Today, I decided to venture on public transport and I can assure you it was the most uncomfortable choice I've made to date. It was Eid and since I was going with cousins and some friends to watch something, it seemed responsible to take the bus instead of hiring a car or doing something to cater more people than need be. I set off on foot to a few streets down where I was confronted with the shelter-like construction known as the bus stop - a haven for thugs and the elderly alike. I stood up for some time enjoying the outdoors, the views around me and the shoppers running around like lice. I entertained myself with what I thought people had inside their shopping bags. I sat down minutes later as my fragile legs couldn't handle the thrusts of the wind and to my surprise I was coincidentally approached by a big black man. This is my first interaction with a black man following my enlightenment on Bantus might I add. He leaned towards me slanting his back whilst placing himself against against the bus stop structure as if his body had extended him too far to interact with humans. I anticipated some form of karma because of what I had been saying about his kind - luckily, I didn't panic and kept my composure but soon after he uttered the words "do you know where ______ is" I began to lose my sense of self and quickly answered as if obediently "yes urm..." with a crackle in my voice in fear of the consequences had I not happened to know where the place is. I pointed in the direction that I assumed it was, since I do have a visual recollection of the area I live in but he wanted the specifics and said "do you know where it exactly is?" and the hand I had pointed to the direction was shaking and I gripped it with my other hand and maneuvered my wrist to my lap in case he saw my vulnerability and decided to strike. However, I shook my head and expressed apology with a "sorry... no..." at the end of a tilt to the side. I lie to you not, he looked at me with such disdain within a small frame of time that I felt it run through me and I shivered only for him to notice and give me a look of disregard before walking away with a slightly confused face.
I sat there moments after he left with the wind in my face contemplating if that had been a karma for my beliefs but I thought it couldn't be since that was on the internet and this is real life. In real life, I have no problem against blacks, I reassured myself. Besides, he only asked me for directions not citizenship in Jubaland. Surrounded by one lady carrying a forever 21 bag in one hand and a strawberry Starbucks frappacino in the other I felt safe, what could she possibly do? Strangle me with cheap polyester that would tear the moment it was placed against my neck? We gave each other a few looks, nothing negative - it was more of a acknowledgement of each others existence and the bus eventually came as we grew tired of each others sight. I swiftly got up from my seat (which I had warmed up rather well!) and hopped onto the bus to continue my journey into London.
I paid the driver for a ride's worth and he gave me a ticket when I then moved into the corridors of the bus momentarily deciding where was best to sit - and the verdict was downstairs, right in between a few middle aged white women at the back. What could possibly go wrong I thought? Blonde, nails done and talking about a trivial subject - it was as if I had been paired with a reflection of my self (joke). I felt rather intrusive listening in to the conversations of the working class but it was a cultural experience, I now see how they differ from their ruling peers and I had learned which time 'Come dine with me' would grace the TV screen. Lone behold as I'm enjoying the marvelous architecture of Sloane Street in the window view, one of the women start screaming at a mobile phone about who cheated on who. Instantly, it was as if I was caged between primates in the midst of a safari. I felt threatened and wondered if I would make it out safely or with a acrylic nail covered in pork scratching stuck in my cheek. The two women who appear to be have business outside the small circumference of the bus immediately began arguing and I'm placed - unfortunately, in between them. It became louder and more profanity found its way into the heated exchange. I excused myself with an attitude overcoming the obstacle of their shopping bags and walked towards the stairs. I climbed the steps and stood at the top to take a look at the members who have subscribed to the world of upstairs. Three black boys covered in silver with gangster representations emblazoned on their chests connect with my eyes. I could either sign myself up for trouble and sit upstairs or I could sign myself up for trouble and run away back downstairs. The choice was mine....
~Part 2 if people want to know what happened next
NO, that maxim is absolutely FALSE! Writing is not something that everyone can do, nor should everyone who could put words together become a writer. It is a skill, that takes practice, determination, patience, talent, and passion. This is not a criticism of Hydrogen, but of this silly notion that writing is open to everyone.
