THE ASEXUAL BUS RIDE

I live in a country, that is quite rich compared to the rest of the world. This morning I was sitting in the bus, getting to my first boxing lessons downtown. It was grey and raining, and there were many people in the yellow bus amid the humidity. The bus was loud with its polluting engine. People looked sad. Many people were going to work, because they had to. Few did it because they loved it profoundly. Their faces were self revealing, as well as the rest of their heavy body language. It was like if we all in the bus were wishing being somewhere else far away, where rain and work didn’t exist. Maybe the bus would one day be able to drive us somewhere to an unknown destination, where the sun always would be shining and where meaningless work didn’t exist. I wandered. Wandered, if this was really the way things had to be. Shouldn’t there be more to life than mere satisfaction and duty? Is life not bigger than that? I felt caught in the bus and rain. Like if we all shared the same destiny. No escape. Just a one-way ticket. We all needed to earn money for ourselves and our families. But so few of us were in reality fulfilled. Meaning in life was like a forgotten childhood poem. Workplaces seemed like a competition of problems. Which workplace could gather the most problems and discuss it the most during meetings? Words and words were filled in the compact meeting rooms, like pollution from a bus in a box. Maybe there was a gold medal for the workplace with the most problems and words. And we say we live in a free world…

The bus driver was not enjoying the ride either in the yellow, big bus. There were many cars in front of him. The bus hardly advanced. A man sat beside me in the bus with its seats in dirty tissue. I looked at the men in the bus. One by one. Also at the men outside the bus sitting in their cars, driving to work, surrounded by the grey tones of the weather. One by one. No masculinity. No charm. Why would I even bother to try to look more feminine. The society is so neutral, that sexuality is nearly non-existent in the public space. Yet pornography is not banned, on the contrary. I thought: how come I live in a country where the men are so unattractive, looking cold, rational and so very conscious about their goals and gains in life. That is no help what so ever when it is raining. No space for the unforeseen, that frees you from the daily duties. To gain is important. To be successful is important, but how uncharming a man that closes himself of from the rest of life’s beauty. No spontaneity. No magic. Maybe I was searching magic outside myself, as I felt as grey and asexual as the sky deprived from the sun that day. Of course people looked at their smartphones in the bus. I did too at a certain point, when I could find no beauty around me, after having searched. No meaning of sitting and wasting time in traffic jam. Maybe I was too judgmental. Poor men. Maybe they were sitting in their corners thinking exactly the same thing about the women. About me. I once lived in a country where men and woman looked at each other — often just a look. A look that just told you: I saw you. Nothing else. In the public space here, people don’t want to, or don’t have time to see you, or are afraid to, or are to tired to. Afraid of the unknown. They do not acknowledge you. At a certain point you yourself start to not acknowledge too. Things get neutral and non-existent. People walking past each other, with no contact. With no desire to have a contact. Except if there is an accident. They need to be a certain place at a certain time. They have to go to work.

At the boxing lesson, I really boxed like a complete beginner, in the inside I imagined that I was Rocky Balbao.

ajournalfromsomewhere.blog

© 2017 A JOURNAL FROM SOMEWHERE.BLOG ALL RIGTHS RESERVED