Her name was Nola. She was the little old woman sitting at the bus stop with me, to whom the description 'urban gnome' could have applied. A knitted cap, big winter coat, beige gloves and a large orange bag. Whisps of orange-blonde dyed hair slipped under the edges of her hat, and her eyes were young and green.

I met her waiting for the 52. We started talking because of the cars rushing by, splashing cold, muddy, snow at us. And we kept talking. About this and that, and other things. School, books, public transportation, men who refuse to take the bus, driving in downtown Vancouver, the "weather revolution", as she called it, in Alberta... anything really. She was wonderful. And just what I needed at the time. When I got to the bus stop, I was feeling really down. I needed a random stranger to talk to me, as though I were just another normal person.

Me? Normal? Ha.

But my point is that Nola made my day - made a difference. When I realized that my bus stop was coming up, I considered riding all the way to Whyte Ave with her, as I was enjoying her company so much. But common sense prevailed, and I came home. I'm glad that I met her, even though I know that I'll likely never see her again. I'll remember her though in that way that you remember random strangers who leave a mark on your heart. Maybe I just miss my own grandparents... I don't know. Doesn't seem likely, but I suppose that stranger things have happened. Maybe I was just having a bad day, and needed someone to not ask me what was wrong. That seems more likely.

I wish everyone in the world could have moments like this, meet people like Nola. It helps to reaffirm one's faith in humanity. Yesterday Mr. Walker told us about picking up a hitchiker on Sat night on his way home from a movie. He had two of his big guy friends with him, and the guy's car had just broken down and he was trying to get to the gas station. Mr. Walker said that at the time, he felt as though he had an angel and devil on his shoulders. And he couldn't have said which one was saying which, but one was telling him just to drive away, and the other was telling him to help his fellow man. In the end, he did help. And he asked us, did he do the right thing? I told him yes. He reached out, when someone needed help. Maybe that doesn't seem like a big deal to most people, but as someone who's needed that alot, it makes a difference to me. I mean, how many times have I needed someone to pick me up off the side of a road? Sometimes I've been hurt, or lost, or carrying a broken bicycle. Sometimes I've just been trying to get to school. But the fact remains that I needed /someone/ to help me. I was reaching out. And people reached back.

Maybe that what life is all about. Reaching back. No matter who it is, or how much you dislike them, or look down upon them, or distrust them. Just being sure that if you see someone with a hand stretched out, that you at least try to reach them as well. Whether or not you can 'save' them, is not the issue. It's not who can change the world - it's who's willing to try.