Where is Da Love?

Note: This post reeks of self-pity, like cheap designer-impostor cologne at a seedy singles bar (or so I've been told), as well as "under the influence" self-righteousness, so you are forewarned!

A few weeks back, I attended a totally awesome concert for a Cantopop boyband from my youth. (Oh blessed youth. Oh blessed boybands...) I left the arena in insanely good spirits, which were lifted by the previous three hours of energetic booty shaking, excellent songs, and the lovely sight of tanned, chiseled torsos that the boys (well, men, who are pushing 40, but work with me here) treated us to in their final encore.

I hate crowds, so I am forever darting through them trying to get the hell out of them...this time was no different. I should note that while I am naturally clumsy, I am very good at elusive and evasive maneuvering ("Run away!!!"), so I am usually able to get through crowds at a fair speed and with little disruption to other people (no matter how much I feel like shoving peeps aside and screeching "Move along, dammit!"). So all was going well, until I reached the steps above the entrance to the Hung Hom Coliseum MTR station, where somehow, I missed a step, and took a face-first tumble down a short flight of eight concrete steps. The damage? Most of the impact was on the right side of my face, near my right eye. The skin was scraped up pretty badly, yes, there was blood. (Eeeek. Faint. Eeek.) But thankfully, my eye was not damaged, though I could feel a soreness and tenderness that foretold of epicly nasty swelling and bruising later. I did not lose consciousness, and in fact, when the 5 second free-fall down those steps to the first landing ended, I was able to stand, check that all limbs were operational, and continue down the steps. When I reached the bottom, I staked a spot out of the way of foot traffic, pulled out my ubiquitous tissue pack (in Hong Kong, tissue packs are a necessity when on the go: to mop up sweat from the godawful humidity and heat, as well as for use in local diners --instead of greasy spoons, let's call 'em greasy chopsticks-- that don't supply napkins) in order to stem the bleeding. All of this occurred in less than two minutes.

So what? You may be asking. Sh*t happens, so deal with it. I agree. All the medical personnel I've been in contact with have told me that it could have been worse -- I could have damaged the eye, smashed in a temple, broken bones or suffered a head injury. So I'm just happy to be alive and kicking. But my painkiller-fueled self-pity and righteous rage is on a roll here, so humor me for a tic.

What bummed me about this accident was not the actual damage (X-rays showed no facial fractures, thank goodness, and the scrapes and cuts, while deep, didn't require stitches), but the fact that NOT ONE PERSON asked me if I was OK, let alone offered assistance, after I fell down the stairs. I mean, it's not like it happened in a secluded area, in the dead of night. There were many people witnessing my, well, downfall; nearly all were audience members of the same concert I had just attended. You would think a chick falling face-first down some steps should at the very least break the rhythm of the crowd's flow! But nope, business as usual, as harried people continued on their way...

Oh, and here's the irony icing on top of the "Woe is Me" cake: One of the last songs of the concert was a Cantonese cover of "What the World Needs is Love"! The artists asked the audience to engage in a touchy-feely "We are the World" moment, linking hands with neighbors, regardless of if you knew them or not, while singing along and swaying in unison, in an effort to get the audience thinking about how showing a little more humanity and love to each other will help us get through tough times. I kid you not. Let me tell you, not ten minutes later, those same concert goers definitely weren't showing a bloody, facescrubbed chick any love!

Yeah, I was a little depressed about that. My faith in the goodness of people was, like my face, a bit banged up. True to form though, I was able to rationalize the lack of any Good Samaritan behavior by the fact that it happened so quickly, that I was conscious, and able to get up and walk on my own. I sincerely hope, though, that if I had lost consciousness, if my head had popped off, or if my appendages had twisted like twine, that SOMEONE would have come to my aid!

This experience has given me a peek at the uglier side of people: the lack of spectator concern or aid when the accident occurred; a flatmate who, when confronted with my bandaged face and swollen black eye, head-on, opted to stare and say nothing; rude, cold, indifferent stares at my bandaged face and eye. But more importantly, this experience has shown me the better side of people, and has made me appreciate simple, human gestures more: A kindly maid going out of her way to fetch more bottled water for me ("Hydration helps healing!"); a waitress sharing home remedies for bruising; a nurse spending extra time re-dressing my wound in order to make it as comfortable as possible; a sympathetic smile and wince from complete strangers; friends and acquaintances asking me if I was OK, offering assistance and words of concern.

All of these things helped me regain my belief in the inherent goodness of people, and also made me more sensitive to how a small, human gesture can have a significant effect, even on complete strangers. It's weird, corny, and quite insignificant, but I have found myself holding doors open for people more, smiling at strangers more, and generally being more cognizant that we are all human beings, who have the capacity to be kind, to love, and who deserve kindness and love. Don't worry, I'm still a snarky cynic, but a snarky cynic who is showing a tad more humanity. But in response to "Where is Da Love?" -- I think that Love is inside of us...sometimes it may need a little coaxing to appear, but it's there. Else, life would really suck, wouldn't it?