From here

From here I can see all the people walking to their respective destinations, driving their cars and scooters and bikes, riding the bus, looking around or looking inward. It amazes me that everyone cannot be conscious of everyone else in their everyday lives. I always imagine the rest of the story behind the momentary glimpse of people’s faces, body language, as they pass by… For instance the waiter who delivers dishes of food slipping around on the plate without paying attention if it’s the right table, while he imagines his girlfriend of 4 years, who is lying in bed thinking of packing her bags because he doesn’t want to have a baby. Or the toll-booth collector who drops lifeless coins in my hand as he quietly hums the melody that’s been forming in his head over the past few hours, so as not to forget it when he goes home to his parent’s basement where he has accumulated a plethora of instruments and sound recording equipment. Or the mom fumbling through her purse as unnecessary lipsticks and receipts and hairballs fall out, a line forming behind her while that damn bus ticket continues to escape her, as do her two little boys who were just moments earlier tugging on her drool-stained blouse that her not-so-tiny toddler has fallen asleep on with the dead weight of a KO’d pro wrestler. Or the old lady who has painstakingly matched her babygirl pink lipstick with her shuffling flats, her breast-level skirt and her delicately doilied jacket just to go to the fruit shop a block away, and then shuffle back to her silent, empty home.

Maybe they’re wondering how someone like me, who seemingly has nothing in common, could feel what they’re feeling.

Or maybe they’re all just wondering what I’m staring at.