Delhi Diary- Wishful thinking

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Sometimes I wish it would be different. Then, I would not stand upon my desk trying to fix the light-bulb. If things would be different it would not be scorching hot at  9 AM and my blood would not simmer as it did and I would not wipe my face with a horrid smelling wipe. I would, never, ever wear my old blue shirt with the print „Let’s get lost“ and of course I would not wear worn-out old khaki trousers I never have the heart to throw out because they are so comfortable. My desk would not be in a mess and most of all I would not swear like a coachmen. Oh, if things could only be different and I become someone else, then not out of sudden a door would be opened and B. would storm into the room. Of all people B! B. and I met a few years ago in place like this. Back then B. was the admired star till I arrived and he had to learn that I was quite convinced that he was not g*d and had to endure opposition just as everybody else. Now, the same B. looks at me and growls: „I heard you are back. But I had to see it with my very own eyes.“ Well, nice to see you, B. say I and try to climb down as graceful as I only can. B. shakes his head. „Will you ever learn to behave more professional, he asks?“ „Climbing around as, as“ and while he searches for the sufficient word, I interrupt him, because he is used worse things from me than standing upon a desk looking ridiculous. In length B. begins to lecture me what he would do different ( meaning better ) and why I will fail ( because I did dare not to consult his opinion ). I feel a headache coming. B. I say, „do you see how many people are waiting outside? Do you really, really think I have the time or the nerves to listen to your silly speeches? B. grasps for air. Before he turns away and storms out of the door, he musters me again and says: „This shirt looks ridiculous, you know this don’t you?“ He sounds exactly like Marlon Brando whispering the „horror, the horror“ at the end of Apocalypse Now. When I leave too many hours later I see B. leaving as well, he holds hands with a gorgeous looking woman in a fire-red dress. They giggle as I walk by, now my shirt looks even more devastated, a child got sick over my shoulder and my cleaning efforts were not too successful. Sometimes I wish it would be different, sometimes I wish I would be beautiful myself, sometimes I wish I would not care much about B.’s opinion and sometimes I wish B. would smile at me just once. But I am awake for too long to wish anything at all.

3 Gedanken zu “Delhi Diary- Wishful thinking

  1. Oh ja, das trifft es sehr gut. Ebenso wie der nämliche Zweifel der an mir nagt, doch gefälliger, schöner und liebenswürdiger zu sein, als ich es eben bin.

  2. This intriguing story left me wanting to know more, remembering awkward times when others made me feel I didn’t measure up, and wishing someone with your intelligence and talent never had to wish things would be different.

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