Unexpected
Dear Eugene,
Yesterday afternoon the moment I stepped out of my front door to walk Sumi I heard a voice calling my name. It was from the other side of the street, two houses down, where my neighbor whom I had visited only this past weekend resides.
Only that it was not his voice. And he is definitely not the yell-across-the-street-two-houses-up type.
Hey Alex, have you seen the coyo(te)?
It's the whistling postman. I don't know if it's the beard that made him look jolly or his bright whistling indeed carefree; he has a Christmas presence. I could never make out the song he whistles, sometimes so loud that you could hear from the other side of a street, like a moving pin on a Google map that you could pinpoint which house he was at without seeing him.
Of course he knows my name, I murmured, Of course! He's the mail man, duh!
But I didn't expect him to call me by my very name. He could have just said, Hey, there!
But why not? Why did I not expect my name to be called?
That's a very good question: Why not? I said Hi to him almost everyday, and we would come so close to a mere distance of a parcel between us sometimes more than once a month. Then why would it feel so surprising, so...strange to hear him calling my name?
Did I expect no intimacy from someone whose footprints embedded in the soil of my neighborhood deeper and wider than anyone else? Does his daily presence mean nothing more than a hired man carrying out a paid-for routine? Would it make a difference to me if his face is to be blotted out, replaced, service rendered obsolete by machine, by our ever-heightening expectation in constant and instantaneous satisfaction, personal purpose fulfilled, if only to finally paint ourselves to a corner of our dark basement, the moment's desired product in hands, ready for our next little craving, postman's steps need not be part of the picture.
I took a different route after hearing the postman's warning, and met him again half way.
Thank you for letting me know, I said and paused. What is your name?
He was taken aback for a split second, only to quickly regain his smile and answered me.
I don't think he expected it either.
Yours, Alex
Yesterday afternoon the moment I stepped out of my front door to walk Sumi I heard a voice calling my name. It was from the other side of the street, two houses down, where my neighbor whom I had visited only this past weekend resides.
Only that it was not his voice. And he is definitely not the yell-across-the-street-two-houses-up type.
Hey Alex, have you seen the coyo(te)?
It's the whistling postman. I don't know if it's the beard that made him look jolly or his bright whistling indeed carefree; he has a Christmas presence. I could never make out the song he whistles, sometimes so loud that you could hear from the other side of a street, like a moving pin on a Google map that you could pinpoint which house he was at without seeing him.
Of course he knows my name, I murmured, Of course! He's the mail man, duh!
But I didn't expect him to call me by my very name. He could have just said, Hey, there!
But why not? Why did I not expect my name to be called?
That's a very good question: Why not? I said Hi to him almost everyday, and we would come so close to a mere distance of a parcel between us sometimes more than once a month. Then why would it feel so surprising, so...strange to hear him calling my name?
Did I expect no intimacy from someone whose footprints embedded in the soil of my neighborhood deeper and wider than anyone else? Does his daily presence mean nothing more than a hired man carrying out a paid-for routine? Would it make a difference to me if his face is to be blotted out, replaced, service rendered obsolete by machine, by our ever-heightening expectation in constant and instantaneous satisfaction, personal purpose fulfilled, if only to finally paint ourselves to a corner of our dark basement, the moment's desired product in hands, ready for our next little craving, postman's steps need not be part of the picture.
I took a different route after hearing the postman's warning, and met him again half way.
Thank you for letting me know, I said and paused. What is your name?
He was taken aback for a split second, only to quickly regain his smile and answered me.
I don't think he expected it either.
Yours, Alex
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