be close with. "I didn't get along with my brother growing up," she admits. "But now we always ask if we want to hang out; 'hey you want to get food', or 'you want to see a movie or something'. It's really nice." Like a bush waiting for her roses to come in. She has been growing up, enough to the point she could love her family a little more than in the past. Like she is only capable of that now as she is older. Like only do the both of them now realize that deep down, they actually love each other a lot.