I dislike crowded places. I dislike it when strangers stand in close proximity to me. I dislike it when they get to my personal space, although the irony is I’m in a public place. I dislike it when somebody’s hair get in my face, i dislike it when they stand too close and their body touches mine. I dislike it when they move too slowly, or when their trolley rolls over my feet. I dislike it when they are carrying bulky items and it swings against me with the rhythm of the moving train. I don’t know how Jesus endured crowded places, other than the fact that he had compassion on them.
Yet, when i look at all these strange faces, i remember that a heart beats within them. There is something within them that screams to be alive. More than the physical body, more than what they are doing, more than what the internet says, more than themselves.
It’s like how sometimes i look in the mirror and i wonder what is and who is this queer person behind the body and i realise it’s me. I know it sounds like a foolish thing to say but when i put myself out of context, i see i that I’m just a me. I’m just an insignificant person out of billions. I don’t matter. Nobody knows me. People won’t remember me when i die.
It’s the same for all the other millions and billions of faces that i see everyday. Every pain, every heartache, masked. I’m not insinuating that they are pretentious, but i think to some extent we become pretentious unconsciously when we struggle to keep a perfect life.
But there is a person who knows them. That person is not me. That person is praying for them in the heavenly realms. And when we are troubled with the cares of life, what solace it is to know that somebody out there cares. I hope they know that He cares.