Attempt at a Moving Experience

While I find it difficult to recall any singular memory or experience that moves me the way Hampl was moved by the lady on her bus, it is the main idea that stands with me the most. It’s the notion that out of all of the revealing moments that strike you in the open, beneath them is a more delicate and touching experience. The one thing that comes to mind in this may not even be the same genre of story, but it stays with me nonetheless. My freshman year I went to Paris with the January term: French Culture. For a basic two weeks we learned everything there was to be taught and that no matter where you went in Europe, you were always at risk of having things stolen. The pessimistic idea of cruel world wasn’t pushed, but you were made to realize that in a bustling crowded cite these instances of harsh reality may thrive. On an afternoon where we were allowed some free time to go shopping in groups, Kylie Kaspar took pity on me and let me tag alont being one of the few boys on the trip. On a busy street corner we stopped to buy some candy from a vendor and somehow her camera ended up stolen. What I remember the most about the entire trip was not some singularly fantastic view, but the face of the little old man who sold the candy as he helped us look for it. Although that whole nostalgic memory could be shot to hell if I found out he was the one to steal the camera in the first place.