When I grow up

"Mum, do you know what I want to be when I grow up? I want to be someone who can talk to anyone. I want to be able to understand what anyone says, and I want for anyone to be able to understand what I say. Because, some part of me realizes that until something I experience is real to someone else, it's incomplete. Even I am 'someone else' every passing month, week, day; and I forget; and when I forget something, maybe it didn't happen. But if someone else knows it, or if I can make a perfect record, something more than simply experience has been accomplished."

At least, that's what I wish I'd said.

Last night, I took a bus home from work. I kinda had this feeling that I should leave work on time tonight--sometimes, I stay logged in for an extra few minutes, especially on Sundays, because I could get paid overtime if I wanted. But, last night, I just felt like I'd benefit more from something if I left work on time.

On the bus home, an elderly Oriental man took a seat in front of me.

Maybe I should explain...


Why Buses are Important to me

I meet a lot of people through the buses.

I'm not quite sure why it happens that way, but I just do. Once I jumped over a bank of snow to get to the bus stop, and a young man laughed, so we started talking. Turns out, he's a friend of the principal of the Maths school where I work.

People like to talk to me for some reason. Mostly, these are older folks, and it's eye-opening to hear what they think of the world. I never knew there were so many pessimists!

Several times, I've talked to folks, and they've told me stories of how there are such injustices in the world, and they're the only ones fighting back! There was a lady whose mother was robbed while they were downtown, so the lady clobbered the thief so badly that the next time he saw them, he crossed the street to avoid them. There was a man who entered a restaurant and saw a young lady leave her bag on the table and a ruffian pick up the bag and make as though to leave with it. The man picked the thief up by the collar and made such a commotion that the thief could never show his face at the restaurant again. There was a woman who saw a lady in a wheelchair was wanting to board the bus. There was a young boy sitting on a fold-away bus seat, and the woman told the boy, rather severely, that he'd have to move.

These struck me as painfully loveless solutions to painfully loveless problems. And it was on the bus that I decided that if I want to change this, I'd have to be the opposite. If someone steals from me, maybe that means I'll catch him and give him money instead of a beating.

...Anyway.


Talking to People

On the bus home, an elderly Oriental man took a seat in front of me. Near the end of the bus ride, he began coughing violently; so I tapped him on the shoulder and passed him a pack of cough drops. He thanked me over his shoulder; and we talked a little.

His English was poor, but he spoke Cantonese. Actually, his English was better than my Cantonese (which actually might not be saying much). I never asked his name--mostly because he never asked mine, and it really isn't important--but I'll call him Jim for the purposes of this blog entry.

Jim's from Vietnam. He told me he has a younger sister living in the States, and other siblings back in Vietnam. He works for a company that makes chairs; and on Sundays, he goes to a casino by himself. He has two sons; and he's a grandfather at 62 years.

And I wouldn't say I have amazing communication skills, but I'm even a little impressed we managed to exchange that much information. At one point, we switched to Cantonese, and I had to explain in my undoubtedly Canadian-accented Cantonese, "Sik tang siu-siu, sik gong siu dee," which means I can listen/understand a little, but I can speak less. I live at home with my parents and am the youngest of my siblings. My "dai-goa" lives in Germany, and my "yee-goa" lives on a different street.

It felt unreal to talk to Jim. We were talking across a fairly steep language barrier, two countries, two generations and 43 years. I could see bits of his world, but not understand their depth; and I'm sure it was the same for him.

So, when I got home that night, I told my mum how awesome it was. I'm not sure she quite understood it all, but that's okay, because I can keep explaining things to her and she'll keep trying to understand; and she'll try to explain things to me, and I'll think I understand them (though I probably don't), and it's okay, because she's still my mum and I'm still her daughter. I find that so incredibly comforting.

And when I grow up, I want to be someone who can communicate with anyone, no matter the kind of separation between us.

--Charissa