8 P.M. Friday, 1 train
As I walk down into the crowded zoo that is the 42nd street Times Square 1,2,3 Station, I think to myself what I would give to have my own motor vehicle right now, literally anything from a jetpack to a motorcycle would be sufficient. The station is hot and commuters are becoming impatient as they perspire. The crowd is not surprising, women in heels accompanied by other women in heels or a man dressed in something tailored and J. Crew. I take out a water bottle from my backpack. Hot. No, not hot, sweltering. I start walking towards the other end of the platform to possibly find a map and get a better estimate of how much time my commute is going to take. I gradually make my way to the other side of the platform, just as I start fiddling in my bag for my headphones. I hear a wonderful voice renditioning "My Girl". As I approach closer, the woman singing stands next to a little boy who looks about 7 or 8. I stand in the crowd surrounding the duo and slowly my attention span sways to my phone to play Candy Crush, until suddenly a young powerhouse voice revels the whole entire station with shock of how such a small person can let out such a big voice. I am astounded, so astounded that I actually give money! Something about a young struggling singer really tugs on my heart strings, especially one singing My Girl. The beauty of it was that sometimes you are very likely to find a below average performance, but other times you can have your mind blown. Their voice is their instrument and their train car is their venue and they put their heart on their sleeve to let thousands of strangers listen and donate if they feel compelled, that's essentially the role of an entertainer.
2 A.M Thursday, 4 train
It's one of those nights, and by those nights I mean its past midnight. So, I have to wait forever for the train. From what I've encountered, most people on the train at this time are either heavily inebriated or homeless, needless to say I am not excited. I sit down on the available bench and try to escape the rest of the world with my portal to music through headphones and close my eyes and breathe deeply. I feel a gentle pat on my leg. I open my eyes to find a younger gentlemen in his late 20's looking right at me. "Yes?" The words race out of my mouth, what could anyone have to ask, let alone say at this hour?
The man looked down and smiled,"Well, originally, I was alone and I'm not from here so I wanted someone to speak to somebody, but then I saw you were very beautiful, so I forgot what I wanted to say." Flattered, yet slightly confused, I utter, "Oh, well hello," I didn't comprehend in my mind how unordinary it was for someone to want to talk to a stranger if they're bored. Suddenly, out of nowhere I blurt out, "Do people do that where you're from?" The man looked up with a pondering face, "I guess no, not really. I don't really do it much either. But, it's 2 A.M. in New York City. Live a little," and walked away. That struck me. What did he mean? Why wasn't I living? What did he consider living? Was he insinuating that after a certain point of nightfall that it is okay to talk to strangers? I decided to answer all these questions on my train ride home. Most New Yorkers are stuck in their own bubbles, and simply do not care about anything except getting home or work or their destination in general. Our mentality seems to be, everyone for themselves.
3 P.M. Sunday F Train
Sluggish Sundays. All I can say is I am going home from my best friend's house and I am not happy because I am tired. Honestly, I just want the train ride to zoom by because if it doesn't, I will certainly sleep through my stop. The train car is pretty empty, so I take that as a sign to get lost in my music and thoughts. "Hello everyone," a tall urban man rises and says, "my name is Jonathan and I am raising awareness for sick children in the hospital, like my sister Janelle, and if you like what you see, please give a donation. My best form of expression is my dance, and I'm not very good with my words." I take off my headphones, as my interest is peaked because I was once a dancer. Jonathan takes out a mini boom box out of his backpack and sets it on the ground and presses play. The whole train cart then becomes his stage. He began to breakdance and swing through the poles. All his movements were flowing and fluid. The beat was clearly, an instrumental hip hop beat and everything he did was natural. After, he was finished, I gave him a thumbs up. "Thank you for your story," I said.
I hope everyone picked up even the littlest of somethings from my blog. I hope the blog provided informative or entertaining information that one could carry with them. My adventures will continue and I know y'all will also have adventures that are worth telling. Everyone needs to share their story, because your story is your journey.
Please stand by for the closing doors
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