On that day, it rained so much in St. Gallen. Sankt Jakob-Strasse was flooded. I was staying at a hotel owned by a dear friend. I was at the reception asking the receptionist to order me a taxi when the first few drops started to plunder. I had just finished eating but had no time for a coffee and I was arguing with the receptionist insisting to pay the usual room rate, or at least under a discount, because it seemed like my friend was not going to charge me and I was refusing to accept his kindness, a little self-conscious and insecure about telling him about my trip to begin with, hoping he did not think I wanted a free room. Some people just give without asking if you need something, notice that these are mostly the very quiet, unblinkingly observant and intuitive ones.
The Swiss-German receptionist (Frau Naef, with a French flair to her name & her short hair & her elegant tiny height & demeanor) told me that I talk a lot as she walked me out of the hotel to grab the ordered taxi and head to the meeting I was in St. Gallen for. Yeah, I talk a lot, and so in the 10-minute taxi ride to the location I was headed for, I silenced my tongue to practice harmony. Even my hello to the driver was a lopsided nod. The rain was going to be louder than my decaffeinated voice anyway, even if I had articulated thoughts. I arrived to my destination, stepped my encased feet out of the car and into a puddle. I walked into the grey stern-structured modern building that stood out in a street filled with old architecture. My shoes were drenched and my red pants were also wet to the knees. They chuckled at my state with endearment. I mumbled something about my short legs, my clumsiness and that I am happy to finally be there. I sat on the chair they offered me and started to chat away about my ideas with them, a business that sparked their interest. They looked at each other with approval and started to scribble notes. I was hoping to strike a deal with them once & for all, for they shook my hand goodbye firmer than they did in their hello.
I didn’t. It was my third time in two years of trying. But it didn’t work out. Instead, what did work out is that other wonderful things happened to me. Frau Naef taught me the promise of locking your words inside before you allow them to shine or dim, just by having the right voice frequency when she told me. I dream of going again to try harder and achieve nothing but a soft water-coloured memory. So that if i fail, more wonderful things happen to me moments that keep me soft and never solidify me. I don’t know if in reality people actually go this far down delusion. But once you’re at the very bottom you will find that it was actually the very tip of life’s top: silently joyous, softly colourful, and über daring!
Beisan A. Alshafei
May 1st, 2019
Beisan's Burble 