I-Dare-Not-Say-Its-Name’s Effect On Small Human Connections

The silhouettes of two people talking to each other

It’s February in the United States and we have been deprived of organic, candid human contact for, ever. This deprivation has forced me to think about so many things, especially human interactions. Just a year ago, I was marching around Boston with my hood and headphones, trudging through snow as the glacier temperature rains poured down. I purposefully would take a different route if I saw someone I knew, to avoid a stop in the nasty weather to say, “Hey.” 

Now, I would kill for a small “I ran into so and so today!” 

It is what it is and we must continue on our socially-distanced walks, predetermined coffee dates, and drive-through birthday celebrations until further notice. Therefore, I will no longer refer to the pandemic by its name, as it is tiring to hear its name.

As we all know, this isolation has got us thinking about a myriad of things. I’ve been recently reminiscing about the “bump-ins” I had pre-I-dare-not-say-its-name. Those run-ins with acquaintances, on-the-whim drinks at the pub with your bestie, or even meeting strangers in bar bathrooms.

I recall a sunny, rare, and brilliant Boston day in early 2019. I was walking around Armory Park with my boyfriend (now ex-boyfriend) and we sat on a bench after a hefty ramen meal. We watched Bostonians walk and smile. There was a group of student actors practicing their script, sitting in a circle on a picnic blanket. One of the girls pointed her fingers at her partner, signaling their part. She suddenly sprung from her criss-cross applesauce position and ran behind the tree, reenacting the Shakespearean scene. It looked like A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but who knows. My stomach started to hurt from eating the ramen too fast and I laid on his lap as he stroked my hair (yes, I can be a big baby). From behind the trees, two of the student actors skipped into our view and began to explain that they were practicing for a play in which their characters are supposed to be in love and they had a question for us. I sat up.

“What’s it like to be in love?” the boy asked us. Me and my boyfriend looked at each other, giggled like small school children, and began to ramble—about comfort, ease, passion, and all those things analogous with love. The students looked so confused. My boyfriend simply said, “You just know, it’s just a feeling.” 

I was floored. I added, “Yeah, it’s simple,” to confirm his answer.

I’ve been thinking about this encounter a lot recently and not because I am reminiscing about my old relationship (I know it sounds like it, but I promise I’m not! I also know it sounds like I’m defensive, but I’m not! We are both very happy.) but because that was probably the most candid but also movie-like moment I’ve ever had and probably will ever have. Two random people coming up to two other random people and asking one of the most intimate, most difficult questions that humans can encounter. I mean musicians, painters, sculptors, scientists, Google, and the rest of the human race have been trying to answer this question since the beginning of time. I’m not writing this to answer the question of love; instead, I will pose a much different one. After I-dare-not-say-its-name is over, will we continue to have candid, organic connections? Before I-dare-not-say-its-name began, those types of interactions and connections were already sparse and in danger. The rise of social media and hyper-connectivity has strangely left us more isolated, fueling all sorts of anxieties. For the past few years, humans have struggled to have in-person connections.

After I-dare-not-say-its-name is over, I could see it going both ways. I could see everyone becoming desperate to make human connections, buck-wild for emotional intimacy and exploration. But I could also see the other side of the coin. We’ve been out of practice for a while—did we forget how to communicate with each other in person? Are we all going to be riddled with anxiety, nervous to interact with other humans, especially the ones we don’t know? I’m sure five years from now studies will come out about how our generation was affected by I-dare-not-say-its-name, but until then what are we going to do about it?

I’m afraid when this I-dare-not-say-its-name is over, on-the-whim drinks at the pub will be extravagantly described as spontaneous, like how we glorify (and hike prices on) vintage clothing—will run-ins become the new vintage? This could be overly pessimistic, and I hope it is. I hope when we return to normalcy, I have another chance to meet some curious student actors at the park. We as humans thrive on human interaction, and the organic interactions tend to be the ones that we seem to remember the most. 

STORY MEGHANA PATNANA
COVER GRAPHIC JANICE KIM