That day, I met a stranger, but not in the way you normally meet strangers. We had barriers. Color pushed us apart. Language only farther. But it seemed like there was a far more critical problem at the root of our separation.
I saw him from afar, standing with who could only be his mother and little brother, and when our eyes met – he left.
I said, "bienvenidos", to Mama and her boy, and turned the corner to try and spread some more joy, and what I saw then and there, I could've never guessed, was a man too young with illegal on his chest. He was a boy, more or less about my age, forced to grow up at an early stage – in life, I could tell he didn't have a lot except for the hope that the next day he got he might be able to spend it with his mother and little brother, before his life ended. It was tragic.
And yet...
There he stood. Hunched over in front of me. Whether from exhaustion or fear or some other thing, he stood. Finger bones clutching at nothing, he stood. Maintaining a gaze that had weathered days and days of hardship, he stood. And even though he had nothing left, no home, no possessions, and no one to impress, he stood. I could tell he was ashamed of the way he knew he must have looked, and yet for me he stood. He afforded me this simple courtesy, he stood. What could have possessed him to think that I was worth even a single drop of sweat or even a single one of his precious breaths that he had left I do not know, but he stood. And though in the shadow of the privileged, he extended his hand to me. And I took it. And I shook it. And in that meaningless exchange, our eyes kept up, and our minds met up, and I understood. I smiled. And so did he. One of us meekly. The other one weakly. And in that fragile moment, just like that...
I learned to hate the monsters, who would choose to send them back.
