There are certain parts of a discussion that tend to amuse me. These parts – I fondly call them ‘topic cues.’
These cues act like a key to an unexplored angle. It worked like this: my friend and I were talking about movies, say Hanna. My friend was referring to this movie, asking if the trailer-released Lucy is like Hanna. I’m not sure if I answered her right, but I went on to rant how I love the girl behind it (Saoirse Ronan). And before blink-seconds, I went to discussing Disney’s upcoming Maleficent.
There are interesting denominators here: movies, heroines, or female protagonists. These denominators served to propel the discussion towards one thing my friend and I loved – movies!
And I think: how cool is that? –That without effort or that much thought placed on the movies that we’ve mentioned the discussion went on and on.
I’m extremely introverted. That’s something I can’t shake off even inside an office teeming of lively and friendly people. In time, I learned to embrace my patterned behavior. Besides, I’m not exactly tongue-tied all the time.
Blame it to the movies! I was able to expose stuff I liked, pour on my personal observations. But the best part is having meet a friend that enjoy a healthy mix of talk – that is: when it’s my turn, the friend listens.
Because, really, it’s not easy to find one. Being the silent sort, it was easy for people to assume that I’m a good listener (my gosh, I am!). Unfortunately, they seem to forget that I’m gifted with speech, as well.
For someone who’s kind of master the art of listening, it’s quite nice to meet someone who does it for me with gusto. Our talks could move from one to another: from the difficulty of feeding his sons, to my strict rearing at home; from the necessities of being a mother, to my brat-level anguish.
Our nifty office pantry became the sole witness of a harmless chitchat. It’s amusing how much imagination each of us exhibit. Despite reaching the adult-level life (being employed and struggling to be a good parent or child), quirkiness perks up every now and then. It renders the heaviness of our baggage light. It makes us laugh at things that are supposedly treated with incredulous severity.
In a short span of seconds or minutes, consuming our dinner and chatter, we go back to being social beings. Inside a box, working for hours, one can’t help but feel like a trapped animal. Yet, back in those dark stools, we went back to becoming human again.