Milk and Honey

Did you have close relationships with your neighbours in your hometown? I did. In my hometown where I grew up, neighbourhood mattered. If we were running out of something, we’d just knock on their door or if mum cooked something fancy, we’d always share. Things weren’t the same in the cities of skyscrapers though. Neighbourhood didn’t mean much apart from quick “hi, hey”.  Living in a close community in Bangladesh where neighbourhood had a similar pace to my hometown, I felt the absence of it when I returned back to London.

There were some people I came across quite frequently and I’d sometimes say a quick hi or ignore them depending on my mood. I decided to change it. I wanted to make an effort and spare some time to talk to them. That’s how I became acquaintances with Alex – I say acquaintance as Alex is apprehensive about making friends.

I see Alex quite frequently by a supermarket near my place at his usual spot. Alex is homeless. It’s hard to tell how long he has been on the streets as he sometimes changes his mind about it but it’s been several months for sure. He is sane and can speak English fluently.

Name: Alex

Age: 35

Occupation: homeless.

It is freezing. He coughs a lot. He doesn’t like coffee but drinks anyway

He wants to save money for the hostel. It is called Library hostel.

He has got a son back in Romania and a sister who he doesn’t like.

He lost his mum when he was 2, his dad last year and 3 teeth last month.

He says he has no regrets. He doesn’t think about such things.

He is laidback and doesn’t give away much about his feelings. At first I thought it is a man’s thing but he says if he got into his emotions, he wouldn’t be able to cope with those hard conditions.

“I’m lazy… that’s why”.

I ask him about things he likes, and things he doesn’t. He says “no” or “dunno”. It is almost like he consciously rejects having any likes. Only when I ask about watching TV, a little spark in his eyes and he says “oh yes I like lying down, watching TV, eating white chocolate and drinking lots of soda”. Then he adds “you see darling I’m lazy”. We both laugh.

Then we talk about his childhood. He says it was good. I ask in what way. He says “it was good, yo! It was milk and honey. Sweet”. 

Milk and honey… I repeat.

I ask him if I could take a photo him. He says of course and jokes a bit. I ask him to pose with the cigarette. He says no, but still does it. After a few snaps, I show him the photos and then something happens. He cries. He says it doesn’t look like him. It isn’t him. How could it be him? He cries.

He says he will go for a walk. I say next time I’ll make him a cup of tea and bring some cough syrup.  We’ll meet again tomorrow for a cuppa and chat some more.