IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER
In winter, my body comes alive, and I walk faster than normal once I am outside. I am in a well heated mall, one of the ugliest I have been in, with dull colours and lighting that makes me want to finish my business and get the hell out.
These days however, I try to be present for every experience, even ones that may not be the most exciting. Living with anxiety sometimes means that even when everything is going right, you find it difficult to just relax. So I train myself to breathe, to stop often, to stare often.
I stop and stare. At animals. At the façades of buildings. At plants — my plants, plants outside. At babies whose eyes light up when they see me on trains or in buses. At the sky, and the moon. At paintings even when I think they are postmodern nonsense. At colours. At the make-up aisle even after I have found the nail varnish I was looking for. At my hands. At myself in the mirror to see what the years are doing to me. At myself in mirrors outside to see how I am going through the world, to remind myself when I catch a scowl to smile.
I have just bought some cabbage, avocados and a big bag of navel oranges, which I love. My stride is slower now as I observe the tiles, ugly even for this already ugly mall: grey and mud brown and black which is now turning grey, and beige, lots of beige.
I look in store windows. I wonder about patterns and colours and whether the tan woman with very long fake eyelashes selling perfume in the open stall will offer me a tester like she has offered the two people ahead of me.
She is still talking to the person ahead of me when I walk past.
I smile when I see an elegant, silk scarf through a shop window. These days I try to feel myself smile— to experience the smile happening. It loops back and causes me even more joy. It is my little revolution in this city where one must ignore the cultural rudeness to enjoy it. Even though this is not a place where you smile at strangers, I realise that if you lock eyes with someone and they see a smile grow on your face, they just might smile back. Sometimes they look away. Sometimes they stare back suspiciously. But when they do capitulate and smile back, my god, what a joy it is.
A tall older black man stops me to say hello. I wonder if I know him.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Elnathan’s Corner to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.