Jumper
I have a thing for heights. I can’t go anywhere near a bridge or the top of a building without feeling the urge to jump. This afternoon, after another ulcer-inducing meeting, I stood as close as I can to the window of our 40th floor office. The view in front and below looked like a scene out of a silent movie. Cars were racing with each other honking their muted horns; people were walking and talking without sound. As I pressed closer to the window, I can see the outline of my breath on the glass momentarily appearing as moisture and then slowly vanishing like a half-remembered dream. Looking down, I thought of how easy it would be to take one step forward and then disappear from everyone’s view. If only there was no glass window to hold me back.
I am reminded of my existence everytime I step near these windows, looking at the mad jumble of buildings and shanties below. I am resigned to the fact that I will always and forever be somebody looking in from the outside, detached from a world that although appears to be too real, I can only watch from a distance. It’s not that I am anti-social or something (I tried participating once but it was a disaster), it’s just that I am a magnet for disappointment. So I decided to go back to my spectator role. It’s not as exciting but at least it leaves my already bruised heart intact.
