Thursday, 22 May 2014


"I wanted to be a roman catholic and be a nun," she said.
"I love St. Francis cos he loves poor and sick people, in fact, I kept his picture in my room, even though my mum doesn't like it."
And then spontaneously she changed the topic.
"The world makes me sick. Meaningless. Useless. So many people try, but hopeless. The same stupidity in every century. The same hatred, lies, suffers. I’m thinking to go to Africa. Maybe I can do something. Give a hand, even to just a person. I’m thinking..."

Again she stopped. Her forehead sweats. She wiped her forehead with her palm and then she closed her eyes with her hands. Through her closed eyes, she continued, 
“I’m sorry. I think I’ve been forcing something from you. I saw a light on your face when I asked you about your faith. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to interfere with your business."

"It’s OK," I replied. 
What had been happening is I’ve been told about your belief, while I told you only my name."
She smiled and played with her cigarette box.
"I’ve made up my mind to tell you the truth," she responded.
“I had some ideas before, but today, I have totally forgotten about it. All about it," I told her.
"In my country, no one needs ideas, nor me, so I decided to forget it all. I’ve forgotten so many things, but you said maybe I can help. How can I help you? You said there's something in me, about myself that distracting you. May I know what that is?"

She removed her hand from her eyes and looked at me for a while. Her eyelashes trembled. And then she said expressionlessly, “nothing. Just that I meet you at all times. Almost every day, once or twice a day."
“What is so weird about it? What is so strange? Aren’t we on the same bus at the same time, to work and back from work?"
"Nothing," she replied, still in the same intonation.
"Nothing. Only... I see you even at times I don’t see you. I feel like you were there before I met you. I look up, and I see you. Sometimes, this and that, here and there... shadows. You were not there, yet I can touch you," she tried to explain.

And I tried to smile and said, "Maybe you are in love with me?"
And she answered without a smile, “no."
She turned her face to the other side.
“I’m sorry, actually, I hate you."
And then she looked at me. Her face turned red. Her eyes even redder. Every beauty she has now been gone from her face.
I looked deep into her eyes... it's true. She hates me.

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