Diamondback Online - The University of Maryland's Independent Daily Student Newspaper

Issue date: 4/29/08 Section: Opinion

You have just picked up The Diamondback, and you are getting ready to read Matthew John Phillips' newest column. Before you continue on, you will probably flip to the crossword and give up after nine across or 28 down. You might be reading this in class, tucked safely underneath your notes. Or you might be sipping a warm cup of coffee and eating your morning bagel - cinnamon raisin, "lite" cream cheese - while curled up in one of the chairs of the Stamp Student Union. You might still be in bed, on your back, kicking the bottom of your roommate's mattress while he or she sleeps through morning classes.

Wherever you are, whatever you are doing, take note of the people around you. Is the person just in front of, behind, next to you holding up The Diamondback, as well? They might be reading this exact same column, these exact same words. Will you look up and try to spot them as they turn the page? Wait to see the picture of the funny guy with the spiked hair and tie to float to the top of the page? Give them 30 seconds to catch up. Then follow along with them, comforted by the knowledge that someone - someone within reach - understands your present moment better than any other. 

Now that we have all formed a momentary connection, think about what would happen if this column, that guy sitting next to you reading it, were to disappear. We float in and out of each other's lives, not really aware of the transient hellos and goodbyes of the everyday. And with all of the technology and flash of the quotidian, it is amazing we are even able to grab onto somebody else for a few moments. That the few "stickers" we get in life - those who never really let go, for bad or good - don't get washed away in the storm of a thousand other potential connections. 

There's something so daunting about the thought of billions of people swarming around you on any given day. It's the stuff romantic comedies feed on. Zoom in to handsome man as he enters coffee shop, then pan to beautiful woman as she comes in behind him. The people in the audience hold their breath, waiting for their fated lovers to meet. But they don't, passing by each other with barely a smile or a nod. It's just one of many bungled opportunities in the next two hours of the movie. 

And sometimes, life isn't too far away from the art. Friday night, I met the most beautiful French man at club Town. He was tall, with glasses, dark hair and a casually buttoned shirt that just spoke European cool. We danced; we kissed. But, like any good romantic comedy, we were destined to float away from one another. In my excitement (and in his language gap), numbers were never exchanged. Now I am fixated by the idea that what seemed so bright for a moment now falters out of sight on the horizon.

Perhaps, like so many of the relationships that we forge daily, it was purely coincidental or appropriate just for that time and place. If every single person we exchanged a word - or kiss - with were to stick with us, then suddenly it would be like we were in that Play Station game Katamari Damacy, just rolling around, picking up small children and pets before we can accumulate the bigger items such as adults and sub-compact cars. 

Luckily, friendships and relationships are never really about quantity. But sometimes, like with the French guy, you just miss the mark. And then it is difficult to just pick up and return to life, because you know someone else is lost and sporting around, just like you. And the chances of you ever meeting again (one in 6 billion) seem positively overwhelming. With everything - Facebook chat, MySpace, Google and beyond - it seems unfair this should be so.

Yet, most romantic movies thrive on missed opportunities such as this. But then, in the final five minutes, handsome man and beautiful woman finally cross paths. The audience sighs, sniffles, wipes away a tear. It hasn't happened yet. But the movie's not over.

Matthew John Phillips is a junior English major. He can be reached at mjphilli@umd.edu.

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