Birch Rosenbaum's Questionnaire

Well, I live in Berkeley, at least for the foreseeable future. I came here to work as a janitor at UC Berkeley. I would say that I wanted to be a janitor, but it’s more that I needed to be one… I’ve always had a need for things to be clean, in an almost inexplicable way. Nobody gets it, though. So I figured, maybe being a janitor would scratch that itch. Yep, forgoing attending college so I can make one cleaner. But I still wanted to be around kids my age, so that’s why I’m here at Berkeley.

I have three roommates (unfortunately), since I’m not made out of money and it’s expensive out here. Not sure how anyone’s supposed to afford living here without working full time, and you can’t really do that if you're a full time student. Maybe that’s why people my age are so… unhappy? Worn out? I’m not sure how to describe it, but most people tend to have an… energy about them.

My roommates aren’t the worst. But they’re not the best, either. I haven’t seen them as much since I’ve been working the graveyard shift, but I still wish that I could come home to a place of calmer solitude. Even when I’m alone, their presence in the space is palpable regardless. It never feels as clean as I wish it were, no matter how many times I tidy up, there’s still a tension that permeates the walls and rugs. It’s a perfectly sufficient place to live, but it never feels the way I need it to. It never feels like home.

I’ve been a janitor at UC Berkeley for about a month now. I’m not full time yet, but if the next few weeks goes well, I might be getting an increase in hours. I don’t have a ton of professional experience working as a janitor (other than some jobs mopping and cleaning dishes when I was in high school), but I do have a lot of personal experience in it (from… just, my whole life. And also from it being a special interest and having done a lot of personal research on it). So, until I’m full time, I’m also getting some help from my parents. Most of it goes to rent and regular living expenses. And… cleaning equipment—but, a reasonable amount!

I want to make things cleaner. But not only in a physical sense… I want to clean things on a deeper, more intrinsic level. Whatever that thing or person may be, I want to help it exist in its purest, most natural state possible. 

Sometimes cleansing things means that it gets conventionally dirty… like a supernatural shadow-demon-being-things turning into a pile of dirt with flowers growing from it (yeah, I’ve had a crazy week—a story for another time). I’ve been a germaphobe with a “need for clean” for as long as I can remember, but I’m starting to realize that cleaning things on the surface doesn’t scratch the itch like I thought it would. I’m a good janitor, but what I strive to do is cleanse people’s energy (and that of places, and things ((and I suppose non-human entities)), so that they can lead a more peaceful, true, and internally harmonious existence.

Would I kill for my ambition? I… don’t know. But mustn’t one experience a form of death in order to evolve? This is a big job, but I believe I’m the only one who can achieve it. I’ve been living my whole life with something missing, with something in me unfulfilled. To keep on with the status quo and not work toward making my vision a reality… that is its own form of death. And if that’s so, I’ve been dying every day of my life until now. Now, with my ambition as a guide, is the first day I’ve truly lived.

My aunt Silvia died when I was eight years old. She’d been sick on and off for a while, so it didn’t come as much of a surprise. We’re not here to discuss the circumstances of her death, though.

It is traditional for a Jewish the burial to happen shortly after death, within a day or two (I’m not entirely sure to be honest, I’m not very religious myself). My aunt didn’t have a spouse, children, or partners, but she lived a happy life that was her own. She encouraged all that I was, even the weird parts that most people turned their noses up at. My parents mostly supported me, but they never really understood my germaphobia, and they didn’t see the grander vision behind it. But Silvia accepted me, and when I wanted to play in the dirt and would only wash it off in the river near her house and remain dirty if forced to use a sink, she walked me down the hill and sat with me until I was content.

Silvia’s parents (my grandparents) were pretty… traditional. Since she didn’t have a spouse, they organized her burial, and since I was not her immediate family, I was not allowed to attend. Granted, the funeral at the synagogue and shiva were generally more important, but… the burial was important to me.

On the day of the funeral, I snuck into the graveyard and watched from afar, careful not to get caught. When the short ceremony was over, I jumped into action. I laid a hand picked bouquet of wildflowers over the grave, and grabbed a handful of fresh dirt to wash off in the nearest river.

My parents caught me, and I was scolded and grounded for a week. It’s then when I realized that I can’t expect people to understand why I need things to be the way I need them to be, why I need to make things right and why that looks the way it does. Even if those people are close to me.