little but big

You go to a social event and here, the way people choose to interact is by rapid fire question and answer. The answers process, lead to further questions, and the “conversation” carries on without carrying anything, devoid of passion and active interest. It’s just another way to fill the space, no? They become thoroughly a they, an other, because there isn’t anything substantial there. The mind flitters, flutters like an anxious bird because it can’t feed on what is happening here. Go THERE.

When I was a preteen I always wondered how adulthood would change me. Now I know: adulthood teaches you how to not speak frankly. Frankly, I’d rather be someone named Frank than not speak frankly. But I must admit I partake- just like the rest of them.

Why does anything have to make sense? We live as human panopticons- monitoring ourselves for fit, sense, limiting ourselves time after time.

It doesn’t matter. It does matter.

What really matters is family, I find.

I see mother in strange places. I see her in the upper lip of the bent-over bag lady roaming the streets of this residential neighbourhood combing the cans for recyclables. I never saw an old Asian lady doing this- have I blinded myself before? I go to eat sushi alone on a Saturday night and even though the harried waitress never reminded me of Mom before, Mom comes to mind when I’m peeved, and a few others are peeved that the credit card machine broke and I have to summon something close to me to forgive myself and forgive her.

The only person I feel I am consistently real with is sister. What if honestly always prevailed in society? Maybe the reason why a thousand lotus blossoms always repeated herself (and I was in the peculiar situation of following her around and hearing these repetitive instantiations) was because she was honest.

I admire people who have surpassed narcissism and live thoroughly for a greater purpose. I’m not there yet, perhaps never will be.


Thoughts? Questions? Inspirations?

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