I wait to cry

for all the moments that move me

I have walked past countless streets, taken numerous buses, looked into a blinding myriad of faces and tried my hardest to peer into those eyes.

I wait to see a glimpse of their souls, demonstrating the truth of the dreams and hopes they stand for, lighted by the love which surrounds them.

I wait to cry.

I looked at the man with the cello, trying to imagine what possessed him to wear a suit in the middle of a humid sticky New York summer, moving with the largest portable musical instrument possible. I watched him play as though there was no one else, except him and his music filling the sidewalk.

I wait to cry.

I wait to be moved, by those moments so charged with energy that it blows every cell in my mind, as I try to comprehend the magnitude of the events before me.

I wait to love, to love the strangers before me as they unconsciously display their humanity with some of the simplest gestures they could muster. An irresistible smile, a look of kindness and grace, a pause in their footsteps to allow that old lady room to maneuver.

I wait to cry.

There are so many magical moments waiting to be caught, if only we would lift up our heads when they pass us by.

I wait to cry.

There are times when frustration gets ahead of me as I mapped out my walks — too long, as the spoilt human in me would say. Then I stumble upon a moment like this, and I wait to cry:

I wait to cry, and I love the tears that would uncontrollably brim in my eyes. How often are we able to be so moved that we can feel the immense gratitude to be alive?

I wait to experience the unorchestrated love so uncompromisingly and unintentionally displayed by strangers to strangers, I wait to feel a sense of their dreams reflected back to me in their eyes, I wait to capture moments of magnificience so unconditionally given to us by the Earth —

I wait to cry, for this is how I know I have to be alive, with the love I see around me I start to understand the love that I too, can give.

I took a last look at the man with his cello with tears in my eyes, as I realized in that moment how much it is a blessing to love something so unequivocally and unapologetically, to be so undistracted, untainted and undisturbed by the dysfunctional world around you.

This is why I have to travel, and why I wait to cry.

For I would never want to lose my sense of wonder, my capacity to feel the depth of my emotions, the gift to comprehend the complexity of a simple moment with my rose-tinted lenses of this world.

How else would I have preferred to be alive?

Where and when everything is a rush, it is a precious gift to be able to cry.