She stared into the camera, her every feature flawless accentuated by the golden drops of the evening sun, her smile oozing deadly appeal, petite charm, clueless seduction and camera-centric flirtation, and even a mild form of naivety that she was unaware of … There were many people out there in the park. It was a Sunday after all, there were all kinds of shenanigans prowling about, men with dry and brisk mustaches leered at her as though they had never seen a feminine wonder so perfect and immaculate, there was a certain greed and malice in their eyes, their desires exposed their inner nature . They stared as though she were not a person, as though she were something that was meant to be partaken visually by everyone, as though she did not belong to a body, but rather to an appearance… probably on a billboard creating heartfelt flutters in all the men who stared at her and envy in the women who saw her image, an idol of the modern world, beauty, beauty… imprisoning the careless eye, binding the free heart to turbulent emotional uncertainty and the mind to fantasies and rosy dreamy dalliances without the slightest hint of reality….she meanwhile seemed oblivious and unconcerned with the whole circus of thirsty , indecent men staring at her. She was far away, far far away in a world of glamour and feminine hopes honed by hours of staring into the mirror and finding dreams staring back, and the camera clicked away appreciatively.
The park was wide, the people all seemed ordinary and all too obvious about their lack of inner connection. There did not seem to be a great unrest, or some sort of subtle degree of malice brought out by scowls, by hatred filled stares or indifferent skepticism, but there seemed to be a great sense of loneliness that could only be perceived when the heart wished to not cheat itself, a great sense of separation from the collective thread that all seemed ordinary, limited and predictable. There were some middle aged gentlemen parading as ballers, treating the ball like it was meant to be thrown like a cannon ball into the hoop that was flimsy and touched by human insensitivity, there were kids everywhere like blue and pink ribbons, prancing about, unconcerned about the life outside, about the psychological state of the town, not bothered by the superficial and oppressive social temperature… one felt many things on observing them…. They appeared disobedient, rude, curious in an offensive way- as though no one had taught them about personal boundaries, uncared for and neglected, rebellious, probably treated like they were irrelevant in their homes, probably a product of the maddening, burning townhouse blues, their mother probably was at the mercy of the social norm that made boys grow up to be men real fast, and as each day passed her stern voice of order was disregarded and thrown aside, and she grew smaller and smaller in stature, and the devices of coping and escapism – Bigger.
I felt terribly lonely, and the apathy that I felt penetrate my heart was the cause of my loneliness, I opened my eyes and suddenly wondered if I was God, on whom would I pour out my wrath upon…? The families were harmless, the Muslim women seemed relieved to be out of their dinghy homes probably humid with the summer’s oppressive heat rays, their young ones were excited in their contact with the outer world that they were carefully exposed to, their Fathers appeared aristocratic, self assured, peaceful… But then there were the young men, terribly restless, each wearing different masks, some evil and dominating, some lost yet irritable and envious of other men, there was no natural affection… there was the mood of contempt and a wavering conscience deep in their , the Bible was right when it predicted that in the later days, men would become mockers, scoffers, lovers of self and money, possessing no natural affections… I saw every sign of that in this small place completely not on the world’s radar.
Was God here…? I would pour out my wrath on the young men who harbored malignant grudges that spilled out as something else, I would pour it out on the men eager and earnest to beat up someone for the sake of expressing their own power and stature, I would pour it out on the arrogant young man who thinks too highly of himself and too lowly of the rest, but like fractured mirrors showing incomplete and broken images, I remembered myself going through some of those stages and phases that sometimes we end up getting stuck in… these men were men without god, men to whom the gospel had not reached, men treading dangerous paths bound to the overpowering impulses of the flesh, to the corrupt passions of their souls, their desires, men lost to their own vices, to their angers, to their terrible natures, without hope, without recovery, the Bible warns us that after accepting Christ, the world would become more and more illegible, like the handwriting was unreadable, scribbled and containing some unimportant message, that we strain and strive to become conscious of. The world and its culture is not something that needs to be understood, perhaps tolerated and learnt to live with but never to give into. With Christ, I walk alone, alone into the path open before me, the lonely and silent path leading away from the crowd and more and more with each thorn into the roads that lead to Calvary.