At first glance, I saw a simply dressed, pretty woman.
She was tall and bony but her face had a sculptured look artists go gaga for.
Since then, summers and winters have passed. I have seen her alone -- ALWAYS alone. That face, I thought so pretty, showed me at a moment’s glance, lifetimes of comings and goings I could not imagine.
Then one particular day, sometime last year, I took bus 92 on my way to somewhere.
From inside the bus, I saw her filling jugs with water in our “favorite” park. It was then that I decided to take her picture.
Time passed and I saw her no more. I often wondered about her and if she were okay.
One day, quite by accident, I found her home – a cardboard box. The entrance walls of a refurbished building provided her shelter from the cold and privacy from passers-by prying eyes.
A few weeks later, I saw the space she called home boarded.
The park bench was now her bed, accessible to the elements and open to prying eyes।
Nowadays, she spends her time in a prone position, smoking and listening to what seems to me to be an mp3 player or radio.
When she walks around and around, she twitches, bounces, paces and mumbles like the first time she caught my eye. Her face is older.
I have chosen to select pictures that do not show her face.
I am curious about her.
How is it that I or we are “here” and she is “there”?
Were we born into the “right” family? For us, was it spiritual or genetic luck or, in her case, bad karma?
To philosophical for a blog, I know.
I don’t expect to take any more photos of her. What I would really like to do is speak and get to know her better.
And maybe, just maybe,
P. S. I have written many posts, and with few exceptions, my stories tell the light side of Barcelona.
However, my adopted city has a heartbreaking side too. The unknown woman in my post is as important to me as the street-performers and the “pesky tourists” I lovingly have written about and you have read.
They are Barcelona to me and so is she.
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