Guatemala.

So I can go to Guatemala, and learn Guatemalian bit by bit so that I can be able to say Good Morning to the land lady every time I see her – even though it will probably be 5 PM. I’d walk down the street with the French kerb and enjoy the sound my heel-less shoes are making. The beat will probably fool me in some way or another to see something new in the same street I walk down daily. I am not sure if there IS something new or it’s me just being desperate to want to see something new. The bus is almost always there when I reach the bus station, because that’s the maximum generousity God can give a soul like me during those busy days. It’s good enough, for I loathe waiting. Public transport is fun; the maximum interaction with anyone is when you pay for your ticket, then you can listen to your own stale music. Then I go to that work place, do the same night shift over and over again. It won’t matter what I work though, it’ll probably be something anyone can do really if they wanted to – and probably they won’t.

So I don’t mind draining myself out of energy for a job that doesn’t change the world or gets people to get a chance to tan on Mars one fine morning – even though I can do that, I am super smart, trust me. I don’t mind it really, as long as it drains me so much that I get home and fail to remember where I was before I came to Guatemala, why I came to Guatemala and that my land lady looks at me in pity when she tells me Good Morning back in Guatemalian. But it shouldn’t drain me that much, for I need the energy to be able to pour myself a drink when I get back. I am sure that’s written in job descriptions and all.

So I can spend my Sundays adding more Black and White posters to my Guatemalian house’s walls, of dead people, who probably had a harsh overdose before they died and their names are frequently seen on the screen of my Chinese mp3 player – yes the one for the bus. I can go shopping for some pencil and paper, then some food if I remember. I can spend the Sunday evenings writing on pencil and paper, then waste more time typing what I wrote. Typing straight away is very not inspiring – I wonder who will change that first, MS or Apple. I write, making sure I have no audience. On the very rare times I turn my TV on; I’ll probably watch some news of how little children are genocided in a far away country that I’ve never been to and never will. Then, God reminds me of how selfish I am, how inconsiderate and how ungrateful, being so lucky to be who I am, yet sitting there not thinking of others. So I think of my land lady and how lonely she probably is.