I love to play my music loud. At least loud in my room. It’s my nighttime ritual when I am alone in my room. I listen to my current favorite tracks. Currently they are the latest from Naked and Famous and the catchy tune from The Knife.

As I browsed the web and filled my brain with useless information, I heard a bang. I paused and stepped into my dark hallway. Living on a busy street, I hear this kind of thing all the time. Yet several years ago, I vowed not to have a pedestrian effect. Was that a gunshot? I shuffled to the library room, which overlooks the sidewalk from the second floor. I spotted a man standing in front of my house.

Of course, I stopped myself as I wondered how I would describe him. I thought…black man as I was standing on my second floor. But then I listened carefully and his accent was Spanish…and a few Spanish words sputtered out. I thought that he was waving a black object. A gun? I then watched him throw it into nowhere and it fell into a clatter. I don’t know what it was. But then I saw him bang his fist on the hood of a car. Boom! I couldn’t tell if there was anybody inside the rusty looking blue car. He was yelling, angry about being inferior, about being pushed around. He had a small glass bottle, which clearly was a sign of his mental state.

I watched several people walk by, who barely gave him a look.

Hesitant about what to do next, I asked Chris. I called the non-emergency number to report the guy. I sputtered on how to describe him and especially when asked about the race—my politically correctness overwhelmed me. I said that he was bald, blue paid, jeans, and a black backpack. He wandered away, still yelling.

Last year, I remember a man wailing in tears, cursing the afternoon sunny sky. Waiting outside a popular deli with my broken shoes, I felt sad for the man. Everyone on the street watched him with wariness, fear, and disgust. As he crossed the street, suddenly he sat down in the lane, blocking traffic. For the next five minutes, I tensed as everyone started taking photos of him and pulled out their phones. Whether to instagram, Facebook, twitter. I imagined the line “this is the Mission!” I don’t mean to sound superior, but I didn’t want to pull out my phone. I suddenly knew that I would too lie down in the middle of the street too when in despair…more in act of attention the-please-pay-attention-to-me. Because I knew that there’s nothing like cars going around you to make you realize that you matter. But I watched the man with my hands to the side and my bag closed. Until suddenly the man decided to leave. Not a single person came to help him.