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To the guy stamping my bus ticket.

September 22, 2021 / A metaphysical entity

We all get asked at some point what we want to become once we grow up. And we answer “astronaut”, “firefighter”, “someone rich”, “someone famous”, “author” or “someone with my own garden where I can grow my favorite vegetable”. I mean, whatever makes you happy. But who would say “the person stamping tickets in a rustic bus in a post-Soviet country”?

Well maybe this guy stamping my ticket right now. Who knows? Who am I to judge? Actually, it’s more challenging and surprising than it seems. He is there, cramming his way through the crowd. Always there, known to everyone who regularly takes this route. It’s the same price for everyone, same ticket every time. There is comfort in it. He knows every bump in the street. Every crossing and just 5 seconds later, he knows where to hold on because the bus is taking a massive bump in the road. A friendly tap on the back by the guy who is coming back from the pub. A little smile from the woman who just finished her shift.

We are all here in the same boat, bus in this case. It’s familiar faces and new ones. Maybe he is looking around, seeing the same faces with different expressions. He is the one who can detect mood swings. Bad day at work? He can probably tell the difference. Happy occasion? He will know it. But you won’t. That’s the difference. He will even know when you are new to this bus line. So when I am looking around, looking at him, I cannot help but feel foolish about my estimations. I can write whatever I want but I won’t come close to what he knows.

So sit down, guy stamping my ticket. It would be my honour to have a beer with you. Share your insights, your knowledge, your experience and understanding. Or don’t. Who am I to expect anything or judge? But maybe, just maybe, I will learn something. Even from your silence. So have a drink with me.

And all I am left with, is to say,

Thank you.

Raisin.

September 15, 2021 / A metaphysical entity

The whole morning she was unhappy with herself. Something was missing. It kind of went through the whole start-of-the-day routine. First of all, the pillow had escaped over the night. Now her neck hurt because she was only lying on the mattress. Waking up, everything ached and her neck was happily cracking. How she wished to be someone else. Next, the shower just completely ignored her need of warm water. It just would not get warm. Also, the shampoo was empty. “Why do I even shower then”, she thought while drying her hair. And this continued for the whole morning. The toast was soggy, the butter too hard, the crunchy cereal too soft. The wind too strong, the sun hiding behind clouds. The people too grim, her boss too happy. Oh how she wished to be someone else that day.

But still, she was missing this little something. Maybe a feeling, inside her. Rumbling, churning her stomach.

He represented his kind with all the pride he had. A little deformed but full of elation. Some say, you are stronger in a group. Here, he was in one but this little guy could have easily filled the role by himself. He was put into this little bread just this morning. He had a good position, just sitting on the outside on top of the bread. He could see everyone coming in, going by the baked goods aisle. He did not wish to be picked by someone special, he was just proud to be representing his kind, the raisins.

She was on her way to get lunch when she passed the deliciously smelling breads. For a moment, her stomach stopped murmuring. “Maybe that´s what I need?”. She picked the bread and put it into a paper bag. Happy to have the chance to brighten her day, they both were happy when she approached the cashier. She paid and sat down in front of the supermarket. Full of hope she took the first bite.

“Ewww. That´s raisins.”

Oh how he wished to be someone else.

This is not how his story ends. For he was not being eaten, only his colleague. He leapt of the bread and watched her throw away the bag.

“No, I do not want to be someone else. I am a raisin. I am the unloved version of a grape. Who are you to judge? You have not been pressed and dried. You are standing there, full of water and all those disgusting fluids that you need to survive. I have surpassed life. I am non-perishable. Who are you to judge my taste. You will loose your water, then we can talk about who is disgusting. I will not stand for this as long as the raisins are discriminated.

Wish to be someone else because I will not.”

Butter.

September 5, 2021 / A metaphysical entity

Please listen while reading.

Some say they were meant to be together. They met shortly after they were put together in the plastic bag. Exchanging looks, separated by their fellows. How can someone feel so distant and still familiar?

They shared the same destiny, as it is mostly the case when you land in this kind of packaging. Most of them will end up forming the outer sides of a nourishing mini-meal for they were slices or toast.

He was on one side of that artificially formed loaf, she was stuck on the other. As it is mostly the case with slices stuck together, everyone is craving some personal space. And often, the other side looks more comfortable.

The grass is always greener on the other side. So it goes.

They weren’t interested in personal space for it was useless when separated. One day, their package got bought. Excitedly, most slices were discussing how they might end up. What kind of sandwich will they be? With meat? With cheese? A vegetarian one? Or as the holy grail, a French Toast! Well you see, toast slices are not really looking for anything special, they are not even a proper bread. But one thing they really want is for sure. To be spread with butter. Not any fake butter or margarine. Proper full fat butter.

Is the grass really greener on the other side? If it is spread with butter, yes. So it goes.

2 weeks went by and they had lost all hope by then that they would be united as a sandwich. Only little did they know that their new owner was especially fond of the end pieces. So as their day came, the whole package was opened and they were the first to be used in the sandwich making process.

No French toast, they said. But still, they were happy. Finally, being united, forming the union of a sandwich. She was picked up first. Ready to be baptised with the foundation, the bond of all sandwiches, butter. As soon as the knife touched her, she felt that it wasn’t what she was expecting. It was margarine. Disturbed she laid back onto the table.

We can make it work, he said to her. It is only important what we make of it. She couldn’t live with it. Weeks of waiting, longing to become something greater than just a slice of bread, only to be spread with margarine. He tried to talk to her but her mind was shut.

As soon as she got picked up to be put together with her lover, she leapt forward towards the ground.

If I waited forever to see the light, only in the last minuted to be denied. I am leaping forward for

The grass is always greener

after suicide.

Shoelace.

September 2, 2021 / A metaphysical entity

I am stability. Ever wondered what walking on a rope between two buildings feels like? Ever wondered how it feels to look into the eternal abyss? Did you ever have the feeling that just hanging around is your sole purpose in life? You didn’t? I do.

Over the decades, my style, my sole purpose has been challenged. But I transcend style and history. I am not loved, not even adored. Still, I support you. I am walking the earth with you, catching the dirt on the way. Do you ever wash me? No. Do I complain about the sacrifice I make for you? No.

I am stability.

I see how you are looking up to me right now, maybe with curiosity, maybe intrigued why I am hanging here. Well you see, this is my grave. Doomed until the cable repair man comes and cuts these sneakers off. Well, rather cuts me. For I am a shoelace that hold to sneakers over a cable in the middle of a crossway. Until then

I am stability.

Tablecloth.

August 31, 2021 / A metaphysical entity

Sure. You can lean on me. Why not? I mean I had your back since you were having your first drink. Put your greasy chicken wing fingers on my fine linen. Spill that cheap red wine on me. I don’t even mind. I will be there for you.

Sometimes , you put me in the washing machine at 60 degrees, who am I to judge your choice of detergent? My embroidery getting ruined? I have never been an enthusiast of extravagant superficialities. I’ll be there for you.

I mean, I am friends with the table, my companion. Sturdy and unforgiving he endured endless nights. Consequently, many say: why would a tablecloth be needed?

As in life, we all need a Medium to relate to, something that shows us boundaries but at the same time, integrates. And me, I am literally woven with strings, tied together in complex patterns to form a unitary fabric to spill beer on. I don’t even mind what’s on me, I take the stain with pride.

So take me to your wedding, sit on me while having a spontaneous dinner in the park. But think about me once in a while.

Your sincerely and truthfully forever,

Tablecloth.

Papa Shanghai´s Takeout

To the guy stamping my bus ticket.

Raisin.

Butter.

Shoelace.

Tablecloth.