the symphony of solitude

Lately, I have found that solitude suits me best. I have tried social contact, I even got high on marijuana yesterday, and I have found that there is nothing here, in this eastern European city that makes me appreciate the human race. As I sit at my desk, I look out through the balcony and see the storm the Department of weather forecast a few days ago. It is oddly soothing to hear the gentleness in the rain, the howling of the strong wind. I find that I prefer this country when it is raining and cold, because then I don’t have to pretend anymore.

Am I a recluse, at this juncture? Maybe, but I am disappointed with the way society crawls out of its hypocrisy, and worse still, I am repulsed by the community that the other Medical students compose here. I scratched the surface to discover a repulsive network of drug addicts, drunks, hypocrites and liars. I found, to my revulsion and disgust, the very thing I wished to avoid and ignore. I found myself going down a tunnel of filth, only to come running back to the surface, gasping for air.

My compatriots, the people of my country and those who have some roots back there, are a lot of people who disgust me. I have seen them bite each other in the back. I have seen the men of my nation sit in a circle, puffing bongs of marijuana and drinking liquor, giggling like girls. I tested the waters, drank again and hit a bong myself, only to find that I was right all along: that most of these people, society in general, are empty, colourless and ultimately worthless. They try to find refuge in chemical compounds and they try to find themselves through the burning ends of cigarettes and in the dark swirling liquids that whisky and vodka are. I sat with a couple of boys (I hesitate to use the term men here), and I found that their facade was pathetic. I told them to try to intoxicate me with their best and strongest chemicals, but at the end of 4 hours, I was sober and bitter again.

I remember the words of one of the people I call a “friend” (and use this term as generally as possible) and I remember her telling me that I needed to go out more, to walk more with people, to converse with them. Ha! i have discovered that the fundamental weaknesses of the human race exist and fester beneath the surfaces of my colleagues, and in varying degrees I understand the grime that they hide from each other. yesterday, the two boys with whom I regrettably wasted a few hours, told me that they were afraid of me because to them, I saw everything, I heard everything. One of them fearfully cowered in front of me as I sat smoking my 20th cigarette, obviously drunk, and I heard him pathetically whisper the words I expected:

“We are afraid of you”

I laughed and drank a glass of vodka.

Of course they were afraid, and they needed an hour of getting drunk and stoned to say it. I laughed at their cowardice. I thought the pathetic bootlicking was over, but no, they looked at me with admiration and fear as I hit another bong and sat there, my throat burning and head spinning.

“You are a man, Ativ, in a university full of castrated males”

“I heard that you carry a knife in your pocket always”

Among other sanctimonious trash that I had heard only too often from the others who were drunk or stoned or both. I laughed and asked them if they knew who I was. I am aware of the ramifications of my words, but in a moment of rare recklessness and tripping on a savage urge of sadism, I embarked on a tale of how I was one of the scalphunters for one of the organisations owned by the government, about why I chose to be alone lest someone from my “past” came to me to cut off a loose end, about how I saw defectors and traitors, and bought people’s loyalty and faith. they listened to every word, their fear increasing by the second. While drunk, I could control the perception these two idiots had of me. I know that they would forget everything I said once sober, but in their minds, the seeds of subversion, and intimidation were sown. I understood their weakness, their empty and pathetic lives and I sought to convert that into elevating my sinister position and image. I seem to have won. If they repeated what they said to others while sober, who would believe them? They would be called delusional and I laughed when I told them this. i told them that they could repeat whatever I said to anyone they wished, and who would believe them?

I realized as I sat at home with a headache that there is nothing that I can redeem from society here. I am happy in my solitude and happy in the occasional company of women like the Waitress, the Projectionist and lately with Vivienne. I laugh as I look back on yesterday’s mad trip, my sense of disillusionment settling comfortably like a warm blanket. I am happy and deliriously so.


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