Pieces

I live in a small home, of a small town, in the littlest country. Here, although we're all so small and compact, we've learnt that there are many things that are in abundance.

For instance, there is never enough space for things to go around. I guess that's kinda expected given the amount of land we had to begin with. But then there's the spilling of insecurity; I find it troubling that I can't very well look another person in the eye and trust him with my name.

But last of all, because of all this evil, is the abundance of hope. Such a tragedy this wealth has afforded us - it ruins our lives, takes that of our loved ones, and then as a final insult, someone benefits from it all.

There is a small eating place near my apartment. It lies in the middle of one's journey from the commute to the home and seeks to provide a travelers' rest for those in need of a meal or a quick drink. From all perspectives it seems viable - it's visible from the roads, there is air conditioning (for we are also in no shortage of hot weather), and the food is reasonably good and sufficiently tasty.

But how it suffers! I one day went to buy myself dinner after a long day at work and found the place cleaned out, as it was once before, of tenants. The stores lay bare, stripped of anything that's of value, no doubt by debtors coming to collect. Not even a spoon nor plastic bag remains to give clues of what had existed before.

Overnight - that's how we roll around here. When someone somewhere rakes in thousands and thousands for his culinary showmanship, a family whose main bread was to chop up chicken and place it alongside a humble serving of rice will have to hide out from nasty men looking for payment on the loan he took to start his store.

This is not the first time the eating place will vacate, nor will it be the last. The owners of the land want to collect rent, and there will always be the hopeful who pursue the beaten road, unaware of the mass burial site at the end of the fork.

Hope is a horrible thing, but without it, we all might as well be chickens in a McDonald's poultry farm.