Hungry
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Chapter 1:- -
With my grey cotton jacket over my pyjama I feel like an aged woman.
I am behaving exactly like this right now. I sit on my bed, my hands folded in my lap, and look out of the window. Since it's a roof-light, there's nothing much to see, except clouds.
I have been sitting here for a whole hour.
I pick up the book next to me and skim through it, only to put it aside again. I don't want to read. I turn on the TV, switch, switch. A young presenter, a thriller, there, a movie. I stay with this. I don't know the movie yet. This means two hours I can spend like this. Good.
I watch the movie. It is beautiful, sad, melancholic, I like the pictures, I like the music. At the end, I even cry a bit. The movie's over.
What now?
I continue to switch for a bit, but there's nothing interesting on anymore. I could go out. But no, the time, the effort; shower, changing clothes, blow-dry and arranging my hair, the make-up. I drop on my bed edgewise. I am so tired. What shall I do? What is there to fill the hours with until I can finally sleep again? How many are there left? Four, at least. Six, more likely. So much time. So much empty time, that needs to be filled. What am I to do with that much time?
I dully roll down my bed and crawl to my cupboard, down on all fours. There's not much left to nibble. Two chocolate waffles and some old popcorn. I take everything out and haul my treasures to my bed, there opening the foil-wrapping. I love the rustling and sizzeling sound of foil-wrappings. I first noticed this while travelling, I bought a single-use camera, and the rustle of its wrapping made me pause. To this day I like the sound of these wrappings above all others.
I muse on that for a while.
I take a bite from the chocolate waffle, but it tastes bad. I toss it with a sigh and cull the crumbs from the mattress. I had had such an appetite for chocolate. Downright hungry for it.
I am hungry for so many things; for chocolate and shortbread biscuits, roast chicken and noodle soup, sushi and curry and cream puffs, egg rolls and sunshine, the sound of the rushing sea and orange water ice, summer wind and sand and the smell of wet bathing suits and warm skin, for journeys and laughter, ice-cooled drinks and long barbecues with friends, for old castles, freshly mopped museums and picturesque villages, for parlour games and photographing and being photographed in turn.
Hungry for life.
With my grey cotton jacket over my pyjama I feel like an aged woman.
I am behaving exactly like this right now. I sit on my bed, my hands folded in my lap, and look out of the window. Since it's a roof-light, there's nothing much to see, except clouds.
I have been sitting here for a whole hour.
I pick up the book next to me and skim through it, only to put it aside again. I don't want to read. I turn on the TV, switch, switch. A young presenter, a thriller, there, a movie. I stay with this. I don't know the movie yet. This means two hours I can spend like this. Good.
I watch the movie. It is beautiful, sad, melancholic, I like the pictures, I like the music. At the end, I even cry a bit. The movie's over.
What now?
I continue to switch for a bit, but there's nothing interesting on anymore. I could go out. But no, the time, the effort; shower, changing clothes, blow-dry and arranging my hair, the make-up. I drop on my bed edgewise. I am so tired. What shall I do? What is there to fill the hours with until I can finally sleep again? How many are there left? Four, at least. Six, more likely. So much time. So much empty time, that needs to be filled. What am I to do with that much time?
I dully roll down my bed and crawl to my cupboard, down on all fours. There's not much left to nibble. Two chocolate waffles and some old popcorn. I take everything out and haul my treasures to my bed, there opening the foil-wrapping. I love the rustling and sizzeling sound of foil-wrappings. I first noticed this while travelling, I bought a single-use camera, and the rustle of its wrapping made me pause. To this day I like the sound of these wrappings above all others.
I muse on that for a while.
I take a bite from the chocolate waffle, but it tastes bad. I toss it with a sigh and cull the crumbs from the mattress. I had had such an appetite for chocolate. Downright hungry for it.
I am hungry for so many things; for chocolate and shortbread biscuits, roast chicken and noodle soup, sushi and curry and cream puffs, egg rolls and sunshine, the sound of the rushing sea and orange water ice, summer wind and sand and the smell of wet bathing suits and warm skin, for journeys and laughter, ice-cooled drinks and long barbecues with friends, for old castles, freshly mopped museums and picturesque villages, for parlour games and photographing and being photographed in turn.
Hungry for life.
