Garden State

There is a scene at the start of the film, Garden State, where Zach Braff’s character, Andrew, is sitting on an airplane. He is assembled between two older women, staring blankly at the seat in front of him, his eyes completely glazed over. Andrew, subdued and apathetic, was on his way to his mother’s funeral. All of a sudden, the scene takes a drastic plunge into chaos. The plane begins to tremble, people scream out in terror, debris dashes from side to side, and the flight attendants beg for some sort of control. While this is all happening, a simple, yet beautiful melody plays in the background, drowning out the chaotic mess, letting the audience merely watch the pandemonium, rather than listen to it. And during all this time, Andrew remains idle, unaffected, and immersed into the feeling of nothingness. On April 12th, 2010, I boarded a Southwest airplane in Oakland. Its destination was Scottsdale, Arizona. In less than 24 hours, I was to attend the funeral of Connor Grimes Redd. While sitting on the plane, I thought about the past two weeks of my life. It was Spring Break, life was lovely, I was home, surrounded by love, accompanied by friendship and laughter. Holy Thursday rolled around and it was time to attempt to complete some sort of school work instead of cramming it all in the night before. I fled to the library, promising myself I would get something done. Who knew my life was going to change drastically in a matter of minutes. It was April 1st, also known as April Fools. It was one o’clock in the afternoon,when I received a text message from my friend. It was a simple text, just a few words, just like any other. All it said was, “Horrible news: Connor Redd died”. What? Connor? Connor who was my resident upstairs in the fall, now studying abroad in Italy. Connor who I had classes with, who I was in the Honors Program with. Connor, who was my dear friend, who was everything a man should be and more. How could that Connor be gone? Connor was supposed to be my resident every year, we had a plan. We complained how hard the honors program was and how we didn’t know how we were going to survive another semester. When it snowed in Moraga in December, we celebrated together with friends, claiming that this was the best night we ever experienced in Ageno B. Connor promised me that night that he would be careful in Italy, that he would see me in the fall of next year and would patiently await our future adventures. This blatant, new fact was overwhelming to comprehend. It just didn’t seem real, nor possible. We are young, we are alive, we are invincible. And yet, we are merely human. Our lives can end in a matter of seconds. Connor was 20 years old. As I sat on that plane, I felt utterly empty. The funeral came and went. Those two days were a complete blur. My heart was aching. Negativity and apathy drenched my entire being and every momentary glimpse of happiness, I would just turn into hopelessness. Everything in my life at that moment felt so uncertain. And yet, even at my lowest, my darkest hours, for some strange reason, there is a twinkling light that urges me forward. When I just want to give up, call it quits, and proclaim to the world that it’s just not worth it, that humans are inherently evil, something stops me, and not just stops me, but screams fiercely into my ears, “Porsia, not yet! Do not lose hope now, not when you know life is worth fighting for, that people are worth fighting for, that love is worth fighting for.” And when I yell back, “You are wrong! Life merely disappoints. I have lost people I loved. People I know have died and will die. I’m not smart enough, I’m not pretty enough, I’m not good enough…” The voice doesn’t give up that easily. It ignores my ridiculous, childlike banter and simply states, “I love you, and that is enough.” Then I realize, at that moment, life is utterly beautiful, that life is completely worth it, and that the good is vastly triumphant. Loss will occur, but the time before that loss is inherently wonderful. And although this moment is fleeting and tomorrow I may need to be reminded once again by a friend, a quote, an experience; I believe in the power of the pursuit of the dream. The dream that one day there will be clear evidence that the world is actually healing, actually changing, actually becoming once again whole. When we are broken, when our lives undergo uncertainty, when our surroundings become uprooted, when we lose people we love, we start to shake in our boots. We cry out and plead for clarity and unity, for an easy remedy and perfection. But trudging through the bleeding desert sands and swimming through the violent waves of the unforgiving ocean, reminds us of our human capabilities. That we are able to overcome trial and tribulation, that through our deep convictions and undying spirits, we can be triumphant; we can witness small displays of love, of equality, of peace. If the pathway to wholeness and health was easy, we would never realize our potential, our ability to go beyond settling for mere contentment; rather, we reach for the stars, we reach for the dream. We continue the memories of those we have lost along the way. We trudge on. We love. We Make Connor proud.