The Sven Journal

Before moving to the city, people-watching was rare treat, a sport that happened infrequently because, well, there weren’t many people to watch. However, here in the bustling metropolis, it is impossible to get away. And Vancouver isn’t even that populated. I now tend to do most of my people-watching as I ride the train everyday. Sure about 90% of humans are uninteresting to look at on first glance as they are swimming in “normality,” but if you look closer we all have little quirks worth noticing.

As I swept the candidates to amuse myself today, I found a worthy target. A girl, perhaps early 20s, shoulder-length dark blonde hair, blue peacoat… she was very pretty. She glanced about, her eyes darting back and forth. It was as though she was inspecting people around to see who was looking at her.

Anybody with any sense of others and/or human emotion could see she was upset. Very upset. I could—I’m sure everyone could, had they escaped their bubble of individuality and self-obsession—tell she was using every ounce of her being not to burst into tears on the train. Her eyes were still puffy, her mouth corners shaking. Her hands curled and grasped her coat sleeve opening tightly.

Was I the only one who noticed? Maybe. But what struck me most about this girl is there is something wrong. It is odd to me that people outside of the ones I am close to have problems. Whoa, hold on…is this to say we are all have an ability to be hurt? To be sad and angry, feel hatred, jealousy, pain?

Of course. It’s no wonder there are so many songs and poems about hurt. It is a universal sentiment, one that binds us—if nothing more—all together as peers. Yet our connection to one another is blatantly stepped on as we ignore the the girl trying to not explode in front of everyone. Why is that?

Why is Blondie even trying to keep it in? Why is it that one cannot simply cry? Yes, I understand it is “weird” to do so, but why can’t I express sadness when I am sad, anger when I am angry, and goddammit clap my hands when I am happy and know and really wanted to show it? I imagine such a lack of control would be a reimagining of a world in which we all had Tourette’s syndrome. It is interesting how we as a society have deemed a neutral, restrained composure necessary.

We’ve been taught that our personal issues and worries are just that: personal. Which means that my problems are my problems, are yours are yours. I completely understand this notion, which is the reason I don’t enjoy soap operas or reality television; my life is already maxed out with stress and drama, I don’t need to worry (nor do I care for that matter) about such frivolity. If your life is being complicated for the sole purpose of entertaining mine, well that’s kind of a dumb move on your part. But thanks for the lulz. Maybe this is why nobody seemed to care about the poor girl, millimetres away from a transmogrification¹ into a busted fire hydrant. Maybe people simply have no interest in the matter, nor do they wish to get involved. God only knows how the situation would end for me if I get involved.

There comes a point where we need to look past our own dilemmas and personal difficulties and engage in the equally (or far, far worse²) devastating hardships of others. We all have our demons. But where is this balance? What is the magical equilibrium of dealing with both my problem and yours?

That’s your choice. You can do whatever it is you see fit, whatever helps you cope. We all deal differently. Just know that if the Bible contains but one truth, it is that guiding or aiding another may in turn help one’s self³. Helping others helps us. Is this, therefore selfish? No. Think of it as a byproduct. That being said, you do what you want, but I’ll do what I want. Even if that means waiting until the girl looks at me so I can smile at her, maybe making her feel good for a single moment, taking her mind of her unimaginable drama.

1. Get learned foo’: ZZZAAAAAPP.
2. Sometimes, just shut your complaining.
3. Wise words.

1. rickopedia liked this
2. iaresven posted this