K-kinda Busy

As usual, I have far too much to write about, and only two posts a week on which to write. That being said, I want to strike some sort of balance when it comes to the general tone of these posts. Seeing writing in colour, I don't want this to be a mass of dark grey- Hopefully I am maintaining some sort of equilibrium.

Living in the city I see a lot of phones. Phones being taken out of pockets, phones cradled between cheek and shoulder, phones being abused beneath overactive thumbs. Most of all, I see phones being a huge distraction.

Sitting on the subway a minimum of four days (and twice as many hours) a week, my eyes are constantly met with the sight of people hunched over, eyes glued to these tiny little screens. Every time I see them I am forced to ask myself (since I cannot ask them) the question Why?

I'm struck by the irony of the telephone, a device meant to bridge a gap between two people, to facilitate communication, instead being used as a gadget to keep oneself from having to interact with anyone. There isn't even any service underground (unless you're in Hong Kong), so you can't even use the phone to call or text.

I realize that I sound like an old man. To be more specific, an old man who is sick and tired of these newfangled gizmos and doohickeys and how they're complicating the world; who misses the good ol' days when he had to walk two hours through the snow to the closest internet, and where there wasn't no such thing as this wireless he hears young people complaining about these days.

Breaking it down, though, I wish people would look up a little more. People are always sitting there, tight-lipped, avoiding eye contact. If anyone is talking anywhere on the train, you can feel the general atmosphere sour if they're even a decibel louder than they need be, as if the general populace were cherishing the silence like some kind of vestal virgin, in danger of desecration.

Last week an old-ish black dude sat next to me on the subway and asked where I was from. After specifying that he meant where I was from ethnically, and hearing that I was half-Filipino, he started talking about the politics of the country. It turned out that he was in the know because he had worked for the CIA, and that he had retired due to old age and that he took the TTC because he could talk to people; because in a car you can't talk to anyone.

I don’t assume that he ever was with the CIA, or that they gave him a tidy sum of money to live comfortably in Canada. What I do know, however, is that it was refreshing to have someone to talk to. To know that some people share that freedom of being able to engage those around them. People who aren't afraid to ask you what you're reading, or who those flowers are for, or where you got that frozen pizza that you're balancing on your lap.

I'd like to be one of those people someday; maybe I'll even have to pull off a little bit of crazy to do it.

What To Do, What To Do-

So I guess that this is my first official post on the blog, barring the introduction. That being said, if I had had my way then the introduction would have been three times longer, but I’m trying to learn to be a more self-controlled writer, so there's that.

This is more of an autobiographical entry, as opposed to my thoughts on any particular subject. It happened recently, so I thought I would just hammer this out and hope people liked it. Speaking of current events, I saw The A-Team today; it wasn't bad.

On Saturday day I spent the day with friends, and after grabbing some all-you-can-eat sushi at a pretty decent restaurant, we decided to head uptown to our old neighbourhood. So there we were, riding the subway south, just the three of us.

Now it's important that I paint a picture in your brain of how we were sitting, and hopefully I don't waste too many words on this. I was sitting with my left shoulder against the wall, facing the back of the subway; my friend Peter was on my right. Sitting in front of me, with his back to the wall, was Terence, facing the other side of the subway.

So we're cruising along, nearing our final destination, which is the northmost subway station, and then it happened.

The doors across from where we were sitting opened up, and a man stepped in. He was middle-aged, definitely in his forties or up, and was somewhat hefty. The man stepped on the subway and sat roughly across from where Terence was. The man was wearing a pink tutu, and had a little pink handbag under one arm.

Before I could help myself I was crouched over, silently laughing.

It was a terrible, terrible moment. I quickly straightened up and stared straight ahead before letting an uncontrollable giggle burst from my lips. Staring straight down, I tried to force the amusement away, tried to lock it behind sombre doors with titles like "world tragedies" and "your brother has cancer."

Terence, who had also laughed a little, was crouched over, staring intently at his phone. He gave it his full attention, even vocally informing everyone on the subway that he was reading (and laughing at) text messages. I stared directly at a spot on the side of Terence's chair, and talked to Peter. Every now and then Terence would shake or laugh for a split second, and I would almost lose it. As I was talking to Peter I would hesitate, stuttering through words as I fought to keep it all in.

The man stepped off on the stop before ours, and we all inwardly breathed sighs of relief.

Waiting at that final station for another friend to pick us up, I let it all out. The laughter exited slowly, sporadically, and I felt the tension ease its way out. Out of the nineteen years I've spent on this earth, I can honestly say I've never felt so certain I was going to hell than that moment.

I'm sorry, and still am. It's easy to type and I said it over and over after it had happened. Barring my remorse and shame, however, I had been terrified. I had publicly laughed at a large man in a ballet costume, and I had been frightened out of my mind. It had exacerbated, instead of lessened, my giggling. My initial amusement was further fueled by nervous laughter; I was easily as scared, if not more so, than I was entertained.

Looking back on that day, at those ten or so horrible minutes on that subway, I'm not really sure what to think. The first thing my mind remembers is being afraid, with only the slightest afterthought to the amusement. It's difficult for me to even recall what he looked like.

This is all very drawn out and awkwardly written, but I just wanted to share this snippet of my life with you. Sometimes things happen and you can't control them. It's just that sometimes, after it's happened, it's difficult to understand what exactly to do with that experience.

Sharing this is what I've decided to do with mine.