Someone approached me a few weeks back while writing a play concerning what the most meaningful moment in my life would be? It was quite a heavy handed question, in my brain. I sat and thought: for years, it has been sequestered into our brains to appreciate the time we have now for it will be a mere reflection in our shadows. As convoluted as it may sound, there is a truth to be told beneath that very ideology. As a human race, we subserviently instill value behind our thoughts, our actions, and our words. If we didn’t, what would drive us to achieve? The beliefs of others? - That would be considered social totalitarianism, and indubitably, an empty clutch on how to live. We desire meaning to formulate purpose to believe and feel. Religion, to cite, sets the platform of a culminating system of beliefs that ultimately act as the framework for what we hold in high and low regards. I speak on a colloquial standpoint, as we set standards based on what is meant and implied. Yet to eliminate all ubiquitous moments of meaning and to pinpoint it would not only be unfeasible, but quite arduous. All the moments then I sit and try to acknowledge what others hold in high regards that it represents personal meaning. Late one night, I returned home from a little Birthday rendez-vous on my friends behalf. I was walking past a bus stop I frequent when I stumbled upon an elderly woman in a white pressed, maids dress. A disjointed name tag subtly promulgated beneath her pressed collar as she sat taking rhythmic drags of her 120 cigarette. Quite an unknown spectacle and it somewhat constrained and compelled me to pace myself to peer at her. Unaware of a subculture so refined within its values regarding others, I could only admire a woman (or man) who advertise themselves on a stance the socioeconomic elite deem ciphers. Betina, so simply put, jauntily beamed in my direction and said ever-so squarely beneath her worn breath, Evening, baby. It made my evening, oddly enough. This worn woman, with pressed hair and geometric teeth bothered to acknowledge the presence of my being, more or less my time (not to seem supercilious). Oblivious to her own life, may-well-it-be she has six kids and her mother to oversee or a double-shift as a waitress and maid to the dignitaries, she spoke to me in a way that was inexplicably poignant. She, in a single world, looked dignified - and from the minute of moments, I knew… it was a moment. period.
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