Solitude

Here he is, 30, single, annoyed by the noise that comes from the bathroom every 3 minutes. The noise lasts only 3 seconds each time, "Tzzz...", short, not high pitched, but simply annoying. There must be some leak in the goddamn water tank; every 3 minutes, the floater drops, trigs the water valve; the water refills the amount leaked and the noise is produced. He had demanded work order and someone came twice during the past days but the problem is still there.

Staring at the water tank after making a flush and adjusting the position of the rubber seal, he thought about the message he received earlier this morning. It was from his old friend, his best fellow at college. His fellow informed him that he got married a couple of months earlier and his wife is pregnant. He felt extraordinary happiness for his fellow, yet had a hard time to imagine what this friend and his new family look like. For years in college,  they spent quite an amount of time together; not on purpose, but they attended the same class, went to the same study buildings to work on assignments and revisions, biked together back to dorms around the same clock, either chatting or maintaing a comfortable silence on the way. Those years were quiet, and now seemed so pure as the moonlight that was scattered on campus at night. They saw each other all the time at college, yet now he could not remember the last time they said good-bye, since it must be years ago. "Tzzz...", the floater dropped again, the valve opened and water shot in, little bubbles were formed below the floater, and his attention was brought back. He sighed and shrugged, and turned off the water valve attached to the toilet.

Happiness, it must be some happiness he has not yet really experienced but has worshiped with high expectation. He wishes and believes his friend is enjoying it. There were times when he almost had it, l'amour, but he was wishing something more, pas seulement l'amour. This extra thought and quest turned out fatal for the couple of relationships that he initiated and struggled to guide, for in the middle he told himself he would not be satisfied with just holding hand, kissing or making love, and something was missing, something he could not even see or describe clearly, but something he was doomed to regard as important. This doubt hindered him from being overwhelmed by love, and urged him to question the devotion of his girl. Yes, being a guy, he regrets to admit his need of devotion from the girl, not just the other way around. He admires guys who can take care of the girls without the need of being taken care of, because they are strong and mature. He observes that it is those men who eventually win the women and who are eventually really well taken care of by the women. Yes, when he tries to be one of those guys, he always fails at some moment. I am a good man, he comforts himself by thinking so, but with so less self-assurance that he almost sees a big question mark attached.

The water tank is finally quiet, yet he notices that the water line has dropped a little bit. He decides to stop thinking about himself and just be happy for his friend, but quickly he realizes that the silence from the toilet he has quested after does not do any good to him. "Je suis triste", he mumbled to himself, picked up the backbag, and stormed out of his room.