An evening at the Border's cafeteria

It’s a rainy Sunday evening. And I am sitting here in the cafeteria of borders bookshop in Rundle mall. As I am wondering what to write, I get overwhelmed with this feeling of intimacy as I see a mother feeding her baby.

I am trying to make up my mind on how to start writing my essay, and I wonder whether I’ll be able to write about what the empty feelings, the vacant chairs and tables communicate. Should I shift my observation to the conversations happening between people, and their behaviours that seem so strange when observed very closely?

The mother and her child keep diverting my attention. I find it hard to resist the temptation of engaging in a deeper and more thoughtful observation of this intimate relationship. As the baby holds tight to her mother and her mother reciprocates the affection, I can feel the peak of human self giving. I try to resist the harsh judgement of some who believe that this self sacrificing behaviour of human beings springs out of a deep selfish desire, as I don’t want to ruin the warmth of the moment. But I know the mother and her baby will leave the cafeteria soon and I’ll be left with unfulfilled emotions.

I see a young lady who is busy writing something. I wonder if she is doing an ethnographic observation too. It’s strange how I can still be unaware of my personal vicinity while trying hard to be fully conscious of the atmosphere. I get the thought of approaching her and discussing what she is doing, but I find it a big effort.

There is an elderly couple who sit facing one another, they haven’t talked much since I have come to the cafeteria. Both have been busy reading. And I can hear a quiet voice inside my mind urging me to go and ask them what they think of love. I’ve always tried to seek a perception of love in the relationship of such elderly couples who have lived together for long enough to have grown into each other and who have gained the wisdom to give a definition of love by their own experience of living together. And I have perceived a portrait of love in the silent communication between them which happens without the need for any words.

As I take a sip of my coffee I guess the time must have passed by more than one hour because my coffee has totally cooled down. I wish I had a cap for my cup of coffee, just as the young lady who is still busy writing has on top of her cup of coffee. But it’s too late now and I must get my things together and put them in my bag because the waitress is already cleaning up the café to close it down.

The clock shows 6 pm, while it’s still raining outside. And I have this strong feeling of walking in the rain; perhaps the cold and rainy weather outside might wash out this unfulfilled feeling.