CUNY Macaulay Honors College at Baruch College/Professor Bernstein

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As I waited on the street outside Irving Plaza, slowly cooling cup of too-bitter coffee in numb hands, I counted down the minutes until the beginning of the possible best night of my life. To my right were a dozen or so people (I always arrive at least 2 hours early for this band, no exceptions), and to my left the line continued around the next two corners of the block, with all kinds of people: young, old, punk, hipster, “normal,” all waiting for the same thing: Anberlin. The daylight drained away with the minutes, my eagerness making every moment feel as though at a complete standstill—but then the doors opened.

Entirely too excited to give up a second row spot for coat check, I went right in to Irving Plaza’s main room for the second time in my life. This time, though, I felt more than just anticipation. I’d seen Anberlin twice before already, but that only made me more in awe of what I was about to witness. Soon to be before me were the very people that influenced the decisions I’ve begun to make for my future. One of the main composers of the band, Stephen Christian, has his own side project, has written a book, and has formed a charity, called Faceless International, that he and the rest of the band actually go all over the world to contribute to. What these few people have done (and all in under a decade, too), is nearly exactly what I hope to accomplish with my life—but mainly, it’s the sheer power of their music, the fact that they can bring so many different people together and feel a common emotion, that I wish to one day achieve myself.

We all knew what was about to happen as the last opening act filed off: the lights would slowly fade up, as Anberlin’s bassist played a deep continuo in the background, so deep that we could not hear it but only feel it in our bodies—and everyone around me, from all backgrounds, all nations, all with different stories, pasts, futures…we all raised our hands as one, as the stage lights flashed and the first chords struck our very souls.

Every culture in inextricably linked to certain superstitions and strange traditions. Many of us follow the superstitions of our native culture today, without reason or a general idea of their origins. My mother never rests her handbag on the ground because it will curse her and she will lose all her money. I never followed this one because I never saw any logic behind it. My aunt never leaves the toilet seat up because doing so will “flush your money away,” a little more convincing but not quite. Remember “step on a crack and you’ll break your mother’s back”? Yeah, my mother never broke her back either.

My friend Prattasha follows Bengali superstitions dogmatically. I didn’t know this about her and I found out the hard way. One day in high school, we went to get some fast food at Burger King to go before attending an after school review session. We sat toward the back so we could quietly eat, and I noticed that I had never tried her Spicy Chicken Crisp. Out of curiosity I asked her to try it and she   held the sandwich out for me to take a bite. I took the bite and enjoyed it and expected to go on with the review when she exclaimed- “Take another one!” and held out the sandwich again. I asked her why she was so enthusiastic about it, and found out that it was a Bengali superstition that if you feed a person, you must do it an even number of times.

Not one for superstitions myself, I decided to be difficult and not take the second bite. “I don’t feel like it, i’m full.” Little did I know Prattasha did not mind causing a disturbance in the review session in order to attack me and forcefully implement her second-bite policy. I’m still unsure of what bad luck she was trying to avoid, i’m actually quite sure she does not know herself.