Journal Entry #7

May 12th, 2015

I set out on my journey back to NY in high spirits, brimming with anticipation for what was to come. The catalyst for my trip was to interview Isabella in person for my memory project, and although this remained my main ambition I couldn’t deny the appeal of certain other secondary motives. A chance to revisit my hometown, however briefly, and reconnect with my mother on the westward ride back to Olympia. Even after enduring two taxi rides, a commuter train, a lengthy wait in the airport, and a particularly rough “red eye” flight fro Seattle, I arrived home early on a Friday morning with the same enthused energy with which I had begun my trip. I was eager to sleep the morning away in my own bed beside my content house cat, and looked forward to beginning the interview process with Isabella that afternoon.

My initial attempts to set up a pre-interview with her had to be postponed due to some pressing health concerns involving her parents. By the time things had stabilized on her end and she was ready to conduct the pre-interview with me, I found myself rushing through the process while hectically boarding the train in Olympia the day of me departure. At that moment things were a little rushed, but luckily I had already laid the groundwork well in advance and had gently reminded her through numerous calls and texts in the weeks before the interview that I would be on a tight schedule. I thought I had stressed the importance of maintaining the agreed upon timetable enough, but when in my rush to board the train she made a plea to postpone the interview that afternoon despite my objections, I found myself distractedly agreeing. It wasn’t ideal, but I just figured I’d have to make it work.

Shortly after I awoke that Friday at around noon, I found myself confronted by my mother who gave me a reality check about the risks of leaving so late after the interview. I had been unrealistically hoping that maybe we could leave late at night on Friday or else make up the time by adding a few hours of marathon driving to the already drawn out lang-haul days we would have to pull. My mom reminded me that the most likely outcome of doing the interview in the afternoon would be arriving late to school and missing an additional day of class as a result. This would put me right at the limit of allowed absences for the quarter, and also leave me extremely behind in my work. I had already allowed myself to fall a little behind schedule in order to meet with Isabella in person rather than do the whole project over the phone or using Skype, so for a myriad of reasons it would be unwise to miss any more class time than absolutely necessary. I called Isabella a few hours before our appointment to break the news to her that we needed to reschedule and would have to do the interview at a distance, but she didn’t pick up, so I sent her a text message instead.

She was far from thrilled to hear that, and I got the sense that she was upset with me. She expressed disappointment about having been all ready to go through with it, and exclaimed that she had already cancelled her car service appointment in anticipation of being picked up by me. The next several days the topic was never far from my mind as we messaged and emailed back and forth about the project. Although it’s possible that a miscommunication is to blame (I was never able to reach her by phone and we may have misinterpreted each-other’s tones by trying to communicate by texting), I got the sense that she was somehow upset with me or for whatever reason unwilling or hesitant to proceed with the project. This was extremely vexing to me, because although I tend to think of myself as an empathetic person who can easily relate to other people’s perspectives, I couldn’t fathom what was causing Isabella’s erratic response. I tried not to take it personally, but it began to strike me as extremely selfish that she would leave me in such a position even though she knew how important the project was not only to me but for my schoolwork. I could only imagine that the subject was still too painful for her to confront head on, and that maybe the deep psychological trauma was somehow responsible for her completely uncharacteristic behavior. I realized that it would be better to cut my losses than run the risk of jeopardizing the progress of my course further by giving her any more chances to turn things around, just in case her resistance would continue or take other forms. With the deadline looming in the back of my mind, I had hardly begun thinking up alternative ideas when my mom volunteered herself as my interview subject.

As much as I love Isabella and committed myself to recording her story, I began to consider it a blessing in disguise that things didn’t work out with that topic. My mother, who is usually a fairly reserved and soft spoken woman, was for the first time divulging to me a fascinating series of memories which she has always held close that speak volumes about her own identity and perspective. It was our first road trip together, and hearing her tell her story was like getting to know someone that I was never fully acquainted with. She disclosed many details about the life and death of her sister Susan, who was her closest friend and passed away before I was ever born. She linked her sister Susan’ struggles with her sexual orientation to my mother’s struggles with her own identity, and put it all in the context of the struggles of a generation. It was an unexpected and welcome insight into my family history, that begun a new line of inquiry which will culminate into a memory project that I can be proud of.