My legs were slowing going numb, my back was in pain and I was half asleep. In fact, the only reason I was awake was to avoid the socially awkward situation of people seeing me drooling like a baby at Dr. Benson’s office. Two hours has passed and I was stuck in a room with the same people, doing the same thing, looking at the same spot on the floor. The lady that sat diagonal from me, had clothes piled on, layers on top of layers, she had rich black hair, tired eyes, chocolate skin and clung to her purse as if that was all she had. Why was she here? What’s wrong with her? Why was she so different from me? It’s silly of me to wonder, why she’s different, but when slowing looking up at her face from time to time, I can’t help wonder what separates us other than the table in front of me. I started to think back on life, like those cheesy old movies that have flash backs, with a song, but the word “Individualism” kept popping up in my head. How am I different from this lady? How am I, Thabina, an individual? I mean… I know our goal at this moment is to get into Benson’s little room as soon as possible, but my goals would probably seem unusual to her. My sense of humour is probably very different, I’m sure she wouldn’t laugh at a single joke I proposed. I wonder if she even speaks the same language as me, I know she wouldn’t like my sense of style, maybe she does like to play basket-ball like me! At least there was one thing we had in common, we were both married. She’s probably married to a middle-aged man, who is balding and is very hardworking and I had my big, black box called “Sony” which allowed me to access one hundred channels with a click of a button. She reminded me of my aunt and like her, this women was in her thirties and a foreigner. I immediately recalled all the times my aunt had lectured me on how life was so tough in Sri-Lanka, and wondered if this women had any similar experiences. For all I know my life would seem like a breeze to her, I was raised freely, I barely had to do chores, got free education, played games and cheated in some of them too. My views on religion, politics, war, even friendship could be completely different from hers based on my experiences and my thoughts. For instance war, sure I know it’s bad and I hate the thought of people getting killed over something that could have been settled more reasonably, but I can’t really express or feel for it to the extent my mother, aunt, or maybe even this women can. We are two totally different people, who have a different purpose and a different life that has shaped our personality. Even if we were clones, I could never forget what I have been though, the things I like, or the thoughts that I have. We all have different beliefs, morals, goals, perspectives, likes, dislikes, experi- Suddenly the women I was so intensely thinking about looked at me and I froze, looking like the next creep on America’s Most Wanted. I shifted my eyes to the floor and felt strangely pleased knowing there’s no one quite like me. “Paravati” Mr.Benson’s secretary called and the women sitting stood up and made her way down the hallway. I looked at her one last time and remembered I am unique, just like everyone else.
What Makes me Unique?
May 30, 2012