January 15, 2010

The day has turned into evening on the Shabbos. The globe of the sun slowly descends beyond one of the brown porched buildings of Santiago; pink is smeared across the sky like frosting on a homemade birthday cake.

In front of me are palm trees wrapped in lights, and a wooden house that resembles a rustic castle.

It is day five of the trip, and after a magnificent trip to Pucon, we have returned to Santiago, where we began. We are staying at a beautiful hotel that more closely resembles a tropical jungle than a place to sleep, thanks to Ronnie and Melody.

I am alone in the corner of the lawn waiting for the candle lighting to commence, sitting on a striped white and green lawn chair. It’s cushy.

I watch my fellow travelers interact with one another across the lawn, lounging on white couches that remind me of summer in South Hampton. My new friends are showered and fresh, dressed for the Shabbos in straight suits and fluttering skirts. They are laughing and touching. I watch them curiously, as if I am peering through a glass wall lilted by frost in the bitter heart of winter.

I am truly surprised by the warmth with which they interact. Five days ago, these people looked at each other with open suspicion and even hostility. Somehow (maybe it is the ridiculously long bus rides) those attitudes have changed to the comfortable familiarity only evident in friends.

This is the point in the trip where everyone starts to think about its end, although it is only half over- and one of the all-consuming thoughts is: Who are these people to me? Are they here in my life just to be a part of this experience, or will I see them again? Will we stay in touch? Will I see that person who slept in a bed next to me for eight nights, who shared stories, laughter, and dreams with me?

We are differentiating between people; there are those whom we will look upon with fond memories (or not so fond), yet never see again, and there are those who will continue on with us in our lives, accompanying us far beyond ten crazy days in Chile. But how do we figure out who is who?

There are a variety of factors that can predispose you towards staying in touch with certain people, while other people melt into the wind like sugar into water.

It is important that you recognize the multiplicity of things that are essential to creating a good, long-lasting relationship, not just an acquaintance that will last as long as a cardio workout.

For example, Stan and I were talking about soulmates yesterday at the beach in Pucon, a soulmate being the classic example of someone who could last your whole life…or just one night…

Stan is eighteen years old and confused, just like all of us are at eighteen, wondering where our lives are going when we don’t even know where we want them to end up. He exists in a shirtless state and has a proclivity for the color red. At the beginning of the trip, Stan’s shirtless demeanor came off as an effort to look tough, but many of us soon discovered that he is actually an insightful, spiritual guy.

We were trying to infuse our pasty skins with color on our last day in Pucon, as the sun had just appeared after two days of fizzy rain. As we felt the sun sink into our Vitamin D starved bodies, a sparkling blue cove littered with white boats and Pucon’s hallmark snow covered volcano stood around us.

I hadn’t even really talked to Stan up to this point.

But the day was bright and sunny, we had both claimed Rebecca’s blanket as the best place to tan, and I was open to getting to know him.

Within minutes, it was clear that Stan and I, despite our age and education gaps, were on very similar levels. He opened up to me about his thoughts that had emerged on this trip, rooted in the Rabbis’ lectures on male-female relationships.

“How do we know who or where our soulmate is?” Stan asked. “I just can’t help feeling like what if the woman I am meant to be with is waiting for me on a farm in Thailand, or a coffee shop in China? What if? How will I find her?”

I found it hard to believe that Stan’s wife would be a small Thai woman growing rice in the Thai countryside, but I nevertheless acknowledged the possibility. Energies match regardless of tangible differences, as was exhibited by my and Stan’s connection. But what Stan didn’t realize is that he was only pinpointing one piece of the puzzle in his Thai hypothesis, which is that of chemistry. There is much more involved with relating to someone and possibly thinking about making a life with them than chemistry alone.

“Sam!” Jill is calling me. My glass wall shatters. “Sam!!!” she hollers again, gesturing to me with one hand. She won’t leave until I get up from my lawn chair to come, being well aware of my tendency to get caught up in my writing, or sleeping, or whatever it is that I’m doing, and the difficult time that I have lifting myself up out of the latter.

Jill and I met almost ten years ago on a teen tour across the western United States.

We instantly connected, energies tumbling into each other’s like two groups of drunk NYU students at Pianos on Ludlow Street frolickly listening to a band. But beyond just matching energies, or having chemistry, Jill and I discovered a lot more fuel to keep our friendship alive. We had similar personalities and outlooks on life, both being both bright, fun-loving Jewish girls with a lot of love to give and and boy-crazy mentalities. We were also both non-judgmental when it came to the other, open to listening and responding to each other’s qualms devoid of criticism and bursting with insight. Jill was also dependable, which meant that she was always there when I called and proactive in making plans.

But most of all, we always had, and have, fun together; we feeling good in the company of the other.

My mom (a noted psychologist) says that people have relationships for the precise purpose of feeling good- the rabbis would call it the purpose of pleasure.

And Jill and I make each other feel good. So, keeping our relationship alive was always a no-brainer.

“Sam!” Jill is walking towards me across the grass. Although she would wait, the Shabbos won’t. The sun is about to dip into its slumber, throwing black night and stars up in its wake.

I put my glasses back into my pink Kate Spade case and lift myself up out of my beach chair, brushing the wrinkles out of my black skirt.

Once you have one good relationship in your life, it is up to you to figure out what makes it good and then use that to help you look for others.

I bring my hand up to the back of my braid. The pink flower, fresh and bright as a sunny day, is still in my hair from when Jill wove it into my pony twenty minutes ago. Jill has a flower in her dark waves also, but hers is white.

It’s time to go light the candles.

Shabbat Shalom.

Many thanks to my mom, Dr. Helene Karlin, for her contribution to this blog. Mommy, you know what I’m talking about.

Written by: Samantha Karlin