Comfort in company

Humans are such fascinating creatures. 

They sit around a round table, picking at their life and laughing at their miseries. Their voices echo and bounce against the bright walls decorated with obscure paintings and oddly specific puns. Soft music drabs on through the speakers and if you’re there long enough, you might just hear the same melody twice. Determined students sit alone, typing away on their laptops and scribbling words and doodles on their cream-colored, blank pages. Despite the clattering and buzzing unraveling around them, they still sit amid all the chaos, working on a 10-page essay that will somehow determine the route their life will take in the future; considering the possibility they live that long. Lonely humans enter through the glass doors with the hopes that they might meet another lonely human dreaming the same dream. Some just read in silence while others sit there hoping to escape the cacophony in their minds. 

I sit here, watching them. Watching them go about their meaningless lives, while I go about mine. I’ve never quite understood the logic behind this simple pleasure. These humans; they sit here for hours on end, conversing with their fellow humans about the new gossip they’ve encountered or the new song they heard on the radio. They cry over the phone as others spare them pitiful glances. They order the same overly sweet concoction every time they enter the establishment and turn a blind eye to the misspelled name on the recyclable container. What’s even more fascinating is how they all remember each other. They greet them and begin preparing their usual without even asking. What if they wanted something different? But they never do. Or at least, I’ve never seen them ask for something a bit less sweet perhaps. It’s always the same thing. 

It’s always crowded, and you’d think it would feel cramped and loud, and yet it never does. It’s a haven, I’ve realized. For people craving human company, human sounds. The saccharine scent of freshly baked pastries, the bitter aroma of freshly roasted beans, the crackling sound of paper bags being packaged, the piercing note of the steamer releasing steam, and the repetition of words like “please”, “thank you” and “have a good day”.

You don’t need to be anyone when you’re in here. You don’t need to have friends or have a purpose to be there at all. All you need is time. And I have heaps of that. Since, you know, I’m dead.

I used to sit around in these little joints when I used to be alive. I used to enjoy it quite a lot. The comfort it brought me to be near people I didn’t know was unparalleled. Overhearing their exciting stories about life and love was entertaining, to say the least. I used to sit there and do nothing. Just watch them go about their menial activities. So after dying a rather unfortunate death, I still find myself sitting here, listening to their stories and thinking to myself how pathetic their life is. Not that I have any right to judge, considering my life was pretty pathetic on its own. But I enjoy it a lot. There’s a lot of comfort in this place. Somehow it feels like home. The warm lights coupled with the pleasant perfume of drinks and desserts felt like a mother’s warm hug. I crave that warmth now. Death is quite cold. 

Moments like this I wish I didn’t kill myself. Life is warm, however fleeting. I couldn’t take the pressure of living anymore so I decided to rid myself of that burden for good. However, now as I sit here surrounded by people living despite struggling, I wish I hadn’t done it. I enjoyed this simple pleasure, even though I didn't understand the allure behind it. It always seemed like such a waste of time to me. I used to sit here trying to get my life together. Making plans for my future, feeling optimistic about said plans, and then never going through with them. I wished to open my own little place, where people could join me in my loneliness as we shared a drink and a few fleeting words. Of course, that never happened. I was too scared to fail so I didn’t even try. Pathetic, I know. 

Now my soul is stuck in this realm and I still find myself coming back here, hoping to feel something even slightly resembling what it felt like to be alive. You shouldn’t regret your choices. I believed that when I was alive and I believe that after death. And yet, it’s difficult to not regret the choice I made. Living became difficult for me. The expectations of the world became an overwhelming constant weight on my shoulders and my frail body and mind simply couldn’t take it anymore. Listening to the music flowing from the speakers in the corners of the quaint little shop makes me miss the sensation of music flowing into my ears through worn-down earphones. Music has always helped me feel alive. It helped me feel every sensation possible. I could feel the rush of blood flowing in my veins, the air swishing around in my lungs, the bursts of electricity in my brain. The world seemed well within my grasp whenever I listened to music. I knew something was wrong when music couldn’t make me feel that way anymore. 

As I sit here, unseen by the eyes of these ordinary people, I understand things I could never fathom when I used to breathe. Life is meant for living. We make plans, and reservations about the unknown future we might never even experience, and spend years doing things we don’t truly enjoy. All that is necessary for this idea of “life” we invented. Now I’m free. But even now, I’m not truly free either. I am held down by the shackles of death just as I was held down by the shackles of life when my heart used to beat and my body used to be a slave to oxygen, water, and food. There’s no point in living without living and dying to be free. I don’t know what the true meaning of living is. I don’t understand the meaning of freedom. There’s no such thing. If your only destination is happiness, then chasing that should be worth your limited time. You might not get it, but that’s life. 

So here I am. Unable to bring myself to leave, not because I can’t, but mainly because I have nowhere else to go. At least, now I don’t have to order anything to be permitted to stay.