The mouse jumped immediately, not even a single moment of thought. That was till the mouse got in stuck in a traffic jam. Schizophrenia is not an illness that happens to a few people—it is the normal state of humanity. Everybody is divided and split. We are all in two places at once.
Then, a change comes.
I let out an audible sigh. I’m tired of this superficial place. My life here is like a traffic junction where I’m waiting for the red light to turn green. I’m one of the thousands of people just waiting for the signal to go. The rat race is real. We are all rats, scurrying along and scurrying away without a destination in sight or in mind. Rats may gross us out, but they are so much like us.
“Sorry lady,” the cabbie says. “Looks like we’re stuck with each other for a while.”
Ah well. Not much that either of us can do about it other than be patient. I consider getting off and walking, but the cabbie already thinks I’m rude. Polite conversation doesn’t come to me that easily, but I decide to give it a shot.
“Miss home?” I ask.
“Very much,” the cabbie says, his eyes gazing out of the window in disappointment. “I thought this place would be a dream come true, but it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
My warring forefathers dreamt of a strife-free land like this one for a long time. The seeds my ancestors planted have borne fruit, but our origin stories constantly remind us that we are from elsewhere.
“This place is a nightmare,” the cabbie says, interrupting my private history lesson to myself. I suppress a chuckle lest I come across as insensitive.
“I know a boy who once said the same to me.”
“Oh yeah? What happened to him?”
“He asked me to marry him.”
The cabbie laughs. He’s amused. So am I.
“What was your answer?” he asks.
I grin. That’s enough with the social protocols. I’m done talking. I close my eyes and pretend that I’m asleep. This way the cabbie won’t try to speak to me.
I drift away. I arrive at the place between waking and sleeping and that’s when I see her.
“There’s someone out there waiting patiently to meet you,” she says.
“Who?” I ask.
“You’ll know when you lay eyes on him.”
Him? Who could it be? Peculiar. Very peculiar. I wonder how he will find me. If you really think about it, life’s like a long line of people all just waiting to meet you. Someone I haven’t met has already dreamed me up and is waiting for me to materialise.
“How will I find him?” I ask.
“He will find you,” she says.