Return to absurdity

A day in the city. Wake up, Curse myself for avoiding the market, make hay while the sun shines. It’s been raining. The tube of vegemite lonely in a strange cupboard neither understood nor appreciated. People turn their noses up at the thought, and its reputation far exceeds its experience. Fruit slowly aging, stationary in the retirement home bowl. Bedsores and bruises. Hanging on until the day it’s disposed of without thought or ceremony. Yesterdays bread toasted with coffee will do. Young fruit, proud, colourful and flawless is chosen in place of the old. Hope fading, their days are numbered.

Out the door. Short walk to the Metro station, three stops to Baquedano, transfer to Line One towards Escuela Militar another three stops until Pedro de Valdivia. Everyone has somewhere to go. The carriages are busy. Shoulder to shoulder, faces to armpits, elbows and hands fly awkwardly as they grab at the nearest anchor point as the subway worm lurches lumbering around soft bends. The windows are open. The breeze is nice. Face the fresh air. We are together in appreciation. But alone. Only friends talk. Only lovers embrace. The rest of us share awkward moments as we lock eyes, only to quickly lower them to the floor. Eyes being curious creatures try again. You find a sympathetic pair, you find an attractive girl, you find a curious child, you find a curious old lady. I wonder who they are, where they are going, they become my people. For a moment our eyes have each other.

My stop, wait in line for a bus to Las Condes. Forty five minutes away. Audi and BMW dealerships. Private schools and shopping centres. Porsche Sports Utility Vehicles, the tattoo of affluence on the skin of the city. The bus is shoulder to shoulder, faces to armpits. Hands dart towards the stop button, a single moment floating without support could result in a catastrophic fall. The brakes on TranSantiago appear to be that of a switch. On or off. Full gas. Full brake. For the children it’s a thrilling theme park adventure, for the elderly a dangerous death ride, for me a thrilling theme park death ride adventure but I’m calmed by the sense it will become an endearing memory of my time in this city. Earphones in. Makes your average ride on public transport blur into an absurd film clip. Only interrupted by a rendition of a traditional Chilean song by a scraggly musician. The fret board is worn from playing the same song for eternity. I wonder if they can play anything else. Some are fantastic, others not, they both collect their coins and get off as quickly as they got on. Earphones return the scene to its absurdity. Relax.

The entire journey is made in silence. Not a single word is uttered besides a polite ‘permisso’ here and there as you squeeze pass another quiet commuter. If you take the people from the city the city changes. We don’t speak but the city yells. Together we are making a deafening noise in silence and alone. I find something beautiful about this isolation. It’s polite coexistence. Unspoken understanding. The hope is in the undiscovered. A lot left to explore. Many walls to break down, to break through. The time. Time is up, time to work. I’ve finished breakfast, I’ve finished writing. Time to hit the bricks. Jump the worm, ride the death bus to the shopping centres. Time to make some noise, make the city talk, laugh and yell loudly in silence.