I see a man with a beard in the departure hall of the airport. On his way from somewhere, to somewhere. He must have been fashionable a few decades ago, and I’m sure he will be hip again if he waits a few years more. Fashion trends always return. They are like seasons in a year. I forgot the conclusion of that scientific research they ever did, whereby they found a relation between the average length of the female skirts and the business cycle. I believe that the fashion industry seemed to dictate shorter skirts in good economic times and longer skirts in times of economic depression. Generally speaking, dear female audience, no offence. Don’t draw the conclusion that girls in a mini-skirt are generally doing well or vice-versa.
Anyway, the man with the beard. I see him, and he makes me think of an old colleague of mine. When I visited my hometown years after I had left the company, I heard the news about him. He decided to give up on life. He looked for the emergency exit. He took the easy way out. He had a wife, two kids. But above all, he lived in a world full of thoughts, all on his own. He learnt a wonderful language, all for himself. No one spoke his language though. Babel.
Thoughts must sure be all related. The brain is a formatted disk of associations, a registry of books amidst the chaos of library racks. I watched the movie “Babel” two days back, for the second time. More times will follow. A deaf girl steps into the disco. Sounds are all around, but then the music stops. People are moving like wild animals in the dark, but … no sound. Everybody seems to have the time of their life, but … no sound. Stroboscopic lights, excited crowd. No sound. No wonder she feels misunderstood, when she can not even understand others. No wonder she can not make herself be heard, when she can not even hear others. And when the camera pauses on the empty balcony, a few seconds, all too long, you fear the worst. But when you finally see her silhouette, standing naked in the neon night, you imagine hearing her voice, and wish you could hold her tight.
My ex-colleaugue with the beard. Who held him tight?
Anyway, the man with the beard. I see him, and he makes me think of an old colleague of mine. When I visited my hometown years after I had left the company, I heard the news about him. He decided to give up on life. He looked for the emergency exit. He took the easy way out. He had a wife, two kids. But above all, he lived in a world full of thoughts, all on his own. He learnt a wonderful language, all for himself. No one spoke his language though. Babel.
Thoughts must sure be all related. The brain is a formatted disk of associations, a registry of books amidst the chaos of library racks. I watched the movie “Babel” two days back, for the second time. More times will follow. A deaf girl steps into the disco. Sounds are all around, but then the music stops. People are moving like wild animals in the dark, but … no sound. Everybody seems to have the time of their life, but … no sound. Stroboscopic lights, excited crowd. No sound. No wonder she feels misunderstood, when she can not even understand others. No wonder she can not make herself be heard, when she can not even hear others. And when the camera pauses on the empty balcony, a few seconds, all too long, you fear the worst. But when you finally see her silhouette, standing naked in the neon night, you imagine hearing her voice, and wish you could hold her tight.
My ex-colleaugue with the beard. Who held him tight?
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