Me In Gibber

Reflection (12-20-00)

This is not a vehicle for self-praise, and this is not a thoughtful use of holiday propaganda—just a reflection.

This cold and snowy evening, I began the journey home from college to begin a much-awaited, and quite deserved, Christmas break from academics and extracurricular responsibilities.  The anxiety to go home had been brewing for a few days (ok, weeks), and this morning, I was tired.  The usual end-of-the-year activities at Fordham University, like packing, sorting papers, burning a few textbooks as satanic offerings, and such, drained me.  I wanted to go home to eat some real food, sleep in my warm bed, and greet an anticipating family.

On my walk to Penn Station, I passed by the New York Port Authority, and my “urgent” traveling was interrupted.  Sitting by a fence, a man incoherently yelled out to me.  Now, let me share that I was cold, had forgotten my Old Navy mittens at school, and just had to keep walking passed this obviously homeless man.  About five steps post-ignoring his mumbling, however, the good little Prin on my right shoulder scolded me for being so pathetic, or rather, apathetic.  “You’re not that cold, and you’re house is not burning down in the next ten minutes either!  What is your problem?”  I had to shut her up.

So, I turned around to slightly approach this middle-aged gentleman, and in hopes that my unpleasant demeanor would deter him from pursuing his request, asked in the unfriendliest manner, “What did you want?”  Damn!  He wanted “a pretzel or a coffee.”  There had been no food stands anywhere on my walk.  Of course, the one time I actually want two or three cheap vendors at every corner, they decide that it is Christmas!  I had just passed by a Dunkin Donuts though, and I figured it was a handy substitute.  So, I nodded at the man, and said, “ok.”

While I waited for “my” large coffee and warm buttered croissant, I thought of this man.  Of all times, I should have probably just thrown him a few bucks to get his own food.  After all, I had just been paid today, and was in a rush to get on my way, but somehow, here I was.  I walked back, and when he saw me standing next to him, he was startled that I was addressing him, but even more shocked when I handed him his “real food,” as he called it.  After thanking me, I began to walk away, but he said something that made me think all the way home.  He yelled, “Finally!  Somebody actually did something!”

I took these five words apart for the rest of my walk, throughout my train ride, and for most of the night.  “Actually” implied that I was not the only person who had ever nodded and said “ok” to him before.  As a human being, I became really hurt by the idea that the best I could do for this man was buy him Dunkin Donuts.  Here I was complaining about the rush hour jumble in my way of getting home, and there he still is without a home, much less an anticipating family.  I am sure he would have loved to feel my anxiety and exhaustion traveling to my destination, or at the very least, enjoyed to partake in some of the stress which is a byproduct of my collegiate education.  Yet, all my hard work will do nothing, and come my May graduation, my diploma will do nothing for him except label me as an educated person—how useful.

I suppose I am writing this, because I was a “somebody” today, and believe it or not, I thought I’d been being a somebody all this time.  I was wrong.  It was not until this incident that I reflected upon the worth of my existence and the effect my “values” have on others, which I concluded were none.  I cannot truly be “somebody” if I am sitting at my desk analyzing and translating medieval texts or acing research papers.  I cannot be a “somebody” by my popularity, using my room as the all-night harbor for my friends.  Those things are easy to do.  They are part of what I do, not who I am—just simple routine.

To be a “what” does not lead to being a “somebody.”  It is hard to stop and listen to incoherence.  It is even more difficult to stop my plans to incorporate someone else’s needs.  That takes wanting to mess up some part of my plan—no no, can’t have that happen, right?  Well, I came home late, missed dinner (had leftovers by myself), but I still made it to my house, which was not burning, to my family who was no more or less happy to see me, and to my bed, which still had a furry blanket.  Yes, I survived the alteration on my plans, and no catastrophic consequence came from buying a croissant and a cup of coffee, and being the bearer of a little humanity to someone who has been deprived of it, regardless of the reason.

In short, after this time of holiday cheer, post-shopping and running errands, I want to remain capable of embracing incoherence, to be a somebody for someone else.  I hope that my action this evening, possibly labeled as a kind one, was not a mere product of the surplus of niceness that occurs during the holidays.  I am a kind person, or at least, I should be, all the time, and I truly hope I am not the only one.