The cup is empty. I finished my coffee minutes before, switching to tap-water, in the hope that it would wash away the taste of tobacco and the yellowing caffeine stains on my teeth. “Life…” I’m thinking (audibly sighing, actually) is it’s own agent, it occurs regardless of my own intervention. In my head there is a film script. It’s black and white, because everyone wants their life seen through the filter of detective-noir. When I play my part everything is uttered in a gravelly baritone with the calm conviction of an apathetic. The lines that I learn, which I have taught myself and rehearsed are circumstantial. If I were confronted by a brazen femme-fatale, I might hang my head in disinterest and re-buff her seductive advances, whispering a guttural swear “Don’t f-ing touch me.” Perhaps I would be challenged, physically by an adversary, clutching a knife or a gun. In this scene I would stare the man down, as if he were holding something harmless like an umbrella and say “Looks like rain…” The result being a complete diffusion of the showdown and the villain would back off in fear.
These are just fantasies of course. In reality, the femme-fatale would be a kind woman of scruples and we would not rush or coerce each other. The villain? In truth he would be holding an umbrella, and my rehearsed line degenerates to nothing more than pleasant small talk.
Such is life. A gauche, unpredictable thoroughfare, off-set by conflicting moments of monotony. The jokes we tell each other are crass and tasteless, the conversation is stale and unoriginal, but these are necessary evils. Inside, everyone possesses the yearning for fulfillment of a sort. This I understand and it gives me seemingly infinite patience. I entertain their thoughts and feelings with the notion that they are trying to communicate something greater, a hidden meaning, sequestered away, even from the speaker.
Surely, despite my empathy, I will never discern their goals or motivations and my Hammy internal script will never play out as planned. I am far from the confident and enlightened investigator of my dreams, though I will continue to dream, because life is too capricious not too.
Word of the Day: Diaspora – the dispersion or spread of any people from their original homeland