Why do people move? What makes them uproot and leave everything they've known for a great unknown beyond the horizon? Why climb this Mount Everest of formalities that makes you feel like a beggar? Why enter this jungle of foreignness where everything is new, strange and difficult?
The answer is the same the world over: people move in the hope of a better life.
Life of Pi pg. 77
I've slipped into a routine of wake-up, put on clothes, train, internship, train, shave-them-legs-at-a-public-bathroom, work, ride, sleep. Being so busy forces me to cram productivity in the few minutes I have to be unproductive and I do not miss that down time. Though I do miss my own place, almonds (I should buy those this weekend), and Sundays at Jeffy's and Dan's.
I was raised with this fear of public transportation, this rule of anyone who takes it is a bum, druggy, crazy, don't-talk-to-them-or-make-eye-contact. You will be raped, murdered, molested, and accosted. So it takes a moment for me to realize that the creeper/bum with brown eyes isn't trying to find out my schedule so he can jump out of the dark on my way home. He just wants to talk about the book I'm reading. He caught me on the train ride between internship and shave-them-legs-at-a-public-bathroom so I twisted and contorted so he wouldn't notice.
It was nice to know that not everyone is a creeper. But I'll take my chances so next time a balding 60-something asks when I get off work and laughs when he says "Yeah, I guess you could say I work here," I will continue with my vague answers and walk in the opposite direction of work, instead of introducing myself and making direct eye contact with a guy named Marco Fox.
I was raised with this fear of public transportation, this rule of anyone who takes it is a bum, druggy, crazy, don't-talk-to-them-or-make-eye-contact. You will be raped, murdered, molested, and accosted. So it takes a moment for me to realize that the creeper/bum with brown eyes isn't trying to find out my schedule so he can jump out of the dark on my way home. He just wants to talk about the book I'm reading. He caught me on the train ride between internship and shave-them-legs-at-a-public-bathroom so I twisted and contorted so he wouldn't notice.
It was nice to know that not everyone is a creeper. But I'll take my chances so next time a balding 60-something asks when I get off work and laughs when he says "Yeah, I guess you could say I work here," I will continue with my vague answers and walk in the opposite direction of work, instead of introducing myself and making direct eye contact with a guy named Marco Fox.
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