Two strangers in the ocean of time

November 2, 2015

It’s quiet natural for a woman who is different from all other women to cultivate a detached attitude even when she is marinating all herself in the world.

That observation traced briefly like a lighted meteor across Mr Koreana’s thoughts as they dined together – the mere hint of a suggestion of one having successfully cultivated a detached attitude was the one essential quality that continued to draw Mr Koreana to the woman who was sitting right before him that evening….it must be…he murmured to himself as he looked up at Miss D again. Then yet another thought flitted past him…surely only a woman who can hold on to such a detached attitude longer than all other women only to call it her own would have earned the right of passage to that secret knowledge – there might exist such a place as a transit zone.

The transit zone. The world that exist, yet doesn’t…that in between space in the linearity of time, where one is there, yet elsewhere only because that’s how life really is. At least to those who know of it’s existence. Mr Koreana regarded that sort of understanding for things like flying saucers, once you seen one, it’s virtually impossible to convince you…aliens don’t exist – unlike that rest of humanity who are content to subscribe to the unshakeable belief – the best way to get from point to A to B is by following a series of incremental steps each working towards the final goal. Both Mr Koreana and Miss D, D for ‘Different’ in the way she differed from all other girls could only believe this to be a sort of nonsense approaching hocus pocus. To them, the best one could really do was to plan one’s life only to be ruled by accidents. They weren’t necessarily ambivalent to the idea of planning ahead. Only they couldn’t help but see it as an act of futility as so much that accounted from their difference from the world could only have arisen from having failed so many times to past from the land of theory to reality.

In a sense what bound these two souls together wasn’t solidarity or for that matter even common belief. Rather it was the victimhood – they both wore the badge of honor of being different in a world that expected everyone to be the same.

Though both of them never once spoke about the subject concerning that commonality of belief that such a domain like the transit zone might actually exist, that in between space in time, where one is there and elsewhere only because that’s the only way for one to get from point to A to B – that hardly suggested each in his or her own right did not express their understanding and knowledge that such a domain might actually be where they much preferred to live rather than the world that the rest of humanity preferred to live in.

For Miss D, the singularity in the manner Mr Koreana much preferred to be referred to a man who trades coffee merely confirmed her suspicion he had long since been a honorary resident of the transit zone – in perhaps the same way die hard socialist often refer to themselves as citizen of the world. It wasn’t so much Mr Koreana’s insistence he is the man who trades coffee that betrayed his irrevocable inclination, he much preferred to live in the transit zone than the real world. If anything it was the uncanny ease and comfort in which only Mr Koreana and him alone could have retained his composure when he uttered the words….I trade coffee… that suggested such a man not only knew of the existence of the supernatural transit zone. But since he had been a wanderer there for longer than he cared to remember. He had even managed to acquire a savior faire ease in the way only a solitary soul marooned on a deserted island for so long time eventually stops scanning the horizon for passing ships and has long reconciled himself to his state of estrangement and desolation from the rest of the known world.

Truth of the matter is Mr Koreana was perfectly comfortable with the idea that virtually everyone who he told, ‘I trade coffee.’ Didn’t really believe him completely. He was so perfectly at ease with that momentary lag of disbelief that usually followed this statement along with the quizzical expression of those who were convinced he might be dabbling in more besides just coffee that it didn’t even bother him in the slightest any longer….only perhaps, because he had long since reconciled himself to being always different from the world.

Miss D thought to herself, only men like her dearest Mr Koreana -don’t mind being hiding the truth from the world…..as they possess a certain arrogance of will in perhaps the same way mountaineers never ever talk about mountaineering to those who are flat footed and never ever climbed before.

As for Miss D – since she was different from all other women and could really see this strange encounter with Mr Koreana as an aberration in a life where she had long resigned herself to be different and in world that could never hope to understand her. Now finally…after so many years of being a lonely émigré in the transit zone – she had suddenly chanced upon another soul who came in the form of Mr Koreana…an unlikely soul who seemed to all intents and purposes to resemble a curious archeologist uncovering ancient text covered by mellenia of dirt and grime intent on studying her – with each encounter with Mr Koreana, Miss D felt his fingers running across the deeply etched relief of the strange language that made up her very being and existence…and she relished the idea that someone…anyone…. would and could even try to understand her…appreciated it, reveled in the very idea of being touched by a man who saw her difference in the very same way it mirror his whenever Mr Koreana gaze fell upon her.

Perhaps that heady mix which could only come from a combination of fear and fascination of being suddenly discovered after so many years of languishing in the desolate plains of loneliness and finally to be appreciated for who she really was, was what really provoked Miss D to regard Mr Koreana as a sort of kindred spirit…even when she knew, he was may have been many other things beside the man who simply trades coffee.

To miss D who could only see the known world differently from all other girls only because she could be nothing other than different. Who Mr Koreana really was or whether he was or wasn’t Mr I trade coffee was a matter of profound indifference…what really mattered when they were together in the ever churning sea of randomness that had filled every aspect of her life where she had seen the need to fashion all of herself into a solitary vessel that crossed the vast ocean of time she knew to be her life line…she had suddenly spotted a curious shaped silhouetted of another vessel across the distance of the infinite horizon that had always remained featureless and the only thing that mattered now was training her eyes, ears and every cell in her body to this mysterious vessel which had suddenly appeared from nowhere, changed course and was charging straight for her.

It was a thought that filled Miss D with a mix of trepidation and excitement. For somewhere in improbability of her known world that she had long resigned to spend the rest of her days all alone ploughing the desolation of the sea all by herself.

It was as if Mr Koreana’s sudden appearance into her life possessed the quality of a stretched out arm to which she could only reach out too. And as improbable as it seemed, in that one moment of unity, when their hands came together and closed, they had given birth to something approaching the miraculous – the crumbly idea, Oh my God! There are actually people who see the world like me!…..I am not alone after all!

This thing they were both holding was unlike all other known things in this world. If anything, it resembled a faint invisible and odorless vapor that exists only when one believes in its existence and disappears as soon as doubt takes hold.

The task of nourishing it’s embers may appear simple to those who may not be conscious of the transit zone or even it’s existence, but both the man and woman who dined that evening in complete silence as they both exchanged looks of mutual understanding knew it to be an act that required the ultimate refinement of scaling the odds that made the task nothing short of demanding consummate skill like two perfectly timed tango dancers – it was this tenuous understanding that both Mr Koreana and Miss D tacitly shared and agreed that bound them as kindred spirits….they both knew, their life long search for a partner had come to an end.

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