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Last published Mon, Dec 3, 2018
Il y a ces moments où l'être humain est si bien fait qu'il arrive à ressentir le mépris, la méfiance d'autrui.. C'est un jour comme celui là, parfois toi, ou plutôt vous me faites mal.. Mais quel vous ? Et quel me? Vous par ce qu'il y a déjà de la distance qui nous sépare... Tu es un être ou plutôt une créature qui justement me crée de l'anxiété... Je vous vois là, en train de faire ton regard de serpent et de détourner l'une des personne qui me semblait sans artifice. Mais c'est bien la culture qui veut que l'artifice soit plus fort que le naturel.. Vous je vous en veux ! Tu vis dans une illusion du paraître... Mais que faites vous à vouloir me faire de la peine petite créature. Je vous aimes à vos éclats de rire et te déteste amèrement, comme une olive dans les bois. J'aimerais te mépriser mais ton mépris prend le pas sur le mien. Arrête de souffrir et regarde en haut... petite humaine.
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A few months ago, I bought a mug with gold gilt. On sale. Not a gift either nor because of an occasion to remember by it. Just plain, pretty mug for 15PLN. I drank my coffee from it since. I spat loose tea leaves into it. It never felt particularly significant. An ordinary object. Only when I lost it, I realised its true value. I sat comfortably at my desk one evening. Looking at my phone, I reached to take my song-text notebook. Trivial situation. My clumsy fingers were unable to avoid the mug. They allowed it to topple over, to slip from the desktop. Even though I did not see the split-second occurrence, I felt the pressure of unease. My head painted the trajectory of the fall on its own, the shattering, spillage. The loss. For a millisecond I still had hope, that I would be able to catch the mug, that I would be able to avoid what was about to happen. But I knew I was headed for failure. I don't have any superpowers. I only scalded my fingers. I looked at the mug's new shape for a long while, at the shattered pieces. At the spilling liquid. Our adventure came to an end. Irrevocably. I won't be drinking coffee from it anymore, nor spit tea leaves into it. Well. I shouldn't be sad, it was just a regular mug, just like thousands of others. I grew to like it, it kept me company throughout hundreds of warm drinks. I lost it. I hate this feeling the most. In the moment when I am losing something, I stop in my tracks, I hold my breath. It is always a very intense moment. A short one, but one that gives me the tight unpleasant feeling in my stomach. The feeling of loss is always accompanied by hope. Silly and naïve. Making me believe so strongly, that I can make it. That I will still be able to catch the mug mid-flight. When the feeling is entering the body, crawling into me I realise, how important it was to me. Whether it's Nivan or a stupid mug with gold gilt.
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