Kismet

 
The rain pounds heavily on the windscreen as I head towards office. The radio is on but inaudible. The only sound is the rapid woosh –woosh of the wipers. The light outside is dusk-like with limited visibility. I contemplate stopping on the side of the road until this strong lashing stops but instead slow down. The closest car is some feet away, the driver in the same predicament as I, struggling to navigate in this rough weather.
 
The red light looks distorted, fuzzy reminding me of runny colors in a portrait. As I wait for the signal to change, I notice him. He is walking on the sidewalk wearing an oversized bright yellow raincoat. His gait sluggish, unbalanced, fighting the strong winds.
 
Something about him piques my interest. Upon close observation, I notice the raincoat shielding him from the merciless rain is tattered. His head although covered with the hood, is soaking wet with drops of water pouring out of his thin, damp hair like a leaky faucet. His feet are bare, matching his sleeveless, ill-fitting shirt and shorts. The plastic bag carrying his belongings looks like a bundle of soggy mess against his chest. But he holds onto to it and its contents tightly, as if protecting whatever little he has and calls his own from the travails of this world.
 
I cannot help but muse about his journey. Maybe he had it good but perhaps fate maligned him by playing a hostile game. Maybe one fine morning, he decided to give up on the promise of life. He lost everything including faith, trust. Maybe he was a son, a brother, a lover or a father to someone. Or maybe he still clings on to the fine, delicate strings of life in hopeful anticipation of something spectacular to occur. Just maybe.
 
A homeless, destitute man who plods through the unexpected forces of life with extreme difficulty while I traverse through them sitting in the comfort of my abundance.
 
I enter my office acutely conscious of my kismet. This is one of those instances when I am gently reminded of life’s apparent but unexplained disparities.