Whoever is reading this, halloa. No exclamation marks, because I find them corny and am not too fond of them.
Well, it's time for a new blog post, since I have things I could blog about. It's Wednesday evening, no class in the morning, not hanging out with anyone tonight. I have time to kill. So I'll tell you about the chat with the beggar. I live in Prague, btw, a city oversaturated with beggars (mostly druggies, I assume, from the weirding-me-out default junkie look on their faces as a collective)... Jonathan Swift's Proposal, anyone? What I find endearing is that even this stratum of people manage to keep dogs with them. I'm happy for that. Prague is a very canine-friendly place. I haven't seen too much ancient Egyptian-esque cat worship, though, and I only know one couple here with cats, and my friends EK and AH have got some.
Anyhoo, I walked up from that gargantuan Palladium at Namesti Republiky (I love it, it's really busy and labyrinthine, and a world unto its own) up to Narodni Muzeum, where I decided to sit down on a bench and go through my e-mails as a method of relaxing my legs. I am really lazy when it comes to walking sometimes. If I could have someone push me around in a vegetable cart, I would be happy. A Uranian hang-up, I assume. So... I sat down, and almost immediately this tiny woman with a trailing stench and a weak version of the junkie face described above asks me if she can call her husband from my phone. I know enough Czech words, here and there, to comprehend roughly what she means, picked up inadvertently by mental osmosis, you understand. I'm too lazy to crack a language book open, especially for a language I don't particularly care to learn right at this moment. Well, I didn't really believe her. She wore a wedding ring on her finger and all, but whatever. Maybe she was telling the truth. I don't know, I don't care. But I was glad that she sat down, because I'm having a particular craving for friendly time with fellow humans. Life answers your call in strange ways.
So there we were, just sitting there, me feeling normal as can be with this woman society says I should be afraid of, her thoughts a mystery to me. It seems my osmotic process works better than I thought, for I could actually carry out a half-hour (I think it went on for that long) convo in Czech, as she talked at me in Slovak. Well, her name is Kveta, her husband is Jirka, she's thirty-two (an absolute lie, I'll wager. But whaddya know, maybe it's the boozed-out-ness that does that to a person, and the drugs. She wasn't drunk, though), she's been here in the Czech Republic for I-forgot-how-many years, and she thinks I'm a smartie (this I like especially). She asks if I'm Italian, if I'm English. I'm South African, I say, from Johannesburg. A downright lie. But hey, at least I won't lie to you about the big things, like my heart and things to that effect. She doesn't buy it. "Africa?", she says. "But you're white." I tell her we have many white people in Johannesburg, that our country was colonized by England before. She extracts from me my single status, and my age, and my parentless state, and how much is charged for a room at my mother's house, which she leases out to boarders. We talk about men. Her husband is an alright guy, she says. But he's "nervozni". She tells me Czech men are assholes, a statement I've heard reiterated by I think almost every Czech woman I've met in this country. My friend AH, who is close to eighty, I believe, said to me one time, "Czech men are bastards. No manners. You will learn it for yourself." I am learning. I live with Czech men. They can be bastards. But so can English men, and American men, and Arab Men, and Congolese men, and Haitians. Kveta tells me Czech men piss in the streets. German men don't do that, she says to me. She says to me, a German or an Italian or an Englishman, those are good catches. She also tells me to be careful, that if I don't speak Czech here somebody's going to fuck me up. Point well taken.
We chatter. We laugh. There's a light mist, and a drizzle. She gives me her phone number, asks me to call her tomorrow. I say I will, but I won't. She reads my palm. Tells me to watch out for this invisible friend of mine with long hair and blue eyes. I'm going to have a handsome husband, and a long life. I ask her which sign is she. She tells me Capricorn. I've wanted to ask a beggar that question since I've been here. You'd expect water people to be addicted to drugs and alcohol, or someone with a lack of water in their chart (like me. I avoid drugs and alcohol like the plague). Capricorn is an earthy, realistic sign that can't stand shilly-shallying with stuff that goes against social mores. What natal afflictions lie there, I wonder? Anyway, she asks if I'd like to walk around. I say yes, that I have to see my friend anyway. We go up to the Muzeum metro station where, sure enough, her druggie friends are gathered. Does it make sense to be jealous of a druggie? I envy her the feeling of camaraderie. It's what I love more than anything in life. I'd take friendship over romance any minute. This guy with spaced-out blue eyes asks me if I have meth, by which he means to say, "Would you like meth?" I say-what-now him, my protective look of wide-eyed dingbat playing on my face, my guard coming up, only slightly. This guy doesn't look like he's going to sock me. He's shorter than me, and thin. I could take him if he tried something. But he won't, because I'm about to leave. He asks if I want meth, if I want speed. I feel dizzy and high-spirited inside, a little frightened. I say no through a smile. I say goodbye to my friend Kveta, and I tell her I'll call her tomorrow. She tells me to stay strong, and I tell her she should stay strong as well. I leave, go up to I.P.Pavlova, sit down for a minute. You know, that group probably would have fucked me up if there hadn't been anyone around. You could easily say I'm an idiot, for even talking to her in the first place, down on that bench. It's the friendliness. It's the curiosity about people. I love to communicate with people. Not just a certain type of society, but with everyone, on a large scale. I want to go high, low, and in-between. People are people, regardless of whether other people see them as pariahs or not. And I'd like to get to know people. And she's my friend. No matter how brief the moment, how ephemeral the time. I like her, and she likes me.
Why are we all so sad? I've noticed this, there's a lot of sad people in the world. Everywhere I go, it's the same sadness all over again, an iPod stuck on replay, so to say. I've met Czechs, I've met Slovaks, Kazakhs, Nigerians, Estonians, Arabs, South Americans, USA-ians, Armenians. Name the nationality, I've probably met someone from that country. And everyone responds to the same things. A friendly, if a little neurotic, smile, gentle conversation, listening to someone as they talk, a warm hug, a squeeze of the hand that says, "I've been there, and I feel your pain."
We've all been "there". We're all human, and we need people we can rely on for fun, jokes, laughter, and companionship. It doesn't always have to be this burning passion and romance that people need. Granted, this isn't something you can have at all times in your life, and when it's there, it only comes in moments, at least from my experiences of it. What you want is someone you can call up on a lonely night, and the two of you sit together and play a game, or watch a movie, or just talk, or just plain sit there. Because it helps to have the human presence near you. You're not just stuck in your head. There's someone there, to keep you from falling. That's why I like having housemates. You don't need to be there in each others' lives 24/7, but you know that if you're on good terms enough with them (which I am), you can knock on one of their doors, and tell them you're bored. And you'll figure out something to do.
People lean a little heavy on me sometimes with the emotional demands. I like giving friendship to as many people as possible, so it's a little hard for me to invest my soul into just one human's personal needs. That's why it's a little funny to me when people pour out their problems and feelings to me, expecting some strong emotional reaction. I've heard that I'm cold, through the grapevine, you know. I understand feelings, on a rational level. But what do you want me to do for you? Hold your hand forever? People cry, people get lonely. It's a part of the human life. I feel lonely enough to burst a lot of the times. But I tell myself, "Okay, no reason to get hysterical, this feels human. People live this, you're not the first, and you're not the only. Just wait it out. Feel it through. It's material for your story." Wow, maybe that is "cold". I have my way of expressing emotions. It's not the sappy, over-sentimental way, that's all. But you'll know it when I love you. Problem is, love is a theoretical concept with me most times. It's more of a spiritual love, too. I love Kveta. Kveta's soul, that is. Under that reasoning, I love the whole world. And my heart swells with passion as I say this. It's true.
By the way, I never feel spiritually lonely. I feel safe making that generalization. I'm loved, and I love back. I'm protected by H, my guardian angel and best friend my soul has ever had, now and always. She understands this, even if others don't. That's the thing. I know she's feeling the same stuff I'm feeling right now. We're spiritually synchronized to run together. It's like, life is grand, and magical, but I miss that sort of laugh I've only laughed with her. I laugh with careless abandon a lot of the time, but it's just something different about my laugh with her. What I'd give to make another joke with her. Another silly face. Another intimate smile between our eyes. I miss my best friend. That's what shook me up the most. She's a really pretty girl who I'm in love with, you could say. What shook me up the most was that I'd lost my best friend. Not in spirit. That's still going strong, even till now. But we can't sit together anymore, and make jokes, and talk about the things going on inside ourselves, and dream, and be close through words and looks and restrictions anymore. Because the past isn't as bright as this future I see in front of me. I feel like if I go back to it, I'll never get out alive, spiritually-speaking. My soul wouldn't remain intact. And I have to preserve my soul, and my newfound sanity. But still, it would be nice to have a real beloved friend.
Sometimes I find myself thinking, as I walk around Prague, "H would love this. It would make her happy." Like today, when I passed through the Christmas shacks being put up at Narodni Muzeum, where people sell trdelnik (a really yummy dessert. You should try it, if you're ever in Prague. If you're here already, go and have some. I give you the spiritual permission, and will help you diet if you get fat), and scarves, and general knick-knacks. How much fun we'd have, doing nothing, and wading through the streets of people, and coming home every night, and sitting and talking. I really miss her.
I know it's not just me. There are many people who feel that way about a special person. There are many of us sad ones out there. We all are sad ones, I'd assume. My friend EK told me once, over lunch, that when she gets home and closes the door of her flat, she cries her eyes out. You wouldn't think she's a depressed sort, she's so joyful and happy and gives me an added dose of pep when I see her. And my friend CK told me once that his loneliness gets so bad he holds onto his pillow at night, and hugs it. You can feel the loneliness of so many people permeating through you, it's hard to tell it apart from your own. Like on the metro. Why won't anyone look me in the eye, and smile at me, as if to say, "Hey, you're not alone. We're lonely together. It's the human condition"? When I know that would solve all the problems. Yes, ALL the problems. Understanding, and brotherhood. That's all it takes, to brighten someone's day. World. Dreams. Sometimes I feel like I really want to flash my craziest smile to every person I meet on the way to the bus, but can't. The love is dying useless in my breast. You feel like you won't be smiled back at, and that they won't accept the love you give so effortlessly, so relentlessly. Oh, yeah, and before I forget, her future is a lot brighter without me. We improve when we're not with each other. That's something that ought to be heeded, even though I really don't want to.
What makes your heart sink the most is the ones who don't want your love. The ones that tell you openly, "No thank you". They misinterpret things, assume I want something, like a relationship, or a penis, or vagina. I just want to be friends, and assert my right to love another human being, my brother and my sister. But still, they misinterpret, and leave you traipsing on the line, about to fall into sadness about being misunderstood again, or rather, feeling misunderstood again. No one's completely misunderstood, I think. There are always like-minded freaks to fill in the blanks for you. All I want to do is love, and be loved back, in my own way, on my own terms. I can ask for that. Yes, I can, and I do. I don't care about the conventional way of loving someone. If it happens, it happens, but if it doesn't, then I've got some ideas of my own. Anyway, if passion is fire, and relationship is practicality (earth), then passion is killed by a relationship. Fire and earth are opposite, after all. So why should I search for a relationship, if I want passion? Because people think it's wrong to have a short-lived, but real, fling with someone. Because there's so much talk about not whoring yourself around, and not putting out, which is a really archaic expression, to be honest. Personally, I'm a little afraid of sex, and I like mental relationships more than physical, so you can deduce that sex isn't really my cup of tea, when I look inside myself and ask myself the serious questions. But I suppose if a girl or a boy want to try to be promiscuous, just to see for themselves if sex outside of a relationship is really a draining experience (which I believe it is), then these people should be allowed to try. They won't be. But they should do it anyway. Society's rules are always changing. Why should you adapt yourself to something that's always changing? It doesn't make the least common sense. In a few years, there'll be new rules, and what was so sinful before would mean nothing then. So whatever, do your thing. But I'd think twice before you drag innocent third-parties into potential hurt. The world has enough of that already.
So, I'm leaving for now. This has been a long blog post, and I hope you relate to some of this, at least, and feel that you're not alone in this world. I'm going to listen to music, then have dinner, then probably think and do stuff around the house, put a bandage on the heel of my foot, which hurts, then wash my face, brush my teeth, sleep, and wake up in the morning, with God's grace, and start a new day. Life's okay, when you think about it really. Life's really okay.
Once again, my email is bemgcasrbaquarian@gmail.com
Don't be shy, don't be scared. Talk to me, about anything really. I am a master of talking back.
Signed, your friendly Water Bearer.
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