An Open Letter to the Passenger Who Tried to Kill Me

Dear Fellow-passenger-who-has-apparently-gone-mad,

Say no more.

I see the frustration with life in your eyes. You’ve had enough of life biting you in the ass. Of people overlooking you. Throwing you crumbs. Jeering in your face.

I get it. I do.

But, that is not enough reason for you to want to kill me. And the two beautiful women behind me. And the nice schoolgirl who adjusted her seat for me to sit properly. And the other woman shushing her wailing toddler.

Did you not hear the two women talking about how difficult today’s sales were, and how they could not wait to hit their beds?

And the toddler’s mummy cajoling the child to hold on until they got to the hospital. Just a bit more. In a voice laced with tears?

Can you not fathom that the schoolgirl on the bus is likely the most precious thing to her loved ones? A young harmless preteen sweetheart on her way home after a stressful day of lessons.

And me, on my way home after a hard day of listening to my boss tell me that my job description includes packing his plates after lunch.

Life is hard for all of us. Not just you. We are all trying to get by.

Maybe you had a worse day than all of us combined. Maybe you reached your breaking point when the driver refused to give you any change as we got to your bus stop. Maybe that is the only cash you have for the weekend.

Does that give you the right to hijack the steering wheel of our moving vehicle? To put all our lives in danger. Because you feel entitled to some change? I do not think so. And as the driver tried to reason with you, you had the audacity to slap him and hold on to the steering wheel some more?

But, do you know you’re wrong all around? The bus fare is what it is. You did not ask before getting on but had the nerve to hijack a bus packed with people.

You looked around and saw only women on the bus. In your opinion, helpless. That must have boosted your morale enough to endanger our lives.

But, you messed with the wrong crowd. I like that you shrunk when we shouted you down. That was the effect I was going for. People like you deserve to see some crazy. I am glad I did not cower or beg. None of us did.

For the first time, I asked do you know who I am? And felt proud of it. At least, that got you to release the steering wheel. The fear of the unknown. And when I gave you some money and asked you to get off the bus, you did. But, it should never have come to that.

If you had no other money, causing harm to others was not the way to ask for it. As we all talked about the incident after you had alighted, we all agreed that you needed some counseling. We hope you get some.

I hope you learned a vital lesson today. Three, if I may.

• That you should never view women as helpless
• That your life is not worth more than the lives of others
• That you can simply ask if you need help. Not fight.

I hope you find a way to talk about your troubles and avoid brooding until you get to your breaking point. I hope this is the last time you ever put people's lives in danger. I hope you think about the women who stood up to you on the bus that day.

A survivor,

Oly.

----------

This story was first published here.

----------