There is a blind man on the TTC, asking for help. I didn’t see him initially; I heard him rhythmically asking “please help me”, which I thought was better than asking for change. It resonated. I needed help too. In general, for survival I needed help. We all do. It’s tough out there. Maybe if I help him someone would help me, or even better, maybe the whole wide universe itself would. When the repeating plea got closer, I turned around and saw that he was blind, finding his way through the crowd with a white mobility cane. In the space between us, there was a tall passenger–male-looking–who as I turned raised his voice to the person next to him “did you just push the blind?”. I dig in my bag and find a $5 bill. I rarely have cash on me; it’s left over for buying drugs earlier that week. Dealers never accept charges or transfers. Cash is king. I place the bill on top of the coins in the blind man’s palm, and immediately think that he is probably hoping it’s more than $5. “Thank you very much, Miss!”, he mumbled in between his repetitive mantra, and kept going–unphased. “Did he say Miss?”, the tall passenger rhetorically asked in a lower tone, then rolled his eyes while throwing his arm up “oh well the whole world is fucked-up”.
Holding a decent cup of coffee, and an iPhone, I nod and look down at my worn out sneakers. I like that they are worn out; it’s part of the outfit.
I have to have hope that the whole world isn’t fucked up. To be able to go on, have motivation, I require hope. I need it to not jump out of a window; leave a mess. If the world is more fucked-up than when, for example, the Nanjin Massare happened, then there is no hope to go on in life. If we are devolving, let’s stop. Let’s end it. Why proceed any further? I have to have hope that we are learning. Even as a misanthrope, I have to have hope that increment by increment everything, inclusive of humans, is going away from the fucked-up. I hope that, at molecule levels, at least, we are transmuting the fucked-upness. I have to have hope. In fact, I have hope. I have hope that life is meaningful. I have hope that as a collective, we are evolving towards light. I have hope that love is light, and will win over fear eventually. I have hope that humanity is becoming less and less self-centred, Ego-driven. I have hope that we are healing generational traumas. I have hope that–someday–I’d truly see myself, and I hope that it would be worth the tumultuous path, the growing pains, the lessons, the Sirat. I hope that ultimately, along the way, I will love everyone and everything–-despite our proximity. Before that though, I hope that I show those who are close that I love them. Some of them have doubts because selfishly they want to see effort, and I selfishly don’t have time. I hope I have enough time to finish my book. My immediate circle consumes my hours. But, I hope that I finish my book and convince my friends–those outside of my immediate circle–understand that I love them energetically. I think of them. They are in my prayers. When they need help in life, I hope that they reach out to me. I have hope that people help people. I have hope that we are evolving together against the chaos, against the entropy, towards the less-fucked-upness. Lie less to heal our fears. I have to have hope that the blind was not deceitful in his plea, but even if he was, even if the whole act was a performance, his sentiment remains true; it’s honest: Help me.