Twelve thirty this afternoon, I was sitting at the bus stop across from the grocery store by my house. For the first time since I've been home, I ventured out into town. It was a good day. The sun was shining, for a moment...at least one little moment...I felt it again.
The feeling that life is bigger than me.
Love that feeling coz it takes all the responsibilities off my shoulders.
An elderly man walked up to me, let us call him Marty. Like Frasier's dad. The similarities were uncanny. It was Marty's 3rd day living on the top floor of a residential facility for older people. He recommended that I go get a job there because they hire a lot of Filipino workers.
Umm, it took me awhile but I eventually corrected him. I'm not from the Philippines. He then made a comment that I decided to overlook but it stirred something in me nonetheless. The comment was - I can't tell the difference. You all look the same to me.
While I could have taken offence, I decided not to. He later told me that he was only quoting some guy that was a known bigot in his days. We laughed an uneasy laugh but decided to move on.
As we talked a bit more, he asked how long I've lived in Canada for because I spoke perfect English. He also asked if I was well educated. Having gone past all that...he started talking a bit more about himself.
He talked about how much he missed living independently.
He talked about hating to sign himself out of the building everytime he wanted to go for a walk.
How is this a good day so far?
Well you see, hmm...I wonder if you'll understand this. When people share their sadness with me, it makes me happy. Doh. Don't forget I'm a counsellor by trade.
Maybe happy isn't the right word but my heart instantly reaches out to the person. And a connection is made. It gives me a rush. Intense.
This person wants to share something as private as his sadness, with me. He looked into the distance and regrettably our bus came shortly after. While I could have tried to sit with him on the bus, I didn't. The rush that I felt caught me off guard, I ran away from it.
So then my dear friends, how was this a good day?
It brought back something in me. The encounter reminded me of what I'm good at. This is the dilemma of many students of social sciences. Our skills are not visible. But that tiny little encounter reminded me of what used to bring meaning to my otherwise mundane life.
I am a counsellor, my job is to listen and connect with people. My job is to care. And I do.
*sigh*
Now if only the voice in my head would stop. The voice of 'the other' for those of you who have read Coelho.
I feel the need for a ritual. A personal ritual to store away my fears and doubts.
2 comments:
You know, random people used to come up to me and tell me about their lives too. Not necessarily their sadness, just about their lives in general.
This lady's kid is turning ten in two weeks, that old man's grandchild broke his arm for the first time. Random stuff to keep away from the mundane.
Nowadays people don't tell me their life stories. Probably because I've changed. Or they've changed.
I don't know.
You're right about what happens when people connect: it makes you feel good.
A connection is not difficult to establish but yet there is so little of it. I'm thinking that it usually involves a person showing some vulnerability, so then...
Here's a question. Why are we so afraid of appearing weak? Of being vulnerable.
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