A Talk With Stranger

A Talk With Stranger(I-writes) I am on my way to the community office, but every step feels heavy. The closer I get, the more tense I get. Questions like "How will they all look at me?" "What will they ask?" "Community work is done in groups or altogether?" "But can I be okay with all that?" "How will I get to know them?" Being in thought, I was at the door of the community office. I can hear chattering among the girls. I step by the door, but nothing seems to change. The girls were too busy among themselves that they forgot to notice someone new. I was a stranger to them, but still, there was nothing... where are all those questions that should be asked by now? Whom should I give all those answers I prepared? I step back and looked at the name; it was Sunshine Community Garden, the right place. And I glanced by the door and at the corner, I saw a lonely chair, just like me. I sat at the back of the strangers; I feel lonely in the room of strangers.

The next day, I collected all the info I could hear. I know all the names of the strangers, and I noted them in my diary of memories. In those few days, I tried to talk and enter the place of strangers, but I hesitate, and I'm still alone. But then today, a stranger from the strangers came to me. She talked to me and took me to the strangers' group. I introduced myself to the strangers, even though I know all the strangers, but to be equal, they also told me about themselves. Then, are we known to each other? Are we still strangers?

The next day was the day I imagined daily; a slight change. I feel like the strangers are looking and noticing me while entering. I sat beside the strangers; the chair was lonely again. We are not strangers now; maybe these days were too good. We did the gardening; my plant is going to be happy. I gave that all my love and happiness to that plant. But another day approached; I don't know why, but I just looked back at my old place, and I notice another stranger sitting at the back. Why didn't I notice her coming? For her, I'm a stranger. I don't know how much time she will need to be among us. Is she writing in that diary of memories too? Is she lonely? It just feels like another me has entered the room of strangers.

The next day, I saw her entering the office and then from the back scanning the room. I approached her like that stranger who came to be. I became the stranger to take her to all others; she knows how to introduce herself and became a part of strangers. But the chair is lonely again when I glanced at that.