Sunday, August 26, 2012

47. Live and Let Live

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This must be one of those set phrases that one may use in defence of his or her own privacy, and I do hope you will agree with me that freedom to share life events and the impressions they produce in our minds and souls should be a universal right. I know what you’re thinking: “here now, turning philosophical, again?!”

Yes, I’m afraid I can’t help it.

Consider the last two entries, and the evidence you and I can find around us for human ethology as an unquestionable grid against which we can measure people’s, and our own attitudes (behaviourism). This blog would easily become something other than what it is, namely, a language workshop (well, at least that’s what it’s meant to be, that’s what I take it to be, in the absence of feedback! Maybe this should be discussed somewhere in this very blog, because I somehow suspect that it does have to do with some ethological misunderstanding which puts readers off from expressing their opinions). 

And then consider this:

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I had just left my fourth-floor flat and was about to go downstairs to put the garbage out. The staircase has such narrow steps that no one is advised to try and overtake or cross “passers-by” – not even if both ‘adventurers’ are thin.

Three members of a family that has recently moved in our block on the same floor were coming up. Two of them (women, whom I had seen before) and I made eye contact, exchanged smiles (that kind of social smile you found out about in the previous two posts) and we all greeted each other. We (the women, I mean) observed the whole ritual and, while I was waiting politely for the third family member (a twenty-something briskly coming upstairs behind his relatives) to pass by, I somehow expected him to make eye contact and greet; instead of the brisk climbing, he glanced at me sideways and, for some three long minutes, he came up the last eight steps one by one, feigning some pain in his left leg, which just “wouldn’t obey its owner’s will” and took twice as much to reach his right leg with every step. The four long minutes now elapsed, he crossed me (I was still there, standing rubbish-bag-in-hand), said a roguish ‘Hello’ and turned the corner.

Now, I’d very much like to know what you think about this incident. 
And about the photo below!
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