I’m going to stray a bit from the typical multiracial topics that the Chameleon tends to talk about, for I have something that’s been knocking about in my thoughts for the last week.

The day after the 4th of July, as I waited for my friend on the sidewalk by the subway entrance, I couldn’t help but notice a homeless man across the street lugging his small cart with a plastic bag full of empty soda cans mounted on top. He seemed to keep to himself, not minding any part of the roaming pedestrians around him, nor the buzzing cars speeding pass him ever so closely.

After looking away for a moment to survey the street to see if my friend was around, I turn back to find the homeless man on my side of the street, lugging on his cart along with a second large plastic bag in his hands. The man trudged through the incoming tourists. I looked on as they stared at the man’s collection after walking pass him; their faces expressing wonderment and curiosity made crunchy lines between their eyebrows and their soft voices murmured secrets to each other followed by short giggles and laughs. But the man walked on toward the subway elevator entrance where I stood, unbothered and unspoiled.

He laid his bag and cart to rest before taking a seat on a guard pole next to a fire hydrant. Like a worker taking a break from his daily grind, the homeless man was taking a moment for himself from the everyday, open-around-the-clock shift of a job that we like to call “life.” He sat with a heavy hunch but his legs were crossed with a slight elegance. His arms rested on the top of his leg and his hand dangled above his foot, which floated just inches above the filthy ground -- something he must know the feeling to so well. From underneath his low-hanging brim, were his eyes observing the city that has moved ahead way before him; the town that burried his time in the past and forgot about him; the town he still holds on to because he is as much a part of the soul of this city as every other man, woman, child here. And not just here in this city, but the world. He still feels the connection.

From an outsider’s point of view he may not look like much, nor may it seem like he has an agenda or goal or purpose but behind those heavy eyes is the essence of a person who was just like you or me, and it was broken.

Not sure how it broke… was it his job? Was it the city? Was it an inner pain from something rooted that he couldn’t rid? or was it something he was running away from that led him to this point of his life? Whatever it may be, he still has a purpose to live; to wake up to the orange sun in the morning and to sleep under the dim light of the moon and to see the city in its quietest and its loudest.

Behind those eyes, is a man who still thinks and who still matters to this city. He has a history just like everyone else and perhaps one with a pain so much greater than what any ordinary person can endure. His only identity for us to relate to is the nike design on the sides of his relatively clean sneakers, and the logos on the cans mashed inside the plastic bags that lay beside him, or the “Obama” slogan on the front of his gritty t-shirt. We take one look at a typical homeless man and try to relate to that person and usually find nothing relatable because we don’t see the same brand names or similar bikes or listening to the same songs. So, we leave them behind, convinced they aren’t worth a second thought.

But this man is human afterall. He wasn’t born today or yesterday, nor will he be around the same spot tomorrow or the next, I’m sure. In this moment of solace that he’s owing to himself, he feels the burden of the kind of condescending look on people like him from others but in this very second, he’s looking down on everyone else for he knows the true meaning of survival and the means to live life. In his world, there is no rules or laws, he is in true freedom. How many of us can say the same thing about ourselves? He’s got the upper hand.

As the man sat there on the guard pole, his body hardly moved while his head slowly turned side to side. People walked through the crosswalks rushing to where ever and the cars honked loudly followed by variable shouting from the drivers. The man watched silently without moving an inch, looking on at the city for the first time since whenever.

I picked up my camera and tried snapping a picture but instead, I got 4-second video. I stopped recording, hoping to change my settings in time to snap a still photograph but when I looked up, the man had already returned to his daily grind. He grabbed his bag and pushed his cart toward the subway elevator entrance and soon went below ground.

I present to you the small video of the homeless man whose moment I discreetly shared. It’s very short and may not be much, but if you look hard enough, maybe you’ll just see something inside yourself through the man’s moment.

Hopefully, you’ll feel anything at all.

Go in peace, my friends.

Takeru, Chameleon