I made them all laugh about how no one looks at each other, and once I do stare at someone's face, I cause awkwardness, even more so if I try to smile anonymously.
I told them, how every morning, without fail, an old man in a white suit would bless me on the tube. And how I smiled at him every time, and his insistence to call me 'the repenting sinner'
I made them laugh at how everyone runs in heels, while I trip on flats. I told them of the legging fashion- how leggings and a shirt only are worn, but no skirt. I told them how the first time I saw it, I tried to politely ask the girl if she forgot to wear a skirt.
I told them of one morning where I arrived at rush hour, and how tense everyone was- in fact I sensed that if they got more tense they would have 'let one rip' as they say.
I told them how I was going to miss being a fresher, because of everyone's low expectations.
I told them about the different races, so diverse yet so divided. And the unfortunate stereotypical roles they had all fallen into.
I told them of how I had a hacking cough that vibrated through my chest. It stuck for too long, and after numerous consultations, the diagnosis had been 'you're not used to the polluted city air'. To which I had replied 'yes, I prefer the very clean Baghdad air'. The doctor had stared before breaking out into a bellowing laugh.
I'm counting off the days anxiously, my nails having been reduced to mere millimetres.
That wasn't what I wanted to write about- far from it. I miss writing and writing, with no beginning and no end- what I used to do here, you know I might just start doing it again.
I don't want this to be the July 14th. post- I've recalled the events of that Tammuz verbally so much times, I'm not even sure what I think of it any more - my recital of that portion of history usually stems with a stranger's astonishment that Iraq had a monarchy, or something along those lines, and my thought train goes on a rampage...
I'll sleep on it, and decide what to post tomorrow. I think I used to be a hard core monarchist at one point.
I wonder if writing deteriorates or merely changes? I don't think it deteriorates per say, but I'm now stuck in a colourless state of writing, so much words and sentences and experiences, that I've truly come to appreciate the meaning of 'information overload'. That being said from a self proclaimed 'love-to-learn' is a big thing indeed.