She loved simplicity found in the most intricate of designs. The irony in it and the swirl of unbounded possibilities found in a solitary and swift pattern of awkward strokes and blurred vivid colors made her marvel at how such complexity could seem so simple yet infinitely so beautiful. She had sought solace in such things of “simplicity”. In a throng of people, she would stare at crevices or at filth in the concrete pavement, deep in thought. Seemingly an escape from the reality of human life. But in truth it is not an escape. For the fact that she knows that such refuge does not exist. It is a mere pause. A breather. Nothing more. Eccentric she may indeed seem to you, but aren’t we all? Unknowingly. Unconsciously. Unaware. You may see her as a person of depth or of great philosophical intellect or you may see her otherwise. Either way, she is simply a person who questions the “what ifs” and “how comes” and the difference between great love and simply love, why happiness is irrelevant to wealth and its relations and the truth behind altruism and if such a phenomenon truly exists. In her fleeting sense of silence granted to her by her listless face and unwavering eyes, a state of ostensible blankness. She gathers her thoughts and wraps them up, tucking them away for next time. She clutches her favorite, worn out, supposedly old-school bag and heads to her destination. With a hurried pace and big strides, she is obliquely aware of her surroundings. But her senses are keen. Yet she knows all too well that sight or sound is not enough without intuition. In the bustling streets of the metro, camouflaged as innocent city-goers and passer-bys are the sly and quick pickpockets and the devious murderers and fellow sinful men. Yes, our world wouldn’t be our world if it weren’t for those people. She passes beggars and tattered stands and shops that used to look like shops, she spots jeepney conductors shouting out indistinguishable names of places and tricycle drivers waiting in line for their next passenger, she passes convenience stores and eventually passes by fast food chains like Mc Donald’s and Jollibee, she passes a bookstore and a posh beauty shop and expensive coffee cafes. The view of the former tattered stands fade into the distance and high rise condominiums loom into view, casting shadows on the stores below. Flashy cars are parked in the pay parking areas and coffee shops. All the hustle and bustle are muted as she thoughtfully looks around and gives out a sigh.

She makes herself comfy and gets her favorite music device out of her cluttered bag, puts on the earphones and flips it on. She drowns herself in the sounds of “Hands Down” and hums along. To the dismay of the person beside her who looks on disapprovingly at the so-called ghastly and unbearable already muffled sound her music device emits. But she pays no heed to the person’s glare. She knows that she does no one any wrong by playing music with earphones on. The rhythm pulsates through her ears and soothes her frayed nerves. The loud noise of the outwardly distasteful and blatantly lurid music of her player drowns the loud noise of the dissonant and discordant music of the world.