THE LIST
by Marissa Anne Mika
BOUT ONCE A YEAR, I SUFFER FROM BOREDOM. In South African computer labs, checking web-based email can take more years off your life than second hand smoke. Hence, the numbing boredom after the eighth GWB speech online. Hence, the once-a-year boredom relief technique by searching for my own name on Google.com.
Nothing seems out of the ordinary on this annual search. Some affiliation with Model United Nations, the quote "death seems to both sober and brighten people" (which I apparently wrote and is now appropriated by some cyber-geek), and a page of "Acknowledgements." Interesting. I click the link and find my name in a screen of many others - some familiar and some foreign. I wonder, "what the hell is this?" and realize that it's the website of a person I've known for a little over six years. How sweet that he's planted me among his other friends, his family members, his memories. This is the stuff warm and fuzzy feelings are made of.
For some reason, the phrase "no man is an island" comes to mind.
Seeing my name in a sea of acknowledgements about someone else's life was a generous reminder that I'm not a stagnant sandbar with a forlorn coconut tree in the middle of nowhere. I don't have five-billion locks between me and the outside world (although living in South Africa, it sure does feel that way). Sure, I've been in charge of my own destiny to a degree, but I've had a lot of invaluable guides, teachers, confidantes, lovers, and friends over the years. Being acknowledged as being one of those significant folks in someone else's life was delightfully affirming.
I was so excited, that I decided to write up my own list of acknowledgements. A vital chance to pull up the floorboards of memory and reaffirm that I am definitely not an island. I used a few criteria:
1. No Famous People (Unless I had met them personally)
2. No Irreconcilable Animosity (This is a celebration, not a Depression Session)
3. No Time Requirement (Short acquaintances or long stints. All that mattered was that I felt the time together was valid and instructive in some manner)
A brainstorm and an hour later, I had my list. Childhood friends I hadn't thought of in years suddenly came to me, brandishing He-Man action figures and begging to play. I found myself sitting in the fourth grade classroom, constructing my first novel under the supportive gaze of one of the best teachers I've ever had. Thanksgiving dinners. Graves of grandfathers. Awkwardly carrying my little cousin Serena around in the heat of an Arizona summer - my first consistent contact with a child under one. Beach days the morning after senior prom, California road trips and long discussions about development theory over coffee at Café Strada.
All of the big people - family, friends, and a few good teachers. Also the obscure people - the week-long acquaintance touring Mozambique, for instance. The people you thought you would never know for more than a three day conference. Someone you couldn't live without until time and space dictated otherwise. Forgetfulness and remembrance. Pleasure and p- O.K. O.K. I'll stop before I venture into the realm of nauseating cliché.
I do not know what I will do with "The List." I think a systematic rekindling of old ties with some is in order. But with some of the others, I'm not sure if there is much to talk about besides My Little Ponies and how much we hated P.E. Do I send out a mass mailing declaring my undying love and affection for those who have kept me from being a lonely sandbar? Or is that just an expression of insipid self-importance? Am I truly delighted that I've resurrected some thoughts which were better off untouched in the deep caverns of memory? Surely I don't want to remember just how terrified I was of an old boyfriend's mother.
I made "The List" as an exercise in personal reflection. It was a chance to procrastinate and feel good about all of the eccentrics and enthusiastic folks I've known in my twenty-one years. I like what my friend did - a quiet affirmation waiting to be discovered in a moment of dabbling on the Internet. An acknowledgement but hardly a shout out. Try a name search over the next few months, why don't you? Maybe you're on "The List."
I first posted my Acknowledgements page on 8 January 2002. Marissa emailed me this essay from South Africa on 30 September 2002. I couldn't have explained it better myself! -Anthony