“It’s Sweltering, Old Boy” (But Not in the Way You Think)

 

 

Today I had to go outside for a chore and I instantly regretted my decision. It was so hot outside I thought I would melt and become a greasy stain on the sidewalk. The air was so syrupy and dense that it was difficult to draw in a breath without singeing my lungs.

The words of the Romanian writer I.L. Caragiale popped into my boiling, bubbling brain:

 “Caldura mare, monser”.

 “It’s sweltering, old boy”.

Little did he know what sweltering truly meant…

The streets are almost empty. Almost nobody is crazy enough to venture outside, stepping right into the mouth of Hell. A few shops are open, mainly selling cold drinks and ice-cream. I enter one of them to cool down a bit.

Thank God for air conditioning.

I go outside again and because the neighborhood is deserted, I have the opportunity to really look at it, while I walk. It is one of the older neighborhoods in the city.

But disappointment has a sour taste…

Everything is so dirty.

From the old buildings to the alleys between them. Plastic bags and paper cups roll along the pavement, courtesy the wind. You can smell the trash cans from a distance, even if you haven’t seen the clouds of flies hovering over them. The earth is dry and peppered with litter. Every shrub, every plant, every bush seems to have collected its share.

I walk through the sleepy streets and reminisce.

This city wasn’t in such a sorry state before, when I arrived here, was it?

I don’t remember clearly.

I remember the streets looking much cleaner, the buildings less dusty.  I don’t think there was this much trash everywhere.

Or maybe then I chose not to see it?

Because I was young and enthusiastic about starting a new life here, perhaps?

Perspiration runs down my back. I congratulate myself for bringing a hat with me, at least I won’t get a sunstroke.

Heat stroke, maybe.

Surrounded by big, grey buildings I feel them emanating heat. With almost no trees and no shade whatsoever, the landscape is depressing and almost alien.

Times are changing.

People are changing.

And here, under the hot, unforgiving sun I came to a conclusion.

 I don’t like it.

I don’t like it at all.

I don’t like where we are headed, as humanity.

In don’t like that even when we talk about progress, we are still the same cave people that bashed each other’s heads in for a chunk of meat.

I don’t like that we have grown complacent and ignorant and plain stupid in a world where stupidity sits on the golden throne.

I know I cannot do much.

Even if “be the change” is a nice mantra, I don’t think it is true.

Una hirundo non facit ver, said the romans.

A swallow does not make a spring.

I cannot be the change even if I willed it with all my heart.

And I have many examples to give, but I will stop here.

I won’t tell you about me cleaning the area around the garbage can because it was full of shards of glass after somebody shattered some windows nearby. And I did that because I didn’t want the street cats to get hurt.

Nobody ever followed my example. On contrary, they continued dumping trash everywhere, just not in the bin.

I won’t argue with my neighbor that smokes in the building, filling the halls with acrid smoke that permeates everything.

I won’t ask people not to crowd into the elevator because it might get stuck.

I will just stand aside and watch them destroy every last bit of hope I had for my fellow humans.

Because, one way or another, we are doomed.

And I won’t be that change anymore.

I won’t be that swallow anymore.

Because it doesn’t mean anything.

Not anymore.