Sumflower

Discovered the Thai version of Dumbo on my last trip to Asia. 

This morning I was driving back to the city from the suburbs. On my usual route I exited onto 48A. The tiredness in my eyes blinded by the early morning sun caught a man standing on the side of the road. My car rolled to a stop at the traffic light and I got a closer glimpse: young, disheveled, and looked like he was in dire need of a shower…or two. He was holding a sign made out of cardboard that read “Hungry. Anything will help. Please.” Four cars sat in front of me and disregarded the sign, let alone this mans existence. I peeked down to my right where I had a handful of change that had been occupying my cup holder for a month. Staring at it I thought that it would serve more of a purpose in his hands rather than in my car.

I rolled down my passenger window and he hesitantly approached. I motioned for him to step closer and handed him a fist full of change that couldn’t have added up to more than 70 cents. “Bless you,” he said. As the light turned green and I slowly stepped on the accelerator I noticed a young woman with a pierced nose and messy short hair sitting on the curb not too far from him. Probably his girlfriend or wife, who gave me a sweet smile and a wave as I turned the corner. I don’t know what they were planning on doing with that change exactly but their smiles were enough for me not to question them.

This brought me back to one particular family vacation that I had gone on with my father and two sisters. We were in Peru on a train going from Lima to Machu Pichu. Our four seats adjusted to face each other and we spent the two hour long ride cuddled up, chit chatting, and flicking through pictures we had taken earlier. In the opposite aisle of us was a Peruvian woman with her young daughter. The mother seemed lost in thought while clutching onto her child. She looked tired, worn out, and her eyes carried a sense of sadness. The woman had no luggage with her as opposed to our four carry on bags that we insisted on bringing for the few days we explored the ancient ruins.

An hour into soaking up the lush scenery of trickling rivers, picturesque waterfalls, and hues of green from the thousands of trees, we were each handed a box of food. Nothing special, just some sliced apples, a cold sandwich, chocolate, and a small juice. The train attendant handed only one box to the woman. My guess was you received a snack box for each train ticket you purchased. She nibbled a little but gave most of the food to her 3-year-old daughter. One of my sisters took notice of this and leaned over to offer her a box that we were planning on saving for later (in case one of us needed a boost during our market exploration.) She thanked us through a weak but genuine smile. We smiled back and continued on with our conversation.

I watched as she slowly opened the box and stared down at the food. A few moments into this she started wiping tears from her eyes with her sleeve. I nudged my father which caught the attention of my sisters and we all watched her crying silently as her daughter napped on her lap.  “Are you okay?” leaned over and asked my other sister in slow English. The mother smiled again wiping her tears and nodded, lifting the box. 

Who knew where she came from or where she was going. Maybe she had given up the little money she had to pay for her fare on the train or was escaping an unhealthy relationship she had with her husband, only bringing along her daughter and a small purse. Whatever her situation was, something that held little value to us brought this woman to tears. It was one unexpected humbling experience I will never forget. 

Whenever you are given an opportunity to help someone by making their day easier or filled with a little more happiness, step up to the plate and own that moment. Whether it may be achieved through spare change, spare food, or even simply spare time to listen or offer words of encouragement. You will never know how something miniscule to you could greatly impact someone else until you act.

And although I gave change that wasn’t even enough to buy one bottle of water for the couple it certainly was better than turning up my radio, rolling up my window, and turning my cheek the other way. You feel good, someone else feels better, and everyone wins. Never underestimate small acts of kindness. 

Stopped on Wicker Park by RedEye for fashion trends.
HIM: “How would you describe your fashion style?”
ME: “My fashion style is bipolar. One day I’m hipster the next I’m girly.” 

Behind the madness of SDK’s informal fashion show.

Wandering the ancient ruins of Thailand’s old capital, Ayutthaya. 

I’m a “try-everything-once-give-it-a-go” type of person. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t dibble dabble in things that are questionable or outlandish…ok fine you caught me, occasionally. What crazy escapade was I about to embark on? I was going to conquest the Greyhound. Yes, the very bus where I have had personal acquaintances inform me about the time their luggage got stolen right under their seat. The very bus where a friend had to tolerate sitting next to a drunk man who had whisky oozing out of his pores. But most bizarre of all, a friend who was asked by a crack head for some more crack. No he did not have any crack if you’re wondering.

The remorseless winter wind blew its icy breath from all directions that numbed not only my body but also each toe and every finger. With my 40 dollar ticket stub in my almost frost bitten hand I stood at the bus stop shivering and wondering what the next 3 hours stuck on a bus to Chicago to visit my sister would enlighten me with.  Gripping my beloved yellow and red McDonald’s take away bag, I had noticed my future bus buddies eyeing it. “No one is tasting these fries; and only over my dead body is anyone going to touch my Buffalo Sauce!” I declared…in my head. 

While juggling my luggage, McDonald’s take away bag, and laptop I caught a glimpse of an older woman with the posture of the Hunchback of Notre dame. She had a garbage bag in-between her unusually child sized feet. I entertained thoughts of what could possibly be in there for 2 reasons: one, waiting for the bus was taking longer than I had anticipated and two, I tried to divert the fact that my frostbite was advancing rapidly. I was stuck between a dead body and actual garbage when my attention turned to a screeching bus turning the corner. Ah, the Greyhound 20 minutes late, who would have thought?

As I gathered my belongings, making sure not to leave behind my treasured fast food, bag lady, who I’d appropriately named, threw the black garbage bag over her shoulder with ease. “Definitely garbage,” I thought and took note not to sit next to her.

Handing my ticket to the rather plump driver, I climbed aboard only to find myself with very few seat options. I laser-beamed into each individual spot and surveyed which would be my best option. A window seat would automatically win but with my luck there were none left. I peered all the way into the darkness of the bus. “Don’t sit in the back,” I recalled one of my friends advising me in a pep talk before my journey, “unless you enjoy the smell of chemicals trying to mask the waft of crap.” I shuddered at the thought and immediately took the closest seat to the front. 

I sunk into the mysteriously stained seat next to a younger male, who would later introduce himself as T-Bone. His chestnut hair sat wild on his head and his eyes duller than a cloudy day. I popped my earphones in as soon at my bottom touched the sponge of a seat that probably soaked up a countless number of homeless people, runaways, and druggies body odor and sweat. I had hoped to eliminate all possibilities for a conversation through the use of my handy IPod. But this didn’t stop T-Bone, he insisted on carrying a conversation, which would soon turn into me begging God as a last resort to protect me. I hadn’t brought any pepper spray.

The conversation was ignited with my head bobbing in the center of the bus aisle; I had nodded off to sleep and was in an internal struggle to keep my head propped up with my string of a neck. “If you would like you could rest your head on my shoulder. I know you don’t know me but I promise I’m harmless.” T-Bone purred in a low voice. I looked at him in horror but let out a great laugh and made sure to nicely deny his generous offer. 

I tried to divert the conversation away from my head resting on his shoulder to nervously chuckling “God, 3 hours I don’t know if I have it in me!”

T-Bone replied, “I’ve been on the bus for nearly 20 hours, 3 hours is nothing.” I asked him how on earth he managed to survive so far. He paused for a moment and continued, “I was in solitary confinement when I was in jail last year and no I didn’t kill anyone.” I stared at him. He stared back. Out of all the seats I could settle in, it had to be this one?

At this point the tune of a wailing child in the back filled up the silence that occupied most of the bus. Perhaps the poor child was being forced to breathe in the rancid concoction of urine and toilet bowl cleaner. In my bad attempt to once again divert the conversation anywhere but where it was headed I grabbed my neck pulsating in pain, “My neck’s killing me!” T-Bones dull sleepy eyes that had first greeted me immediately lit up as bright as a cars blinding high beam brights.

“Want me to give you a massage?” Hesitantly I kindly declined his offer. He pinched my neck and I proceeded to silently pray to God once more, this time with much more urgency. “Are you sure? Before I was thrown into solitary confinement my cellmate was a chiropractor, he taught me some massage tips.” My prayers quickly turned into squeals.
 
Perhaps God had heard me because the Greyhound halted to an abrupt stop. The intercom muffled over the voice of the bus driver who announced it was time for a smoke break. I don’t smoke but from the stale aroma of cigarettes emitting off of my new friend, he certainly did. Or he carried an ashtray full of cigarette butts with him. Before excusing himself to puff one before we were back on the road he offered me his window seat for the daunting hour I had left.

Peering out the finger print stained window I noticed a very pregnant woman standing amongst all the other passengers who were smoking cigarettes. “How awful” I thought to myself as I frowned. Then she whipped out a cigarette and leaned in for a fellow passenger to light it.

This was the moment I decided it was time for a nap. A very long nap where I would keep my eyes so tightly shut I would blend into the shadows of the Greyhound bus and once stepping off to never board again.

The next hours felt like an eternity.  As I regained my senses, all I could perceive above me was a confronting light staring me dead in the eyes. Attempting to move so that I could piece together where I was, I came to the grim realization that I couldn’t move my legs.  I tried once, a second time, and then a third, but the only sensation I felt was…nothing. I could hear distant voices becoming louder and nearer, floating towards me from every direction in a language I couldn’t comprehend.  My heart plummeted into the depths of my stomach as I felt pairs of unfamiliar hands prodding me, pulling at me, and undressing me.  The words “Get off! Stop it! Don’t touch me!” dribbled out of my mouth, and with little remaining energy, I attempted to beat away these unknown voices and hands only to have my arms pinned down by my sides.  This was the beginning of my worst nightmare.

Canossa Hospital in Hong Kong was my home for the next month and a half.  I recall numerous X-RAYS and MRI scans during my first week of agony.  Every inch of my body throbbed with pain, and no amount of medicine I was prescribed would take it away. Only when I finally regained full consciousness did I realize what had happened to me.  The day of my accident I was sitting with my middle school friends on a residential building rooftop, enjoying the beautiful skyline of Hong Kong. What happened next I can’t fully recollect.  My friends told me later that I had gotten up from sitting, but tripped on my flip-flop, which threw me backwards off the edge of the roof.  Amazingly, I was caught by a balcony three floors below and was saved from plummeting forty floors to the cold cement ground below.  The last thing I remember was opening my eyes to find my friends towering above me in a circle calling an ambulance.  I will never forget the look on their face or the trembling fear in their voice.

This accident left me broken, metaphorically and literally.  I suffered from two different fractures to my skull, a fractured collarbone, a fractured nose, one kneecap fractured and the other broken.  But this accident also led me to re-evaluate who I was and what I wanted to achieve in my coming years at the tender age of 14.

As I reflect on this traumatic event in my life, several conflicting thoughts cross my mind.  Sometimes I felt like a victim, because at a crucial stage in my life I was set back in studies and physical activities, besides attending rehab three times a week to regain strength to first stand, then walk. On the other hand, at times I felt that what my dad told me is a better way of looking at this event.  According to him, challenges that we face in our lives are nature’s way of making us stronger, provided we handle them with courage and learn from them.  Obviously, being my father, he feels that I have handled this challenge with great courage because I fully cooperated with doctors during my excruciating treatment.  I went back to school the day doctors discharged me from the hospital, even though I was only able to attend classes part time and needed a personal nurse because I was in full leg casts, leaving me confined to my wheel chair.

I also entertained alternative thoughts that perhaps my life was saved for some important purpose, that maybe I’m supposed to do something very special in this life.  I continue to search and discover why I was given a second chance at life.  Whether it’s the relationships that have strengthened because of my accident, the life shaping friends and memories I’ve made since, or simply a lesson in disguise that taught me the true value of life.  There is one thing I’m sure about: I am a much stronger and more compassionate person today.  I appreciate the value of life and the agony of suffering. I feel confident that if I could overcome the affects of my accident, I can overcome any challenge that comes my way.

Here today because I’m lucky or here today for a greater purpose, I am able to appreciate the small things in life that are often taken for granted. Everyday that I am alive is a blessing, let alone that I have no mental or physical defects from my accident. I continue to savor the many beautiful ups and downs in my life because there is no such thing as an ugly moment. 

Rediscovered a poem I had scribbled down in-between classes over 6 months ago.

BANGKOK BUZZ.
Exploring the markets, streets, and crowds of Bangkok. 

The poster for the short independent film Procession, written and directed by Sabah Ali Khan, a goofball of energy who I met at the SDK shoot this past summer. Her eery, beautiful, and creative vision blew me away, I can’t wait to share her creation. Best of luck to her and the crew (my new friends) at the film festival competitions! PS How beautiful is the henna on my hands? What wasn’t so beautiful was the way I had to sleep the night before I could wash it off…