A Mixed Feeler
The second half of 2007 is nearly over, and with it comes change again, difficult change. But maybe good change too? I’m feeling mixed about it, with increasing love, disgust, confusion. Aargh, I’m so sick of being conditioned by the city, for example. When I stand on an escalator, I wait patiently until I get to the top. But when the person in front of me starts to walk up along the moving steps, I move too. Everywhere I go I meet the masses. I walk quickly, avoiding them by stepping left and right. Conditioned like a machine. When someone suddenly stands still in front of me to make a turn, when someone moves slowly and without experience as might happen to a tourist unacquainted with the city’s madness, it angers me. People are no longer individuals for me, they have become a semi-liquid moving mass with a tag on them: Italian, American, German, French. People are only differentiated by their physical aspects; when I pass by a beautiful girl, I need to look her in the eyes as she passes me by, just to see if she sees me. There are a lot of beautiful girls in this city. I disgusts me to walk through narrow streets on weekend mornings, only aware of the powerful and sharp scent of piss. I hate the prostitutes that make ugly and primitive kissing noises as I pass them by, as if I were a beast, and that were to attract me. At night, shouting Americans, Catalans, Danes, walk by right underneath my window. The masses do not for a second leave me alone with myself. But how I love this city, the sunshine falling through the door of my balcony in the morning, old couples walking hand in hand, the interesting people you speak to at a party who know your home village. The flats of friends a minute’s walk from my house in one of the world’s liveliest city centres. Little squares where we sit for ages after we’ve finished our coffees, laughing at eachother’s hangovers. The beaches where I take a swim at night. The rooftop parties that the landlord is so good to tolerate. The aimed walk through a maze of little old town streets, because I have walked here a thousand times in the past year, it seems. And then to occassionally find a street that I haven’t seen yet, with things such as puppet shops. A connectedness with a place and a time that is hard to capture in words, is expressed by many little moments.
And in five days it shall be the past.