The river was clogged; its splendor and daily routines were apprehended. The once known beauty was no longer visible no matter how you look at it.
But, thankfully it wasn’t congested for too long and it once again started flowing. It sparkled under the sun as it flowed. Its movement and the sound it created made one feel comforted, at ease and his thoughts stayed there admiring the river.
My thoughts were suddenly interrupted. I realized that someone was talking to me, obviously I didn’t have much interest in what he was saying, He went on, “nowadays, I very rarely spend time with myself, But, only during the blackness of the night where I lay there on my bed unable to doze off. At first I start of pondering on why was it that I couldn’t sleep. And after that I began to think about more serious thoughts. I once again closed my eyes and I opened it. It was the same, it remained as dark. It occurred to me then whether I should close my eyes or not for it seems the same either way.
I didn’t know what brought up the subject, what made him talk and as usual one thing led to another and especially when you’re alone with someone, especially then they tend to get more personal, it is a good thing I suppose.
“My mind didn’t rest, it continued brooding, one thought after another. I felt like I was walking through a long passageway full of doors and as I passed each door I stopped to open it and then closed it back, moving to the other ones that lied ahead.”
He paused for effect, continued with his story, “When I was young, really young but old enough to know that I couldn’t have everything I wished for. I learned that from experience. Although raised with affection and probably too much attention, I didn’t get what I wanted. This was harder to comprehend.
I was by then old enough and was allowed to play outside the house. Not really outside, but outside the gates, still in the compound where people can keep an eye on me. There, instead of playing, looking at the people who passed by were entertaining enough, People from every walk of life and how they led their life in their own world. Although they walked by, no one looked. They knew but they didn’t look.
Some of the days when my timing was right or when I could hear the sound of fire crackers bursting I ran outside to witness a sort of ritual, of the people. A huge crowd would pass by. The men at the front danced as if they were in some sort of trance and some were into acrobatics. They were headed to the sea. They carried a stretcher made by wood and it was carried by a dozen men on their shoulders. On the stretcher, lied a dead person decorated by various flowers with various colors. The smell was weird; it smelled of flowers and some other stuff that was particularly what I’d not call a good scent. They were headed to the sea to burn the body and its ashes thrown into the sea. That much I knew.
It excited me till the day I was old enough to understand that it wasn’t a celebration, but I concluded, an act.”
I was thinking about the movies I saw recently. “Syriana”, was really nice and “the black diamond” was good too. And as usual its mind boggling one minute and the next minute you feel helpless and question your-self on what to do and not to do, to help. I usually end up feeling that I can’t really do much to change anything that happens the minute after the next minute. There really isn’t much one can do, I suppose. But the information was an eye- opener of some sort.
I don’t really know how to sum it. Everyone is doing what he does to survive or to maintain something they hold/ think important.
But I don’t think it is hard to differentiate what is black and what is white.
“Boy, are you listening?”
He questioned me looking annoyed. Yeah, of course I am listening I replied. What happens next?
“Now where did I stop?” he questioned himself for a moment, looked me in the eye and resumed, “I don’t know if that (time to time) experience had something to do with this. And Even when I was young and again when I couldn’t sleep because I overslept in the afternoon. I used to weep like a child during the night which at that time I suppose was understandable. It was yes, partly because I couldn’t sleep but mainly of what I thought of.
I have this annoying thing going on whenever I feel all alone and distant I would start to become paranoid. Now that I think about it, I was normal just like everyone else. It was painful nonetheless; I began to understand that pain comes in different forms.” He added, “And sometimes nightmares stay”.
This time I was listening tentatively, and I was able to grasp what he was saying. I asked him, why are you telling me this? He answered, “I don’t know, why does it matters?” No, it’s just that I figured, if I asked you would answer me, I replied.
“No, I wont.” he said spontaneously. I nodded understandingly in return. He took out a cigarette and started to smoke it. Is smoking cool or something? I asked him. He looked at me, and he eyed me. I could see that he was contemplating on answering my question. He decided to answer and said, “Yes, it is and it’s perfect for times like when you don’t have anything to do and you want to do something. It helps you know, you should try it.”
I was surprised that he answered my question. Yeah, sure I will if I could stand the smoke in my mouth, I said.
He suddenly without any warning held both of his hands in front of me, his fingers almost inches near my face. I slanted back; he saw my reaction and took his hands back. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
Your hands? I asked clearly annoyed with his weird actions. “I was a woman in my past life, which explains the beautiful hands.” He was waiting for my reply I could sense the anticipation. So I said yes, that explains.
“You want to know why there are so many gays today.” He continued. I felt like running away but instead I answered, no and I don’t want to know. “I’ll tell you anyway, because they were gay in their previous lives.” his facial expression, tone and spontaneity made it funnier that I turned away from him to hide my laughter.
I let out a sigh of relief after I noticed that the bus I was waiting for was finally approaching.
Are you a beggar? I asked. “If you think so, then I am one.” He said with a confusing tone. It was (confusing) to me. I felt really bad asking him that. Well, thanks for your story. I have to go now sounding more affectionate than before, of course it was the guiltiness speaking.
lastly he said almost shouting, “Don’t hate yourself for you’re stuck with it eternally and you’re worse than a beggar, you don’t ask for the things you want even worse you don’t even know what you want.” He winked and gave me the finger. My journey in the bus was awful, but as usual time heals.
