People Watching

Without a doubt, although being the owner of my brain can be tumultuous, one of the most enchanting aspects of being creative is the tendency to wax poetic on just about anything that crosses my field of vision. It started at a young age for me: for as long as I can remember, I’ve had this feverish and, quite honestly, anxious need to constantly produce words or art or music or whatever artistic pursuits my hands decided on. What started as an innocent tendency of playing with my food (from making mountains out of mashed potatoes or begging my sister to recreate The Lady & the Tramp spaghetti scene with me) grew into poorly-written prose, meek piano ballads on birthdays, and watery paintings for Mother’s and Father’s Day gifts. As you can see, I have since grown as a creative person from my dinner plate creations to writing attempts of my half-baked thoughts of my life experiences, much to the dismay of my devoted readers (my parents).

Now, the previous paragraph is a thinly-veiled defense of the content of this article. My romanticization of slices of life I witness around me, which more often than not are not my own, lead me to find the most mundane moment truly beautiful in the purest definition of the word. To put it simply, I’ve decided to share some of my excessive indulgences in people-watching random junctures and how I view them. The long-winded explanation of my origins as a creative is simply my means of convincing you that I’m not a stalker — pinky promise. 

But even if you view me as such, it’s hard to mind too much when I can find myself standing behind an elderly couple at Trader Joe’s in the produce section, quarreling over which package of raspberries look least bruised. I’ll learn her plans to make him soup to go with their sandwiches for lunch tomorrow and how he wishes that their son would call home more instead of spending all of his time with his new girlfriend.

I’ve followed two pigeons around, joining them on their furious expedition to find food remnants lying on the pavement, seeing them acknowledging the other’s presence only when they walked into one another. Our journey took us to a fountain where they stood and danced and chirped in the water; I became jealous of their self-efficiency and casual, evolutionary bond. 

And I semi-pined (for no sound reason at all) for a boy standing in front of an apartment, holding a mixed bouquet, routinely checking his watch and chewing his lip haphazardly. I was left to wonder about the circumstances of his nerves because there are so many beautiful possibilities. First date or a gravitational apology? Flowers to subside grief or flowers as means of congratulations? 

Of course, there was the day I returned to my home away from home and witnessed college friends reuniting after a mere few days apart, hearing their claims of separation anxiety being far too strong to bear for the winter break to come. I saw a girl become totally and utterly engulfed in a sea of tender limbs and quiet companionship. Laughing her way into a group hug that seemed to represent small seconds of forever — or until one of them had to leave to stop procrastinating on a term paper.

I still remember the awkward yet somehow familiar tension between a couple sitting next to me at a painfully quaint brunch spot. I overheard their tepid conversations circulating their careers and carefully-worded questions, intricately designed to probe the personal life of the person across from them. In between cumbersome and pitiful laughter at horrible jokes, their conversation grew from slow to somewhat comfortable. 

And there was the day I witnessed a mother sitting alone at a table, not-so-patiently waiting, tapping her foot and scrolling mindlessly on Facebook on her phone. With the gradual spread of a grin that lit up the entire area there, I saw her get up and almost skip towards a boy weighed down by a backpack, holding onto him tightly, absolutely refusing to let him go again. 

These are only a few of the scenes I have witnessed and overheard in the past few weeks; as you may guess, I’ve endured a plethora of profound spacing-out periods whilst trying to complete work as a means of procrastination. Yet during my time of writing this piece, while sitting in a nice sunny spot on my college campus inadvertently sipping a latte, I can’t help but wonder if  a fellow person is walking by me, curious to know why I’m staring intently at my laptop, imagining their own scenarios of the words I’m creating. Maybe they think I’m stressed out about a final paper (which is, unfortunately, true) or writing a screenplay or texting a friend who lives states away. It’s one of the things I admire about curious people who roam the Earth, people who have the tendency to imagine what the people around them are doing, trying so desperately to put themselves in a stranger’s shoes — even if it’s just for a fleeting moment.