The Stranger at the Station: A Lesson in Almosts
On missed goodbyes, fragile bravery, and people who pass through us
Today I was robotically waiting for my long ride home at a familiar bus stop near the subway station, when I encountered a man—not so tall, nor that short—with nice brown hair, wandering around with a white cane.
I approached him after a few seconds and asked, “Do you need help?”
He said, “It would be lovely, please. I just need to get to the station. I don’t know the area very well.”
I offered my arm and he took it. He had this young, happy tone in his voice. We ended up having a great conversation about the crazy weather going on in Brazil, then the coincidence that we were both teachers until it was time for him to pay for his ticket.
The Conversation That Stayed With Me
By far, it was one of the richest conversations I’ve had with a stranger in quite some time. I felt refreshed. Possibly too refreshed, since when I got back to the present moment, he had already gone through the turnstile. I didn’t say “goodbye” or “nice meeting you!”—even though it was indeed good to say goodbye, and I had enjoyed meeting him.
Rare are those occasions when we actually mean the things we say.
I quickly signaled a clerk so they could see and assist him. I caught myself feeling dissatisfied and replaying the previous seconds over and over in my head until I got a satisfactory ending, like I do with most things.
I could have said something earlier, just to make sure I would say it. I could have asked the lady that led him down the stairs to tell him I said it. But I didn’t.
Endless Might-Have-Beens
There are so many encounters I wish I could redo.
So many goodbyes I wish I had said, conversations I wish I’d started, situations I wish I’d left.
This specific “might have been,” over such a tiny thing, made me wonder how many of these are preventable.
Had we said that piece of our minds to our bosses, we’d be lighter.
Had she complimented that random person on their hair, there might’ve been a great friendship.
Had he said he missed them, they might have stayed.
Had both of them told the truth, they’d still be talking.
Simple, avoidable regrets—fixable possibilities that we just make a point of missing.
And for what? Our pride? Spite? To preserve whatever standards we promised our minds we would?
So many seconds we lose out on living and reminiscing, all for such foolish reasons.
Mrs. Silva and Bus Stop Fates
I had a dear teacher I adored—and hated what she taught: Chemistry.
She told me once that she met her husband at a bus stop.
Such an interesting bit of their story!
People who are bound to be main parts of our lives—who we miss—might be right there, wandering in front of our faces.
And we’re here, looking oblivious. Nose stuck on our phones or daydreaming in the rare moments we allow ourselves to.
"Tu me manques”
Which translates from French to “you are missing from me.”
Isn’t it beautiful? “I miss you” sounds mundane after that.
It means: you are such a great part of my life that you become part of the person I am. Without you, something is missing in me. I am no longer complete.
We are, therefore, ever to find a new whole of us, the never-ending expansion of who we could be as we meet people, places, and things that make ourselves full.
Seeing With Closed Eyes
“De olhos fechados, faço questão de te ver”
“With my eyes closed, I make a point of seeing you.”
This is a verse I like from a Brazilian song called “Não Demora” by Melim.
And isn’t that a familiar feeling? Having something or someone so deeply bound to our function, they stay with us no matter where we are.
A true demonstration that the heart knows no physical boundaries.
Don’t Leave Our Right Now for Tomorrow
“Não deixa pra amanhã o nosso agora.”
“Don’t leave our right now for tomorrow.”
There might not be one.
And even if there is, it surely won’t be the same.
I wish to stop protecting my feelings from the effects of life.
To insist on pouring my heart into the right nows, because at the end of the day, “it’s better to feel pain than nothing at all.”
The Truth and Feminine Drama
I wish I could live by those words—cherish the right nows and take the risk of trusting people and putting my heart into tiny moments.
However, I am perpetually afraid of doing so.
I’m scared of hurting myself in the process of over-fantasizing a reality that is unequivocally numb.
I fear my romantic beliefs are solely that—beliefs.
And most certainly, people will think they are just the product of a pre-set, overly dramatic “feminine mind.”
Ugh. You’ve got to yuck at the sound of it.
Such an obviously wrong statement that shouldn’t be credited, even if somebody actually thinks it.
Still, I’ve been raised in this narrow-minded society and, more often than not, catch myself thinking thoughts I wish I didn’t—then reprimanding my brain for not fully incorporating this “reason” I taught it.
We are all a bit controversial, if not hypocritical, inside our own heads.
Eternally disagreeing with our minds.
Or at least, I am.
Writing as a Start
Maybe this long reflecting process won’t change a thing.
Fear and societal protocols will likely overtake my thoughts and actions most of the time.
But I am still glad I wrote about it.
And I am certainly going to try.
Try to change.
Try to make up for all the moments I haven’t lived—in those brief reasoning sessions, during a shower, a long bus ride after work, or after talking to a nice person in the street.
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Please feel free to comment or wander around yourself! Thanks for reading!
