Today, someone told me that my style (at least for today!) was “Modern Audrey Hepburn.” I like Audrey Hepburn. 🙂
I generally don’t like reading fiction. It’s not because I don’t like it, but because I get too invested. Characters are going through dilemmas and heartaches and conflicts too close to real life. I always end up an emotional wreck.
There are two exceptions — young adult fiction, and Jonathan Safran Foer. I just finished his latest novel, “Here I Am.” Some say it’s overindulgent, self-important prattle… maybe it is. But what I like about his writing is that it echoes the sometimes incoherent rambling in my head.
There is a sense of melancholy with watching how things fall apart, how people say things they don’t mean and mean things they don’t say. I like thinking about these things, too.
The saddest thing someone told me:
“I regret not making my marriage work.”
From a woman in her 70s. Last Saturday.
I ran into Malcolm. (Also last Saturday.)
I used to volunteer as a dance teacher assistant for adults with mental disabilities. I stopped last year because I couldn’t commit to the regular classes anymore with my work schedule.
“Malcolm! Do you remember me?”
And he looked at me, and nodded his head vigorously, and moved his arms. I knew he remembered me, I could see it in his eyes. And that made me happy, that even if he hadn’t seen me in nearly a year and a half, he hadn’t forgotten me. I chatted with his carer briefly, while he stood in front of me, nodding, telling me wordlessly that yes, he remembered me.
I always wonder, with these random encounters… was it somehow meant to happen? I’m not usually at that shopping centre. But I had to buy some materials, so I was there. I hadn’t meant to go at that time, but I had woken up unexpectedly early and decided to run my errands in the morning instead. Even being at that spot (by the travelators, at the ground floor), at that specific moment had been a fluke. I had already started to leave, but decided to go back to Woolies’ because I thought I had missed one of my bags (I didn’t). Or maybe everything in life is an accident?