When your phone battery dies on you, and the hotel decides not to have internet, you know you are on your own for a while. Life gets pretty simplistic, and then thoughts start to flow, which is not disrupted by a chat message you have the urgency of sending had you been elsewhere, with happy access to technology. Here you are, and you have no choice, and you will take the option with my gratitude and shut the world out, and join the peace with much awaited glee, that you shock yourself on realizing how much space in your life, you lacked.
Sometimes life is about having space, having space to listen to those thoughts that you kept suppressed within yourself because you had no mode of penning them down, or rather typing them down in today’s context. I like to be left alone, I like the sound of silence than anything else, and the waves clashing against something unknown which I have not yet ventured to find out, seems a new thought. It is peace that has been given to me, for I have toiled, I had toiled in harsh conditions whereby I had lost myself, and submerged into a being that does what be required, what be expected, what be right. I lived for obligations and not for choice, no options that be offered to me, and I had only what is a must, a should and a duty piled upon as I carry the weight on my shoulders, that people deem courage, that I name “nothingness”.
Life is peaceful where crickets make their music, the waves are heard, and the ferry awaits me to make the crossing, to the other side.
I listen in silence. I have not much to say of late. I think I have run out of things to tell you. Or have just lost interest. Either way, silence seems wonderful.
You do not seem to notice, or notice at times, and ask me what’s up with your “moko?” the ever famous expression to any expression of affection or frustration. I just shrug, of late I am too tired to respond. The place seems too cramped and the couch a little out of place.
You keep talking, and laughing. I wonder how easy it must be for you, to be able to tell the story and then laugh at it on your own. I smile, as be required. And say something that is expected. Those moments of polite intervals disturbed by a nod of my head or a “mmm” of my voice.
Observing has become a past time. The way someone can laugh and then just not notice the emptiness within another I find fascinating. You tell me “ I laugh not at you, with you!” at those moments where my patience be lacking, and emotions be evident on my face despite great effort.
You smile, and I think of a child. The child that I heard wailing while his mum beat him with a stick. I heard the wind that slammed against that stick that stung his skin. Well the child cried, and you laugh. But I still fail to see a difference. I wanted to strangle that mother who caused the brat that pain. Then again I remember seeing the kid later on, clinging on to her, fighting to win a moment of her attention. And notice of course her blatant indifference. Why do I remember that when I look at you? Baffling, but be it what crosses my mind.
Moments of silence from me, and rants from you. A reversal of roles. I do what I do best at blankness. Lean on your shoulder, block those words that I pretend to hear, which I never seem to hear, and immerse myself in that emptiness, grateful for the warmth I feel against your shoulder, and that smell of familiarity which I have of late learnt to love.