Thin Silver Threads

These past few months, I've been thinking a lot about my connections with people throughout the years. I recently came across the Japanese legend of the red string, and it's a concept I've sort of applied to all my relationships. The red string connects people you're destined to meet, and perhaps help in some way. It's usually associated with couples. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about destiny, much less how I feel about a red string forever connecting you with someone. 

People continuously change, and many times you completely lose touch with most of the people from your past. I'm not the same person I was in middle school, for example. Maybe my middle school self is connected by a red string to the middle school selves of the friends I had then. But I don't believe we have that string now. It's like yarn you tie around your wrist as a child. As you grow, you let out the yarn so that it continues to fit. But at some point, that yarn will break, or will no longer fit. A red thread is bold, permanent. I like thinking about my connections with people as something more subtle, more delicate. Like a thin silver thread.

These silver threads attach to other people's threads, holding you together. Once you fall apart, so do the threads. You can reconnect them or leave it as is. Sometimes you need to untie the thread and let the person go, whether for their sake, yours, or both. Some connections you believe will last. Others, you know are only temporary. For example, I know my classmates and I will never speak again once classes are over. My coworkers and I only interact at work. Beyond that, or once we leave, that's it. 

This is the website where I found more information relating to the red string: The Legend of the Red String of Japan | Faena

I'm working this summer, and I wrote the following piece based a relationship I have with one of coworkers. It'll only last for the summer, so I'm glad I'll have this writing to help me remember. Thank you for reading!

Thin Silver Threads

Throwing paperclips. That’s my favorite part of work. Streaks of silver so quick you barely see them. You only hear the sudden tinkling of them hitting the cubicle walls, the desks, the chairs. Sometimes they’re ridiculously difficult to find. Even though there’s only two of us now instead of four, it’s still fun. It’s the part of work I look forward to most. The little social interaction I get throughout my week happens when throwing paperclips over the cubicle walls.

Our aim is so terrible, no paperclip reaches its supposed target. The paperclip war was started by the people that left, but the two of us will keep it going. I wonder who’ll keep it up when I’m gone in a few months. I kind of hope they hire someone soon so I can teach them about the paperclips. But I also enjoy it being this way. I wasn’t expecting to partially make a friend. I was prepared for everyone to be doing their own thing and for me to be on my own, since I don’t like being part of cliques.

Nevertheless, paperclips and balloons make the day fun and worthwhile. Every day is a little fun. It’s nice to have a work friend who is patient with this paperclip-throwing child and her weird questions. What he doesn’t realize is that him laughing gives me more incentive to keep up the war. I live for making people laugh. If I can brighten someone’s day, that’s what matters. Plus, my stress is diminished through our joking around. I see it as a win-win. I don’t get paid to have fun, but a few seconds throughout the day should be alright.

I don’t even know how long ago the war started. All I know is that my first day in the cubicle, paperclips were flying over my head and even into my little office space, despite having nothing to do with anything. I felt uncomfortable with the cubicles at first, especially since my back is to the opening. But I’ve come to learn this layout is an excellent way to surprise people, the way they’ve surprised me. Trying to sneak to and from my coworker’s cubicle as quickly and silently as possible to deposit paperclips is Mission Impossible, but I try, much to his amusement. He sneaks up behind me a lot easier due to my headphones, but I catch his reflection on my computer screen.

Typing, birdwatching, and throwing paperclips. That’s a usual workday for me. It’s perfect, this transition into the adult world. It’s like I’m being eased into it, unlike everything else where I’ve thrown in. Those paperclips create interactions and a sense of camaraderie I crave, a winding, thin silver thread of mischief that connects us throughout the day, the week. At the end of the business day, not another thought is spared for it until eight in the morning, when it all starts again. Once I leave, all that will be left is a fond memory.

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