Insecurities

Would they look at her today? She hated when they looked at her. You could almost feel their distaste in their stares. It wasn't as if they had ever said anything, but their stares said it all.

As most such instances it had a clear beginning: the moment she had been introduced by their boss. What should have been a happy occasion wilted under their glares of disdain. She had almost physically recoiled when she first met those stares.

The crowd of her new coworkers had parted, as if they could feel the glare as well, and hurried out of the way, and the two most dazzling women had walked up to her, and their gaze had said it all: what are you doing here? You will never last! You are not good enough! Loser! Fatty!

There. She admitted it to herself, that's what they said without speaking a word. Those two perfect, skinny, twins. They bore her to the ground with their unspoken accusations: you fat blobby loser!

She had persevered, as you do when you finally get a job after 2 years 3 months and 4 days of searching.

The Girl

She was taller than most girls, and that was the first thing people noticed about her. Then came her jet black hair, and often also her pale porcelain skin. Her large sunglasses served to hide her eyes from inquisitive glances, and helped her stay in her little cocoon of privacy.

Today she had dressed in the white shirt which was neither revealing nor constricting, and a simple black skirt. The black and white went well with her hair and skin, but only served to make her uncomfortable. The sole admission to her personality was the pink earrings which shone like little suns through the drabness of the dress.

On days such as this she longed to be far far away, and there seemed to be more and more of these days around. Days where personality went to die, and uniform won out.

The Sports Fan

He was obviously not a man governed other people's opinion. With his Phillies cap, SF giants t-shirt, and hip-hop blasting through his headphones he gave off a somewhat sloppy vibe, but you should not be fooled by appearances.

When moving he showed a deliberateness of movement seldom seen outside of the ballet. His thick arms carving their way through space as his body moved through the mass of people occupying the aisle of the bus.

On hot days such as this, his untidy mass of black hair would end up clinging to his head, but that was a price he was willing to pay for that scruffy look which has served him so well.

The Broken Arm

I am sitting across from a man with his arm in a sling. The man looks weathered, but educated. His two-day stubble lending him a look akin to a bush ranger, while his thin framed glasses makes him look like a modern Indiana Jones.

I can only imagine what caused him to break his arm: crocodile wrestling at Cape York? An expedition gone wrong in the red centre?

All Aboard!

T1276 (Cropped) by stk20

As I was sitting on the bus this morning I started thinking about writing. I am currently reading the Steve Jobs biography by Walter Isaacson, and writing a review using Elements on my iPod touch (a most excellent piece of software, I must say). It occurred to me, that I could write other stuff too, duh, which transformed into the idea of this blog.

In this blog, I will write something about an observation I make while on public transport, be it on the bus, train, or ferry. It can be a person that looks interesting, a feature of the vehicle, or something I notice out the window. In other words, anything.

Most times, I will stop writing when I get off the bus, but I hope I can round off each blurb well enough, rather than have all of them end abruptly.

Nothing else to say, but enjoy the ride.