The unknown is the greatest landscape in the world. Here nothing is unspeakable and extraordinary human endeavour is never sacrificed. There are zero moral possibilities, passions and there are only a multitude of poisons in the beginning that have to be got rid of subtly. At the end all that came before, that nourished you is destroyed and all that is destroyed is history. Soon everything that came before is forgotten with age, with wisdom and through hard-won perseverance. The world is not enough but it is promising. I wake up to the realisation that everything else pales in comparison. Boundaries, warriors, proactive radicals, the accused are removable; they can be erased with lightning speed, even if memories weren’t.

You have all met her – your match, the alpha female. You have all met her son. I was hilarious, amusing, I did not have to fight for attention that afternoon because I was the centre of it. Questioning stares and glances were thrown my way. Already his mother thinks my ideas are irrelevant.

The three of them, husband, father, wife, mother, son were intensely private, intensely attractive individuals. They all had the same eyes – beautiful, fluid, vacant and large. The pictures against the wall are inspiring, ethereal, beautiful, promising chilling territory over poverty. Their limbs made softly mechanical, slow, smooth movements enveloping the air around them in a bubble of graceful energy.

I was entranced by their mysterious nature. Their affairs are compelling, never following a formula, their relationships are complicated, and their lives are unconventional and curious. What did the hunt reveal? Everything in the house has a curious, inventive beauty. It has a novel, otherworldly or an old-fashioned significance. It sparks further investigation. It unleashes an imaginative stillness within me.

The father paints pictures, his mother is an invigorating sensualist and their son is a combination of them both. How dangerous and exhilarating men are. There always seems to be a paralytic symbiosis between the sexes of obsession and racing hysteria, trivia and fixation. But there aren’t any romantic delusions here. She doesn’t know why I am here. He hasn’t told his mother.

In the kitchen his mother cooks with an imaginative and descriptive flair. How lovely she looks with her face like that. She exhausts the history of turmeric, spices and vegetables with me. It struck home truths with me since I liked to cook and only really did so for my father, who was really appreciative of every kind thing I demonstrated. But what she wants me to do is leave. I am in the way. She hints around it. But as I am not funny, rather serious, I never tend to get jokes, I do not become uncomfortable, I do not get the hint and instead I warm to her. I think we are in some sought of sisterhood. Everything she tells me strikes a note of truth.

Her face is animated, a source of pleasure, of victory amidst the engagement with other people in the room as she hurts me. I pretend not to see any meaning and purpose behind her words. Yet I was still hypnotized as the three of them sat in the room like satellites spinning around each other. They each give the impression of a pure state of being.
 
I speak about how my emotional eating gets me happy. I fill the silences as best I can. I was caught up in a web of lies. I stared on in disbelief as the afternoon unfolded bizarrely around me. I will not deny that in the beginning there was the potential for tenderness, respect and fixed independence from this family. I want to confide in her so badly. I watch the pale smoke from her cigarette evaporate. She’s older and more sophisticated than I am. She couldn’t care less about my feelings. Her regard is for her son, his physical health and for his well-being.