Sop Rodchenvko
Calm down
Every single morning my first conscious act is to open my eyes, slowly, with deep care and the same kind of attention that you have just before discovering something new, something previously unknown. Yet I am aware about all the stuff I am going to see. The same dirty white wall with a hole evokes the loneliness in a sad soul. The broken chair has lost its principal functionality and it´s strong enough only to support a couple of light clothes. The old monitor never goes to sleep completely, always with dozen pixels producing this strange white light. I am aware too about the blind, this blind that I always forget to close the night before, but why should I close it?
My mornings never enjoy daylight; they are predominantly grey. The colour of the solitude.
There is nothing I care about; I feel lack of excitement even about myself. Still, every morning I go to the street pretending to have a perfect life. I should be quite resilient –or scatter-brained- in order to forget the sorrow in my soul.
I walk down the tube´s stairs and it is there. The daily ritual of this city; accelerated people moving as fast as they can, trying to finish their stuff just to start something new, finish it in a quickest manner possible and start again, and again… again. I wouldn´t like to imagine that it´s only to evade their reality. But it´s like doing things keep them far from the things that matter, or not. Maybe it´s just because I am aging and I cannot sustain this velocity.
In the middle of this chaotic mess, I take my imagination, my time and my particular way of seeing things. I try to guess stories behind each person. Just out of curiosity I ask and answer myself a couple of recurrent questions. Who is this person? Why is he/she so worried? Where does he/she go? What is his/her biggest secret? How is he/she going to die? Did he/she ever kill anyone? How would he/she tell his/her story? What is his/her real self-esteem like? Has he/she ever considered committing suicide?
In the end I try to discern their level of consciousness, because it´s the only way to think about my own consciousness
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