It started with a muffin

Have you ever tried a Starbucks muffin? How about the double chocolate one? It’s the one that’s an incredibly dark brown, almost to the point of being black. It’s the one that has the large chocolate chips encrusted in the top like diamonds in the rough. Sound familiar? I hope so.

I tell you this because there is objectively nothing on the planet that tastes better than this muffin. Having taken the first bite of the muffin, you taste first the soft crumbly body of the muffin in all its glory. It’s light but fulfilling and has enough of a hint of chocolate to keep you interested. Then it hits you. The flavour of the chocolate chip (which you, as a sophisticated connoisseur of baked goods, have also bitten into) explodes into your mouth and you are reminded of everything good that has ever happened to you. Mere words are not sufficient enough to describe this sensation, but suffice it to say that once you have tasted this ambrosia, this nectar that only the gods themselves could have created, muffins will never be the same again.

It was with this entirely objective view that I found myself entering Starbucks on Wednesday afternoon to purchase this same muffin. Having purchased it, I went to sit down, reserving a table for my friends who had decided to content themselves with far inferior food from Subway. As I sat, alone, I realised I was entirely content. I sat in relative comfort, in an air conditioned environment, anticipating good company and I held in my hands the most perfect muffin mankind had ever witnessed. Looking around out of sheer contentment, I noticed another person sitting alone at another table. He too was holding a Starbucks double chocolate muffin, and he too was looking around the room. We made eye contact for a moment, and almost unconsciously, I lifted my muffin. He looked confused for a moment, and as comprehension dawned on his face, his face shifted imperceptibly and he too lifted his muffin. And there we were, two strangers who almost by chance shared a moment of muffin appreciation. It was perfect, almost something you’d see in the movies. After this moment ended, I put down my muffin, turned around and saw my friends striding towards me. I forgot about that short connection I made with that stranger until later, and when I looked around again, he was gone. I’ll most likely never see him again.

I’d understand if, at this point, you were utterly confused by how strange I am. Don’t worry, so am I. What I’m more amazed by, though, is the fact that life is full of episodes like that. From things as simple as crashing into people when the bus makes a particularly unstable turn to routines as complex as the duet you perform when you run into someone and both of you move in the same direction, you interact with these people, and for the most part, you never see them again. Each and every one of these people has their own story, and for a brief second, you were a part of it. They could be future Nobel Laureates, the next secretary general of the UN or for that matter, serial killers. It amazes me to think that you have, ever so slightly, influenced the course of that person’s life. Perhaps it’s because you delayed someone that they missed their train and so had enough time on the platform to think of a cure for cancer.

Where am I going with this? I’m not exactly sure. I know that I’m amazed by how interconnected our lives are, but I’m not sure what to do with it.  Just do yourself a favour: when you next go out, buy a Starbucks muffin.