Am I…

Alone?

No, a bird’s eye view around her reveals that she is amongst the uncountable New York’s busy, ant-like population walking along the 66th Magnolia Boulevard. A huge, flow of blacken lava flowing between the gaps of high flying skyscrapers, never ending, never broken. It was as the mythical Ouroboros, its head hunting its tail, a beginning with no end.

Under her breath beneath the dark grey canopy she curses her luck. Of all days her car breaks down today. And she have no choice but to travel 8 miles from her comfy studio apartment, now equipped with a brand new home theatre system, where she tunes into her favourite sitcoms all day long, hiding under a hand sewn quilt given to her by Ma, to where she works, 8 hours a day as a corporate slave to capitalism.

The subway then….

#$%&*@#$%&!@#$%&

But the worst is yet to come. Two days ago there was an impeding terrorist threat made on the subway system she used to travel on long before she procure her beloved but modest, second hand Mini Cooper. Now on high alert, there is simply too many security personnel along the subway stations to be able to commute smoothly. Everybody seems to be very conscious about being observed with hawk-like CCTV’s and leering, watchful eyes of those men in uniform. Ironically, both time and things seem to move far more slower when people actually behave themselves.

Might as well take the road then…

…since she is already doomed to be late for work through the works of miraculous force in work this fateful day.  But it is a grand spectacle, to look 50-60 feet in front and all you see is a multitude of people behind the backdrop of the dark grey horizon. Lost, in the sea of people, like a speck of grain in the Sahara Desert. Inevitably, she ponders quietly…

…nothing but a small  part of this vast world…

There was this philosophical work she read somewhere during one of those hair-dressing session in Salem not long ago, out of sheer boredom. It is hard to comprehend how that book could end up in a hair-dressing saloon, lying in wait for its noisy, bullish female patrons to flick through it with disinterested eyes, only to be tossed aside seeing no pictures nor illustration is included in it.

It was said that One is all, All is one. The One, being the source for everything, gives birth to All. All, which is everything, will eventually denigrate into nothingness, and such nothingness returns to the One. A never ending cycle, where the beginning leads to the end and the end give birth to the beginning.

So fascinating… 

So she is nothing but a part of this big, complex ecosystem, yet as minute as she seems to be, she is living part of this community. Having rarely need to interact with clients in her career, she is often perceived as quiet, unassuming, passive. She is no charismatic leader, and have remained an individualistic, independent worker after so many years. Yet her contribution to the society is immensely underappreciated; she helps design and regulate software for the great New York City’s traffic control, sewerage system and utility lines. Right at that moment, she imagines what will happen this this great city if she never exist.

For another while waves of emotions rush into her. It has been months since she was in a relationship, and is not in speaking terms with her father either. The nature of her job means that she often deals with computers, blueprints, maps, numbers…

So…Alone…

She breaks her stride and stop in her tracks all of the sudden, facing upwards as if making a plead to the Gods above. Yet nobody finds her sudden pause intruding or offensive, going on in their own way, simply avoiding her statuesque  figure by making a detour around her, then proceeding with longer strides to make up for lost time. If people are the cogs that  make the whole machine work, she seems rather unimportant, unnecessary, redundant. Life goes one with, or without her. The days roll by whether she runs or pauses. The world goes round and round, again, in a circle-like motion, years after years.

Am I alone?