The Homo sapien has a Sub-Species...

...and I'm naming it Homo sapien pedestrianis.

Found in various pockets around the world, you can see the H. sapien pedestrainis right outside your window. Just look for a road or a sidewalk or the pavement. Any humanoid figure that is walking by is a H. sapien pedestrianis. I am one too.

I know that it isn't taxonomically correct, or even biologically, as there is no change in the genetic structure of a H. sapien pedestrianis, but for the sake of this piece, I am going to be biologically incorrect. 

A common name for this sub-species is 'pedestrian', or someone who walks rather than travels by a vehicle. Of course this means that they are more susceptible to accidents on the road due to a sub-species of impatient drivers. It's quite the challenge to stay alive, what with Herbert Spencer's phrase 'survival of the fittest' putting so much pressure on the pedestrian to compete with moving machinery.

I should now add that when I started writing this a few years ago (in 2016 it would seem), I was only thinking of my experiences at home. Now that I've lived in or visited places outside the country, my perspective has widened a fair bit. 

The social order in some other parts of the world places the H. sapien pedestrianis near the top, where there is almost no need to make survival checks on a sidewalk. It's an experience being able to walk down the pavement or to cross the road like you're royalty. That is, till the odd bicycle or electric scooter goes whizzing past you. There's no sticking out your hand in the desperate and unsure hopes that the vehicles will stop for you and let you cross — my friend says they call this the "hand of god" as she too recalls similar differences between here and her home-country — because when you do stick your hand out to a vehicle, it will be to signal a thank you for stopping and waiting. 

Though I have to say, as a pedestrian nothing beats the rush of being able to stroll slowly in front of a line of motorcyclists as they honk incessantly at you to move out of their way, despite them riding on the sidewalk. Not even the thrill of getting the right of way in other parts of the world.

Home is Home No More

It's been a year.

I look around.

I see that nothing has changed.

Except that it has.

Everything has.

People who were once called friends,

They are now strangers.

It's like meeting them for the first time.

But they're still the same.

Playing HALO 3 on the Xbox.

Giggling amongst themselves at their lame jokes.

Making fun of each other.

Yes, it's all the same.

Not just my friends,

But my family too has changed.

My sister, she has

Broken out of her tomboyish shell.

A young woman of 16,

Her actions seem obviously

More mature than mine.

My parents seem distant, stressed and cold.

What happened to the warmth, the love?

The warm hugs that used to make me feel safe

Cease to do so.

It seems robotic,

Forced onto me by societal norms.

Everything seems so dry and shrivelled up.

Home isn't home anymore.

I look at the walls.

They are clothed now

With posters of movies and TV shows.

Large and small,

They advertise, propagate.

They lure customers in.

Success will be theirs forever.

The once blank wall

Leaves no room for creative wonder.

It is quite stifling in this room.

It feels more boxier,

Defined.

Except for that one rectangle of comfort

That shall always be mine.

My bed.

The one thing that hasn't changed.

Still comfortable,

With pleasant dreams and

Moon rays falling in through the window.

And then it hits me.

What if it isn't the room that's changed?

Or my parents, sister or friends?

What if it's me?

Home isn't home anymore.