Secrets

Knowing how to speak a foreign language is like being let in on a secret. I love that. I speak French quite badly and I mostly only understand Spanish but its still better than knowing nothing. At least I know the secrets. I would like to learn Arabic or Japanese. I would like to learn a language that my face would imply that I should NOT know. Like, "Hey, why does that white girl speak Mandarin?" Something like that.

I wonder if people really remember people they see on the subway, or people they overhear talking in ladies' rooms or bars. I do but I've long ago figured out that the things I do are not the same things other people do. There is a guy on the subway. He sings Bob Marley songs on the N train. I've literally seen him singing these same songs for years. I know what he looks like, what he says to get people to give him more money. But he doesn't know me. He doesn't remember me. Isn't that interesting? It's one of the most interesting things about New York. Or any big city really. You make impressions on people -- well, I don't. I don't think strangers remember me. But I remember them. I remember their faces and I write stories about them. Sometimes I dream about people I don't know and I have to assume they are people I saw once on the subway or on an airplane or at a restaurant and I just don't remember it. That's a little bit like being let in on a secret, too. I see these people. I know them even if other people don't.

I don't know where all these thoughts came from.