Silent conversation

I had a queer dream last night.

My distaste is written on my face when something or someone bothers me. It may seem rude, but I find that after expressing it -- albeit at times rather viciously, I will let the matter pass like water under a bridge. But many little things can somehow manage to get to me. It is convenient to blame it on my mild OCD tendencies, but at times I myself know better.


So this is how it began.

I tutted in annoyance when this lady stood in front of this beautiful fountain sculpture I was about to snap a photo of, partially blocking it. Many people were trying to capture a photo of it too, but I supposed that none of them were really bothered by her. In retrospect, a simple "excuse me" would have sufficed to make her move. But that was not on my mind at that moment.

She overhead me tutting and glanced sharply in my way but made haste to move away so that she wouldn't be in the frame. Me, finally getting the photo I waited for made my way back quickly. I did not look forward to an encounter with this lady. And so, I quickened my steps.

But to my dismay, she was right behind me. She tapped my shoulder and indicated that she wished for me to stop. A note was pressed into my hand, and she did not speak. The hurriedly scribbled note read of regret and apology, and her eyes were soft and pleading. I began wondering if I had mistaken the look in her at the fountain. Nonetheless, I nodded in acquiescence. She held my hands with both of hers for a brief moment before turning around. I watched her walk away; a flood of emotions surging inside, some of them identifiable.


Remorse. Shame. Guilt.


It was odd and rather disturbing that I felt so much after this encounter that took place in my head.