A sob story.

I finally moved into a new and more permanent place. Temporarily permanent, whatever that means. Everything around us is probably temporary, who ever came up with the word PERMANENT? hmm. But here I am, with a lamp to keep me company is a cute cubby hole! The best part of this room is that its got windows and right outside is the fire exit. Can't WAIT to get on that.

On my way here I was talking to the taxi driver. He was from Egyp and been here for the past 17 years. He probably has a family here too (and in Egypt). He told me that he went to Egypt every 2 years. But he's here, working hard, in the land of dreams and such a happy man too. Its the fact that I didn't have to struggle with too many things growing up that I don't appreciate a lot that I have. Not appreciate it enough though...

On a different note, I was on the train a few days ago, waiting to get off at a certain stop and a lady came in and sat next to me. She was crying her eyes out. Sobbing. Red, blotchy face. What did I do? Turned away. What did everybody else do? Stared for a few seconds and turned away. I wanted to ask what was wrong, but how could I help? My stop was coming up. I can't even say that NYC made me heartless, after all, I'd only been in the city for a few days when this happened. The incidence made me wonder how decenticised (sp??) I have become to human emotions. Maybe we have all, but I won't speak for somebody else's experiences.

I can't ask her what's wrong bhanera. What if...what if she wants some money? What if, what if she wants to...TALK? I don't have the time for that. Best look away. Stuff those ear phones in and look away. Bury my nose in my book and look away. I can hear her sniffles and groans, but I'd rather look away. Apple is a wonderful company and has done a great job of blocking such pitiful noises. God bless ipods. I repeat my "look away" mantra. Its sad. Real real sad. I wish I had the courage to just ASK what was wrong, even if I couldn't help, at least ASK. Even if I didn't care, just an acknowledgement of the fact that she was in pain. "Is everything ok?" or "Are you alright?" She might have answered in a thousand different ways, but the least she'd know is that I can SEE that she is in pain, I can HEAR it, and if nothing else, I'd tell her that I was sorry that she was in pain. She wouldn't find help in me. Nor would she find a friend. She would, never the less, find that her emotions were not lost in the confines of a metro train.

I hope she is doing well, wherever she is.