Alon Z / Art / The old man and the udon

“It’s unnatural not to want children” says the old man, “most of the western world are not having kids” the young man replies “how do you explain that?”, without putting down his spoon the old man repeats “it’s unnatural, it’s unnatural” as he deeps the spoon back into the soup and loads it again into his mouth. “Only someone who has issues doesn’t want to have kids,” the old man explains. The young man lifts his head up from his soup bowl, gazes at the old man and says “Well, how would you explain homosexuality?” challenging him unaware of the biases of his own thoughts. “So that’s what you think is normal?” The old man challenges him back. “Homosexuality exists in nature, even in animals” the young man replies. “Animals, you compare us to animals” the old man mumbles slurping several udons down his throat.

Sitting across from their table, although I’m not actively listening I can hear the conversation very well. They speak in a foreign language, though one that I have been fluent in since childhood. Not so shocked by the ignorance expressed as I’ve heard similar concepts by my own ancestors spoken in the same language many times before.

I try to imagine the old man in his youth, what he rebelled against, what he was like. Every generation challenges the previous one, becoming more aware. Is it possible that his generation skipped this process? I wonder if it's a post war trauma that made him this way, growing up in a world full of worries and uncertainties he grew up to be a manifestation of it. Dismissing everything that isn’t similar, expected and familiar as if it doesn’t have a place or reason. I guess living in fear can easily lead to hate, what does he find joy in? I think to myself,

A bowl of udon is placed in the center of my table in the middle of a wide tray. I thank the waitress who brought it over and notice that both men are gazing in my direction now. Without hesitation I pick a few noodles from the bowl with my chopsticks and slurp them down loudly, sending a clear signal their way that I am too unaware of their existence, though sadly I am.