sharing that slice

October 30, 2012 § 3 Comments

There is a way the world works unnoticeably. Living in the suburbs of metropolitan city, it’s easy to understand that space and time is always constrained. Walking around with hip headphones, trying to avoid rush hour traffic and crowded trains, fitting social events between that already cluttered scheduled, living in small space but yet trying to grab everything off the retail shelves and feel fulfilled.

The grab and go idea is consistently sought after. “I don’t have time”; “I need to be here and here by 0904”; “it’s easier”. So plastic containers and paper cups fill our bins, we slowly grow from faster the better to faster the worse. Gradually, polluting the streets that is already contaminated with daily fouls, bird poops, cigarette butts etc. Caring about ourselves first then others later. It’s mother nature. Even the lowest of all chakra tells you to focus on, self. Yet, with all the individualistic thoughts, we share unknowingly.

We start of the week with a few fresh cake. Slicing it as customers come in to order. One by one, they disappear onto the streets. For the popular cake, the first slice goes to the lady with her skinny latte to go. Then the next few to random strangers who either have it with their coffee while reading the papers or in a paper cup. A few ladies from the neighbourhood who just dropped the kids off, sit down to catch up on which detergent brands to use or compare tutors. Mostly worries than gratitudes.

Some decide on other cakes/sandwiches or just want to get their caffeine fix. The day goes about just fine. Around 5 in the evening, the usual dog walk girl who wants two slices of the popular cake, greets us happily and satisfy her sugar cravings.

On an occasionally odd day, we have plenty of cakes lying around or precisely one slice left. The dog walk girl does not get her usual but a slice of cake and cookie instead.

I could not help myself but wonder if people realized, we collectively share a cake. On a daily basis, these customers or ,you, ultimately share something with strangers. As much as we don’t like sharing. I like to think that we are all connected in ways. Indifferent. Passé. Grounded with simple things. Like dots in a puzzle, connected with a singular fine line to make a picture, perfect.

Under the floured topped, messy hair and rough dry fingers, I feel a little happier and smile inwardly knowing each customers walked away with something in common. Everyone is so very different, but connected with just one cake.


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