Waiting with Rania

A girl friend pointed out that all females surrounding her seem to be waiting for a certain male to get their lives going in some way. However, as I looked at her horrified at the truth of this observation, I also felt deeply handicapped with the realisation that even if that certain male magically moves his wand and sweeps some of us off our feet, the event will be followed by no other than further anticipation of course.

As we sat talking, smoking and arguing about who of us has it worst that the other we questioned whether this was our own fault or the male companions’ fault. Well obviously, as another good (male this time) friend often points out, it takes two to tango. And that must be true. Are we repressed idiots to be waiting like this and are they heartless assholes to keep us in this hopeless state? Well it seems to be much more complicated than this.

The family ties are strong, solid, persistent and painful, causing us to be in search of an equally persistent alternative, while we carry our extended family burdens on our shoulders. Women being more volatile, seem to swing more easily, while males on the more solid side of things seem to always be stuck on some ex from the distant past. As it is with work, art or any creative activity, progress always happens with such strong resistance in Greece.

However, as I am all alone this hot and moist evening, trying to breathe under the air-conditioner, with a pc prone to overheating and shutting down now and again, I am night-swimming along memory lane, not quite sure whether I dreamed about all these things floating through my mind, or if they actually happened. I float through the dimensions of all the things we said and their continuum through our brief series of encounters and I always seem to end up with this one moment.

You were standing there, on the pavement, looking away into the street towards my house, while I was just leaving school. I must have been wearing my baggy clothes, teenage, low self-esteemed and full of wonder and life. You were so strange and pretty with your piercing eyes and your anarchist attire. I couldn’t help but look at you, wonder where your mind was off to. I must have seen you before, but never noticed you before this deeply contemplative moment. You looked straight back at me with clear eyes. At that moment my petty low self-esteem seemed to vanish under the weight of a mature reference from the future, which I would only find out about several years later.

In this small country full of microclimates, micro-space-time continuums everything connects to everything and so we continue to wait until the connection is made, girls painting nails, reading horoscopes and smoking tobacco, while boys run around spending the money they’re making.

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