As I was listening to Claire de lune on my way to the Clinic, I was observing my entourage. Morning in Budapest. Subway. Mass transportation.
Numb people. Faceless stories, life of the masses. Children, women and men who are trying to get to their duty, forced to be side by side on some noisy train, heading towards their destination. Every one trying to “survive” the ride. Some are reading, some are listening to music or whatsoever on their headphones, some are just blinking in the nothingness.
As I was listening to Claire de lune on my way to the Clinic I was observing my entourage. Morning in Budapest. Subway. Mass transportation.
My vision blurred, but my mind was clear.
Awake people. Faces with stories behind, individual lives forced in a mass. Who will ever know these stories? Who will ever not judge about the crowd? About this morning of routine? Who will ever question the individuality of the masses?
I read once that people on public transportation seem like deprived, depressed, often misinterpreted, because this is a natural reaction to the closeness of strangers. But that’s not the necessarily the case. We are just protecting ourselves.
That’s why they looked numb to me. But these faceless stories have souls. These individuals have lives. Lives to carry on.
As I was listening to Claire de lune on my way to the Clinic, I was observing myself. I felt numb. I felt faceless. I had no story. Can you feel the numbness? Or the absence of the feeling gives you the impression of the anesthesia?
As I was wondering, I arrived to my destination. I left the subway, but the questions remained. For another routine morning. For another faceless ride.