Bad Experiences

This is not the first bad experience I had all these days, but I believe this is one worth sharing.

I just had one of the worst nights this year, especially if someone wants to hurt you for a mere space in a train.

I was waiting for an MRT train that night, and it was not really a pleasant sight to behold - two trains had passed in front of me, and all of them are packed with people. The train carriages were so tight that not even a single sardine can fit in. Worse, I am not alone: there are a number of people who are lined up behind me, and I could not get myself to assert my right to being first in line. I really hate it when the code of chivalry (or chauvinism, for those radical few) runs through my mind, allowing the women to take the small spaces that I should have taken for myself.

Then came the third train. The carriages was jam-packed as always, but there was one thing about that time, and that was I was alone in the line, like a speck of dust that was left from a recently wiped table top. The small space that can be created with a little, well, assertive pleading was rightfully mine, I thought to myself.

Then, the unexpected happened.

When I was about to enter the jam-packed carriage I got dragged out by an unknown guy by pulling the back collar of my shirt. Worse, he struck the right side of my stomach with his knee, turning me around like a figurine that was tipped over, and causing me to fall face down. That particular blow gave me a horrendous feeling that one of my innards (possibly my liver) was folded in half and was writhing in pain. And, worst of all, I did not manage to see the person who did it - the train was already leaving by that time I could manage to turn my view around.

It is just a good thing that willing Samaritans wearing security guard uniforms assisted me. They helped me stand up, dusted off the dirt that got stuck on my shirt, and even asked me if I needed medical attention.

Being the one who is used to getting hurt in the years of youth, I simply said I'm fine and that I just want to get home as early as possible.

Then one of the guards described to me what the unkind person looked like - he is not a big person (compared to me), but he looked like a felon and he has dreadlocks for hair.

So much for the "Bob Marley for peace" shirts. And the pain in the back is still there.