How the Moon People Lived
January 11th, 2023
I was born and raised in the post-Soviet and post-9/11 era. The time when the national debt spiraled out of control and our nation began civil ideological warfare on one another. Blah blah, news shit that has been rehashed a million times. You know the drill.
We live in a post-trust society. I'm in the suburbs where nobody talks to one another. Nobody knows what their neighbors looks like. It's a lonely society. And I feel it deep within my bones.
On one of my bum-esque pseudo-NEET walks, I was flagged down by my old neighbor for a conversation. As always, I wasn't doing much anyway and entertained a chat. From then on out it was deemed by Fortuna that I'd speak with him for an hour everytime I bumped into him.
I got to know him over time. He was in his late 70s. A polyglot linguist of the sorts. A wife that doesn't speak english. Him still having to work hard to pay the bills.
One day, one of our conversations drifted towards the state of things. Perhaps it was after talking about the Russian-Ukranian War. He tells me it's sadder nowadays. That the America he migrated to in the 60s and 70s was a happier place where everyone had brand new cars. Hope was found on every block, and the community... oh the community--
In his thick accent he says, "Now, everybody is too busy and stays in their big houses." He raised his arms up gesturing at the middle-class neighborhood around us. "Nobody wants to talk. Everyone is working."
His eyes--a mix of nostalgia, melancholy, and resignation. A subtle acceptance in reality.
I replied, "Honestly, I had felt something was off my whole life. But this is the first time someone has told me the truth. I never knew. I was born into this--" I raised my arms up gesturing at the middle-class neighborhood. "So... it really was different back then."
"Yes. It was a happier country."
My old friend's memories left me thinking. How purposeful life was in the past. Gender roles. Tribalism, culture, an authority to defer to. Nationalism. Now how we drown ourselves in labor, capital, and material to drown out the loneliness. As I was going to be dragged into another spiral of melancholy, my old friend spoke.
"But I am glad. You are out here walking and running! Staying active! I wish I could join you, but my work is understaffed. They've pushed everything onto me."
Ah! I should probably let him get back to work then. I thank him for the conversation and let him get back to his house chores.
I'm left not knowing what to do with the stories he's left me with. Maybe a peaceful resignation that our society has deteriorated is the only option for the majority. An ironic twist that the majority is powerless in our democratic nation. I'm left feeling rather hopeless for American society.
But his words nonetheless ring in my head, "I am glad."
