Moji

My Persian Life
2018-06-20 22:36:51 (UTC)

Maybe in another life

Dear diary,
In spite of my effort, the thoughts of my family rush back into my mind as I leave work. Perhaps the reason I enjoy teaching is that it takes my mind off them; like I'm on planet Marc. I take shorter steps. I don't want to get home ever tonight. "Better late than early," keep telling myself. Looking around, I encounter people I wish I could exchange my life with: a happy-looking couple exiting a supermarket, a joyful kid holding on to her mom's hand, an old man sitting on the curb reading the papers, or this soldier puffing his cigar. 5 minutes later, I find myself sitting on this empty chair on the train, gazing at the others, thinking how unfair life's been to my family. All of a sudden, I pull myself together before my stares annoy anyone. I take out my phone and keep reading 'Maybe in another life'.
Next stop, this medium-weight woman and her baby son squeeze themselves next to me, almost sitting on my lap. Though she apologizes, i don't say anything. Absorbed in the book, I feel her arms next to me, quivering. "Perhaps she's laughing with her son," I think, " Mind your own business." A few minutes later, another woman hands her something, which I think must be a piece of chocolate for her son from the corner of my eyes. She shakes more this time making me feel uncomfortable a bit. So I try to pull myself a bit away from her when I notice tissues in her hand. She's been crying silently all this long. My heart melts all of a sudden. I hate myself. All I want to do is to put my phone away, rest my head on her shoulder and be her crying-shoulder buddy.

Time: 12:09 a.m.




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