'Scyumi

 When I'm not preoccupied by my own worries, the NYC subway ride is endlessly adventurous. A breakdancer catching his cap on his elbow, knees, feet and head, an old man eating chips but most of it slipping through his fingers, 3 French ladies talking animatedly at the same time. Cool bankers complete with suits and briefcases on the red train. Hippies in colorful tweed jackets and all sorts of mad hairdos on the yellow. The yoga teachers shuttling between studios at lunchtime, one guy yelling on the phone to his boss every time connection was restored. Old fogies delicately drunk and singing songs that were pop about 40 years ago.


It reminds me of when I first got my bus pass in Singapore, and I would take aimless bus trips to see people and the world go by. I would bound up the bus, squeeze all the way to the back and camp out for the seat in the back row. It was higher than the rest of the bus so I had a vantage view, warm seat, and the comforting vibration of the engine beneath my butt. Of course, I would have to make up stories, since the colors were a little less bright back then. People a little less stereotyped by their clothes. The guy in the tucked out white buttoned shirt that had two extra buttons without holes at the bottom, probably working for a cool biotech start up. The older woman wearing greyish purplish pajamas - grandma clothes - probably walked too far on the afternoon walk and had to take the bus home.

And today, through the crowded mess of flesh, came a high pitch boyish voice - panicking that he wouldn't reach the door before it closes - 'scuse me! 'scu mi! 'scyumiscyumiscyumiscyumiscyumi

Nostalgia seldom hits this hard. The tone, the words, the slang, the exact same as 20 years ago.

Published on
2/7/19 6:58 AM

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