Tuesday 22 December 2009

9 days

My, how time flies. 33% of my break is already a part of the past. Oh well; I think that my mind is in enough turmoil at this moment that it could sprout a fine post.

So, a couple things that three months in Edinburgh changed, off the top of my head.
--The coffee isn't as good as I remembered it and hungered for, during the cold days up in scotland. It's more like "Frappe? It's ok I guess but I do miss the mocha from Beanscene to be perfectly frank." Now, that's blasphemy. And I should know, if frappe was a religion I'd be its Pontifex Maximus.
--For a moment I thought I was getting shortsighted. Then I figured I was descending into a paranormal scenario where everybody's face was getting blurry. And then it struck me. The law against smoking in Greek cafes was lifted. Needless to say, you need headlights to move around in crowded cafes. A foghorn would also come in handy.
--After familiarizing with a country where cars drive differently, I'm now in the state where all cars go in the wrong direction. Whenever I have to cross a road like the proverbial chicken, my mind goes into reboot. Do they come from right to left? Left to right? Left to left? (is that even possible?) I constantly have to be with someone so they can kick me in the head (it functions as a ctrl-alt-del).
--Everybody's jealous of my Edinburgh hoodie. And by everybody I mean you, Kalpaki :-p
--I'd forgotten how disgustingly degradingly decadently comfortable my bedroom's armchair is. Drop a marblestone over that baby and let me Rest In Peace on it when I croak it.
-I find myself hating my motorcycle, loathing my helmet and detesting the fact that I can't walk wherever I want, in contrast with the city centre in Edina.
--Healthy Advice got even better while I was missing. Go over there and eat a sandwich, in the centre of Thessaloniki. I said it before and I'll say it again: If there was a country called Sandwichland, their cheesebread would be on the one-dollar bill.
--They say "Change is inevitable". Clearly they never heard of the ticket dispensers in the city buses. As you can guess, the first 0.30 ticket I bought costed me 1 euro.
--I fell in love with Scotland. It had me at "Welcome to Edinburgh". But Greece is something else. It's home. It's people shouting and cars honking and beautiful eyes that say "I'm happy you are here".

That's it for now. A recap when I get back.

Consta... "Computo ergo sum" ...ntine

Sunday 6 December 2009

You must remember this, a kiss is still a kiss...


I got in my romantic mood tonight, after watching Casablanca. So I wrote a little flash fiction, barely 500 words long. Just a little riff. And it has nothing to do with Bogart or Bergman, I just really love that movie. If you haven't seen it, believe me when I say that you must.

BUS STOP

“We’ll always have Paris”, a dead man once said and became immortal. Sitting on that cold bus stop, the meaning of the words grabs you by the throat.

The buses come and go, come and go. You don’t care now. The one she was on, is far gone. Now you just look at them come and go, come and go.

“We’ll always have Paris,” you mutter as you’re sitting there, for the third time ever. Third time’s the charm, they say. Not this time.

Brush off the rest of the people. You two were alone, both times. Brush off the sun too. It was late.
Last passenger of the fleeing night.

She’s not there now obviously; now she’s too far away and beyond reach. Perhaps that was the magic. But then again, her ghost is right by your side, the memory of her aroma, more vivid than anything else around.

You two, sitting on the cold bench in the dark, while the city reveled in the distance.

So, what do you see?

Her face, of course. Who could forget beauty when it stared at them in the face? Her eyes, half-hidden behind strands of amber. Do you remember what you said?

“In your eyes I see the icy sea.”

She smiled. What did she say?

“Do they look so cold to you, then?”

Yes. She only had to look at you once; you took a plunge and were lost in the frost.

They also looked cold the second time. Her tears were snowflakes.

A bus is coming. Will she leave? Not yet.

While you are still sitting there, looking at her ghost – your ghosts – buses come and go in an endless loop. One of them took her away, twice.

The first time, she went straight to the back and waved through the window. Her hand was freezing but her smile said she didn’t care.

That smile was saying “I’ll see you soon.”

The second time, she rushed to the back once more. She waved; this time her fingers were tucked in her new gloves. She smiled.

That smile was saying “I’ll see you again.”

What was it that you told her, when the day eventually turned into night? When that stranger with the saddest eyes you ever beheld–and that was enough– became Her, what did you say, when her bus was almost in front of you?

“I’ll kiss you now, and you decide if I’m going to miss or not.

She didn’t answer. Not with words.

And after that longest and shortest week of your lives finally came at an end in the headlights of a bus, you said the same, trying to remain jovial like a cursed jester.

“I’ll kiss you now, and you decide if I’m going to miss or not.

Did she answer this time? She did.

She said, Please, don’t miss.



Consta... " I'll be home in a week ^^ " ...ntine