i kept moving, it is in the quiet hours of transitional spaces, i find company. the loneliness was a gentle one, even pleasurable.
Surrounded by strangers, a homeless woman looking for a shelter from the cold night, her pupils lacking focus, confused, insecure. Sitting next to her was a 12 year old kid on his laptop, munching on his waffles, even spreading creams and pepper on each one before sending them into his mouth, he certainly felt very comfortable being in this non-place. In the middle of the room there was a bald middle age man snoring like a pig, breaking the silence in the air.
With the strange odour that is unique in this enclosure,I sat quietly in a corner reading 'the alchemist' by Paulo Coelho, taking occasional sips from the bottle of lemonade I purchased from the machine outside a while ago.
A group of strangers, each one with their own agenda, or the lack of it, are cramped together in this station's waiting room. This collective loneliness brings me comfort. It reminds me the identity of being a lone traveller, I no longer suffer from the contrast between my mood, my status, and the backdrop, as they are all are in harmony and leave no rooms for pretentious emotional expression or unnecessary gestures.
As Alain de Botton would put it, it is perhaps sad books that best console us when we are sad, and to lonely transitional spaces that we should seek when there is no one for us to hold or love. because by witnessing loneliness in such clarity, we may feel less personally persecuted by it.
他有他未來 我們都學不來 學不來
這就是他未來 我們學不來 我學不來
我學不來 學不來 誰學得來