Sometimes I am just curious...

Have you ever glanced at a stranger as you pass them on the street, as they sit in front of you on the bus, stand in front of you at the check-out line... and wondered who they are, what they are thinking, what their life is like?

If you are anything like me, then these thoughts have occurred to you on many a random occasion. You won't do anything about it, but for a fleeting moment you wish you could read minds. You wonder if this is a social butterfly or a lonely soul. What do they do for a living? Does it make them happy? Have they found love yet or are they still looking? Are they looking at all? What are they most passionate about? Do they care what other people think about them? Do they sometimes wonder about complete strangers like you are now?

Today I read the absolute best written article I've read in my life. Unfortunately it is only available in norwegian, so those of you who doesn't understand it will just have to make do with my musings around it instead.

A man collapses after dismounting his bike. Witnesses run over to help, an ambulance is called, but it is too late. The only thing the man carries on him that helps identify him is the key to his apartment. According to the national register he has no living relatives. He is buried on the city's bill and no one comes to his funeral.

A journalist decides to find out who this man was, what his life was like. The people in his building didn't know him, even claimed there was no one living in that house by that name. The people he went to school with couldn't remember him.

It's a story about a mentally retarded man, who as a child was put in a special class, hidden away at a special school. He never had a job, no significant other and all that comes with, thirty odd years ago he was turned away from his own half-sister's house. He got no real help from the city and was merely stowed away in his apartment.

There is, however, a bright side to this story. Another lonely soul who lived three floors above him for several years became his friend and confidante. He accepted this man as who he was, did what he could to take care of him. Together they went on long drives in his friend's car and had even done so the day before his death. His friend had not been in his funeral, simply because he didn't know about it until afterwards, but he was present when they buried the urn.

It is not a happy ending, but it is nice to know that this person who everyone else seemed to have forgotten even existed, that he had a friend after all. Someone who knew him, who could tell his story.

From what I can tell, it seems this friendship probably started out with a random exchange of words, maybe as the two met by the mailboxes, or the doorway, or something equally random, ordinary place. And I think that's how many, many friendships out there starts out. One person says hello to a stranger they are curious about, and the stranger answers. So think about that the next time you catch yourself wondering about the strangers around you. Maybe these really are friends that you just don't know yet...