I love to sit and watch the world go by, watch the people as they come and go, going about their business. It\u2019s so much easier than interacting with them. I don\u2019t do well with random conversation. Can\u2019t remember names, or details. But I can imagine who they are, what they\u2019re thinking and feeling, rather than worrying about the reality, and whether or not my presence in their life is welcome or not. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Like the elderly Asian lady walking her dog. It\u2019s one of those fluffy poodle cross things that\u2019s become so common, black with a long pink tongue, and even longer flag of a tail that constantly waves. It pulls gently at the leash, then stops to sniff the grass. She pauses too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She is far less ordinary than her dog. She wears long sleeves on a warm day, and a broad brimmed bonnet that shades her face from view. From the sun, too, I\u2019m sure. She looks something like you might see in an old painting, tending a rice field. She walks slowly, head down, face obscured. I wonder if she, like me, doesn\u2019t do well interacting with others, so she hides. Or, perhaps, does she have something more to hide? Like a scar, or birthmark, or black eye? Maybe it\u2019s only age.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I watch as she moves towards the edge of the park, her long skirts swishing across the tall grass, causing it to bow as she passes. As she rounds the corner, a young boy dodges around her, coming towards me with a hurried step. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
He\u2019s twelve, maybe thirteen, or perhaps he\u2019s just short. He\u2019s in the school uniform of one of the local high schools, but school isn\u2019t out yet. Does he have a free period, or maybe his class was let out early? Or, perhaps, as I never did at his age, he\u2019s cutting class for some nefarious reason. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I hope it\u2019s not the latter. Class is a better place than walking the footpaths at 2pm. Or, it should be. Does he get bullied? Is he falling behind? Does he have some other reason no child should have for leaving school early? Are his parents ill, or working, and he has younger siblings that need his care? <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Given those options I hope he\u2019s just ditching class early for once. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
He doesn\u2019t look unhappy, or worried, only preoccupied, as if he\u2019s deep in thought. As he passes me, with a small smile and a nod of his head, I hear a \u2018ding ding\u2019 from behind, and the boy leaps slightly to the side as a cyclist passes us both, too close for comfort. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
He\u2019s a MAMIL, a Middle Aged Man In Lycra. His body is rope thin under the tight skin of fabric. The only exception being the pocket pouch on his lower back, with goodness knows what stuffed inside. He looks back at us as he pulls his water bottle from its place in the bicycle frame, and takes a long drink. The front tyre hits a divot in the pavement causing him to wobble slightly, and he thrusts the drink bottle back into its holder in apparent frustration. Then he\u2019s pedalling full speed again, bottom swaying. For a brief moment he\u2019s a pleasant view.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
While I\u2019ve watched, the boy and the old woman have both walked beyond my sight. Then the cyclist is gone, too, and I\u2019m left alone again, swinging on my seat in the shade of the trees, the sole occupant of the small rectangle of green surrounded by bitumen and concrete. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Really, as much as I love people, this is how I prefer it. Alone with the world, watching from the outside. Except for that one Rosella who chances to join me on the green, seeking food or maybe just company. He and I can cohabit with ease. It\u2019s all about expectations.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I love to sit and watch the world go by, watch the people as they come and go, going about their business. It\u2019s so much …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":6,"featured_media":599,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"advanced_seo_description":"","jetpack_seo_html_title":"","jetpack_seo_noindex":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"{title}\n\n{excerpt}\n\n{url}","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"_wpas_customize_per_network":false,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[4],"tags":[35,24,11,10],"class_list":["post-598","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-mountain-life","tag-experience","tag-morte-oakley","tag-story","tag-writing"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/mountainashchapter.com.au\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/03\/eduardo-prim-3u51-uLQICc-unsplash-scaled.jpg?fit=1707%2C2560&ssl=1","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pff1uY-9E","jetpack-related-posts":[{"id":1723,"url":"https:\/\/mountainashchapter.com.au\/?p=1723","url_meta":{"origin":598,"position":0},"title":"My Kid\u2019s Creative Writing Homework Which Is Definitely Not A Story About Some YouTube Gamer He Idolises","author":"Elissa McKay","date":"July 15, 2022","format":false,"excerpt":"Once upon a time there was a boy named Ben. 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