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I was in a ‘gerai’ that had three tables and four chairs at each table. It wasn’t roofed. The ‘gerai’ was on it’s own surrounded by trees, plants and greeneries. It’s air was cool the heat couldn’t come through. It had a calming affect and it felt safe and soothing.

A man was with an old man at one of the other tables. I was sitting alone at a different table. There weren’t anyone around. After 10 minutes or so I walked up to them and shook their hands, I introduced myself still standing. The old man invited me to sit and I sat. They resumed talking as I listened attentively.

Man: So what did you feel like when you were younger?

Old man: Oh It felt like I was in a constant state of hunger, at the same time my stomach was also uncomfortable and constantly bloated. Caused by indigestion most likely. A consequence of junk and other nonsense; No matter how much I consumed, what type of food I ate, I was never really satisfied. Living was merely an act of surviving, almost like being in a state of stagnant living.

And so I ate with indifference, I went to places, met new people and continued to look for new things to devour—in what appeared like blind hope in achieving self-actualization. To unearth the missing ingredient for what felt like a hunger that would never come to an end.

And then I felt the pressure of failing to subsist, to co-exist with society and the people within. I didn’t know if I could live up to expectations but then I refused and failed to exist, and end up perished.

Man: But… I still feel that way.

I: Erm I feel the same way too.

Old man (smiling): looks like we were destined to meet today. Though…

He didn’t finish his sentence but hurriedly pulled up his sleeves and looked at his watch instead. POOF! And just like that he vanished. The other man too followed suit and vanished with the ‘gerai’ followed by the whole surrounding bringing with the calmness i felt. I opened my eyes and realized that I was on my bed.

I was back in reality and so uneasiness enveloped me – I also realized there was a person sitting across me, on my chair who looked exactly like me. Who just read to me my own work. He sat there now just looking at me.

Previous short story:
A Love Letter
Next short story:
My Tomorrows

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about the writer


Often seen as cold, bitter and distant but in reality is cool, sweet and not very distant..haha Sometimes I feel like saying what Kierkegaard said, People understand me so poorly that they even dont understand my complain about them not understanding me. On the other hand often I assume of understanding people i guess its a given or an irony or something else..depends on how you see it..
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