Contrast

Classic music echoes from the living room speakers and lightly dances its way into my room. I lay on the covers of my bed wrapped in a fuzzy bathrobe with my hands raised above my head to hold a book. The heater beside my bed keeps me warm. My dog’s feet peck against the wooden floors as she trots to investigate what my mother cooks. 

I make plans with friends that I’ve known for many years. I walk the same streets, eat at the same restaurants, coffee shops and ice cream parlors. I walk from my home to downtown easily to admire the bright leaves. I wear only a light jacket to venture outside. Pumpkins, fake cobwebs and skeletons decorate the passing houses. The streets are quiet at night, with only the glow from the fake candle inside the carved pumpkins to light the porches.

Life seems predictable.

The British newscasters alert us of the current events occurring around the world on the screen of the small TV in our living room. I sit hunched over at my tiny desk arranged with multiple pens and highlights to study a chemistry textbook in front of my nose. I hear the loud chopping of vegetables and my father’s footsteps traveling around the kitchen. He hollers for me to set the table for dinner. As I peer at the night sky and rain outside my window while stretching, my neighbor stands on his terrace to smoke and converse on the phone despite the conditions. The baby in the next apartment over cries. 

  I take the public bus praying that it turns left and not right at the intersection. I walk to a meeting place uptown quickly, scanning my surroundings to remember my way back. I always pass something interesting, whether that's a protest for women’s rights or construction of a new office building or restoration of a museums or a dog that refuses to cease barking at me despite the owner’s tugs of disapproval.

 The majority is uncertain.