Life As Performance Art 55

It's easy to talk to people. Strangers, I mean. On the bus, on the Skytrain, anywhere. I should say that it is easy for me talking to strangers. It could be that I don't believe in strangers. I think that we are all connected somehow, which basically strips away all excuses for racism, prejudice and exclusion. If you are prejudiced against anyone for whichever reason, then you are really prejudiced against yourself. DNA evidence documented through years of research shows that humans are one of the most closely related species on the earth. We show the least difference or variation of DNA of all animals, and there are closing in on seven billion of us. This of course, really gives the lie to the fixation some people have with the superficial differences of race. Especially when you consider that even though I am a Caucasian, my DNA could be closer to a black person from Rwanda or a Filipino than to another white European. So, what I'm saying is how easy it is to talk to people, and for the simple reason that I already feel like I know other people, that we are not strangers. Even if they might not happen to share this perception with me. I don't know how to trace any of this. Apparently I was always friendly, or so my mother used to tell me, even as a young child, very unlike my brother who seemed to hate almost everyone who didn't subscribe to his formula of cool and went on to be a highly successful radio broadcaster and drug addict. My kind, peaceful and loving nature helped me wind up in low wage employment and living in a subsidized apartment. But I am still happier, and likely still a lot happier than my successful miserable brother. Not really seeing others as being different, or "other" also has made me less competitive, so I have turned out to be quite a decent, if less than successful human being. Unless I could boast about being successful at being human. A couple of days ago on the Skytrain I noticed a man wearing a very beautiful yarmulke, that small skullcap or Kippah that Jewish men wear to synagogue and on holy days and other notable occasions. It was so lovely, white with an embroidery of little colour emblazons, rather like spectrums, that I had to tell him how beautiful it was. He told me that his mother had made it for him. When I asked if it was a Jewish holy day, he replied that he had just been to the funeral of a friend of his family, that he was one of the pallbearers and had also helped in the burial, which apparently is part of the Jewish funerary custom. It was an interesting, and educational chat, that lasted unfortunately for only two Skytrain stops. I could see that he was a bit stressed from what he had just been through and was glad to be there for him to vent and unburden a little. But we also got to share a couple of laughs and I really enjoyed his sense of humour and the kind, sensitive soul he was showing. When I got off the train I felt all the richer for having made a new friend, and that I knew a little bit more about Jewish practices. I regret that we didn't learn each other's names. There wasn't enough time for introductions. I was also left wondering, as I always have, why are there such large populations among us of hateful fear-ridden idiots who hate Jews? Who hate anybody? I have never understood anti-semitism, or anti any class of human being. It could be because I have never ceased from being that friendly child who will approach almost anybody. I never became cool like my miserable brother. I hope I never do.