mynetx art

Locked in – that’s what you are. Everywhere around you, there is no escape. You can see it in the eyes of people passing by on the outside. They will glance at you, ignorantly or even full of pity. But besides staring, they don’t seem to be moved to action, not even being inspired to, perhaps in your behalf, for your advantage. Friends? Hardly. Some faces you don’t even know, others whom you don’t want to know. Lastly, some acquaintances pass by, but like everybody else, they won’t help you out either.

Still, locked in – that’s what you are. No option to escape this room. Looking outside is permitted, kind of. But then, the centre of the room, it rotates around your own focus, captures your attention back. Gone are other people passing by, gone are the hopes. And soon enough, if you don’t come up with a solution, gone will be your whole life. In vain, perhaps. Time to change it now – if you could only have the slightest clue how.

Some people like to be relentless travellers: Being an explorer is just part of your DNA. Last month it was the sierra, today you chose the calming seaside, and next week you’ll be on impressive mountains … 

Incorporating the unique spots and meshes of emotions linked to each spot, you grow in proportion to the amount of cultures you were able to dive into, combined with the need for constant momentum, never standing still. Colours, shapes, smells, tastes – you love complete experiences. Incomparable moments. Nature, overwhelmingly beautiful. 

Awe-inspired, it just leaves you speechless, since you feel the need to grasp the entirety of the immeasurable beauty that you’re taking in with all your senses.

When it’s summer and you happen to look out of the window, you’ll most probably raise your eyes to take a look at a million of green shades, along with some brown strokes of branches. A living light green there, a strong medium green there, and perhaps some teal green when you turn your head to peek into that triangular spot of coniferous trees over there, on the right.

So similar in colour, yet so different in shades.

When it’s autumn and you stand at your window, looking at the sky with its strong wind, you will notice the hill slopes turning into all sorts of colours – red like a flame, orange like a delicious fruit, yellow like a traffic light, and brown like a furry bear. The only constant you might notice is the ever immutable teal of that coniferous forest.

So different in colour, yet so similar in a single thing: All of these rainbow colours will, without any exception, too soon fall down, vanish and disappear into nonexistence.

Just – gone.

Had been looking forward
Was in an anticipating mood

Had been carefully hoping
Glad to make things happen

But then, again no.

Wanted to see a close friend
To comfort and listen to them

Expected to live some chilling hours
And tune out my mind

But then again, no.

Yes, that cake tastes well. A sip of orange juice to it. The sun throws its rays on the opposite wall. Grandma hears the constant hum of a device. It’s quite warm. But cooler then outside. The humming is from an air conditioner. Nobody is talking. The fork waits for another bite of cake. No questions. No time.

The door opens. Someone is being pushed in, to the table. They don’t talk either. They don’t ask. They don’t want – anything. They sit, as if they’d be waiting. But nothing happens. Grandma drinks a sip of orange juice.

Minutes later. More people sit at the table. It’s a long one. Three meters further, a wall full of books. Stories. Thoughts, written down. Discoveries. Nobody here will ever read them, I think. They will stay undiscovered. Just like the thoughts of the people at the table. If they think at all. Their faces don’t tell anything. They look void.

An other lady is supposed to eat her cake. Instead, she is fiddling with the edge of her bib. Wants to repair a thread looking out. But in reality, she is causing more damage to it. She doesn’t realise, though. A woman in a white robe checks back, reminds her to eat her cake, by pointing to it. The lady sees the cake and takes a bite. And then continues to fiddle. As if she’d make a difference.

Later, grandma is sitting in the yard. The sun is shining. There is a large umbrella and a table with some chairs. She doesn’t need a chair. She has her own chair, with wheels. Desire to say anything? Not at all. Desire to tell anything? Neither. I take her hand. She looks at me – and smiles. Are you feeling well? I ask. She smiles and says Yes. Do you want to stay out here, or get to your room? I want to stay here, she replies. It’s lonely in either place.

After all, she smiled …