Two weeks ago, Macau was hit by Typhoon Mangkhut. It was a turbulent day with wind speeds matching those of a decent, medium-sized car on a German highway. The village where we live was flooded and, consequently, things moved. Sofas, old chairs, trees, and various types of heavy debris meandered to and fro. The ocean took over the streets, creating surge and currents where usually tourists would amble along, brandishing selfie sticks and nibbling on Portugese egg tarts.
This year, the damage wasn’t as bad as had been expected. Soon all the debris and mud were cleaned away. Only a couple of broken trees remind of what happened.
And the big, shiny, silver box.
A recycling receptacle.
Standing askew in the middle of our romantic roundabout.
It was there before, but a few meters to the left, just in front of the bushes. I’ve been watching this box closely. Every other day, when I throw away the garbage, I wonder if I should just grab the thing and move it myself. Admittedly, I’ve even tried. But it’s too heavy to move for one person.
Sitting at my desk, writing, I catch myself staring out the window, eyeing the silver box.
Each time a city worker walks past I think, “Yes, yes, you must see this, right? This big silver recycling container, standing askew, crying out for you to move it?”
The workers are not even glancing at it as they walk past.
The front doors of the recycling box are busted now. Pet bottles, plastic, and glass have started to spill out. The silver garbage monster is regurgitating what it was forced to digest.
Each day, around 2pm, the garbage disposal truck arrives. A group of workers start picking up cardboard and garbage bags. There I am again, cheering them on in my mind, thinking, “Yes, yes, look right ahead of you. Yup, now a little bit to your right. The big silver thing you almost ran into.”
Nope… off they go, oblivious.
Two city workers came to clean up yesterday afternoon. They swiped a little around the Ying and Yang symbol on the floor, threw most of the garbage into the bushes, then sat down to rest. They leaned against the silver box, a couple of old pet bottles rolling around between their legs.
I looked out the window, more hopeful than ever, “Yes! you must notice those bottles between your legs. Maybe you’ll turn around and notice the doors to the box are busted. Then, maybe, it’ll click and you’ll realize the flood has pushed this ugly contraption away from its original position.”
But all my attempts at mind control failed yet again. The workers lit a cigarette, chatted for a while, then flicked their cigarette butts in a high arc over the silver box, got up, and walked away.
I still feel the urge to go down there and push with all my might.
Instead, I’ve now decided to exercise self-control and rather wager on how long it will take until someone moves or removes the silver box. Considering it’s been 14 days already… I’m thinking it’ll take at least 6 months. Great training for me to let things go. Ohhhhhmmmmmmmmm.