The Aliens
“Blossom of snow, may you bloom and grow Bloom and grow forever…” Every day I walk out of my complex, I see a man with dishevelled hair and ragged clothes, scribbling on the path desperately, with a tiny piece of chalk. Faded pink. In big, bold letters. Letters I can make no sense of. I see his clouded eyes, blank and lost, as if nothing in the world matters to him, except perhaps those letters. I look at him with horror, pity or maybe, disdain, and keep a safe distance. Recently, something has changed in me. I look at him with empathy. I stare and I wonder. I wonder and I stare. What if I too end up like that – deranged, deluded, lost in an alternate universe? What if there is no question of ‘ending up’? What if I too am one like him? Lost in a blank space with nothing left to bank on? Strands of disobedient dirty hair fall over his eyes. He picks his pace...