Lost. I’m lost in a big big world of strange people and weird “things”.
I walk. I walk. I find black sky. I think, “weird, i always thought skies were blue.”
I walk. I walk. I find river water brown. I think, “weird, i always thought river water was blue.”
I stop. I sit down on a weak, wooden bench on filthy pavement. I cough. I cough. I turn around me and find strong young men smoking. I cough. I turn around the other side. I find big family, really big family, one man, one woman, six kids, walking. Throwing bags and wrappers on filthy pavement. The youngest girl throws tissue next to garbage bin. I think, “weird, i always thought people threw their rubbish inside bin.”
I stand up. I walk. I enter small, crooked cafe in a dark, smelly alley. I order cup of coffee to calm down. The young, nearly 8-year-old waiter-like boy brings me a small white cup. He places it gently on table. I take cup. I look into cup. I smell coffee. I look at coffee. Something is in coffee. I leave cup on table. I look at small, noisy TV in cafe. I gaze at angry men fighting over ball. Soccer ball. They kick. They punch. Match is over. Boy changes channel. I see women singing. I see women dancing. I see women wearing poor clothes. They are poor. They can’t afford full clothes. Boy changes channel. I see man slapping woman. She lands on floor. She cries. I think, “weird, i always thought men respected women.”
I stand up. Leave two currencies on table.
I leave. I walk. My feet splash in a dirty water puddle. I walk. I walk. I find a distant, distant light far away. I walk. I walk faster. I run. I slip on banana skin. I am angry. I stand up. I take banana skin and throw it in garbage bin. I still see light. I walk. I walk. I walk closer. The light disappears as I go closer. I am sick. I am tired. I stop. I stand in middle of dark, filthy, smelly, street alone. I scream, “where am i?”
An old man, nearly 90-year-old, approaches me. His white hair falls down as he walks. He caresses me. He talks slowly, “you are here.” I look at him. I say, “here where ?” He looks at me pitifully and says, “here. where all people are. you are not lost. you are here in world.” I shrug wondering. I say, “this is not world.” He walks away. His last words are,”get used to it.” His words echo all over my mind. I cry. My tears fall down on old man’s white hair on street. It turns to black. Dark, dark black. I am baffled. I do not know. I am lost. I am not lost. I have to get used to it. I have to.