Take a number and wait until you're called.
And on and on and on...
Published on September 27, 2005 By dynamaso In Misc
Just about everyday, I catch a bus to work. I spend the five minute ride watching cars go past, usually cars with enough seating for 5 adults. Most of the time, however, there is only ever the driver. Haven’t these people heard of car-pooling? Don’t they know there is a severe petrol shortage? Or are they oblivious drones, so used to the way things are they’ll never adapt to the way things will have to be.

Occasionally I go past cars with children in the back seat, strapped in tight and wearing the glum faces of people about to do something they don’t want to do, like go to school. The buses are usually crowded and running late, making the passengers constantly tut and look at their watches. The car drivers, on the other hand, appear to be in a different zone, wrapped in little cabins of calm and serenity in a sea of exhaust-belching, screeching, angry, honking metal. This hardly explains road rage, I know, but there you go.

I get off a couple of stops before my work, just so I can have a little bit of a walk before I spend the day with my bum glued to a chair. I walk past closed fast-food shops that somehow still smell like last night’s vindaloo or fried chicken. I walk past Laundromats where washed-out strangers sit and stare at their clothes circling in industrial dryers, almost hypnotised by their underwear spinning round and round. I walk past an early-opening hotel, where men of indeterminate ages are sitting in the morning sun, throwing accusing glances at each other and anyone walking past while sipping their first beer for the day.

These are lonely men who will be sitting in the corner as the day wears on, wanting to talk to the barmaid but never able to find the words. So they drink even more. Drinking is not a problem for them, just a way to pass the time. Their problems run much deeper, way down in the pit of their psyche, where they are still intimidated by their mothers and aunts and sisters and past girlfriends and ex-wives. They want to be loved but they fear for their very lives. So they drink in the hopes they will be able to get past their problems. Each night they go to sleep in a stupor but each morning they wake up still remembering what they so desperately want to forget

I walk past buildings undergoing extreme makeovers, buildings who should have had dignified demolitions years ago but have been subjected to bagging, rendering and paint jobs more suited to younger, hipper buildings. Stately elegance has somehow turned out to be garish over-compensation for the fact that these buildings were never meant to be stately and trying to make them so only destroys whatever elegance age had leant them.

This is my neighbourhood. This is where I live, where I sleep, where I work and where I play. This is where sometime today, someone will be born and someone will die. This is where someone will have their heart broken while somebody else falls in love. This is where somebody will lose their virginity while somewhere else, someone will find God. Or maybe someone will lose their virginity and find God at the same time. Who knows? This is a neighbourhood of rich and poor, of spiritual and hedonistic, of sweet and bitter, left and right, of extremes and commonality.

This is my neighbourhood, reflecting a tiny snapshot of the western world back in the windows of the buildings I pass, of frowning strangers with calloused hands and bruised hearts, of care-free children and careless adults. It is no better or no worse than your neighbourhood. The only difference is location. There may be terrorists in our midst, but there are also rapists, liars, murders, paedophiles, thieves, wife beaters and defrauders. Such is the world in its infinite variety. Such is life, no exceptions. You can be born with a silver spoon or a plastic spoon in your mouth, but we all end in the same dirt, with the same worms scouring our bones and the same epitaphs lingering in stone long after we’ve turned to dust.

I’ve long given up the belief that good things happen to those who wait mainly because I’ve spent far too long in traffic jams, supermarket queues and bank-teller lines. While I hardly want for anything, I don’t expect anything either and I am pretty hard to surprise. The cynical adult I hoped I would never become has crept up and taken over. I’m not sorry, but I am missing my inner-child. Has anyone seen him?

Comments
on Sep 27, 2005
Beautifully written, Maso. A pleasure to read.

PS - I didn't get around to replying to that gecko article of mine, but I'd love to hear your stuff. My email is brandie0121 at yahoo dot com.
on Sep 27, 2005
Wow. A great article.

I'd never thought of you as a cynic, but then other people say that I am one so perhaps that's why.
For me a lot of my cynicism disappeared in New Caledonia, when I realised that people can be happy even if they do have some pretty shitty circumstances. Obviously, there's no choice of that in the Sudan right now, and that sux. But the thing is that people have great potential, and as long as you get out there and be a positive force and help someone to learn to fish (metaphorically) once in a while, then you'll have been in the black regarding leaving a positive legacy.
on Sep 27, 2005
Oh so cynical and so jaded....you paint quite a cryptic and descriptive picture of your world but somehow you make it sound so beautiful in it's cryptic way. What a great writer you are Maso! You would do well as a novelist! As for your inner child, it's still there you just have to let him out sometimes! And that ending makes me just want to give you a big fat hug! (((((Maso)))))


on Sep 27, 2005
You have written an article that makes people think about their own everyday lives and goings on. Nice work.

I hope you walk by something soon that will put a smile on your face, and maybe put the cynical side of you on hold, even for at least a few minutes.
on Sep 27, 2005
maso? IF you do not find that child fast you WILL get old, trust me.

what keeps me alive is I stay in touch with my inner child.
on Sep 27, 2005
I saw that inner child skinny dipping down at the creek.  He skipped work, and rode his bike to get there.
on Sep 27, 2005
Tex, thanks so much for your kind words. Just having you say this makes me feel a lot better, believe me.

Champas, I think even the most positive, most together people have a cynic inside them. I don't often allow the cynical side of me much rein as I'd prefer to be enthusiastic and optimistic. But sometimes, you have to let the dog out for a run, you know. Thanks for your comments, mate. Much appreciated...

Serenity, I don't know what to say except thank you so much. I have a few novels in me, I know, but at the moment music is taking up just about every spare minute of my waking day (not that I'm complaining, mind).

In Bloom, you have hit the nail on the head. I wanted people reading this to think about their lives and how 'everyday' doesn't necessarily mean 'ordinary'. As I said to Champas, the cynical side doesn't come out of me a great deal, but I have to let it run when it does. Thanks for stopping by and your comments.

Modman, I agree totally. I usually indulge my inner child but lately, I've been feeling somewhat let down by a number of elements in my life that are beyond my control. I think being in this position makes one really aware of their place and just how miniscule we are in the big scheme of things. Thankfully, I don't let my cynical safe take me over and the child does come running back, full of farts and burps and silly voices and wonderful, crazy ideas. Thanks for you kind words, Elie. Much appreciated...

Dr Guy, so thats where he got to, huh. Little bugger... He could have taken me with him. Thanks for your comments and stopping by, Doc. Good to see you...
on Oct 03, 2005
Smooth and flowing and I feel myself there. Brilliant, Maso. Absolutley freaking brilliant....
on Oct 04, 2005
Heya Shovel,

Thanks for the kind words, mate. Much appreciated...

Cheers,

Maso
on Oct 26, 2005
You wanna be careful Maso, this looks pretty racist to me.
on Oct 30, 2005
Champas, I have no idea what you're talking about? I've never in my life been accused of being racist, so you'd better come up with a fucking good explanation. Just in case you don't get the tone of this message, I'm not very fucking happy at all. Please explain yourself...
on Nov 01, 2005
Sorry Maso, I assumed you'd been following a recent debate on my blog. I don't think you're racist at all and I totally and utterly apologise for causing you offence. I was recently accused of being racist for expressing a dislike of city life. I was making a link between my criticisms and yours. It was intended as a joke but I acknowledge that it may have been in poor taste. What do you expect from me though? I'm just a terrorist.
on Nov 01, 2005
Champas, okay, now I get it. The fact is I haven't been following much at all on JU. There are a number of people, such as yourself, that I try to read regularly, but my life outside of JU has been very hectic of late, hence my sporadic blogging and responding. It doesn't explain why, after your disclaimer, some readers still took offense at your Cities... blog. Some JUsers are negative sensationalists who look for drama and malice wherever they go. BTW, I'm sure you know the old adage about making assumptions and in this case, I think you might have been ass-worthy