A Letter Written Between Stops

Dear Stranger whose shoulder brushed mine on the jeepney,

We never spoke, but your presence made me wonder about the stories you carried in your silence.  I noticed the way your hands clutched your bag and how you fought to stay upright each time the jeep stopped abruptly. I even caught myself sneaking glances at your phone—accidentally reading a message or two, and quietly getting frustrated as you struggled with Block Blast (you were one move away from clearing the level!).

That tiny glimpse into your world reminded me why writing to a stranger feels more freeing. To someone I love, I would hold back, afraid of judgment, careful not to wound our shared history. But with you—someone who has no idea who I really am—I can invent, imagine, and reveal myself without any consequence.

Like Charlie from TPOBAW writing to his “Dear Friend,” you are a blank page—a quiet witness who exists only in this letter. Maybe that’s the magic of strangers: your silence frees me, and your anonymity lets me want to scatter my secrets like paper scraps in the wind. I can imagine everything: your destination, your dreams, your secret worries. Maybe that’s what makes it creative as well: the freedom to invent you, to fill in the gaps of a life I’ll never really know.

I’ll never find out where you got off or what happened after, and you’ll never remember me either, but for a brief ride, your existence became proof of sonder—that even a stranger beside me carries an entire world I can only ever guess at.

With curiosity,

That fellow passenger still wondering if you ever got around to finishing that level