My talents in life tend to be pretty useless in their applications - I can play the violin, I can walk really really fast, I can tell you all about J.R.R. Tolkien and actually put you to sleep with my knowledge, and I’m very good at public transport for some reason. When my family visited Europe seven years ago, I succumbed to the monthly call of Mother Nature (you evil bitch) during the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace - rather than escort me back to our hotel, my mom gave me the keys to our room and said “take a nap. See ya later,” and I navigated the Tube all by myself. In Germany, I was my family’s guide through the train stations - not because I speak German at all, but because shit like train stations and public transport just makes sense to me. As such, I have my daily commute figured out perfectly. I know exactly which car of which train to get on and off and the quickest route between my transfers, and it really bothers me a lot when other people get in my way. Last week was particularly busy (what with Turkey Day and all), and one afternoon at Downtown Crossing station I was standing on the T and waiting for the doors to open, my eyes widening in horror at the thick press of people on the other side of the glass. As soon as the doors opened a wide black woman started pushing her way onto the train without waiting for anyone to exit, and because I was fed up with making bodily contact with too many strangers (stand next to me, yes. Continually brush your hand against my ass, no) I whipped my headphones down to my neck and said curtly right in this lady’s face: “what does “let others exit the train before you try to get on” mean? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?” and shoved past her. I heard someone yell “ah, shutup ya bitch!” from the other side of the crowd, and my hackles were already raised so I circled the swarm of people until I found the owner of the voice: a small man in a dirty Carhartt and construction boots. I walked right up to him, put my face way too close to his face, and said quietly, “do you kiss your wife with that mouth, you miserable little man?” He replied, his eyes rolling: “I don’t have a wife, bitch.” And I shot back: “I didn’t think so - a woman would have to be crazy to marry your sod-off, shitty little ass. Fuck you.” “Go back to Norwood!” he yelled at me dismissively, as if his assumptions as to my origins would be enough to put me off. Instead, I put my mouth right next to his ear. “I’m not from Norwood, you cunt. I don’t even know where that is, you assumptive little fuck. Get on the train, shut your asshole, and have a wonderful fucking day.” I turned on my heel and stomped off to catch the orange line to Forest Hills, and people were clapping. And I think that’s the proudest I’ve ever been of my salty sailor mouth.

The only person you will ever know is you. You are the only person you will wake up with every single day of your life. You are the only person who knows what you do when you’re by yourself. You will never actually know your brothers, your sisters, your parents, or your friends - you can’t be with them when they’re by themselves, and they can’t be with you when you’re by yourself. Only you understand your inner thoughts and feelings, and you will never really know if others are being their true selves or acting to keep up appearances. It’s odd to think about, really, that humans are really truly always alone.

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