the emo wolverine writes

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Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Being a Part of a Stranger's Life

I go to F-8 throughout the working days of the week, so that's five days a week. Every time I go, I see this lady on the side of the street on the way.

She's always covered, only her eyes through her glasses, her hands holding the small book and tasbeeh  and her feet walking up and down the pavement are visible. I see her every time I go to F-8 and sometimes, I wonder to  myself.

Who is she? Does she live in one of those spacious, expensive houses she walks by, to and fro? What does she do? Does she ever think about the possibility of being viewed, thought and written about this way?
That gets me thinking further. Surely she doesn't know that she's being observed this way. What if there was a time, in each of our own days, where we are observed just as carefully? Where someone views us and waits to see us everyday, just a glance, just as much a part of their routine as it would be ours.

Maybe if she didn't show up one day, I would notice and wonder "What happened to her? She's here everyday, but today isn't one of those days!". I wouldn't be too concerned though. She is just a part of a routine that I can live without. In the same way, I too, might be part of someone else's routine- a person they see every day and look for, but can easily live without.

This is an entry I found on loose pages in my closet, dated at Thursday, 7th March 2013.

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