The hidden.

lost boy // ruth b

Sometimes we’re too carried away with our daily lives; driving on the road through the traffic lights, meeting new people, watching the pedestrians cross the streets, catching up with your old friends you haven’t met for some time, boarding the bus to your work place, going to your favourite coffee shop to buy your favourite coffee. It’s all a cycle. You did it today, you’ll do it tomorrow and the day after that.

But how many times a day do we stop to observe the people around us?

We never really know. The driver you drove past in the early morning. What if he or she was actually thinking about the ill child, bedridden, who has nothing other than the hospital walls to stare at while his/her parents are working to find money for treatment fees? The pedestrians you saw crossing the streets, holding hands. What if that act of affection was also an act of protectiveness, engendered by a tragic loss that occurred to someone they loved, months or maybe years before? And the girl you saw on the bus, hiding her face in her book, isolated from the many people around her. What if she has witnessed someone walking out of her life, leading her to feel unworthy and causing her to put her guard up by immersing herself in the words printed on papers to avoid getting hurt and stepped on again and again? That man standing in front of you while you were queuing to buy a cup of coffee. What if he ordered that particular type of coffee because it reminded him of someone he never thought he would lose?

Each and every one of us has a story. Each and every one of us has dealt or is dealing with something that will always be a part of us to haunt and remind us that we’re only humans; sometimes fragile and vulnerable, the other times resilient and strong-willed. Things happen to us. We can never envisage the coming adversity despite how cautious or prudent we are. Sporadically, we find it hard to accept it. We can’t understand why those things happen, which makes it twice as hard to fully accept it. After all, we’re skin and bones; accompanied by emotions, doubts and worries.

Still, we’re here. You’re here. We’re still walking on this earth, trying our best to live. And if that’s not heroic enough, nothing else is.


On this specific date, I let myself remember a person whom I thought I would never have to live a day without.


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