Was? I don’t know if it’s over. But how it is…it is full of coffee and trips to the bathroom. The world is people galore. They come in and get their coffee, ignoring me, I ignoring them, except when our eyes meet. We confront each other before the public restroom, the aggressor always the one that caps the line, who hopes that the one next is not the type to take long (because we assume a person can help it), while all of us send incendiary glances at the door aimed at the solitary person inside, hoping that the next in line does not follow such bad examples of time-taking or just outright beats all past winners of restroom patronage.
My life is in limbo. Besides these trips—only four so far—the future events that matter in my life hang on a fifty-fifty odd. Will they swing this way or that? It’s a grey area, nothing black and white until the final bell. And even then, who says that you can’t pick up the pieces of defeat and arrange them in a different way, such that the whistleblower (I mean the referee of life) will lift your hand in the end and crown you a winner?
Plans, plans, plans. Life is full of plans. Full of grey areas. Sometimes, people commit suicide. That is when you are destroyed internally. And yet, sometimes, others help. The state is one of them. The state can take all human hope away. And it does. It can destroy love. It can deny marriage—because the state must be a part of our hearts—as if love was a state affair. It claims a right to deny a divorce as if it had a personal stake in it. Don’t think of all rules as necessary, though some of them could be. Most of them were created for business. Artificial businesses. We go through lawyers to take care of things that we could deal with with a single decision. I love you. I marry you. I divorce you. It will widen the ocean between two hearts, and make wilder the waters. It is not there to help. It is there to profit.
People come and go. I need to use the bathroom again. Internal cussing. There’s a line. I know the audacious wait-er. He a gamer. He is standing by the door in a checkered shirt with his head down, arms crossed, contemplating the tiles.
The other astute part of my day involves making myself liked, liked by not being present in everyone else’s life. It is clever to be left alone, and many of us have got that talent down pat. Believing you are in an empty room brings true peace. An ant is away from the fire of the little boy wanting to know how it burns and suffers. Your empty room ends about two feet away from you. The rest are other people’s houses, their own little space where they can move freely. We are not islands but boats sewn together by the idea that more of us makes us stronger and less weaker. We must continue, and to continue we must respect the rules of space, a personal space where we can be free and independent.
Now the line at the counter is empty. Time to get more coffee.