It's raining outside again. Teenagers driving by on scooters. Or on a scooter. There are too many of them trying to go from one party to the other on one scooter. For me it's just a matter of time. It is no longer about if it is going to happen, but when it is going to happen. I will walk to work on a Monday morning and when I arrive I will know by watching the flags that someone at school died this weekend. And a safe bet is that it will be one of those kids trying to get from one party to the other on a Saturday night when it's raining outside and the road is more slippery than their intoxicated minds could imagine. I wait for that day and I fear it. When I studied to be a teacher I once had the opportunity to practice delivering bad news to a class and helping them cope with it. It was all just a drama exercise but my whole body was shaking and my voice came so close to cracking up.

When the tsunami hit the countries around the Indian Ocean, I was on a bus back home from my parents'. Once at home, a quick change of luggage and then off to spend the remainder of the holiday in Scotland with a new girlfriend and new people. Always knowing that when the holiday was over, there was a good chance of coming back to a job struck by tragedy. How many had died? How many had lost relatives?

But we were lucky. All our students were alive. Some had experienced the horror of the catastrophe, but they were all alive.

It sounds as if the rain has stopped, but the road outside is still wet and that typical sound of tires pushing themselves through water makes its way up into my apartment. My apartment which is completely quiet except for the tapping of fingers against keys. The darkness fights against the flickering light from the quiet tv. A radiating heat accompanies the glow. People move across the screen. Talking about something that does not matter. Earlier tonight the screen showed a David Lynch movie and perhaps that is the main reason for the fingers tapping away on the keys of the computer. Laura Dern tried to make sense of a reality which were built up of many realities or perhaps there were no reality at all. An actress playing a role playing a role playing a role. When does reality end and when does it begin and how do we avoid getting the real and the imaginary mixed up if we try to live a realistic life in an imaginary world? If the whole world knows the imaginary us and no one knows the real us, then our made-up selves becomes our real selves. And the real we, seize to exist.

The tv is not alone in its fight against the darkness. The spotlights connected to the dimmer switch give away a faint glow and in the minimal kitchen, the light is still on, forgotten during that last phone call. That last phone call. It brought back memories and feelings. Feelings of family and support and how the ones we rely on for support turn out as never having been there for us when the one who has actually helped disappears and makes it all painfully obvious. And where do we go from there? Leave those who have been a fake helping hand, riding on the goodness of others? Why not.

Another scooter drives by. This time the driver is alone. Probably on his way home after some party and maybe feeling very satisfied of maybe feeling very frustrated. Or not feeling anything at all except tiredness and on his way to get some sleep. Sleep sounds like a good idea. Channel two is no longer broadcasting any programs and soon the room will be filled with light produced by the static noise showing. Maybe there is something else on another channel. Who am I kidding? Of course there is something else on the other channels. There are enough channels on that thing to always have something on. Hell, most channels run 24 hours per day, so there are images to see. But seldom stories to care about. The more channels the more things not to see.

The day is over in this apartment. Outside it continues as more cars drive past. Twenty-four-hour channels and twenty-four-hour society. But not necessarily more to care about.

I was wrong. It is still raining.