Touch Note

“Mine is no callous shell, 

I have instant conductors all over me whether I pass or stop,

They seize every object and lead it harmlessly through me.” 

(Quote from “Song of Myself” by Walt Whitman)

With the bustle of green leaves and the song of birds, the stone ground merges with the grassland seamlessly. The bench supported my body and allowed me to lean on it, feeling the hardness of the wood and the tranquility of the moment. Or it is not a moment that is completely silent. Laughing from a distance spread to my ears. I saw animals and humans of different ages and shapes. The sound broke the beauty of silence in nature but added a beauty of energy to the park in the city. 

I observed them secretly, afraid to be found out. 

A young girl was climbing a tree; her mother was standing under the tree and holding her feet. 

An old man was holding a string that was tied to a dog on the ground, directing or being directed by the action of the dog. 

A twenty-year-old man put his hand on the shoulder of another man and patted a few times; everything is known between them. 

A father is playing a throwing ball game with a young girl; he throws a ball to a young girl, who catches it and throws it back. 

A group of boys are playing basketball on the basketball court; they transfer balls, and their arms or shoulders hit each other often. 

Touching has various forms: touching between people, touching between people and animals, touching between people and plants. People use their hands to touch different parts of each other, feeling the temperature and sensing the shape and surface. People throw things at each other, enforcing force on an object and having the desire to let other people catch it, and an interaction is done. People use some things to connect, control each other's actions, care about each other's actions, and be careful at the same pace. 

I am observing the city of Philadelphia, where people are enthusiastic and like to use touch to express emotion.

Then I wonder, 

“Is this then a touch? 

Quivering me to a new identity.”

(Quote from “Song of Myself” by Walt Whitman)

I measured the distance between each other; every touch made me feel something different like we were no longer in a faraway and disconnected relationship but a closer friend or family. A hug, a touch on the shoulder, a shaking hand—from family, from friends, someone you don’t know too much or at all—each touch provides a path between me and others, and each touch gives me a new identity.