A Day Out

“No. I shan’t be going with you tomorrow because you shan’t be going anywhere yourself. Even if you do take her, she’ll be imbecilic for going – in fact, she may just decide to go because it is the foolish thing to do. If she does go, I refuse to be trapped in an incubator with her.”

For some reason rooted within the strictness of foundational education, and maternal upbringing to match, Ji always found an over-eloquence when in argument. It is the same when persons of multiple languages are angered in some manner and end up reverting to their hearts tongue when throwing insults or profanities.

“Yes. I know I probably already have whatever it is, but that’s not the point – consideration! what consideration for others does she show? So, either way, I shan’t be going anywhere.”

The increasing levels of anger found within seemed unequal to the sequence of events, leading to confusion for the driver who had requested they return home, leaving the days errands for tomorrow. In all honesty, Ji was not entirely sure of the emotion herself but undoubtedly knew that sincere conversation would bring understanding. The arrival home in haste seemed to prompt this unwarranted outburst.

“No. I’m not asking you to go with me later, nor am I asking you to go for me. I don’t want to go with you, and you can’t go for me. We were right there today, two minutes away, and you decided to turn back – probably because of a more urgent call. It’s my fault really – for agreeing and being considerate. I realised my mistake as soon as we turned around, but you laughed my need off as incentive for tomorrow. We both know tomorrow won’t be happening. Something always gets in the way – my own body gets in the way. That was your own conviction not ten minutes ago – before the call. So, no. I don’t want to come with you, and you don’t know what I need. But then again, you don’t really see it as a need, do you?

A tube of white paint is just hobby supply for an unpaid artist, and I suppose it is nothing but a hobby. I think myself an artist, but until my imaginings are profitable, what more are my creations than distractions? Time consumers to distract you – and myself – from the fact that I can in no way pay my own way. I am dependant. Although I have been on occasion accused of some intelligence, I cannot, as it seems, produce anything of real worth. Perhaps Woolf was right, and I am incapable because I do not possess means nor area to complete my works in peace.

No. I’m not blaming you, so please don’t use my words against me. How can I blame when we are all here together? when we have all suffered in kind? My life is disturbed, our life is disturbed. How can it not be when five of us fill a house with bed for three? Any moment of concentration is interrupted by the well-meaning, by sounds of living, or by mere personal worry. Five people who inwardly despise the presence of each other forced together, and I’m called accursed for openly showing my vexations.

Yes. It is true. What I claim important is of no real worth. What I spend my days doing is just a waste. I am dependant, and therefore either swallow soul and dormant illness to earn, or be grateful at the snickers of empty promise and valued scraps I collect. I know you believe a cup of good coffee is of more importance than what I think I need to stay sane. Believe me, I can in no way diminish the lovely comfort of a brilliant cup of coffee. It is the only comfort we have. But I would still believe that I can find more to look forward to than that. I cannot afford, however, to forget; I am nothing more than your dependant, sickly child throwing a tantrum because I cannot scribble the way I like. I am no artist, nor author.

No. I do not want to go with you tomorrow – I’m tired and in pain, but I must keep my countenance of compliance and be good because I need. No. I want more paint. Therefore, I will go with you and chat, and perhaps even laugh. Because I have no money of my own and am reliant on your good mood. So, with all this said to me, I will smile at you and thank you for coming with me today and promise to go together tomorrow. You will not know any of this for I shall never tell you because I am good, and I am your child, and I am dependant. I am grateful for you leniency and kindness, I genuinely am. So, how am I to say this? I have come to understand myself, and that is all I can hope for.”

It’s troubling how difficult it can be to experience a ‘good’ day, and how easily good happiness can be lost. Good and bad are things humans instinctually understand – an argument can be made that it is our last instinct left – so too are the understandings of happy and sad. What differs, however, is our ability to be in a happy state of mind. In a world of mindful agitations and dwindling affection for natural instinct, it has become custom to hide elementary feeling. During the many years spent in childhood and dependence, Ji had developed a somewhat troubling level of restraint - often arguing an unknown case of grievance with herself. This method of repression proved useful in moments of agitation which could not be expressed for fear of producing hurt in listeners. When every interaction is shadowed by beggar and provider, no interaction is candid.

Ji thus smiled happily at her father once they had arrived back home, thanking him for the time and delicious coffee that was much too expensive to be worth the trouble.