Drinking my morning tea is one of the best moments of the day.
Enough that I am a great lover of mornings; I imbibe the stillness around me together with sip after sip of hot tea, holding on to the feeling of peace, not wanting it to get diluted as the morning surrenders.
Climate march, 22 September 2014…A unifying cause that should make each and every one of us go out on the streets and show that we care.
However, the question remains. Why do we need to go on marches to defend what is obvious, namely the right to a world were private interests are not short-sighted and detrimental to society as a whole?
I get particularly annoyed with things like: plastic packaging that calls itself recyclable but which cannot be recycled were you live because of missing infrastructure. Yet it can make its way around the internal EU market with its little misleading bent arrow-logo, no problem, no frontiers, no hassle. Another great example are all the products, from food to clothes, that are full to the brim with unsolicited and oftentimes dangerous chemicals, made with TLC for shiny happy people with first world problems. Not to mention all the plastic bags used to carry all the stuff we waste our money on.
The truth is that I don’t want to make approximate, almost good choices, limited by my means, my access to information, and what is on offer.
I want industry and policy makers to once and for all take their responsibility and make sure not to inundate the market with inappropriate merchandise and services, that’s what I want. Because for every relatively informed consumer there must be hordes of people who still live in the Dark Ages of consumerism and that will not make it to the Renaissance unless something drastic happens.
I want quality and reason in an Εnlightened consumer society may be, but that is made up of citizens.
“interchange or sharing of thoughts or emotions; intimate communication”
What’s life without communion? What’s life without community, the lovely human fauna that surrounds you and includes you?
We had a lovely time over supper this weekend. We ate soup that we composed ourselves. We speculated, joked, laughed and were happy. Spirits were high, but the bubbles in our glasses were totally innocuous. We did not need alcohol, nor placebo effects.
We’ve got Communion.
Back to school. Or the opposite. Back from school, landed on an office chair. A new desk, an old office and the final writings of an academic paper that is hopefully soon coming to an end.
The flat I have rented is furnished with my old furniture; this means that I can have my morning tea sitting up in my old bed, tucked under my duvet. I can cook using my old kitchen utensils and eat from the mismatching plates that I once bought from the Salvation Army. Nostalgic? No. Comfortable? Yes.
I like living in a furnished flat; an old wish come true. The great thing about furnished flats is that they do not always necessarily match one’s taste and style. They are a bit offbeat. They can be a bit clinical, or odd. That’s what is so fascinating about them; right now, it is probably the ideal compromise between my nesting instinct and my wanderlust; between maintaining some control and keeping my life as uncluttered as I can. It is like living in a hotel and being my own room-service.
God knows how many times I have packed and unpacked suitcases and boxes in the past two years. How many planes I have boarded and how many knots in my stomach I have had to untie. Because, deep down inside, I really don’t like leaving. I much prefer arriving, and to be honest, I am quite fond of staying. But karma is karma and you cannot fight it.
So, I am back to square one, but not quite; I want to stay a tourist, an observer and a traveler. Making up my own riming version of accommodated urban routines.