This post is long overdue, as it relates to something that happened five times over a period of about two weeks in early July. It was one of the strangest experiences of my life, so I can't leave Darwin without writing about it somewhere. What happened is that women started crying around me.
It's been a long, sunny, enjoyable day. I've been swimming and hanging out with the gang down by the water front; I've played some guitar and had a laugh. We've all gone for drinks. I've gotten hungry and nipped out for a bite. I've grabbed some food at a kebab place and sat down outside. A girl has sat down beside me. She's pretty, but tired. I already know what's going to happen.
She starts making small talk. I'm short with her and ignore most of what she says. She starts telling me about her travels. I barely say a word. She starts talking about her friends back home. I stare at my food. Then something flicks. The tone of the conversation changes. It's like she was a sunday diver in a village of conversation before, and she's just found the slip road onto the motorway.
She talks more quickly. It's hard for her to fit a breath into her sentences. She starts getting agitated. The words make less sense. Her eyes redden. The first drop of water appears. She stops talking. Here we go.
I drop my fork into the food and look at her; I say something meaningless and comforting, but the barrier has come down and it has to run its course. It peaks with angry words, sad words, twisted words. Water flows down her face and after a while subsides into sniffs, and eventually apologies. "I never do this." The words of an emotional petite mort. They're the same every time.
There has been a connection, somewhere along the line. She has opened up to me and feels a bond. I just want to finish my kebab. She'll talk to me again in a few days and expect another transformational heart-to-heart, but I'll probably wrap up the conversation quickly and go to the TONR. You have to be firm and polite with these people; there are just too many of them.
After talking about it with a few of the greatest minds in Darwin, I eventually decided that if I grew a beard I'd be a little less accessible, and it's seems to have worked so far. I'm a little worried about shaving so I'm going to keep it until I head east side.
You can't be too careful.
It's been a long, sunny, enjoyable day. I've been swimming and hanging out with the gang down by the water front; I've played some guitar and had a laugh. We've all gone for drinks. I've gotten hungry and nipped out for a bite. I've grabbed some food at a kebab place and sat down outside. A girl has sat down beside me. She's pretty, but tired. I already know what's going to happen.
She starts making small talk. I'm short with her and ignore most of what she says. She starts telling me about her travels. I barely say a word. She starts talking about her friends back home. I stare at my food. Then something flicks. The tone of the conversation changes. It's like she was a sunday diver in a village of conversation before, and she's just found the slip road onto the motorway.
She talks more quickly. It's hard for her to fit a breath into her sentences. She starts getting agitated. The words make less sense. Her eyes redden. The first drop of water appears. She stops talking. Here we go.
I drop my fork into the food and look at her; I say something meaningless and comforting, but the barrier has come down and it has to run its course. It peaks with angry words, sad words, twisted words. Water flows down her face and after a while subsides into sniffs, and eventually apologies. "I never do this." The words of an emotional petite mort. They're the same every time.
There has been a connection, somewhere along the line. She has opened up to me and feels a bond. I just want to finish my kebab. She'll talk to me again in a few days and expect another transformational heart-to-heart, but I'll probably wrap up the conversation quickly and go to the TONR. You have to be firm and polite with these people; there are just too many of them.
After talking about it with a few of the greatest minds in Darwin, I eventually decided that if I grew a beard I'd be a little less accessible, and it's seems to have worked so far. I'm a little worried about shaving so I'm going to keep it until I head east side.
You can't be too careful.
