musings

Frustrated. This song reminds me of Germany. Trier, in the summer. Fluffy white clouds, plates clattering on the table next to me. Warm sunshine stroking my face. Children laughing. It was so easy back then. Carefree. But life is complicated. It's a journey, long and twisting. Ups and downs. It's an adventure, wild and free. Or at least it should be. Life these days is too restrained. Parents worry about their children being abducted from the street by some mad psycho. Adverts glaring at us from billboards tell us what shampoo to buy, where to go on holiday, how to get out of debt. Children scream at teachers, not the other way round. We have so much choice, too much choice, and no choice. We are constantly being told what to do, what to wear, what to say, even if we don't want to admit it. A bee bumbles its way past my face and lands on my apple strudel, an aeroplane glides silently above. The girls weren't very talkative today. It's not easy getting them to talk. You'd think, put a bunch of girls in a room, you couldn't get a word in edgeways. 'So, what have you girls got planned for the weekend?' Silence. 'Anyone going to the movies? Shopping?' Admittedly I was expecting a group of German girls to converse with me in English, but it can't be that hard, can it? Teaching English in a private all-girls Catholic school is harder than I thought. But that's what life is all about. Taking on a challenge, stepping out of your comfort zone. That's how you grow, build character. Maybe that's too much to ask of some. This is an immediate generation. Want it now, get it now. No saving, no deliberating. Now, now, now. Hear a song, download it. Want a girlfriend, go to a bar and take your pick. See a spangly dress, buy it on the card. Buy now, pay later. Don't even have to get out of your chair if you don't want to. It's scary. This world is moving fast. I want to go back to the days when life was simpler, slower. The days when you actually had to handwrite a letter, go to the post office, buy a stamp and put it in the postbox. None of this email malarky. We've grown impatient. Honking horns, temper-tantrums, and impulsive behaviour, all indicative of impatience. The waiter clears my plate away, it's time to go. It's a scenic walk home through town, passing brightly lit shops, old cathedrals and bustling restaurants. There is one dodgy park I have to pass, which instead of being filled with parents and five-year-olds playing gleefully on roundabouts, is filled with drunken yobos shouting abuse as you walk past. Needless to say, I quicken my pace. The four walls of my new apartment offer the security and silence I need after that shot of adrenalin. I quickly rustle up a meal of spaghetti and meatballs and sit myself in front of the TV, only to be absorbed by bright flashing lights and thoughtless garbage.