In some cases, she swore that it would get easier. For what it’s worth, her friends did not see the struggle that she was, and still is, trying to hide. Many years ago, there was someone that could see through her, see all the angles and the layers.
A mouth, two knees, hair.
She started to be embarrassed and overwhelmed with the fact that someone else might have a clearer understanding of the internal workings that she has been trying to discover and untangle herself. She felt betrayed, cheated. “How could this have happened to me?”, she asked while feeling that cold breeze all throughout her body.
A nail, two index fingers, water.
The most terrifying aspect of it was the calmness that came with the assessment. Piercing though the noises of her thoughts, everything seemed clear. And while she did not fully accept all attributions fully, she knew that the knowledge behind it was preceded by and endless steam of thoughts.
A heart, two kidneys, hormones.
She calmed herself with the thought that the assessment process might take up more stress, horror and sleepless nights than to endure the verdicts that were passed onto her every day. It might be that an inclination to observe and judge is deeply rooted in insecurity and the overwhelming feelings that surround the juror. Maybe she is just calming herself down. Who knows.
You stand there, waiting. I gaze into your direction from a safe distance. You don’t know it but I have been observing you for quite some time now. You seem sad.
There is a profound sadness in your statue, do you miss something? You should be happy as people approach you, you are the provider of essential goods for many, myself included no less. Still, I see you, facing down, shoulders encroached.
“I must change something”, I say to myself as I contemplate on my plan in the safe corner of the room. What will make you happy? You seem to have enough admirers, thanking you for your service.
I start sweating profoundly as I make my way toward you. I am satisfied but the hunger for your happiness makes me move.
As I stand before you, I see the sadness looking through me, piercing the opposite wall. I smile and nod as you ask me if I wanted some more salad.
“This is it”, I think to myself as I anticipate your hand moving towards the buffet cutlery. Our hands touch for a second. Time stands still. Surprise and astonishment in your face appear and push out the sadness.
You don’t know that I am as nervous as you are. Confidently I nod and say: “I’ll get it myself, thank you.”
You seem restless but be assured, it’s for you. I grab the buffet cutlery and put some salad on my plate. I nod again and turn around, almost fainting but not flinching for a second.
You will be, still today, my knight in shining white Chef armour, armed with your buffet cutlery. Just sometimes, let your guard down, I got you.
The bass is pushing your eardrums. The sounds infiltrate your brain. You start to move. Who taught you to do this? Is it just a sheer force from within, making your muscles move uncontrollably? Will you be caught in this movement as long as the song plays? I cannot tell you if this is the result of socialisation, of your environment. But to be honest, if you do it right, you won´t care anyway. So just keep going. The most important thing is that you don´t lose balance. But how, you may ask me. There is just too much movement around me, everything and everyone is moving! Well, to be honest, just grab that glass. I don´t know if it will help you or not, it might even bring you to fall. But that´s the only advice I can give you.
Hold onto it.
Waking from any night is a hard thing to do. It might be slightly easier some days than it is on others. But doing that initial movement, opening your eyes, realizing that another day has started, is always a hard thing to do. The day is full of time, experiences to be had, expectations to be fulfilled. It won´t matter if you are looking at the day with a positive or negative attitude, maybe you are even indifferent, moving through it with nonchalance. But it is clear that this day, just like every other day, will be filled with something. So, you turn over, looking for something to hold onto. A glass of water.
Hold onto it.
You start your day with a routine. It gives you comfort, maybe it is something so familiar that you don’t even realize you are doing it anymore. I hope you are finding your rhythm. If you really think about it, every day has its beat. But did you ever get the feeling of having a jazzy day? I wonder what that might be like, to just improvise. Is it even possible to act instictively, making up your melody on the spot or will you play jazz according to pre-arranged music sheets? Is it even worse to feel like having a jazzy day only to end up playing jazz that is predetermined? I can´t tell you, but if you ever find out, tell me. And if it is indeed improvisation,…
… hold onto it.
The day goes by and you have followed the beat, maybe it changed in between. You had conversations, arguments, tasks. You held onto glasses, coffee cups, a wine glass. And now we are here. The beat, it is given to you. Someone decided for you, cutting the inextricable link between the day, you, and the beat. Slicing it with more than 110 decibels against your eardrum. Who is really in control here? Is it your muscles, the DJ? Is it your feeling of having to move in a certain way? I know it can be confusing, but I´ll be here. You might be looking for the glass in all this controlled chaos that everyone voluntarily joined. Cut through the fog, find me. I am just as much loosing balance as you are. Come find me and…
Who told him that it’s cool going to a bar alone? To a club? To anywhere? Maybe it’s literature with its undeniably attractive, mystique, dark and complex characters. Maybe it’s just his feeling. Maybe it’s not weird at all. Who knows.
He dusts off his leather jacket and hangs it onto the hook beneath the bar. Ignored by the barmaid in the Adidas tracksuit who has been working there forever. The are bonded. Bonded by the story of this place. Both seek recognition. Her, by being the master of the beer and alcoholic beverages. The one thing that people crave. Why else would they come here if it weren’t for the bitter taste of alcohol, pacifier of peoples.
He is here because it seems to look cool. Why it does, if it does, he will never know. Maybe it depends on the spectator.
People going in and out, what’s steady in this booze-fuelled spectacle? We didn’t hear from this place just because it hosts the deepest of our desires. We are sitting on it. What if I were not having my barstool? The steady fort from which I tower above you? It might be level, but I am far away. I will be here, on the cliff. The cliff of solitude. Only the arms of the barmaid can reach me.
Am I lonely, you ask? Well, it depends on the spectator.
However, I’ll be here. With my barstool. Cheers all you people down there.
Humanity has walked many paths. It might walk down the path of self-destruction as these lines are being written and you, reading this. It might walk the path of ascending to a place where no civilisation has ever been before. We never know. What we do know is this: there is something always ahead of us. It’s part of us but we never acknowledge them. It’s our toes.
When do we feel them? When bumping into furniture. Or when taking socks off to feel the grass / sand / water between them. Pleasure and pain, yet again so close. Every step that we take towards doom, pleasure or, said more normative, the right or wrong way, our toes are in the forefront of everything. So why not give them more importance? We could base society more on these little fleshy things that are hidden most of the time.
For sure, the big toe is a force to be reckon with in this new society. You can already see it, in sandals for example. The big toe is parted by the others. But how do we measure who is to be the ruler, the peak of toe-performance? Toes can be ugly, cute, beautiful, sick…. All of these classifications are in the eye of the spectator. So how do we measure? Well, measure is the right way actually.
Queens and kings, nobility, that is people with long toes. In relation to their feet of course. Bear with me on this one. So, toes are at the forefront of literally, gaining ground. And people with longer toes in relation to feet size are, of course, able to gain more ground.
I myself am a peasant. It is hard to come to that realisation. So even as the creator of this new order I have fallen to the lowest position in this feudal toe-system. Perhaps it is wise to abolish these standards. Perhaps we should stop doing the same for other body parts. Perhaps, we can strive, as a civilisation, only when we stop comparing. Not just toes.