Brandon's Window, September 14, 2013
The
Window, an ode to
A
Window: An opening in the wall of a building or structure for the admission of
light and air containing some transparent transparent material, as glass, and
capable of being opened and shut at pleasure.
A
window: A period of time in which some activity may be uniquely possible, more
easily accomplished, or likely to succeed.
A
structure taken for granted most of the time, simple and commonplace these
days. Most people have one: to look out of, even open when necessary or if they
please. But a window is much more than that, it is a cultural symbol: of
freedom, of prestige, of life on land, of knowledge of the time of day, of this
moment we have.
On
a ship, the small aspects of life on land are either exaggerated, like the
possession of a window, or non-existent, like the lack of one. Never before
have I talked about windows to such a great degree: to myself and other people.
Never before have I coveted another person’s window. I might have wished for
their view, but not the window itself. When I visit a cabin that has a window,
I admire it and not the view; I even long for it imagining how different my
daily experience would be if I had one. I am not alone in these feelings
towards windows.
If
I had a window, I would know when it was morning by the cue of nature, not by
the way the ship clanks and grinds as it pulls into an early port. There are
sounds that come from living in such close proximity to the bow of the ship,
which are unrecognizable. What are they sawing? It has to be metal because
there is sparse wood on this vessel, and anyway wood does not sound as if it is
screeching when you saw it. Wood accepts the blade, as metal does not; metal
fights against the blade, as I fight against the absence of a window.
The
people who have windows feel different about them as well. Most recognize their
fortune and in small moments the windows can even make them feel guilty for
their position. The early morning light from them disturbs their sleep, but
knowing how fortunate they are, some do not pull the blinds for all those
existing in the constant darkness. When has a window ever produces the feeling
of guilt before? I have also heard the windowed say that they do not utilize
their window enough. Before now, I have never heard a person state that about a
window.
Windows
are relatively a rather contemporary comfort, because humans have been building
permanent living structures for over 10,000 years. During the ancient Roman era
windows gained primitive glass pains for their openings; these were in the
wealthier homes and were made of wooden frames filled with glassy pebbles;
these windows were not very translucent, but were a huge advancement from the
other choice of oiled animal hides or parchment, furs, cloth, wood, or nothing
(Window Glass Retrospective p. 1). Clear glass was not invented until the late
200's CE, and again only the wealthy had glass in their windows (Window Glass
Retrospective p. 1). So windows started out as a status symbol of the wealthy
and privileged. Windows were coveted from the very start.
These
coveted windows of ours on the ship are not even fully functioning windows; you
cannot open them. I have heard people say that it almost makes it worse having
a window because you so desperately need to open it. Living on a ship is like
living on an airplane, the air pumped into your cabin is re-circulated.
Re-circulated air on a cruise ship is not a thought you should ponder for too
long. This ship can hold 5000 passengers and employs 1700 crew. The condition
the re-circulated air produces is referred to Ship Lung, Cabin Cough, or even
Ship Sinus. It is slightly inevitable and there are ways to temper it, albeit
not eliminate it.
One
device used is to tape a towel over you ceiling vent to catch the small
invisible black particles, which are re-circulated through it. How do you know
they are black if they are invisible? When you remove the towel they become
visible. It is kind of how particle physicists claim that all matter is running
around in every sort of probable outcome and it is not until you look at it
that it becomes fixed in the moment. The towel does just that; it fixes the
black particles in time. Another way people decreased the input of air is that
they turn the vent off while inside the cabin, but then turn it back on,
covered, when they leave. That way you get "fresh air" into the
space, but are not bombarded by it when you occupy cabin.
So,
the desire to open the window is astonishing, but to say it makes having a
window difficult, well that is only spoken by a person who actually has one.
A
window as a symbol of time also exists on this ship. There are windows of time
that are best for doing your laundry, being off the ship, and even just the
length of your contract. The crew laundry is one of the least liked places on
the ship. Not only do you battle other crewmembers, you battle the machines as
well. If you are lucky enough to have your wash load run through its whole
cycle without malfunctioning (in the crew Laundromat, the washers are small and
cannot be over stuffed with clothes; what would consist as one load on land
equates to three loads at sea), then you have to jockey for dryer position. If
you do not keep an eye on your dryers, it is likely that someone will remove
your close before they are completely dry, so they can use the machine. Due to
the nature of this behavior, towards the end of the cycle I stand in front of
my dryers and ward off people like yellow jackets at a barbecue; even if you
tell them you have clothes in there, if you turn away they will open to check
anyhow. Also, you also have to know which machines actual work. I have found
that 9pm is the best window of time to start laundry.
The
window of time for being off the ship is non-negotiable: If you are not on when
the ship sails you not only get left behind, but you also lose your job. This
window of time is never enough, but you become accustomed to these small
amounts of freedom knowing that you are not only fortunate in the context of
the ship, because not all of the crew have the freedom to leave the ship, but
also in the greater context of life. Many people are limited in their personal
freedoms and many hardships exist on this planet right now. Bombs in churches,
people fleeing their homes to refugee camps, and animals continue to loose
their land to the development of humanity. So, although life on a ship has the
effect of constricting ones view, it is always important to remember the larger
context of existence.
The
window of time a crewmember is on the ship varies. Some performers are only on
for a week or two, while others are on for months. The longest contracts are
for ten months. Our cabin steward Joren is on for ten months and then he goes
home to his family in the Philippines for two months. This is Joren's ninth
contract. Jay, my man and the reason we are on this ship, his contract is for
five and a half months this time; this is his second contract. What a person
does in this window of time depends on their ship responsibility: Jay is
working on his violin skills, his craft, and making money and connections.
Joren is supporting his family, but no matter what a person does for work on
this ship they are all on here because work on land is hard to find and the pay
is good.
A
window is more that just a hole one looks through. It is a symbol of the
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