Only Connect

Only connect! That was the whole of her sermon.
Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted,
And human love will be seen at its height.
Live in fragments no longer.
Only connect...

--E.M. Forster, Howards End

So far, I've met five people from Blogistan: erudite Sepoy (he of the cool tees), brilliant Hijabman (designer of Muzzie undies for Valentine's Day), meri jaan Shabana (who fills the entire room and blogosphere with her radiance), gorgeous-from-head-to-toe-&-to-the-depths-of-her-soul Yasmine (who thought I was trying to pick her up) and the latest last night here in TMBCE.

Meeting fellow bloggers is like going on a blind date. The other person sounds interesting, any correspondence you've had has gone well, and you are fairly sure that they aren't an ax-wielding psycho. But you plan on meeting them in a very public spot nonetheless.

The tension is around chemistry, specifically if there will be any or only crickets chirping. The latter has agonizing ramifications for future blog interactions: If it didn't work out, will you be removed from their blogroll, thereby decreasing your Technorati ranking? How soon can you discreetly remove them from your Daily Haunts & Lurks list? And should you both avoid commenting on or reading each other's blogs ever again or continue to do so hoping that the other person didn't notice the failed connection?

Then there are the expectations. As someone who often writes from a deeply vulnerable place I'm never quite sure if I'm expected to be the "inspirational woman with the medical condition," the "chick who was unexpectedly picked up by God while hitchhiking on life's roadside," or if I can actually, well, just be myself. A mostly fatigued, sometimes insightful, often quiet, deeply emotional, occasionally downright irritable and usually-having-a-bad-hair-day neurotic overanalyzer and dreamer.

In my 20s, making a great impression was important - I'd gussy up and put on my most brilliant, witty and desirable face even for a stroll down the street. But now, in my 30s, I no longer have the energy to be Super-Me so most of the time I'm Just-Me, like it or leave it.

Going from reading someone's blog to meeting them is sort of like when you wake up in bed with your husband the morning after your wedding night: you've shed your carefully constructed finery and now have rollers in your hair, sleep in your eyes and desperately need to brush your teeth. Having witnessed your reality, can the reader ever see you in the same light again?

Most importantly, the blogging world is about building community and real connections and I am always afraid of that being ruined by an in-person meeting that can be influenced by so many outside factors: lack of sleep, mood, visual impact or preoccupations. In this cyber world we can sometimes cut deep to the essence of who we really without being constrained by our accents, fashion sense or physical appearance.

So it was with excitement, curiosity and some trepidation that I set out last night to meet R. Meeting her was different from the other cases because she's not a blogger per se but a blurker turned e-correspondent who also occasionally comments on T&B. We've had amazing connections with each other on e-mail particularly - I'm often deeply touched by people who write to tell me when a piece moves them.

But meeting someone who does not blog puts me at a decided disadvantage. They know highly intimate details of my life over the past couple of years whereas I know almost nothing of theirs. (This is also what drives me crazy about bare acquaintances who discover T&B or family and friends who read regularly but Never Comment. *massive pet peeves alert*)

So I took a page from a teacher's book, from dear Brother Irving from whom I have learned so much, and made an intention on my way out of the apartment:

"Dear God, I don't know what, if anything, is meant to come from this meeting but let me be open to the possibilities. Let us be gentle with each other's humanity. Let us do that rarest of things in this day and age, let us 'only connect.' May we find what we are looking for or need today. May we benefit each other, meet in sincerity and may Your light and gentleness suffuse our hearts, ameen."

And so, we met.

I was fascinated by her life as the daughter of a swinging Bhutto-era Purelandi man and a Brazilian woman turned devout Muslim, of her European backpacking tales, of her lives in Karachi, Brazil, the Middle East, Freeland, and now in China, and of her hopes and anxiety for the future.

Although she could not leave her students to come to my neighborhood for the spicy hot chocolate we'd once thought we might share together, I brought her one of Bittersweet's special cocoa blends to take home with her. It made me happy to think she'd share a sweet drink with her beloved upon her return, and perhaps think of me - a way of spiritually connecting across the ocean, miles and cultures between us.

And she, knowing that I love all paper goods, brought some exquisite, festive Chinese New Year cards, explaining that this year was extra special because it was one which rolls around once every 16 years - the year not just of any pig but of the Golden Pig.

That made me laugh then and keeps me smiling now everytime I think of her thoughtful and whimsical gift.

As Irving once said to me, "That such regard and kindred spirit can be found and engendered through cyberspace is certainly a blessing of God that ennobles the technology, and may be the real reason that such technology exists."