Diario: what about the other heads?

16 de febrero de 2023

As I lay my head against this subway car, I think about other people’s heads and hairs pressed upon it in the past. 

Naturally, my OCD kicks in and the thought grosses me out a bit. There have been hundreds, thousands of heads leaning on this exact same place. I don’t know those head owners’ hygiene habits (or how often the metro staff clean the insides of the wagons). I only know mine, and I don’t wash my hair too often, which may explain why I’m thinking of this right now. 

I’m also curious about whatever these heads were thinking as they traveled to or from different places. For instance, I am now thinking I feel weird—a certain level of discomfort in my body, as if there is something it hasn’t told me yet. My head hurts, and all I want is a shower, a cup of tea, and my book.

What were the other heads worried about? What were those strangers feeling weird about?

The fellow standing before me on the train is naturally handsome and unintentionally posing. He is a middle-aged indigenous man. The guy is resting his head on the flexed arm he is using to grab the handle behind him. His eyes closed, sleeping while being transported home or elsewhere. By now, his subconscious probably knows when to wake him up to get off. The gentleman exudes good energy. He doesn’t look troubled or tired, although he’s probably coming from a very rough shift somewhere in the city—maybe. I have no way of knowing. I’m just assuming and employing judgment. Has somebody ever told him he’s got amazing genes? I wonder if he has ever heard someone use the word “handsome” to describe him, or has he been visually ignored by people blinded by standardized beauty?

I honestly could do without these useless thoughts. But sometimes I can’t command my mind. She runs. And after a long day that started too early, I won’t invest any energy trying to slow her down. I will let her fatigue alone.