Aristotle's Catharsis: The Purging Of Emotions

According to Aristotle, catharsis is the “purging of the emotions” of pity and fear that often times is the cause and effect result of a series of tribulations and tragedy. It is a very strong literary device that is manly used to inspire deep emotion in the prospector, but can also be seen, heard, and felt, depending on its chosen medium. My take on catharsis is quite similar too many others, but can be arguable compared to Aristotle's intended meaning. To me, catharsis is still the deep concentration of emotion, but what's different is the types of emotions being felt at the given moment. I identify catharsis as the rare, intense feelings you get from experiencing an event, and those feelings aren't limited to just sadness and fear
While on a trip in Montreal, I had begun my day early, shopping in the morning, in hopes of saving time to tour the city accompanied by my father. It was around nine o'clock when i had walked out of the hotel and onto St. Catherine street, a street known for its retail stores and fine dining. It was cold and windy and the stores were still vacant of all sales reps and employees. The only people to be found were those covered in heaps of blankets and newspapers, laying against the storefronts in hopes of gaining a nickel or two from early shoppers like me. I walked nearly five blocks down the empty street before I decided to give up and return to my hotel room. Upon crossing over to the other side of the street, I noticed in the corner of my eye a figure approaching, trying to avoid eye contact, I began walking faster. It must've been only ten
As if this wasn't uncomfortable enough, he began to utter french words along with his saliva that I could see falling in front of us as we walked. I was undoubtedly clueless as to what to do during this whole incident, my first intentions being to run as fast as possible, but that idea became meaningless as I began to imagine the endless possibilities that could potentially result in my death or the burglary of my father's debit card, both equally bad. By this point, the man had stopped talking and shook my shoulder, as though he was waiting for me answer a question. Not being able to understand what he was asking, I responded with “je suis American” he laughed and leaned his head closer to mine “Do you like men?” he asked in very good english. As embarrassed as I am to admit it, for a split second I was flattered, until I realized what he was suggesting. At that moment my heart began pound and I could feel sweat forming around my temples. At this point I didn't care what was to become of me, I shook his arm off of me as fast as I could and ran across to the other side of the street while he shouted. I continued down the street and was overjoyed to find a small cafe had just opened, to which I sat down and processed what had just