My everyday landscape consists of the same things, and they give me a sense of stability. The greenery of the park behind my windows, rows of red-brick buildings, the Liffey with its sad-looking grey water, little cafés and shops along my way to work, the park or the Pilates studio.
But besides buildings, trees and commercial spaces that occasionally change their names, one cosy restaurant giving way to another, there are other elements of my world. People and animals. Familiar presences I notice but rarely engage with, leaving them in the background of my daily wanderings and struggles with reality.
Familiar cats in windows. An old man who always passes me on my way to work. We exchange barely perceptible nods, as if afraid to show too openly that we recognise each other, yet clearly enough to acknowledge that we sort of know each other, even if only as two strangers who happen to share the same stretch of pavement.
There is also an older man in a flat cap whom I seem to see everywhere I go. Years ago, when I was working at my first job in Dublin, in a shop, he was one of my customers. After that, I started seeing him in pubs, on the street, through the window of the airport bus, in the queue at a health food shop. Once, I wondered with a smile whether he might be my stalker. Then I wondered whether he had ever thought the same about me.
There is an old lady who lives a few blocks from my apartment. I used to see her all the time, walking her two elderly dogs. One day, I spotted her with only one of them. It was one of the saddest moments I can remember, even though I had never really known her.
One day, I might stop seeing the man in the flat cap, too.
Photo by Jean Geo
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