When We Can Not Give

On the Green Line I watched her, helpless with empathy as I was, as her chin trembled and the corners of her mouth bowed downward, clenched tightly. She was a pretty young Asian woman, in sunglasses, staring at the floor and trying desperately not to cry.

Everything in me felt for her at that moment. I don't know her, and don't know what was making her cry. Maybe her heart has been broken. Maybe someone she loves has died. Maybe it was just one of those rotten mornings when a person cries for no singular reason. You might be thinking "That's not your business." True, the specifics are not my business. But that doesn't stop me from caring. Seeing a stranger in clear emotional pain does affect me. It reaches me. And there is no socially acceptable way to respond, to show the person that I see their pain and am sad that they're hurting, and that I hope everything is better soon for them.

I wish this were a society where it was normal to show even small signs of compassion to a stranger who is visibly in emotional pain. Nothing invasive like a hug, or even words; just a simple hand signal or head movement would be enough, if only to say "I see, I care, I wish you healing." I don't know if there is such a society. In our culture it is perfectly acceptable to acknowledge a stranger's happiness – we can give big sunny smiles to a stranger who is obviously happy about something, whether we know what that is or not. But the same culture instructs us to ignore someone crying on a park bench or a bus stop or the T, to turn a blind eye and make their sadness invisible. There is something so brutally harsh in that, whereby those who need compassion the most receive the least.

I saw, I cared, and I wish her healing. But I could do nothing to show her that.