Bird In a Cage -- A Tale of Two Tigresses (A Guest Story by Ms. Yael Hilesoom On Solitude)

Credit Mrs. Esther Drucker Nowodvorski, RIP

(Disclaimer: The guest posts do not necessarily align with Philosocom's manager, Mr. Tomasio Rubinshtein's beliefs, thoughts, or feelings. The point of guest posts is to allow a wide range of narratives from a wide range of people. To apply for a guest post of your own, please send your request to mrtomasio@philosocom.com)

Mr. Rubinshtein's interpretation: This is a much-deserved story of positive solitude, told from the side of a woman, looking at another woman who sits on her balcony. There are, technically, many metaphors in this tale that can give you much time for reflection. The bird, for example, can be regarded as both sadness and as the protagonist's true self, repressed by her, as she lives her life. It can also represent her deepest desires.

The comparison to tigers and predators can teach us that we need to be strong in order to survive alone, whether we fight to survive, or victoriously reside in solitude with a cigar. Last but not least, the interaction with the other character can indicate to us the para-social nature of today's world, where connections are not only fake but distant. On the oxymoron of the far and close, existing together at the same time.

Today I met a predator, like me.

It happened late at night, when I was sitting in the yard, smoking my last cigarette and still feeling unhappy. A strange sadness had come over me, and I didn't know how to deal with it.

I had been tolerating her presence since morning, but she just sat there like a bird in a cage, pecking at the bars. I really wanted to reach out and throw her out.

I stared out into the dark air. No voices from Agripas Street could be heard over the buildings of Hayabuk Street. Even the hummus shop was silent, not playing a single tune.

A million people pass through that street every day. One person even started a fight with another over a place in line at a restaurant. But all the noise was gone as I sat in the dark, tasteless yard, angry at nothing.

Then, an angry beast like me turned on the lights on the balcony in front of me. She smoked a strawberry-scented cigar, releasing the smoke in all directions.

The sweet smell mixed with the black tail of my lonely cigarette. And loneliness sat there, doing nothing.

After a while, she came to the fence and looked down. Then she sat back down, and when no one came to call her, she stood up and left.

And then I was left alone with the pile of mattresses that I had laid a nice sheet on. I stared helplessly, and the caged bird was no longer angry. She didn't cry anymore either.

I opened the door for her, so she could fly into the darkness, to the silence of other people's eyes.

When a tiger loses his streak, he doesn't sleep at night. There is no one to keep him safe. No one to keep him warm. No one to show him the way. So he lights up his path in life with his green, glowing, and cruel eyes.