Alien Obliviousness

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The oldest didn’t grow up enough to become a mature adult. Always depending on them, on their support to keep up with an eternal teen’s life and consumerism. A compulsive shopaholic he became.

The other one, a girl, is lost in an empty social life, restless, going from glass to glass, drugs, cell phones, internet chatting, instant pictures of every second, and party, party, party… until the pregnancy, which came as a bit of a surprise, and created even more turbulence.

They became a product of the environment and she never expected to lose her children to this society of baseball caps, sun shades with an insect look, and big trucks; but most of all, an empty and ignorant living with a varnish of self-praising and a condescending look of the world.

The more educated ones, even the artists, had that sense of entitlement of an arrogant elite encroached in the academic kingdom, or in small cliques very protective of the interests of their members. It was all ruled by the main drivers: business and relationships built mostly with a veiled interest in mind.The ones that don’t fit this ethos are discarded silently and politely in a strange kind of coldness.

A society that mastered the hiding of a bloody history and facts; through an ideology inculcated since early years of childhood, by an educational system whose spell is to make everyone live between past and future, and conform, and believe they are the example to the world.

When she arrived she didn’t expect, and wasn’t prepared, to face the level of frivolity and hypocrisy, the pursuit of eternal entertainment, and the lack of spirituality, as if the world could be a disneyland, or a cartoon. From the balcony she looks at the distant city lights, blinking under the cleanliness of the starred sky. Her life wasn’t a dream anymore.

It never was, but now reality’s voice was too loud. She feels chained to this reality by motherhood responsibilities because the dependence on her is so high and their vulnerabilities so serious. She loves them after all and knows very well that none of them could cope with their lives without her. They wouldn’t have where to go. Her nurturing and caring being says no to her trend to disappear, to leave, to take her life with her to other places, other worlds far away from the emptiness she found in this one.

She feels tired. Tired of being beautiful and young beyond her time in a world where she became a prisioner. She is too humble to admit to herself that she is a sensitive and brilliant soul, in a world oblivious of her. She sips the ruby of the wine, feeling the dry and aged fruity taste in her mouth. Inside the house, others talk lively.

She can come and go, cross the line of her loneliness and enter the social space. Intelligent friends she has, some are close friends but, still, she is an alien in their world and they, also, gave her some scars with that sweetness and kindness that hides the claws. She manages the troubled realities of each one in her family, and she knows that most of those problems were brewed and grew in that world. She knows it better now that what was  lost has a very concrete presence and can’t be recovered, it has no place in this reality. It is a burden that only her loving nature can take with such forgiveness and sense of sacrifice.

The constant arguments between her son and her husband, and their younger daughter lost life are rooted in hostilities built along years of his absence from family. He is a good man, a sensitive one. He lost himself and his family amid too many travels, using his talents at work. An influential man he was. Then came the illness in his bones, the loss of movements, the impatience and frustration with the loss of an active life. Aging isn’t helping.

Her music, her passion, are still with her, but she lives now as an alien, in a place where everything sounds different, looks different and will always be this way, as the aliens like her live in the obliviousness, the limbo where they all belong.

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About Mario Flecha

Libertarian feelings, thoughts, knowledge, spirit...
This entry was posted in Alien Obliviousness, English/Inglês, Made in Canada/Feito no Canadá, Poetry & Prose/Poesia & Prosa, Short Story/Conto and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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