Jun 27, 2012




She sits in my direct line of vision, tucked tightly in the corner of the unused train doors her knees pulled up tightly under her chin as she pushes herself in more snugly. Her hands moved restlessly from her head to press up against her eyes to stretch out in front on her knees. Her face a puffy red mass, a combination of crying and alcohol, I have learnt long ago to recognize the tell-tale signs of too much alcohol. Her eyes were hunted and filled with unshed tears as she seem to struggle with some inner demon. She mumbles incoherently in a sad monotone. Her companion staggering above her hands her a water bottle. She takes it drinking its contents with the sadist look shadowing her face, her eyes etched with pain.

“I can’t take this,” she says softly turning her hands left, right, bending them at the elbows revealing deep reddish brown bruises. She lifts her shirt gingerly as if in physical pain to show her companion her stomach; around the inside and around the navel area is a large horizontal deep angry crimson, purple, blue bruise. Her companion straightens unsteadily, searches his knapsack and pulls out a fifth of bourbon; breaking the seal he takes a swig and passes it to her. She hesitates slightly and he nudges her, encouraging her to drink up. I mentally speculated, ‘to easy the pain, numb the memory of the brutality visited upon her and evident on her body?’ As she takes a deep breath, put it to her mouth, tilt her head back and drink shivering visibly as the sting of the alcohol scorch its way down her throat.

My heart broke at the sight, horrified at the physical wounds on her body and the emotional wounds that shone from her eyes that undoubtedly stained her soul. My heart bled. I prayed for the healing of her mind, her body her spirit, her soul. Unable to bare witness any longer to her naked pain, I got up, moving three seats down away from the sight, away from my direct line of vision. I prayed. My heart bled. I prayed.



Crossing the road on Bathurst and Queen near Augusta some Mercy For Animals protestors holding up signs.  SAM_3796 I asked people eat horse? Yes! Yes! Were the resounding answers from passionate protestors, Na├»ve as I were they explained as I took their information card and photos after they granted permission and mosey on my way. I didn’t enter the debate. I simply listened as they spoke and as passer-by's weighed in to defend their right to eat meat. Though horses were the primary subjects of the protest, pigs, chickens, cows i.e. all animals (any form of meat/poultry) were also targets for eating prohibition. They (Mercy For Animals) promotes strictly a vegetarian life style.SAM_3795



fartWe all sat waiting for the bus at the subway station. It was early evening. To my right sat a Muslim woman and her daughter and a Caucasian woman and her female companion. A little space away to my left sat a dark skinned elderly south Asian man. He sat quietly erect, back straight staring straight ahead. Then suddenly from my peripheral vision I saw him eased his right hip up slightly to his left and then it happened. He farted. He farted like a machine gun, ratta-tata, tata tata tata tata tata tata tata tata tata. Shocked at the loud sound I turned to look at him. He remained stoic, no emotion showed on his face, he didn’t seem to blink or give rise to the fact that he farted as loud as a heart attack.  I just busted out laughing; it was just to ridiculous and hilarious all at the same time. He didn’t react. I couldn’t stop laughing.


Liebster (beloved)-Blog-AwardI received the Liebster Blog award from Shouldn’t Life Be More Than This, thank you so much, your gift and the spirit of is very much appreciated. LIEBSTER means “favourite or beloved”

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