What Do You Think About This Writing I've Just Come Up With?

[lolitasteward]

We are in 2023.

It's late September in Rome and it's still boiling outside. Not quite boiling, but the warm lips of the sun and the moist tongue of Ostia are still blessing my skin and painting it with the colour of sand.

For a few hours now I've been staying at this hostel that is overwhelmed with the odour of Pakistani curry and perhaps, other South Asian spices which though provoke curiosity, repel me at the same time. I head out and on the stairway I see a young man smiling at me in a friendly manner and asking me something which at first sounds quite alien, but I soon realise he's speaking English with an accent I'm not quite used to. An Aussie, as they say in his country. He's of average height with a pink complexion which is typical for his origins and eyes as turquoise as the volcanic stones in my country. Narrow lips and messy brown hair that indicates he's been travelling for a while now. His casual shirt, shorts and fishing hat makes me assume he must be in his 30s, but he's only 23. As young as me.

This encounter extends to more encounters throughout the day and the day after. We sit on the sidewalk. Each of us with a bottle of Moretti beer in our hands. I tell him about Ancient Rome. The sublime sexuality people possessed in their actions back then without necessarily making it animalistic, dirty or painful. I tell him about Michael Ondaatje. His eccentric novel; The English patient. He smiles. I don't know what that means. It feels like he's admiring me, but there can be a possibility that he's holding his laughter. He's laughing at my enthusiasm.

He's too young. I'm not talking about his age. I'm too old. I'm not talking about my age. He belongs to this world. He fits the standards. He respects liberalism. He can live peacefully with today's ideas. He's not ignorant either. He's seen a few countries. He knows about psychology. He mocks my Freudian beliefs in a good way. He might not be quite aware about the eastern side of the world. Ukraine, Russia, Iran, Dubai... But he knows enough for an Aussie. I was saying he's too young and I'm too old. I don't fit in this world. He jokingly tells me I'm old-fashioned and he's right. I don't even want to go way back in time. That would be lovely but it's not necessary. Just take me to the 90s and I'll be fine. The 90s when people argued based on something valid. The 90s when people still went to the record shops to explore the newly released music and weren't stuck to their beds with a world of information in their hands.

The Aussie goes to his country. We hug each other. The subway station is as crowded as my head. It was a lovely encounter, but not quite satisfactory. Made me more detached from this world. My friends are mostly older than me and I know I'm better off with a man in his 50s or 60s. A man who has seen the time when writing letters was still common. When films were well-made and scripts were well-thought. When wearing suits wasn't ridiculous for men and women could be elegant and make their presence prominent without being too noticeable.

The status of a woman hasn't changed much since then. It's just that nobody cares for them anymore. Life has become meaningless.

I don't look back when he's leaving. It was a lovely encounter. It made me think...