The train rocked under the motion of the rubber tires, and my eyes tried to follow the lines in my book that narrated the novel I was reading. Suddenly in the corner of my eye I saw motion, and I looked up.
A woman, middle aged, with wild black hair and a face refined with wrinkles, leapt from her seat and darted toward the centre of the carriage. On a pole, one that commuters normally hang onto to brace themselves from stumbling and falling onto fellow passengers, she swung. With her legs like a vine intertwining the pole, she worked it smoothly like a pole dancer. Once, twice she swung, in swift and soundless motion that captured the attention of everyone sitting in the carriage.
As quickly as she got up and swung, she sat down again. She threw her head back and burst out in laughter, laughter that was muffled out by the screeching of the metro. Her cleavage was showing in her lowcut tee, and the heels of her boots must have been at least 10cm high.
"Just entertainment", she said to a lady sitting next to her, "I'm not hurting anyone, it's just for fun!" The lady next to her nodded and smiled politely, and tried to get back to her reading. The pole-dancing woman grabbed a can and started to gulp it down. "It's Saturday night. You have to make some fun!"
And she sure did. She got off at my stop, and after a glimpse at her can did I realise that even ginger ale can give you such a rush and high.
18 September 2010
Night out
The strobe lights, flashes of lightning and coloured spotlights were dazzling, were blinding. I could feel the dancefloor vibrate, tremble like the earth was shaking beneath our feet. Boys, men and the sporadic girls danced, their bodies moving to the beat and rhythm of the ear-popping techno mixes of the latest and of classic pop songs. Friday night out in a dance club.
The alcohol was oozing in my veins, and I was sweaty from dancing. My friends danced around me, and around us there were scores more of people. Some holding their (dance) partner close, others tonguing and licking the sweat and lust from one another's cheeks and lips. On the gigantic screen was a black and white behind-the-scenes documentary on male porn stars posing in front of the camera. There was sex in the air, in the drinks, in the minds of everyone who crowded the dancefloor, and who sat idly and watched from the barstools.
I had fun, that I cannot deny. But there was something missing. My mind, a wanderer as it is, wandered even more on that dancefloor as I moved and shook my body and arms. Wandering off to a quiet moment alone with someone close, wandering off to a week from now, when I'll be in the peace and quiet of the monastery as I begin my 10day meditation retreat. My mind wandered also into the realm of fantasy... to daydream about what-might-be of imaginary scenarios with someone I've recently met, and with whom I felt a great connection.
Back on the dancefloor, every one seemed lost. Lost in the ecstasy of the free flowing body movements, lost in the trance of musical beats and lyrics that teased. Lost in lust, lost in love, lost in longing. Lost, and all seemingly wanting to find something, to hold on to it, to treasure it, even if it is only for a fleeting moment.
For that is how it is with going out. To loose oneself, so that one can find oneself or another. Only to loose oneself again, perhaps not too soon after.
The alcohol was oozing in my veins, and I was sweaty from dancing. My friends danced around me, and around us there were scores more of people. Some holding their (dance) partner close, others tonguing and licking the sweat and lust from one another's cheeks and lips. On the gigantic screen was a black and white behind-the-scenes documentary on male porn stars posing in front of the camera. There was sex in the air, in the drinks, in the minds of everyone who crowded the dancefloor, and who sat idly and watched from the barstools.
I had fun, that I cannot deny. But there was something missing. My mind, a wanderer as it is, wandered even more on that dancefloor as I moved and shook my body and arms. Wandering off to a quiet moment alone with someone close, wandering off to a week from now, when I'll be in the peace and quiet of the monastery as I begin my 10day meditation retreat. My mind wandered also into the realm of fantasy... to daydream about what-might-be of imaginary scenarios with someone I've recently met, and with whom I felt a great connection.
Back on the dancefloor, every one seemed lost. Lost in the ecstasy of the free flowing body movements, lost in the trance of musical beats and lyrics that teased. Lost in lust, lost in love, lost in longing. Lost, and all seemingly wanting to find something, to hold on to it, to treasure it, even if it is only for a fleeting moment.
For that is how it is with going out. To loose oneself, so that one can find oneself or another. Only to loose oneself again, perhaps not too soon after.
15 September 2010
"Don't let the .... bite"
I'm not sure if I have them. So I cannot confirm or deny their existence. But my flatmate claims that I have them, and that she wakes up every morning with bites and red patches on her back(side).
So I've been googling bedbugs to see if there are signs of their presence I can spot. And surprisingly, they are more common than we think. In fact, most people probably have it, but live with them without realising that they are under the mattress seams, hiding in crevices in the wall, or living in the wood of the bedframe. Some people are especially allergic to them, and show symptoms whenever they are bitten.
And one of these people happen to be a friend who moved into the spare room of my apartment less than two weeks ago. It's a temporary arrangement, or so I'd like to think; temporary until she finds a place of her own. Almost immediately she started to complain about bedbugs, and now and then she would tell me how serious the problem is. When I came back from a weekend trip to the US, within five minutes of stepping through the door, she complained again about them.
I'm lost as what I should do. I've lived in this place for over a year, and I've had the bed she's now sleeping on for (just) over two. And I've never had a problem with bedbugs. She started to show me bits and pieces of what look like pebbles (or maybe even little box filling) to me, and she claims they are faeces of the bugs. Which happen to be in a leading toward the edge of the bed.
I said I'll get sprays, which I did today.
So at the big hardware store, I asked a middle aged man who works at the store what I could do about bedbugs. He showed me a spray product, which he said is effective if I just spray it all over the bedroom and around the bed. "Do you see them?" he asked. No, I've never seen them. It's my flatmate who claims they exist, but I'm not even sure if she's seen them actually crawling around.
"You can see them. They're small and red," he said, and with that he shuddered. "Do you have a cat?" I wondered how he knew I had a cat, and what that has to do with bedbugs. I do know that my roommate is somewhat allergic to cats and cat hair, and she takes antihistamine to control her allergies. "Well, maybe that's got something to do with it." He was called away before I could ask any more questions.
I'm not sure what to believe and not one step closer to finding out whether I do have bedbugs. But I just spent some $20 dollars and listening to complaints about an infestation which does not actually affect me at all. This morning my roommate actually suggested fumigating the whole house to kill the bedbugs. How much would that be, I wonder. And how effective would that be, I ask. Maybe they'll go away for a while. But with time, perhaps weeks, perhaps days, they will be back. Because they are everywhere.
Easiest, really, is she moved out and found a place that's bedbug free. "Good luck", the man at the store said to me before he rushed away. Indeed, given the extent of the problem throughout North American, good luck.
So I've been googling bedbugs to see if there are signs of their presence I can spot. And surprisingly, they are more common than we think. In fact, most people probably have it, but live with them without realising that they are under the mattress seams, hiding in crevices in the wall, or living in the wood of the bedframe. Some people are especially allergic to them, and show symptoms whenever they are bitten.
And one of these people happen to be a friend who moved into the spare room of my apartment less than two weeks ago. It's a temporary arrangement, or so I'd like to think; temporary until she finds a place of her own. Almost immediately she started to complain about bedbugs, and now and then she would tell me how serious the problem is. When I came back from a weekend trip to the US, within five minutes of stepping through the door, she complained again about them.
I'm lost as what I should do. I've lived in this place for over a year, and I've had the bed she's now sleeping on for (just) over two. And I've never had a problem with bedbugs. She started to show me bits and pieces of what look like pebbles (or maybe even little box filling) to me, and she claims they are faeces of the bugs. Which happen to be in a leading toward the edge of the bed.
I said I'll get sprays, which I did today.
So at the big hardware store, I asked a middle aged man who works at the store what I could do about bedbugs. He showed me a spray product, which he said is effective if I just spray it all over the bedroom and around the bed. "Do you see them?" he asked. No, I've never seen them. It's my flatmate who claims they exist, but I'm not even sure if she's seen them actually crawling around.
"You can see them. They're small and red," he said, and with that he shuddered. "Do you have a cat?" I wondered how he knew I had a cat, and what that has to do with bedbugs. I do know that my roommate is somewhat allergic to cats and cat hair, and she takes antihistamine to control her allergies. "Well, maybe that's got something to do with it." He was called away before I could ask any more questions.
I'm not sure what to believe and not one step closer to finding out whether I do have bedbugs. But I just spent some $20 dollars and listening to complaints about an infestation which does not actually affect me at all. This morning my roommate actually suggested fumigating the whole house to kill the bedbugs. How much would that be, I wonder. And how effective would that be, I ask. Maybe they'll go away for a while. But with time, perhaps weeks, perhaps days, they will be back. Because they are everywhere.
Easiest, really, is she moved out and found a place that's bedbug free. "Good luck", the man at the store said to me before he rushed away. Indeed, given the extent of the problem throughout North American, good luck.
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