memo: awestruck moment with mother nature

(Battery Park, 2012) Very surreal

I was crossing Battery Park, on my way to catch the Liberty Cruise. A spot of pink amidst the greenery of the park caught my attention. It was a tree, the only tree in the park that is still in late bloom, shedding its pink blossoms. I have seen flowers fall, but never at such a scale. There must be at least a thousand flowers on the ground. What an amazing sight. I stood under this tree, my feet nestled in the soft cushion of grass and petals. I closed my eyes and felt the petals falling gently. I could even smell the sweet fragrance.

It was a quiet moment between nature and me.

memo: a rush of gratitude

It was late evening. I was having a slice of pizza at the basement of the Grand Central Terminal while reading my book. The pizza was good but I was pretty full by the time I got to the crust so I decided to throw it away. It was then that I noticed this middle-aged Afro-American man at the litter bin just next to my table. He was rummaging through the contents of the bin, apparently searching for scraps of food. I impolitely stared for a few seconds before my mind registered the scene. Indeed, the man was putting together his dinner from the bits and pieces of edible waste in the bin. I was taken aback. Here I was, on vacation, in this big city of dreams, and face-to-face with... poverty? I looked at the crust in my hand and felt my face redden with guilt. I gobbled up whatever I had intended to discard and left the place. The sky had already darkened as I was walking out of Grand Central and I noticed some people seated on the floor, lining the sides of the Terminal entrance. I quickened my steps and lowered my head in shame when I realized that the homeless were just setting up their bed for the night. Their one-bagful of possession sat next to them. I don't think I EVER need any reminder to make me realize how fortunate I am to have food on the table, a bed to sleep at night and a roof above my head.