Wednesday 9 August 2017

An attempt on Creative Non-Fiction


Hi there!

Again, long time no post!

Haha, think I'll just have to make this my new catch phrase or punchline or something, I use it often enough! lol

Anyways, I thought I would share something here today that had been on my mind for a while now.

Oh! Word of warning. Content may be somewhat offensive. Read at own risk! xP

What I've written here is as a creative non-fiction piece for your enjoyment. Please bear with me though. I haven't written creative non-fiction for a while (or written anything much to say the least) so the piece is probably riddled with mistakes even with my self edits...probably should have run it by a professional editor...errr...can't afford one. Wink, wink ;D

Well, if anything strikes a chord or there's anything you'd like to comment on, please feel free! I do welcome some feedback! Though, I do realise there could be a can of worms here...so just need to be careful, I guess. Haha.

Cheers and thanks!
- eenh

Untitled

Poor kid. Probably didn't have much English on him, if at all. I noticed this as I got on the tram. He was in front of me and his father managed to get him a seat at the very front while he went a little further back. The little boy got worried and looked about in alarm.
'Ba,' he cried, or dad in Chinese. His father let's him know he's just behind him and the boy settles back down. The doors close and we start to move. The doors open again and someone who just got on the tram starts to grumble. I hear a snippet here and there.
'...when I was growing up, we were taught to respect our elders...I'm 70 years old...this 7 year old kid. I have to stand up while this 11 year old kid...'
I look around in puzzlement. Who is saying all this. Oh, I see her. A robust looking old lady with quite a large bag beside her. A dirty pea green duffel. At first I didn't make the connection. Then saw the boy sitting on the edge of the two seater at the front who was playing with the flyers and tram timetables on the wall. Oh, right. Just another nut case off her head. Nothing to worry about, we get a lot of them in the city.
'No no, it's fine. You have your seat. Yeah, you just sit there while I have to stand,' she pushes the boy. 'Don't want to share. Fine, keep the seat all to yourself, why don't you.'
I look on in disbelief as she sticks her bum out and shoves the little boy off his seat. All the while he looks perplexed and scared. His father was seated a couple of seats down. He was on his phone. Totally oblivious to what was happening to his son. I really didn't want to stick around to see what happens next. My blood was boiling at that point, but I didn't stand up for them either. Nobody did. We all just looked at each other, mouth opening and closing. The boy who lost his seat now stands there looking clueless as ever.
Meanwhile the old lady continues her tirade and again I was shocked into silence when I heard, '...if he was brought up Australian...' I'm sure she said other things, worse things, but those words stung. I felt myself shake my head, knit my brows and twist my mouth. I held onto my tongue and clenched my jaws shut.
Everyone's ears seemed to have perked up and looking around, I think I was glad that there were a few on the tram that found her comments disagreeable. I for one was quite offended but still I kept my mouth shut. I didn't want to make it any worse, as I didn't know how to make it any better.
I thought of telling the boy in Chinese. 'bie li ta', don't pay her any attention or don't worry or something, but for some reason my mouth had run dry and my limited Chinese all went out the window. I felt hopeless. All I could do was stare and look around at the other discontented faces around me. I'm not sure I controlled what went on with my face.
It was time to get off. I needed to get off. Bad. Flinders station stop. My stop. And for many others too. A nice lady in front of me approaches the boy and asks if he was alone but I doubt he knew what was happening or what she was saying or that she was being nice. I was going to say his father is right here, but again my mouth ran dry. All I managed was 'His f..' and was talked over by that rude old lady.
'Oh, why don't we all worry about him now, ay,' she says.
Someone else in the tram told her to shut her mouth. I had to get out. The poor boy brushes past to get to his father. And that was the last I saw as I pushed past the on coming crowd, got off the stifling tram and went on my way, though, not without many a backward glance and many a shake of my head.
Was I right not to say nothing? Would I have made the situation worse by speaking up? Why do I still feel so shitty and somewhat guilty? Sigh..