Christmas Eve

Now and then he opens his eyes to his surroundings, occasionally glancing at his watch before letting them slowly flutter to a rest again. John Lewis, Selfridges, Marks and Spencer, Hamleys, Office bags have all met him on his journey home, within carriages full of the unspoken agitation that arises in the few days prior to Christmas. The usual silence regularly felt on this journey now harshly hums and rattles from the compressed anticipation of wrapped gifts. The best of intentions often met with disappointment or disapproval, despite the hundreds of pounds invested into creating something rather magical.

British-Korean, he is late forties, possibly early fifties. His eyes are now closed with his head sunk into the warmth he has found from an overly tight collar and neck- tie. The wind-proof jacket and baseball cap he wears read ‘London’s Best Sights.’ The observant passenger on the same Bakerloo line train heading to Elephant and Castle would notice this man’s hairline fade to the rim of the cap, resting loosely above the fold of the top of his ears. The cap, like the tape on his jacket spelling ‘best’ is creased and worn.

Slouched under his cap, he dreams of his son. He dreams of everything he could achieve. He sees his eyes, before him, full of innocence and wild expectation. A new generation with a whole world to see, feel and taste. He wonders what voice his son will grow up to have, where he may live, what instrument he could play and what his interest in his own ancestry might be.

He opens his eyes in anticipation of his stop before it is called. Once called, he straightens his tie, lifts his body and exits the carriage. Dipping his head from the oncoming wind, his escalator faces the barriers where his wife and son wait for him. He is the only one to be greeted. He looks to his wife and then to his son. They head home together.