making ones way

I came to a realization this morning that with each city that I have spent a considerable amount of time in I prefer one method of transportation over another. The buses of Quito counseled me through my struggles in coming to know my own imbalances. They calmed the warrior at the end of the day and reassured the woman within that there was more to life than shocking the men of the world and their mentality that was so embedded in the culture. The streets of San Francisco knew the pads of my feet as well as the drops of rain that washed it clean the entire summer that I lived there. Their concrete beings were embracing and coached me through my unrest by providing me an endless journey of unlimited routes and corners. I am now cradled by the darkness of Praha's metro and despite the fact that all whom I have come to know prefer the trams I find comfort in revisiting the sun as many times as possible through out my days.

I am on the verge of an emotional breakdown.
I am ready to yell aloud from the frame of every open window.
I lie in bed with only unrest to keep me company.
I fight anxiety with a placid stare into others illuminated windows.
I need to laugh out loud at my own faults.
I beg myself to forgive all that I have done.
I worship the sweet nothings that happen in precious moments.

I ignore these small tributes to my existence by assembling an appropriate, slightly looked after, but generally tame outfit, stuff my bag with things I know I will not use on my venture and proceed to slip it over my shoulder. I imagine my life playing deep inside the mind of someone else and try to provide the most appropriate soundtrack to the script. I walk down five flights of stairs, retrace the well traveled route to the metro station, and watch myself descend the steps in the reflection of the billboard above.

I don't hesitate to keep eye contact with people who dare to look and when they finally decide that they are no match for someone who doesn't care to be noticed they shy away to their own familiar territories. We are bound by a contract of understanding. They do not want to know who that girl is that so boldly challenged their curiosity.

* * *

PETER GOAT

Petr surprised me the other day by taking a stand for something he believed in. Unfortunately, as the drunken, mindless sentences began to unravel I have come to the conclusion that he is but a mere product of a childish, collective thought. He sternly claimed that it was not normal for me to stand naked in front of other people and that he was not my boyfriend. If it were not for the audience in the background I would have tried not to laugh at him. I knew very well that he would not have been able to spit out such dribble without the support of his equally immature clan of friends but I had given him more credit in the past for a more evolved and modern mentality. You are right Petr. It is not right for a woman to unabashedly show her body to whomever wishes to draw it when she has allowed one young man of only 18 to think that it was his own private right to gawk at. It has always been knowingly cruel of me to watch him inflate his own ego with such pride and assurance. He has since apologized for implying that I am a whore, would like to remain disillusioned that we will live happily ever after in some fabricated wonderland, and politely pleaded that I keep my clothes on. I will from here forth have to stop trying to turn him into a man and allow him to live within his own years and only hope that he will turn out alright in the end. I despise the sense of superiority and indifference that I have adopted in terms of love and compassion.

Today I am an unstoppable flame sweeping the streets and outshining the sun. I am elated at the sight of nearly everything and cant help but smile at all that I pass. I will drift into this evening and relish my new sense of self.