A Photographic Thought
November 16, 2006

A memory escaped my mind until I watched the end of Grey's Anatomy tonight. It was sparked by Miranda Bailey singing a song to her baby over the phone, and then by Meredith visiting her mother. I mean to write about it, but it slipped away before I could get the chance.

I had gotten off the plane after going home for my birthday in September. It was during a weekday, and it was early in the morning, so the Victoria Airport was a very quiet one. 'Hollow' is the term which most accurately describes the atmosphere. There were people here and there, but it was like walking in a wax museum.

I went into the gift shop to search for a book since, on hearing rumors about the traffic, I thought it was going to be a while before I got picked up. I think it was about then that I heard it: the most angelic, yet sorrowful voice echoing off the immaculate walls. I don't know what exactly the song was about, but it was breathtaking. Listening to this had the same effect as looking at an aged photograph of your predescesors and recognizing your own face staring back.

At first I thought it was a radio, then I realized that they don't play music in the airport. Next I presumed that it was a young person, sitting on the floor with a hat in front of him. I had to find the source. And I did after a bit of searching. What I saw, I didn't really believe at first.

There was this solitary old man seated by the window. He was a sturdy, average looking senior. I don't think I saw his face, but he was rocking back and forth a little, singing the sad melody into nothing. He wasn't asking for money, nor did he have any visible audience. He simply sang for what seemed to be the sake of singing.

I went back in and bought my book. On the way out of the gift shop I saw the elderly man accompanied by a middle aged man who I assumed to be his son. They were on their way into the gate, and the younger man spoke to his presumed father in a lightly condescending but loving way. This indicated the senior was indeed mentally unsettled. I already thought so. Why else would anybody jeopardize their dignity for the sake of something other than themselves, after all?

I didn't linger or stare. I passed them, I moved on. I sat in the now hollow airport, opened my book, and returned to fiction.