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Scattered [ November 26, 2001 ] Threshold of trust. In some films people die like flies, while in others, they die in anguish. Relationships follow the same pattern.
Stubborn. Once I've got to know her smile I want to know her story. Her travels behind her languages, her ex-husband, her everyday routine and especially why she is with a man whose silence makes her feel a "hundred times worse" in certain cases. As we were driving home, I taught her one word in my mother tongue to complement her already extraordinary vocabulary, a word that seems to suit her just right.
Explore. Judge later. Act only subsequent to that. And even then be fair, accepting, warm hearted. Whatever I may come across, I should always remember that my life is in my own hand, though that makes me hard, so remind me of the good things in life, always, constantly. I crave people who give me the optimism I need to be able to express myself as I wish. Don't let me down. Don't make me consider how much I have given. I saw a lady who looked like Ava Garder, except she was sitting on a heap of cardboard boxes and junk at the metro station at Nyugati. Her poise as she sat there, combing her hair struck me as beautiful behind the dirt.
My Wim Yoengblood. This was the second time I saw him, dark brown jacket, travelling on the tram to the university where I work. Wim Yoengblood, because of how he has changed in the past five or six years, when he used to be my student. Still a pretty face. I decided not to approach him, he did not seem to notice, and I am not a teacher anymore. (Wim as in "A Widow for One Year" by John Irving, referring to looks, solely.)
Orange curtain, yellow walls, her claret dress from the 50's. And the culmination of all the genres of music I have listened to lately. Another small lady with an awesome voice, almost famous. She walked off the stage and sat down to a table next to us. I could see there was a big hole on the right sleeve of her cardigan. She wore dark red lipstick, she took a photo of her audience and she danced with her guitar, lovely to behold.
Transits. Some days I am convinced my grandfather finally left when he knew that I was married, officially safe and secure, according to his traditional views. I think perhaps he had tried to hold on till I got back home to see me once more and tell me something that I should have known. Those times I hope I did not cause him any suffering other than not being there to hear what he might have had to say to me. I wish he knew I would be glad to listen even if it would be something rude, like sometimes it used to be.
Vegetate. Peter says that the web makes plants of us all. Once lost in its content all we care about is the temperature of the room, whether we get to eat and drink, or if there is too little light, and somethimes we go to the bathroom. I used to know a Peter once who had the same notion about people in general.
I'd missed the tram again. Another one came just two minutes later. A simple case of symbolics on the evening of a sad and dull day. My mind is unexploited, no wonder I come up with such stupidities. |