the city is alive from first light. prayers are said, directed from the loudspeakers all around, and the day begins. honking, shouting, the noise of cars and rickshaws rattling through the streets. people prattle and bargain loudly and quickly, their voices constantly raised above each other. the motor vehicles cannot go a few meters down the road without applying the abrasive horn. in attempts at hospitality or flirtation the people you pass in buildings and on the street must constantly talk at you all the time. it's impossible to sit and work in peace for a few minutes without interruptions of people talking to you and around you and about you. the student meeting place is always abuzz with conversation and gossip. it is noise noise noise from morning til night.
it's as if everyone wants to be announced. a desperate and childish plea to be noticed: 'hello! hello! i'm here!'
in the densely packed city, where if the crowds don't get too close to you the heat will, where streets are cluttered with transport, where too many poor men are competing for menial rickshaw customers, where houses are dirty and packed with people, where loudspeakers call attention to the most holy of personal experiences...we have lost the ability to be private.
we have forgotten how to sit alone with ourselves for an hour or two, how to take the time to be at peace with ourselves, why to keep our voices low and our words few. this is the real tragedy of poverty. when there is nothing to return home to, all of our business must be conducted loudly and in public. because solitary brings awareness of self. we can learn much about ourselves from our absences and our silences. but with no place to be alone to find our essence, we must make sure to overcompensate out loud. otherwise we might disappear.
it's as if everyone wants to be announced. a desperate and childish plea to be noticed: 'hello! hello! i'm here!'
in the densely packed city, where if the crowds don't get too close to you the heat will, where streets are cluttered with transport, where too many poor men are competing for menial rickshaw customers, where houses are dirty and packed with people, where loudspeakers call attention to the most holy of personal experiences...we have lost the ability to be private.
we have forgotten how to sit alone with ourselves for an hour or two, how to take the time to be at peace with ourselves, why to keep our voices low and our words few. this is the real tragedy of poverty. when there is nothing to return home to, all of our business must be conducted loudly and in public. because solitary brings awareness of self. we can learn much about ourselves from our absences and our silences. but with no place to be alone to find our essence, we must make sure to overcompensate out loud. otherwise we might disappear.
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