You think that this is a wondrous place with polite altruistic people who are always ready to help or give a hand. You are wrong. It’s the eyes. Always watching. Always following me around. Always trying to get close to me. And when I’m not looking, they play tricks on me. Like moving my stuff around, tangled shoelaces, moving me around. Yes. This morning I woke up on the park bench. And the other day I felt them squeeze my throat. They were trying to kill me. I know they were. But I don’t say anything. Cause the eyes have ears. They hear everything. Even the whispers. You have to pretend to conform. There are rules. If you don’t follow the rules, there are all these pills. They don’t want me to know. But I know. I see the eyes and I feel the shadows.
For 50 years I had been held down by this huge invisible anchor called family.
But now, I thought, my time has come. I was going to break free, set sail, explore the world, live a little. I’d been planning the perfect vacation for months, but then that little thing called a pandemic struck. No more anchor, but now a huge invisible speed breaker.
Yet I stay determined. My time will come. Armed with my vaccine passport I shall soar through the clouds.
I’ve planned my itineraries. There’s options A through Z. I’m ready for whichever country that opens up for tourism.
And I’ll say this – the vacation may not be perfect, but the planning sure is fun.
He was terror on wheels; zipping across the street with the stealth and speed of a Ninja.
Every resident knew him. Every day there would be some complaint lodged against him. At some point, each one of us had given him a dressing down. He never talked back. He always apologised. He never changed.
We changed. We learnt to inch out of our driveways. We learnt to turn into our street with caution.
The street is quiet now. The little blue bike stands unused.
Driving is easier. Yet we all look wistfully towards that bike.