The Jungle
I got in the back seat of the car and immediately he did everything in his power to make me feel comfortable, like he’s use to having to defuse tension. Like he’s hyper-aware that people will misperceive his tattoo sleeves, dreads, and piercings for something more threatening. He turned down the heavy rap music and asked how my day was. He made a lighthearted joke about recently finding out what brunch was. Then he proceeded to tell me about growing up in a bad part of LA called the Jungle - “you know that scene in training day.. that’s where I’m from,” he shared. I mostly listened as he mentioned being in a gang and then being saved from gang life from his now ex-girlfriend of 8 years. “I know I would’ve been dead or in jail if it wasn’t for her,” he said graciously. We talked about gentrification and how rent has gotten so outrageous that he’s still living with his ex-girlfriend because she can’t afford to move out. He clutched his best friend’s ashes, which he keeps in a gold tube hanging from a gold chain around his neck, as he spoke of how his neighborhood has stripped him of nearly all his loved ones. Despite this, he says he doesn’t think he’ll ever leave. And as he was sharing all of this with me, the stark differences in our upbringings smacked me right across the face and left a pang of guilt behind. Why was I the lucky one? I thought to myself. I told him about moving to LA in part to be with my now ex-boyfriend who I met in college. The privilege in that sentence alone is insane. The ride was coming to an end. Despite our differences, our conversation reminded me that at the end of the day we’re all human. We thrive on connection and can find common ground with anyone if we’re open minded enough. We probably will never see or talk to each other again, but he enlightened me and reminded me of how important it is to use any and all power and privilege to advocate for those who are stuck like him. To uplift those who need it most, but most importantly to listen in order to effectively help.
