the art of compromising

In everyday life, when does the art of compromising become compromising?

As i sipped my gin & tonic last night, i realised that there's a variety of compromises. You compromise when your tasteless frapuccino smells and tastes like plastic thats been refined, you compromise with endless lines at a new restaurant downtown when all you want and need is to be "in the arms of an angel" back at home, you also compromise with your boss who's telling you off for something for which you have already warned him and sometimes you compromise with your partner about the trash, the side of bed and condoms. a few drinks and several cigarettes later i got up to go home, left all my change on the table and kissed the girls goodnight. the breeze was crisp and the private clinic right next door seemed like a hip club downtown - shame people have to compromise with their health insurance. a florist across the street was selling off, business wasnt doing so well - he had to compromise his store for a loan. i bought some flowers and walked my tired walk. i yawned - a girl passing by smiled at me as i must have looked very tired and empty. it confuses us when someone smiles at us on the streets - there's this one thing that i love the most - a broad smile, a bright, warm smile from the heart.

Life brings compromise and compromise brings life down.

I choose not to compromise - or at least I try. Yesterday I chose not to compromise with the rudeness of an elder. The sound of the music streaming through my ipod sends pulses of waves to my brain and clarifies the moment.

Later on that night, I chose not to have that second serving of noodles at a restaurant downtown. It was divine and deliciously spicy but I had a choice. Instead I had a coconut milk soup. Yum. People chatted, about bars, waiters and their t-shirts, I opted to talk about wine. N. listened patiently, the guys were achieving flirtatious conversation with each other. I on the hand desired nothing more than a decent conversation, "no strings attached' - thats what its called nowadays. Ringtones were exchanged, the conversation heated up and the noodles stirred in the wok. It was then that i had a thought - back in the age of the rennaissance, a fine young gentleman was obliged by law and good manners to send a card to a fair dame in order to visit. Once, there were dancing cards and you'd ask for permision to dance. These days you grope your way around. A guy from Pakistan appeared from behind the mist in the kitchen. Isnt this a noodle bar? Perhaps they couldnt find a Japanese cook - compromise of the haute cuisine.

a chop, a skip and a bus ride later I got home. Keys turned in the door and I thought of the numerous occasions that you left the house early in the morning. The sound of the keys and then of the elevator. I made some tea and watered my basil plant. It's come back to life, after much care and good soil. I wont compromise. I shant allow others to dictate my lifestyle. I will drink whenever I want and i shall dance like no one's watching. I will sit alone in restaurants and I shall walk along the pier. I shall not compromise my promises.


"...και το ρυθμο της εχω βρει..."