This is Mine

My city has a mind of its own, and just like any good mind, it’s completely cluttered with beautiful and nonsensical bits and pieces. I see thousands of eyes a day, passing by the billions of sights they’ve seen and the millions of secrets they hold. I spend between 22 -24 hours a week on public transportation, which is close to a day, and that is something that I only now realize having done the math. This means that I potentially see random passerby on the subway or bus more often than I see my family, girlfriend or anybody reading this blog. I hear dozens of languages, potentially hundreds, and witness several more – the way people move their bodies, the way a young woman in a group of friends can seem so bored or alone, and yet a lone, elderly man can seem so content in his state of isolation. Or maybe it’s vice versa. Guess it just depends if it’s a Tuesday morning or a Saturday night.

Have you ever considered that there is absolutely no way to predict whom you will see on your morning commute? Not if you live the way I live. Not if leaving at 8:03 means you get on a different train then if you leave at 8:07. Not if you sit next to someone different every single time you choose your seat; every single time the doors open and you all bustle in, eyeing which seat will be yours, claiming “dibs” on a seat that can have literally anything else but your own name on it. Oh the music that my people listen to – it is ba
chata, it is reggae, it is classical, it is punk, it is show-tunes, it is jazz, it is funk, it is rap, it is silent…yes my train is silent, if you sit there like I have all week without a phone, you hear that the cart is silent.

Yet it alive with noise at the same time, is it not? There are people of every race, gender, sexuality, ethnicity, temperament, religion and ice-cream flavor preference beside me, and I am sure that at least two or three of them share my first name. Yet, I’ll never know will I? Oh look, someone has thrown up. But I’ll never know why, will I? And there goes that homeless man I always see, do I have change? But oh wait, there’s the pregnant woman who needs a seat, and the little girl who screams out to her dad who is too tired to look up as she swings around the pole but there’s no time to look at his left hand and wonder if there’s no mom in the picture or if he doesn’t like wedding rings. Why? Because the mariachi band has arrived and why does that sign promoting mattresses have a turtle on it and who etched out “PRAY” in the window across and why does my hair look like that today? Dang – I caught eye with the pretty girl sitting adjacent from me, how does that even work? Why is she still staring, should I bring up Bukky? Oh wait – she left, well thank God. Speaking of God, here comes the lady who screams at everyone about going to Hell and man, do I sure hope one of those guys selling fruit snacks comes soon, because I am hungry and need to spend double the money I usually would on fruit snacks, except the “show time” guys are here and they’re one of those rare groups that’s pretty good so I guess they can have my dollar – I should have given it to the homeless man though.

What do I know about my culture? I know that every life I pass is important to somebody and I know that God doesn’t make mistakes and I know that we are too different to be similar and too similar to be different and I know that we all run at different paces in the human race. I know that I am going to work and school and church and on a date and then maybe home and that the person next to me could literally have just been sitting there all day because it was too cold outside. The person across from me could be in Guatemala tomorrow and the young couple making out in seats that were not made for making out in could be married next year or broken up or still together cheating on each other or still together just chilling at a Starbucks being served by a man who was sitting in the subway car next over, but they never knew that at the time. The guy leaning on the door could be a cop and/or Jewish and/or vegetarian and/or half-black even though he doesn’t look it and/or actually not be a guy and I’m just making assumptions.

I know that I am a part of a greater network of people, for better and for worse, and maybe I didn’t really get my phone stolen but it was taken from me so I could spend some time off of it and see the world that is right in front of me, behind me, a part of me and apart from me. I don’t know too much about culture or people or anything really. But this small corner of my every day life is mine to have, hold, share and reflect on. So, I did.

 

Stay golden, everybody,

Mike