Does anyone else feel sad people watching?
Does anyone else feel sad people watching?
On watching how complex each human is.
How they walk, dress, and interact with others. All while holding a galaxy of emotions within their heads.
I can’t pretend knowing everything about a person, but seeing the way they walk and the way their dress, gives us glimpses of the universe this human holds.
Are the dressed to support a team? Are they actually from there? Or do they support their favourite player? Do they dream of visiting the country? Or are they already saving up for that dream? Or are they content with this support, or randomly found the team’s jersey on discount?
Are they dressed to appear affluent? Was it to match their friends or peers? Or did they grow up poor and worked hard to reach here? Did they have troubled childhood from their parents? Could we even blame their parents if they themselves spent so much time as immigrants working to afford their childrens’ education, but not enough toys and attention?
I don’t judge people, I admire them. All of them. Especially those who look very different than me. Their bright cloths, their designer bags, or lack of it, how they colour their hair or trim their beards or how perfect or bad their posture is. How content they look or how surprised they are. The languages they speak, the friends they are with, or their carelessness in solitude.
So much beauty in my contradictions and similarities with the others. I wonder how they lived a different life to be where they are now, a very different life from mine, yet here we are in the same timeline.
Here I was, looking at a skyline of a city that is probably neither of our homes, while the stranger is leaning on a typography counter calling home.
I’m standing here watching him, our lives are heap apart, but for now, we share the same sunset that does not consent to Pantone colours.
