Amy Adoyzie

From Razorcake #60, originally published January 2011.

Quite often, almost on a minute-to-minute-basis, I am reminded of how little I understand of the physical space and contemporary culture that I live in. My small brain has trouble understanding abstract ideas, like the notion that everything that we can see—and even things that we cannot see like gas and odors—are made up of atoms. I have never seen an atom, except for science-book renderings that depicted them as miniscule glossy spheres. I’ve never been able to reconcile those tiny balls and how they form water, dirt or fish sticks.
Apparently, lots of kids ask ‘Why is the sky blue?’ though I don’t remember asking that myself. Some things just seemed obvious in its answer, the sky is blue because it’s the sky. What color would the sky be if it wasn’t blue?! I have seen the a thick layer of clouds cover the sky so that it was a muted grey that stretched far beyond the horizon, and I have seen marbled swirls of fire orange and deep lavender that glowed at sunset. I have seen night skies that looked like a mauve brown painted against black, a night sky that is the result of clouds absorbing the lights of a city. The first time I distinctly remember seeing a brown night sky was when I was in high school, on the weekend of my grandmother’s funeral. As Buddhist ceremonies dictate, all of her kin were dressed in white robes and sat on a straw mat for three days of prayer for her safe arrival into the underworld. On the second night, after a full day of mat-sitting, I looked into the sky and didn’t see the infinite expanse of space and stars. It was heavy and brown and felt like closed thick curtains hung above us. By then I was too old to ask, ‘Why is the sky brown?’ though I don’t think anyone could have answered it for me.
What is brown? How do I know it’s not orange? Why is orange named after a fruit? Or is it the other way around? How come green is called green and not peas? Maybe folks who are color-blind are the ones who are actually seeing colors as they are intended to be seen. Why are some eggs white and others are brown? Why do we eat eggs? Is it because eating the unfertilized unborn is so delicious? What came first, the scramble or the omelet?
Why do high school students need to learn math beyond algebra and geometry? Is it really that practical to study calculus and trigonometry, especially in this economy where the vast number of university graduates can’t find work and end up shopping at the dollar store anyway? Doesn’t it make more sense to teach them how to fill out food stamps applications without feeling shame?
How come ‘Communications’ is still a valid field of study? It’s so vague and non-descript and it makes me feel as though universities are awarding degrees to students merely for showing up, paying tuition and ‘communicating.’ And what’s ‘Business Administration’? I know plenty of immigrants who are functionally illiterate in English and have been successful in owning small businesses without being tens of thousands of dollars in debt for a piece of paper. My mom is the general manager of two busy restaurants and she’s just learning how to send e-mails. And me? Well, with almost a decade worth of post-university experience, I’m still earning less than I did from my first big job after school,
Why do humans have memories and insight and inner monologues? How is it that these relatively small organs that sit insides our skulls can perform such complex tasks like recalling memories from decades past or being able to function on 18-hour workdays without my head rolling off my shoulders? But at the same time my brain isn’t able to parse away some space to remember the majority of my own birthday dinners or the name of my best friend from kindergarten who used to get into trouble with me for talking too much. I remember having mock elections in second grade and voting for George Bush (Sr.) over Michael Dukakis, I don’t remember why I chose him because my parents didn’t vote and didn’t discuss politics around the house. I remember voting for Nader in 2000 because I was emboldened by youth and naiveté and this foreign notion of change. I remember being seven-years-old and specifically wanting to be the first Asian-American and woman president, but I can’t remember when that dream dissolved. I remember loving the rain when it came occasionally during our southern California winters, and I remember my first day after I had moved to Portland and crying in frustration in the unrelenting downpour. I can remember details of all the places I’ve lived like the Chinatown apartment with the broken tile in the kitchen that I used to pretend was the porthole into Adam West’s Batcave or the studio apartment I had in Van Nuys where I heard police helicopter buzz overheard everyday, but I cannot the specific addresses. I remember life before the internet and kinda feel bad for kids who will never know that. I can’t remember who I thought I’d be when I grew up—I’m not sure I have an idea now either.
Why do people have children, knowing full well the gamut of hurt and pain that can befall these small people created? Why do I consider having my own children knowing the same thing? Is it narcissism or a biological drive? How does DNA look? Am I really to believe that my blood stream is swimming with interwoven double helix, floating about determining the color of my hair and the shape of my earlobes? Why are we taught to believe things we can’t see? Why do I even care? Oh wait, I care because when my dad blames me for being short because I didn’t sleep enough and insisted on staying up late during my adolescence, I don’t have to carry around the guilt of being a midget but understand that I am short because he’s short too. Why didn’t I pay more attention in Biology? Why aren’t I fascinated by quantum physics? Is it because I feel like the less I know, the better? Am I just trying to run out the clock?
Why can’t we be more like all the other animals—naked, primal and without desires beyond hunting, eating and fucking? Why do I find myself yearning to be a dog? Sometimes I’ll look at my friends’ dogs and be envious of their lives, laying about and sleeping all day. They want nothing more than a w-a-l-k and perhaps a few crumbs from that sandwich you’re eating. All they want is affection and to protect you and to snuggle up against your warmth on a cold night, I mean, really, that’s all I want too. We want comfort and isn’t that why we work so hard? Isn’t that why we spend more waking hours at our workplaces than we do at our homes, so that we have a soft spot to sleep in?
I remember being a kid and looking at the clouds in the sky and day dream about living upon them like the Care Bears did. I remember being on my first plane ride when I was 18-years-old and thinking how amazing it was going to be above the clouds. A couple years ago, I hiked through Nepal and literally walked above a cloud and it was anticlimactic and satisfying at the same time. Why am I so obsessed with the sky and whatever it is that inhabits the sky? Why do I want to be up there when its blue, or grey or brown? Even though birds get to soar high, do they even enjoy it? Is it better to not know than it is to wonder endlessly?