I would call myself an observer. A passive observer. I watch people. I judge them in my heart. And most days than not, I feel deep sympathy for strangers. I like to narrate their life in my head. Like talking in their voice as they walk in front of me while we share the air. Providing a voice over their heads while I'm sitting on the train like now.
The sun is golden at this hour. The rays are closer to orange than red. Oftentimes, I'd romanticize life when the sky is looking this clear and the sun is being nice like this.
A guy standing in front of me is wearing a neat white shirt and navy pants. His bag looks heavy. He must be carrying a laptop inside. Could he be an insurance agent who just convinced a retired teacher to renew her policies? But then what is the story behind those two lines between his brows? A stress? A loud thoughts? Oh maybe he’s an over thinker who thinks that when people are whispering near him they are probably talking about the way he talks. He looks like a Rico. Yes. Let’s name him Rico. Rico might not be aware of this, but he’s a lucky guy with a nicely shaped forehead. It’s rare for a guy to have that shape that compliments their look.
I shift my gaze towards the girl standing in front of the train door. She has big headphones on. Like the size of each pad is probably one fourth the size of her head. She nods in rhythm. I look over her feet. She’s tapping it. The parachute trousers she’s wearing have an extra pocket behind the knee fold. She probably is a customer service agent working for a company that makes their way around to not give an increment this year. The girl looks like the name “Sandra” fits her. Sandra probably reads books. Maybe two books in a year because during her commute she decides to scroll on tiktok. The way her shoulder is looking tense makes me think of a financial struggle she carries. Oh. To be young and trapped in the system!
I sigh. Give my eyes a break and watch the city line moving on the window. I love to imagine how the train is standing still and the world around it is the one that’s moving. The sun has gone lower. The cumulonimbus visible behind the buildings is now grazed with thick orange that looks like the margin of a bonfire sight.
I visualize a string of light popping from on top of my head and connecting me to Sandra. “Sometimes you may envy people for not having money problems. Some of those people, well, they envy you for having money as your only problem. Remember that.” I whisper in my mind. Hoping that the string of light can relay the message to Sandra.
The train door opens. This is my stop. I close my note book where I jot down the observations and walk outside. I put my ear pod in to drown the thought that I have, that my observer could not guess.