#utopic writings

[yk3aaa]

Take a seat

The seat revealed itself to me like the grin of a stranger you lock eyes with. It was irrelevant whether I needed to seat or not; but the seat was there, in front of my eyes, in the busiest carriage I took all day. Everyone around seemed not to notice it. They were all standing, holding onto the bars and handles as the carriage made way through the underground tunnel of this chaotic yet amazing city. And that seat, empty.

I was a vacuum myself. My day had not been utterly fulfilling yet I had absorbed many energies and was feeling rather drained by the useless commute I had to do. I was heading -at last- home. And I was truly looking forward to enter my new abode, take my shoes off, peel myself away and mentally find the peace my soul had been in search all day.

Before the train pulled at the next station, I decided to seat. I had another three stations, and though this would go quickly, I see no more reasons to stand while this inviting place was still not occupied. I squeezed through the passengers, noticing some of the travellers annoyance. and finally made it to the seat. And did what I intended to: seat.

But all the looks were on me. And I suddenly blushed at the numerous eyes looking at me. All these looks placed towards me, as if I was, the first sign of summer. I avoided as many looks as I could. Unable to find any energy to defy or assume any of the stares I was given. While trying to hide away, it hit me. This was not my place.

It was free all right, but this was not mine to take. This is not right. It was free and so anyone had the right to take it. But, I had not took it yet. I sat, like a lost kid looking for his parents. I sat for the sole purpose of seating. I was not seating to take the place, but rather sat because there was a place. It is hard to know if I make sense, for the point is: I was visibly not seating. Almost like if I was standing at the edge of a cliff, undecided whether I should jump forward or walk back and accept that today I was not ready to jump. My butt was half way on the seat, and halfway in the air. My feet pointing to the corridor and my bag neither on my knees nor in my arms. I was not there to stay. This was obvious to anyone looking at me.

The second stop came in, and as the train swished through the artificial artery leading to the platform, I was in awe with my discovery. Here, now, I was not seated, but using the space I could find to exist. And this was what I had done for a couple of months now. Letting the world act upon me, rather than me acting onto the world.

I had only one station to go, which was clearly too short to let the Eureka moment sink in. But I did what seemed very natural. And took my bag to the floor, brought my butt cheeks to the back of the seat, setting the posterior region of my thighs onto the military pattern of the seat. And I sat straight. My toes pointing towards the seat opposite mine. My head and back straight. I was owning the place when the train pulled into my station.

And a new beginning began. As I walked home I realised what I did wrong for so many months: not knowing my place.

Find your place. At work, at home, with your siblings, and within your neighbourhood. Define yourself in your terms, and accept to seat like the person that you are within. Seat with grace and reverence to the existence you have been given.

Find your place into the world and take a seat. For there are many reasons you are here, today, one of which; is to seat within your own body. You are here today, to live a life full of wonders and adventures. To unlock mind-blowing discoveries. To fill the space you inhabit with unprecedented glow. So seat, my friend ! Seat and let yourself ride along the life you wish to live.

[yk3aaa]

Fate.

Fate, is not some mysterious mystified concepts; it is a factual series of events which lead to a particular moment in time. In which one ends up asking: Why ? Why me ? Why this carriage ? Why this u-bahn ? At this hour ? In that city ? All together, a eerie series of decisive moments, which led to one event in time. 

[yk3aaa]

Alien.

The alien asked : why so foreign ?

[yk3aaa]

Circle.

We meet people twice. Especially if you walk in circle, and walk really really fast. 

[yk3aaa]

Li(f)e.

I live a life that is not mine. Yet I feel perfectly fine knowing it. I live a life that I have forced onto myself for there is no better lies than the ones you tell yourself. 

[yk3aaa]

Stroll.

I went on a walk today. I got lost into our past. I found your home. You no longer live there. I found a forgotten past, though. It softly with advocacy whispered ; he is gone, you are not. 

[yk3aaa]

Catharsis.

I want to write. I want to write like my heart skips. I want to write until nothingness takes me away. I want to write, day an night - until my fingers bleeds. I want to write, so much, like I have no powers over it. I want to write. I want to write until sunset, so I feel like my day was filled. Filled with words, thoughts and emotions. I want to write with anger, sadness, and euphoria. I want to write melancholically about the longing I have for you. With happiness and love. I want to write powerfully about the desire that I have for you. I want to write so I can tell you: I love you. I want to write, to tell you, I feel hurt. I want to write, under the amber light of a street lamp. I want to write until my heart skips. Until my ticker stop ticking. I want to write, until I have found the right words. The ones to tell you, I am hurt. To tell you my body aches. I want to write, so I can tell you, how much I miss you. I want to write, and tell you, how much you are worth. I want to write until my shoulders pains. I want to write, so I can feel my spine. I want to write, so I can reimagine my past. I want to write, never stopping, so I can tell you, how I don’t believe you anymore. I want to take away the pain you caused me. I want to write, to release my suppressed emotions. I want to write like you jump of a balcony: without thinking, hoping to crash like a pancake some floors below. I want to write like I have no one to tell. I want to write, because when I don’t: all I do is think of you. I want to root out the silliness of my love for you. I want to write, to tell you, that you don’t look like a taliban. And even if you took my heart hostage, and terrorise me forever of love itself. I want to write, so I can tell you; that I kill you. I want to write because we have nothing to tell. I want to write because I can not tell. I want to write, so I can create lives around me. I want to write forever - so I can tell myself, that somewhere, someone, is living worst situations that I am. I want to write, so I can hide away from you. I want to write, so I can share with you those moments of doubts, misery, and happiness. I want to write. so I can tell, what you have done to me. So I can open the eyes of the people around me, and tell them, with hope and anger how you make me feel. I want to tell them, that you are a coward, that you have left me, us, with nothing but the worst. I want to tell, how you made me feel : wanted and loved; for you to disappear like a ghost. I want to say how I am haunted, by the stupidity that you loved me.  Oh, how I feel empty, because, so far, you are the only one who said : I like you. I want to share my happiness, my faith, and my doubts. So someone, perhaps, somewhere, could help me. Someone, somewhere, maybe could tell me: move-on, let go. Or else. perhaps, someone could tell me; believe, trust, have faith,  I want to write - catharsis. 

[yk3aaa]

Moving men.

We, however, saw them passing by. First comes the skaters, then the cyclists. And they come by lots, in large groups of individuals. The local enforcement acts as shields, on wheels, four aligned or two non-motorised with a seat; they run ahead, alerting traffic and making ways. And a bit like the tour de france, comes this wave of moving statues. A bit like the tour de france, they arrive, they pass and they are gone. The difference being, perhaps that they do not come and go so quickly; you have time to see them. Admire their colourful attire and even, if you’d wish to: say hi to some of them. The skaters are the most intriguing, they stand in an awkward position. Not seriously straight, nor sitting, they are half-way between descending on the toilet and running away from it. Their speed also, I guess, participate in such nonsense. Oh, and they are waving their arms as well, rocking it back and forth, as if, in some magical worlds, this would give them power to glide in a more elegant way. The cyclists are not to joke about, like amazon on their horses, they seats straight and pass in front of your eyes with arrogance and pride. They are kept at a slow pace because of the herd of elegantly shitting statues ahead. But the cyclists do not care, they go slower even, so they can at least appreciate the paysage, wave hello or goodbyes to whomever is ready to receive it. They seat still, moving their legs in a disassembled manner. Legs move, arms, chest, and head do not. You hear them laugh, and it is funny, because you almost have too much time to see them do so.  In such a place, where sport is an art and art a sport, one can only feel lonely not to have legs. I mean, I would, if I would not have any. But this is not the point of this story. I suspect the city 1950’s planner to have gone on a skating date, he probably fell in love with that boy, and came the next morning; he screwed all planners before him; Sarphati, Berlage, Haussmann, Çerda and the like and laughed at the face of Robert, Denise, and Steven for they would not understand his scheme : providing the largest route possible for him and his boyfriend to go on skating dates together, And though he managed to bring the ring to life, he would probably be saddened  to see that cyclists were also part of the tour. He had lost an arm to a bike, and was forever bond to hate the two-wheeled engine. Silly accident really, but who would thrust a bike after falling head first, being choked by his entangled scarf, and experiencing a near death moment like Isadora Duncan, It’s seriously not funny, but the truth is that there was no way since for him to be reconciled with bikes. This is what a monday look like on the sea-side. Sportive groups travelling in mass to go around the same city twice. What a change after being stuck in traffic two hours earlier. I would say: then, you should have used these smaller wheels - then !