Yesterday, on the way to work, I saw a very disturbing scene. A few cars in front of me, a motorcycle had nipped the corner of a car (an old car at that). Out of the car rose a tall and rather big man who was obviously mad. He walked over to the motorcycle driver, started shouting at him, punch him, push him and his bike to the ground, and pummel him some more.
No one stopped him.
Not even I.
There were traffic officers standing a few steps away, and there were drivers and passengers in cars waiting for the traffic to move, bot no one helped him.
I remember driving past the guy on the motorcycle. He seemed jarred. Who wouldn’t be? Who expects to get beaten up at 9am when driving to work?
I remember his face. I remember it well. I remember his face along with the other faces that have marked my life. The homeless man Angelito, the face of a kid in the squatters of Shaw that I saw when I was 6 years old, and the other faces of people I’ve hurt – even the ones I was supposed to have loved. I remember these faces, their eyes, their smiles, or frowns, their tears, their souls exposed…
There is so much pain in the world. There is so much hurt. I’m haunted by the fact: I have caused so much of both.
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