Sop Rodchenvko
Melancholy
Winter started again, five days ago. Like every year, also this time it arrived as usual; never alone, always accompanied with my partner in crime; my melancholy. But I’m just here; I never expect this encounter, hence I’m so fragile.
I decide to go outside, just for a walk. After a few seconds I’m deeply immersed in the public space, which reminds me about my loneliness. Grey and wet atmosphere smashes my heart. The cold air never allows me to cry.
Public space that makes me run, run, run… I can feel the hectic blood circulating through my veins. I’ve become disillusioned, with no force. I’m crying, while searching for one hand to comfort me.
Public space, where no one is present. Or, if I’m lucky enough to find people, they pretend not to see me. It seems to be the easiest way to coexist, the proper way to get on well in this society. Yet behind the mask of correctness no one can forget their solitude and sorrow, waiting to return home to find a refuge in alcohol, TV and in the new digital revolution… senseless and useless conversations within one schizophrenic society.
Public space, where no kids run or play; just playgrounds alone with fungus derived from eternal humidity. Only a lost raven takes over the place as his own territory.
Public space where I walk along for minutes, for hours, for days and no one is around, just my mind. I shack up with my sorrow and myself.
Public space, where people are waiting for fake mermaids, where their schizophrenia transports them directly to their kids, their families, their friends, their happiness. Still, it’s only a glimpse of cybernetic illusion, where they imagine a system with more desirable public space.
Public space, crowded with ads that tell you how to live, what to think; they dictate what happiness is, what success is, what freedom is. Ads in the public space that remind me how alone and confused I am. Though I try to forget it, I’m still in the public space.
Public space, where one black woman smiles at me and we make into accomplices of our own melancholy, sorrow, black bile. We could understand each other’s feelings, but we never have courage to cross a word.
Public space, with derelict and demolished buildings, represents our own lives, our society and our communities. Public space, instead of allowing the elderly to cherish their wisdom, it only transforms these people into rubbish. Only a nuisance amid the rat race for nothing.
Public space, I’m so tired of you; just for one day I’ll stay at home. I’m aware this won’t cure my illness, but at least I’m going to hide it only for me.
Public space, where on Friday evening people pretend to forget about the whole week, when they run for fun, just for a few drinks to ignore whomever they tried to be. Five days behind a mask, one night in an ethylic dream. In the end, sorrow and aggression are still here, in the public space.
Public space reminds you about your gender, age, origin; dictating the correct way to behave. No freedom is allowed, so if you try to be different, judgments fall upon your shoulders. No space to be an unalike melancholic man.
Public space, where people despise the others, is provoking the others to live with fear. Yet haters are not brave enough to express themselves, to confront their disgusting truths. They bet on their supposed superiority, which only hides their black bile. The others react sometimes with fear, eventually with anger. What do they really want to demonstrate? What do they really want to achieve?
Public space, where children are treated as idiots; no explanations, no time, no patience. Public space, where parents slightly reduce their power over the kids, but every mistake will be remembered and paid in private. Public space dictates to our children a proper way to behave; it dominates their growing minds with fear and violence. Little by little, we’re projecting the same dreads, distresses, aggressions and guilt onto our future generations.
Public space, where youngsters protect themselves through selfies, video games and social media. These are the ways to avoid the public space, to keep safe and private, alone, self-excluded. It seems more convenient to keep live in a safe virtual community.
Public space that destroys the harmony with our environment, where we act as the most uncivilised race.
Public space, where we waste our food or… not really, in fact, it is really difficult to find a real food, just trash with sugar instead. We are ridiculously addicted to the next sweet bit.
Public space, where we are afraid to get suddenly killed. Whereas we agonise on this, this fear makes our minds avoid reflecting on how we’re killing ourselves with a slow histrionic torture of our everyday habits.
Public space, where the bankers mock us. No more dreams about owning a house. Where are we going to find a refuge from the public space?
Public space, where people discuss with no knowledge, nor data; where it seems funny to have any opinion, even if it wasn’t reflected upon before.
Public space, where my melancholy grows up and entails my sluggish and bitter death.