Papa Shanghai´s Takeout

Passively, I roam the streets that call my name in a different language. How many times do you need to wander a path until it becomes part of you? Novelty, nervousness, excitement. With every step I get more comfortable.

I am looking up and shrink internally. The sheer magnitude of what’s ahead petrifies me. Are you bringing the sledgehammer to get me out of this shell?

I must keep on walking, as is the law. Here I am though, waiting, in my solidified state. Tourists passing by, I am just another dusty stone figurine to them. Perhaps another memorial to some noble family, they say. Little do they know I was turned into stone by just seeing what no one else did.

I keep on trying to help myself. Past experiences made my legs stronger, I am slowly breaking off the solid crust. With every minute, I become more resolute. Strong enough to get out, too weak to prevent it from happening again. I become loose again. Part of the mass, part of the rest.

I dust myself off. Why do I have to keep looking?

“Perhaps sunglasses will help”, I mutter to myself (naively).

“Excuse me please, may I ask you if you have come across my mind perhaps? Seems that I might have lost it.”

“My good Sir, have you ever really had it? Isn’t it something most people don’t find until the end of their days?”

“So everyone is mad?”

“I think everyone who has found their mind is mad. It is too much to cope with. Out of jealousy we lock them away. Perhaps a crack in our vision is too scary a thought to have.”

“What are we then? Random beings just wandering around?”

“We wander, surely. But no one can deny that there’s a system of living. So we follow the paths and ways of the ones before us, with others what equally follow.”

“Why would anyone pursue trying to find their mind then?”

“Well, you see, you asking me that is already telling me enough to not give you an answer. There’s no answer, actually. At least none that another person can tell you.”

“What if I want to?”

“Stand in front of a mirror and see whether you would like to smash it in.”

“Why would I?”

“Exactly.”

As I surround the planet 10,000 kilometres an hour, my waving becomes indistinguishable from the twinkle of a star.

There’s no need to scream in space, the vacuum will eat it away. The beeps and boops are my daily symphony, reminding me of simple times where science fiction was meant for dreamers – not for the masochistic fandom of dystopias.

Where did all the dreamers go? Perhaps it is hard to look to the sky when your feet are burning. Easy for me to say while I take a space shower in zero gravity.

Is someone who cannot touch earth homesick? Planet-Sick? I for one was able to live in a sort of vacuum – only for it to be pierced by the necessity of procuring means of financing life. Was it really that bad? Will it be?

As with many things in life, age and experience gives you distance. In the moments of silence, imagine yourself sitting in the spaceship. Beeps and boops. Space-toilets and astronaut food. Are you planet-sick? Do you want to return home? Do you long for another human word?

No need to tell me. Let’s gaze.

Taking off the silky cover of a classic car. Getting a whiff of a perfume once when getting closer. Getting woken up by a ray of sunshine. Turning a key before coming home. Having a first date?

While I stand in front of a new set of revolving doors, I contemplate how many times I will partake in the merry-go-round of life choices. What an illusion to think that you don’t need to pay the fee to ride the carousel. Even when falling off the horses and seeing that this was the wrong mode of transportation, there’s still the cars and the sledges.

Wouldn’t it be boring to see the carousel making turn after turn from the outside? Perhaps a slight sense of superiority overcomes us when we see others partaking in an obvious illusion. With the music and lights enchanting what seems to be only children, we feel too mature, too adult to go again.

Standing beside the carousel won’t save yourself from being judged.

Cramming myself into the tiny car, I laugh at my own mistake – taking the horse before the motorised vehicle. I wonder what song will be played, perhaps we are waiting for you?

Once a year, a special day? Whatever has been brought must be carried onward. If I nibble on the bottle will I toot when it’s empty? Time will tell.