one of the things that make me sad: having no faith in strangers
There are times when people need a willing ear that would listen to them, even when they refuse to admit it and brush it off as just flapping their gums. They might reek a little of ethanol, or perhaps they did a few lines of cocaine in the bus station loo before hopping on the bus, but it’s no skin off my nose to simply have a conversation with them. Instinct will either tell me to walk away (someone once slipped a few bills in my pocket, implying that I should sleep with him), or stick around and listen.
Understandably our parents taught us, from a very young age, that we should never talk to strangers. The media tells us to beware of gentlemen charmers and bogus sob stories. Our friends constantly remind us of the number of times they’ve been cheated on, exploited, even sexually harrassed, by people they thought they could trust. But when I get yelled at for lending an ear to someone, it makes me die a little on the inside.
There was a time when a drunken, sorrowful-looking Hispanic man named Alvaro told me how he had lost everything he had in the hands of someone else. I admit it was a little creepy because he wanted to hold my hand (and he did), but that was all he wanted. A feeling of empathy sailed through my sea of emotions for this man. I just think that no one should have to resort to this, even if it’s an elaborate ruse, just to have someone to talk to for a mere fifteen minutes.
Jumping forward to when I told one of my friends about Alvaro, I was reduced to tears when he yelled at me for being incredibly stupid. To him, it was obvious that Alvaro wanted nothing more than to exploit me for sympathy. Giving someone a small amount of time and a hand to hold, in his books, is considered exploitation. While I didn’t get anything out of it, however, I have yet to discover what exactly I’ve lost.
And then earlier this evening, a guy named Fintan sat down next to me and started shooting the shit. He was a bitter, jaded university student (just a kid, really). Before he got off at his station he asked for my mobile number. I said I’d rather not but that I could give him my email address, which I haven’t used to sign up for any online networking sites. Personally I prefer to be anonymous and not disclose details that have links to my personal life, but of course it still prompted an earful from my friend.
So I’m starting to wonder if having faith in strangers is something I should purge myself of. Perhaps I should take my friend’s advice and count my blessings, one of which is the fact that I’ve never encountered trouble with a psycho because of my naivete. At least not yet. But if I’m capable of putting my faith in people I’ve never even met, such as those who: grow my food; built the roof over my head; control the signals on tram lines, then shouldn’t I have more faith in people I’ve seen in the flesh, heard, spoken to, and can even put a name to?
