Thursday, July 5, 2012

hidden secret of Brussels

Dear friend,
how are you? I’m good, I’m good. Don’t worry too much, I’m good. I eat every day, and yes, I can drink milk. I don’t feel as a stranger because I can take the bus or the metro or the train to go from one side to the other. I can even walk, and it feels amazing. Even in the greyness, even at night. I walk every night back home. Sometimes I walk to somebody else’ home. But don’t worry, here that is fine. The buildings are not so tall, so you can still enjoy the full moon view when it’s not cloudy. And when it’s cloudy, you can still see through, because once you live in the greyness, you learn how to do that. And you do that by closing your eyes. See? That’s the city where everything is possible. So, I’m good, I’m good. And how are you? I miss our pillow talks. I miss our laughs. I miss our silence. In the grey city everyone feels the need to talk. Let’s talk about politics, let’s talk about trips, let’s talk about the world, let’s talk about us. I never wanted to talk about us, my friend. You wanted to. There are so many streets around. There are so many people. There are so many walls. But walls are not enough to cover for the noisy talking around. That’s the real mistery to me. That’s the real mistery to everyone. This is the city of talks. I hear people and trees and objects talking all the time. Even mice. There are lot of mice under the ground, you know. They shout and shout. “It smells here”, they say. Let’s talk, let’s talk. You wanted to talk. Why do you do that, what do you think of this, when do you come back to me, where did you go to school. Let’s talk, let’s talk. I thought things don’t talk. I’m not a thing, you said, you’re not a thing, I said. I’m good, how are you my friend, I’m good. You know, I avoid bars. They never serve snacks along with beer. People get drunk, they start singing, they are drunk. Then they vomit and yet can’t keep silent. They shout like mice “it smells here, it smells, help!” They fall asleep, sometimes at home, sometimes in front of the bus stop, with their back leaning against the wall. They are waiting for a bus which is not coming. Not till 5 o’clock the next morning. They have nightmares and shout about the dragon wanting to beat them with a flower; but it’s an iron flower and so they are scared. They shout their fears loudly. I can hear them at night. Often. I can hear everything. The city speaks. Its people speak in too many languages. Its buildings shout when they crash down. The sky is the worst. It cries all the time. And even when it doesn’t, it looks at you with threatening crying eyes and it feels almost as if it’s trying to say something. And I hear that too. You know, dear friend, I came here to escape the noise of talking. It’s a grey city, I thought, it must be a quiet place. Well, it’s not. It also wants to talk, like you did, let’s talk let’s talk. Even the air talks and the wind blows loudly through the half open door. I’m good, my friend, I’m good. Let’s talk, you said. Since I have been living here in this city, I have learnt that there are many other ways of talking, rather than the actual talk. So, let’s try one. Let’s talk in silence. Let’s write letters. How are you my friend, I’m good. I’m good.
It’s great to be finally able to talk with you.

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