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Aug 30. 2018
I was always caught up looking passengers of trains, boats or buses and trying to imagine the stories behind them. I thought that in a ride like that different people stories are hidden as long as you can listen carefully.
So yesterday on my way to the port, when I sat on my seat, I saw a co-passenger in front of me. She was at her fifties, elegant. Her look caught my eye. She looked preoccupied like something had worried her too much. She was staring outside of the window and it was like the muscles of her eyes were disintegrating, like the ones on her lips. Even if she wasn't talking to anyone it looked like this woman had so many internal dialogs like she was talking to herself or like she was rehearsing something she would say to someone. Throughout the whole ride, her eyes and her mouth made silent dialogs. I was wondering what she could be thinking, what worried her. I saw her pressing the button and getting off the stop near the Police-office... I made a guess that she might have lost something precious or maybe she would do a grievance to something or someone who tortured her. Who knows...
At the same bus stop, a young girl got on, about 19-20. So beautiful, like a Greek goddess, with a proud stature, haughty. I looked at her face, she was calm, with the determination that marks youth. In her wrist, there was a tattoo. I supposed that she would have illustrated permanently on her skin an idea or value which is quite powerful through teen years about love or someone's name. I was wrong. Looking more carefully I discerned written on her wrist the word: ''Latin''. Maybe this young girl felt happy dancing. After some time, she took out her phone and started typing quickly until she was sunk down into it...
Next to her was sitting an old woman, over 80 years old. She was dressed in black, her hair was white gathered in a bun back at her head. Her phone rang, and I heard her saying: "I'm on the bus. I found the medicine. I'm on my way." Maybe she was taking care of someone waiting for her at home. Proud senescence, fighting life at that age. I was wondering if she had any children who could help her, so she wouldn't torment herself at 80.
My thoughts were interrupted by a couple´s dialogue who got on at the next stop. They were two young kids, he carried two suitcases and the girl was right next to him. They sat behind me. I heard him sighing. But the girl was happy. They were talking about how they would get a seat on the boat, where would they leave their stuff and when would they reach their destination. What time would they fly for Berlin. They would go abroad. "Are you happy?" the young man asked her. She responded affirmatively laughing. They kept on talking about their trip abroad and the job that was waiting for them...They were leaving too... Together...
How many parallel lives and stories, co-passengers on the same ride but with different destinations. In Greece of crisis, some people’s stories look like they converge, some of them are sad and others are happy.
