Does my life have meaning?
This one question flawlessly summarized Daciana's all other difficult questions.
Of course, she wasn't thinking about this often. Most days, she was too busy to even think at all. Most days, she woke up early, ate breakfast in 10 minutes, rushed to work, and left the office around 5:00 PM. Once she was back home, her schedule was timed so that she could go to bed at a decent time, only to repeat the process again and again.
Once in a while, though, Daciana reverted to thinking about this. Because some days she would still get incredibly lonely... or maybe just bored with living the same routine every day. Those days, she would wonder if there was anything left to see other than what she had already seen, if there was anything out there that could still surprise her, or if she'd just get older and weaker and more powerless and then die without any real accomplishment. And then, she would try to expand on what a good accomplishment would be, but it would be hard to answer. Because what is truly important? Would fame or fortune be the answer? Unlikely. She was making more than she needed to support a decent living, and she didn't feel like having more money would have made her happier. She also decided early in life that fame was not what she desired and that privacy was infinitely more important to her. What then? Being remembered? Making one person's day a bit better or, almost the opposite, doing something for Humanity? Probably not. She looked around and saw the world around her move at an incredible pace; the society she grew up in slowly dying down, and she knew she would eventually be left behind.
She had just turned 40, and this was the one question she always returned to. At first, she pushed the thought aside. When the question lingered and haunted her like a restless spirit, she had to admit to herself that this would not go away. And, once again, the realization tore into her like an iron-hot dagger. For months in a row, she cried herself to sleep, feeling more lost and unsure about her life than she'd ever been. She tried to convince herself that it was okay and clung to other small things that seemed to make her happy. Still, she always saw the truth eventually, and it brought her only misery. And, somehow, at some strange point in time, she got used to it. The same way you get used to the pain from a previous injury that healed but never entirely went away. You know that it's there, that there's little you can do about it, so you just accept it and work your way around it. And it was at this point that she decided she was going to survive this... and live gracefully and intentionally.
"If you think about it, we are all survivors. All of us have been through so much, and we are all still here. We survived injuries and accidents, our childhood, our teenage years, broken hearts and exams, job interviews and really terrible managers, embarrassments and unlucky situations, rude people, people who don't know how to drive well, violent people - physically and emotionally, sickness, death of loved ones, death of hope. And despite all of it, we all made it to today. And that is powerful."
She thought about it all and decided she wouldn't be swept away randomly, like an empty bag in the wind. She would be the hero of her own story and gracefully take charge. Starting with the irritating guy sitting next to her on the metro.
He sat beside her and then splayed his legs onto her space like she wasn't even there. Uh! She hated to be touched by strangers and despised feeling their body heat creep into her limbs like a parasite. As much as she tried to wrap her brain around it, she could not comprehend how other human beings could be so oblivious to others...
"Would you mind moving your leg a bit? I don't have much space on my side of the bench." she lowered her voice to caution without embarrassing him.
Despite the universal belief in the classic portrait of good versus evil, she didn't believe that human beings were simple enough to be characterized in two words. They were a sum of everything that happened to them before. They were a summary of life lessons from every experience, not just good or evil. And sometimes, some had a bad day, month, or year... and were so lost in their worries that they did not look around.
"If you don't like it, you can just stand, sweetie," he gritted quietly, pushing her even more with his knee.
Then, some would take advantage of their more robust, more imposing physique, hoping to intimidate the small-framed woman sitting next to them.
Society has evolved, and women's status has changed a lot over the years. Yet, there are still some things a woman cannot and should not do. Ever. Yelling is one of these things. No matter how infuriating some situations are, the moment a woman's voice raises, she is automatically labelled as "hysterical" and loses any sympathies she would have otherwise gained. And while women had to face micro (and macro) aggressions most of their lives, most of them have adapted and developed particular skills to combat precisely these types of situations.
"Please stop touching my leg!" Technically, it was not a lie. This time, her voice was loud enough for the people in the cart to raise their heads from their cell phones, books, or tablets (but mostly cell phones). That's right. Two can play this game.
"What are you talking about?" Somebody was not expecting her to talk back, and that same somebody was now unhappy with the attention they received.
"You're making me really uncomfortable." Words said with a slight inflection in her voice, not enough to sound whiny but sufficient to generate an emotional response.
With enough experience, the world truly becomes a stage. The audience wants to be entertained and drawn in. It wants to clap for you, laugh and cry with you, and it will happily do it if your performance is good. So why not give it exactly what it wants?
"Lady, you're being ridiculous." And just like that, her status was elevated from "sweetie" to "lady." Who said making progress was hard? It was just a matter of seconds now... 1... 2...
"You should be ashamed of yourself! In this day and age, with so many people present, you dare do something like this?" Of course, another woman spoke first because women have known their share of abuse; they recognize it with ease and understand the dangers right away. Is there anything more noble than someone just as helpless as yourself jumping in to help and save you? She wanted to hug her for it.
"Get up right now," A young man this time, taller and fitter than the one sitting next to her. Maybe not a man of many words, but a man of action, already lifting the powerless perpetrator by his right arm.
Another man jumped in and reached for his left arm. Humans are indeed something else, something so beautiful. We don't always react instantaneously; we watch and assess cautiously, making sure we understand a situation and analyze the risk. But when a threat to our kind becomes evident, we are a force to be reckoned with. And she was one of them right now.
More voices joined in, supporting her wholeheartedly.
"I wonder what your wife would have to say about that!" She wondered if they would notice his wedding ring, and this remark came from the perfect person. Because there could not have been anyone better to note a deep character flaw than a woman who looks like a sweet grandmother.
People became enraged. Many asked her if she was okay. A couple asked her if she wanted to press charges.
"No," she declined politely. "I just don't want him sitting next to me."
They clearly did not want him sitting next to anyone anymore because he was being pushed towards the metro doors as they neared a stop. They opened with a whoosh, and, in a second, the guy was out. A few people got in – slightly confused about the apparent uproar. Still, he would stay out because a few men positioned themselves in front of the entrance and guarded it against any uninvited entrance. She wondered if this would make him change his attitude in the future. Yes, he may feel embarrassed and not take the metro around this time for a while, but would he genuinely learn something from it?
She thanked people who helped, and even though he was found guilty of a crime different from the one he committed through (almost) no intervention on her part, she was genuinely grateful to see kindness, courage, and Humanity in so many strangers.
She also had to get out at the next stop, and a few more passengers offered their sympathies before she exited. When they apply themselves, people can be truly astonishing. Even her. Especially her.
*
The chill evening air bit into her feverish cheekbones almost instantaneously. She put up her hood and fixed her thick wool scarf but couldn't resist a sly smile at the icy kisses on her face when her core, arms, and legs felt warm.
As her eyes got used to the darkness outside the metro station building, a new world unravelled with each step she took. Some faces she already knew, some were new, and most of the people who had been exiting the metro were the ones she saw every day at this time. Secretly, she knew many interesting and exciting things about each of them.
Most means of transportation would make her dizzy the moment she stared at a phone screen or tried to read a book, so she did a lot of subtle people-watching instead. She had no malicious intent; she just liked people and their stories. She always did. Funnily enough, after you've seen someone so many times, heard them, and seen them interact with others, a feeling of familiarity ensues, and they somehow feel as close as an acquaintance or a friend.
A 20-year-old rushed past her and left her behind in less than 10 seconds. This was Selima. Based on the badge she spotted around her neck several times, she was a nurse downtown, and the woman had only one speed: walking as if someone's life depended on it. She must have worked 12-hour shifts most often – as her coat was always too hot for the afternoon weather but always warm enough for leaving the house at 5 AM. She suspected Selima experienced things most people her age would not think of. She certainly saw more than her share of deaths in the 2020s - when she was coming back home, and her blue mask could not hide the nose and cheek bruises of the other type of mask she wore at work. Selima was a typical 20-year-old most of the time, always listening to the latest pop songs in her headset, often snacking on a variety of unhealthy but delicious snacks while scrolling through reel after reel on her cellphone, laughing with her entire being whenever her Bestie gave her "the scoop" and fiercely rocking her favourite colour: pink. But she could change in one second. There was this time when someone fainted in the metro, and Selima was next to them in a matter of seconds, suddenly serious and responsible, directing others around what to do.
One moment in front of her eyes and the next gone like a theatre curtain, the girl made room for Daciana to see an old acquaintance.
"Hey, Jarah. How are you today?"
Jarah was always here. He owned a food truck. Moreover, his food smelled and tasted divine, especially whenever she had to stay late at work and was too famished to wait until she got home to eat. He also sold the most amazing tiny dough balls, dripping with honey syrup.
"Nice to see you, miss." He was very kind and friendly but probably forgot her name the day she introduced herself and could not dare to ask her again. Instead, he called her "miss" every time.
"How was work today? Did you discover any new species?" He asked this often, but he also genuinely cared what the answer was. Before owning the food truck, Jarah had been working in research for a very long time. Several years prior, he had gotten tired of the organization's culture and took a leap of faith toward his other passion, cooking. Based on his perpetual smile, he seemed to have never been happier. Despite this, some part of him still longed for the thrill of discovering something new and contributing to the history of Humanity more than just by filling up some hungry stomach.
"Not today, Jarah. Maybe tomorrow. What do you have good today? I know someone who could use your food right now."
"The chicken is the best. Not because I made it but because it came out heavenly. I marinated it longer than usual. Everyone praised it this evening."
"Excellent. I'll take a portion. Please add my favourite dessert". Daciana always loved seeing Jarah's face when she mentioned how much she loved those honey bites. Without exception, his face lit up, and his entire body straightened with pride.
As Jarah started working on the food, a woman in her mid-late 30s dragged her daughter by the hand past her. This was Maria. She knew her name because she had sat next to her once, and Maria had been on her phone the entire time. Her fairly loud sister, Carmen, called her by her name several times and asked her for money, but Maria did not give in – as Carmen had not paid her back last time. At that point, Carmen decided she had nothing to lose and turned vicious in a challenge to point out any flaws that Maria had. Daciana guessed Maria was the older sister based on how composed she responded.
Nevertheless, when she hung up her phone, Maria looked like she was about to cry. Maybe because she was in public or because her daughter, Olivia, was there; she swallowed her tears and tried to look like she was okay. She had nothing to feel sorry about, as Maria struggled to make ends meet herself – based on how Olivia had been wearing the same old jacket all winter last year and had just brought it out again now that the weather was getting colder.
Maria worked in housekeeping – she knew this because she had seen her freshly washed uniform peak from a bag she had carried a morning several months ago. However, Daciana suspected that Maria didn't have full-time status yet – as she saw her only on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
What she liked the most about Maria was the way she interacted with her daughter: always a smile on her face, always patient and explaining anything before asking her to do anything, always playful (even when she looked exhausted), starting a game or a riddle. Had she met Maria earlier, she may have wanted children herself.
"Here you go, miss. Enjoy!" Jarah said, handing her a brown bag of fuming hot goodies.
"There won't be a more enjoyed dish tonight than the one in this bag," she said with a smile, and he showed all his teeth in response.
As she started walking again, a good-looking couple passed her. They were dressed as if they had just gone out on a date. He wore a nice wool jacket, and she wore a red and white polka dot dress hemming down under her wool coat. They were walking silently, but she couldn't help noticing how the woman walked just a few inches behind, almost dragging her feet, and that her eyes and face seemed red. So sad. "Hug her, you fool!" she wanted to shout. "Love is the most precious gift one can receive, and it should not be wasted on foolish arguments. After all, some people would sell their soul for another moment with their loved one". But, of course, she said nothing, and these two also left her sight soon after, allowing Daciana to focus on finding the person she most looked forward to seeing tonight.
A part of her abdomen was getting hot from the brown bag she still carried, but she spotted him quickly. A homeless man who must have been in his 70s, frail, with a few missing teeth, bundled up in a dirty jacket and a thin flowery duvet that he must have found thrown out somewhere. At his usual spot. Well, his secluded spot for the last week and a half, where he retreated after a few other younger homeless men chased him away a few streets down – where people were more inclined to spare a coin or two for people without a shelter at night.
"Hi, Grandpa!"
"Hello, young lady," he replied, and his voice betrayed his surprise at seeing that someone paid attention to him after dark.
"Hope you don't mind me asking, but did you eat tonight? I bought a spare portion of chicken and did not want it to go to waste." She'd seen him before, clearly struggling but also trying to do anything by himself, someone who was so let down by others that he barely trusted anybody and wanted as little help as possible. Someone who, just like her, could use a little more hope right now.
"If it's extra, I'll take it. I was too busy this afternoon and forgot to eat".
"Here you go. There's also a bit of dessert left in there, too. Hope you like it."
"Bodgaproste. God bless you!" He didn't know she knew what that first word meant. He said it so fast that she could have easily dismissed it as a meaningless mumble. Still, her Romanian grandmother had spoken this word every time she gave away food or clothes in the memory of her grandfather. "May God forgive!" – your loved ones who passed away. She knew he was Romanian; he had heard him curse at those punks that day, but there wasn't anything else that he could have done as they towered over him.
As far as God was concerned, Daciana didn't believe that there was a God out there or that she would be rewarded for her deeds on Earth. Instead, she chose to believe in the incredible joy she felt when she watched someone be happy with something as trivial as food. So, every once in a while, Daciana tried to give people some happiness. Maybe it was selfish, but she did this when she had an especially hard time, a tough day, a moment that reminded her of her nothingness. Giving felt good, and she needed all the good she could get now.
As the old man took his first bite of the steamy hot food, Daciana let her legs take her on their usual route. When she reached the bus stop, the bus was making its way around the corner, so she waited for it to arrive and open its doors. The couple from earlier was already waiting there and made their way in before her, finding a place on a two-seater in the back.
"Good evening," she said from the stairs. Bus drivers changed routes every few months, and this one had been with them for a month already, so she knew him, too. He was a thinner older gentleman, which she guessed was because of his smoking habit based on the scent he gave out every time she got on. He had lovely manners and always said "Hello" back to her. However, he bloomed when she stopped and asked him about his day – as if no one had done this before her. He knew exactly where she got out and, once she wanted to buy something at a store one bus stop further, he stopped the bus at her usual stop even when nobody had pushed the button. Just because she hadn't advised him ahead of time.
"I need a walk today. I just did not want you to be worried," Daciana said to the man.
"Are you sure? It's pretty dark outside..."
"Yes, thank you. I like the cool air, and it's not very far". It really wasn't. Daciana took the bus most days because she had things to do at home and was trying to save a few minutes. Still, today, she needed some downtime – to think, to sulk, to do anything but stay home and busy.
"See you on Monday then?"
"Absolutely! Have a wonderful evening."
As the bus closed its doors and pushed away to disappear into the night, Daciana shoved her hands in her pockets and, in no rush to get anywhere, braced the glittering boulevard.
Everything else was closed at this time, except for one or two convenience stores that would only shut their doors before midnight. Still, the lights in the windows lit up the sidewalk in inviting yellow hues. Behind the glass windows were shiny new shoes, tiered cakes with frosting, gorgeously decorated cupcakes, handmade soaps, new books with the best titles, flowers, and pink-white flower arrangements, and a Christmas-themed store full of decorations. All of them were inviting, sharing only a touch of the magic promise they were offering, enough to make you want to come back.
The closer she got to her apartment, the rarer people sights became, and even when she saw them, they were in such a rush to get somewhere else that she only got to see them for a few seconds. So she walked quietly. And just like the chilly wind of the evening was trying to creep into her body, the quiet also brought in her inner voice. With it, the thoughts came back, one by one. And, even though her legs were still moving, this time, she didn't have it in her to come back with some empowering message. So she rolled with them, listened to them for yet another time, let her heart shrink, and her eyes fall in resignation. Because she had no more answers.
And then she saw it: a new graffiti – not on the walls of the tiny pet supply store next to her, but directly on the pavement.
"AWAKE!" in bold yellow letters stood out brightly on the dark grey cement.
"Awake from what?" she thought. Was this one of those useless messages of people being afraid that the government, aliens, or even the healthcare system controls them – people who are not aware that we are all alone in this and that nobody cares? Or was this some other type of awakening?
She wanted to wake up for a few years now, hoping it was all a bad dream and not feel anything she felt during this time. A cold shiver went through her just at the thought of it. Still, it had no time to linger as a couple of loud voices took her focus away towards a dark alleyway between this souvenir place and the new tea spot that showed up last week and gave everyone complimentary tea. Of course, none of the businesses was open now, and other than her and the voices, nobody could see or hear what was happening.
Being alone most of the time, she avoided dangerous situations. While talking her way out may have been a good option, she always found the best defence mechanism to be prevention by circumventing any potential threat. Daciana intentionally did not go close to places where her presence could cause an unwanted reaction - like construction sites; she avoided taking taxis in the evening because she did not feel safe being driven by a stranger; she always walked on the side of the road where cars did not park – so that no one could hide behind these and so that she could be easily spotted in case she would be attacked. Most importantly, as a general rule, she did not insert herself in a situation that she thought was risky.
She should avoid this one, too. That was the sane thing to do, right?
She found herself on a sidewalk that was not well-lit, still hidden behind the cover of darkness. She could walk fast, and no one would even notice she was there. Except she saw them...
A guy yelling at a woman about something she did... About not offering to pay when the server brought him the check, "even when he paid the last time," about making him feel that he was less of a man if he didn't pay. Ew, what a douchebag! The woman was crying and trying to defend herself, saying she didn't mean any of that, saying she'd pay for all of it, and trembling in her red and white polka dot dress. The man saying she'll pay over and above. And then hitting her right over her face and getting ready to slap her again. Oh, no!
"911, What's your emergency?"
"Please send help at the intersection of Old Brewery and Des Pins. A guy is hitting his girlfriend. You can probably hear them in the background," Daciana said in her lowest voice. "Did you get that? Des Pins and Old Brewery."
"Yes, mam. Des Pins and Old Brewery" and afterwards asked a question Daciana no longer heard.
She should stay away. It was the smart thing to do, right?
But she couldn't this time. The police could take too long to arrive. Any second counted for that poor girl.
"Happy birthday to me!" she whispered to herself as she zipped the cell phone still on the call in her pocket and headed towards the guy:
"Get your hands off her right now!"