Bohemian Woman

August 9, 2007

I happen to have a friend who’s bohemian. And just like the many beautiful tragedies of her life, she hardly recognizes that she is one.

As a matter of fact, among my friends, she’s the only one left who still believe she is normal, and by ‘normal’ I mean to refer to the rest of us: those who treat life like a serious threat to itself.

But she isn’t, though on the basis of first look alone, she would appear like a “delirious monochrome,” to which she would blindly agree if you just insist. Now, if you never exchanged pleasantries before, you would think, by the manner she walks, that she’s putting up a middle finger on you as you pass by, because she’s angsty, and petulant, or all that maybe because she doesn’t have a romantic alter ego. Either way, she comes to you with a thud, just like how the great John Joseph Theodore Rzeznik did on her. Stick a little and you would really wonder “What’s a bohemian doing on this boring part of this boring town?”
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