30m 0s
A few months ago, I was taking the subway to work when a 16-year-old boy slipped on the subway platform and hit his chin on the ground. He stumbled onto the train and stood next to me. I kept my earbuds in and tried to convince myself this wasn’t my problem. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw that he’d split open his chin; blood and tears were gushing down his face. I looked around the train for someone else to help—maybe someone who works with kids. No one even looked up. So I grabbed some tissues from my backpack, turned to him, and told him to hold it against his chin. He was in shock. I tried to calm him down and told him to go to the nurse’s office when he got to school.
All I could think was: What if that was me? Who would help me? Would everyone stand around like they’re doing now?
But when I ran out of tissues to stop this kid’s bleeding, people on the train noticed and handed me disinfectant wipes, paper towels, and bandages. We were able to stop the bleeding. When I got off the train, another stranger got up and stood by his side.
When we’re wounded, we don’t trust the people around us. We shelter away because we think it’s the only way to be safe. We let strangers suffer because, in this emotional state, everyone is a threat. That means it’s hard to work with others to build the world we want. We’re left to hunker down for the inevitable dystopia that is to come.
But I don’t want to live in that world. I want to feel safe. I want to help others to feel safe. And I want people to do the same for me—regardless of whether I’m a stranger or not.