I AM

I was getting Mia ready to school, as always rushing. As we were mounting the bike and leaving, something didn’t seem exactly right. I looked at the tree in front of our house and there was ‘stuff’, garbage all around it. It immediately made me think about the situation from last night. I took Chaplin for a quick walk before going to bed, and I saw a person on the corner of our street. It was dark, and they were wearing many layers of dirty clothes. The smell made it clear they were homeless. They were throwing stuff form their cart, maybe looking for something? Garbage everywhere, which made me worried that some of the neighbors might call police. I walked by, and was very disturbed. I’ve been noticing houseless people more, lately. Not that there is more, but because my consciousness feels more and more in conflict with this tremendous contrast of lives we live. I want to help, and giving money just doesn’t feel like enough. I was walking Chaplin and thinking what should I do? Should I offer them dinner? Should I ask if they needed anything? When I came back I saw that the street was already clean. That surprised me. I was walking towards them and wanted to engage in any way but I was also really fearful to do so. I have no idea where that interaction would lead and I must say, the fear took over me. I still didn’t want to just cross the street and pretend I didn’t see them, so I just walked next to them. They didn’t make any eye contact but lifted their arm and pointed with the finger to go around. So I did, and went home.

I couldn’t stop thinking about that all night. How can I be better at this? Should I offer something? Should I give some money? The other day, about a week ago there was a homeless person sleeping at our street. That time, and it was inspired by my best friend in Poland who told me how she made breakfast for a person in front of her house, I decided to make breakfast for them. Left some eggs, a sandwich with cheese and prosciutto (why the hell not?), juice box, some good bars and yummy Ukrainian cookies we had. They were asleep when I left it so we didn’t have any interaction. Now I was wondering, was it the same person from last night?

I dropped off Mia, and came back to clean. In a way I felt relieved the garbage was in our front yard, because at least I didn’t mind cleaning it. I was only wondering, why was it here? Was it on purpose?

I come out with plastic bag and gloves, but as I approach the tree, I get struck. I look at all this and suddenly I see it is actually not garbage. It is a very unusual and amazing work of art. First thing, there is a ton of flower petals! Everywhere! All the colors, blue, yellow, red, purple. Petals all around our tree and our little fairy garden we have there. Petals around fairies, and little toys Mia has put there. There are leaves that were placed on purpose in a way to make shapes. Nothing there is random. Nothing was just thrown and left. All of it, even if at the first sight seemed trash (like bitten apple, empty plastic box, or dirty black jeans), had some intention behind. I was staring at this message (?) and couldn’t understand what did it all mean? Why did they do that? What did they want to say?

There were pieces of paper. I collected all of them and tried to see if they left anything written. Now that I think about it, why did I need to give it more sense through written message? It is my rational mind trying to make sense of it only through direct written message? Is everything I see not enough? The more I looked, the more I saw. A little flower placed on a tree. A little axolotl sticker, 2 embroidery circles perfectly prepared to do craft, empty tube to make bubbles, tiny bag with a button, knotted necklace. There was a pile of papers squeezed in a hole in the tree. I took it out, but didn’t find any message. There was still some dirt. I started digging and found something…blue? I took it out, and it was the tiniest pencil, all used, probably the size of Mia’s pinky finger. It immediately reminded me of a scene in Cuba, where we went with Diego over 10 years ago. A person was sitting at the malecon, with the tiniest pencil, writing in his notebook, and asked if we had any pens to give? – Pens? – we though. He was a poet but didn’t have anything to write with. That was all he needed. That image lives in our minds and will probably never leave. Now seeing this tiny pencil stuck and hidden inside the tree, hit me even harder. The messages were all around. This little scavenger game felt like from another universe. Who are you? Why did you leave all this to me? What did you want to say? If this already seem to you as an alien trying to get it touch with me, it kinda felt like that. With the only exception, that it was not an alien, but another human being. Which makes it even more powerful. We live in the same universe, same planet, same city, probably share the same language, and yet, we’re so far away from each other. I had no courage to approach you, and you left me this garden of art. I don’t know you, have no idea of how hard your life must have been, but I can see you and your pure soul making this creation and I can only feel grateful. I hope I can see you again.

Oh, and there actually was a written message.