How hard is it to make two people talk. How hard could it be. How hard could the hardest of our problems really be. Do they have anything in them? Or maybe we just couldn’t talk about them. Why burden somebody with the weight of our own problems. Imagine a big circle, and anybody could come there and sit inside the circle and just talk about their problems. Sometimes, talking about the problems aloud helps to understand them in a better way. And without understanding our problems, how can solutions be found.
Why do I wake up with this damned feeling. I can’t feel my wings. I know they are there. Why am I living with this damned feeling. I’m paying for my sins. There’s a cost to going mad and staying that way. I lay down and try to breathe. Something hollow is growing inside of me. A sinking feeling. I do not wish to fall sick again. I want to fly. Well, that’s far fetched. I want to feel good again. I want this curse lifted off of me. It’s been very long.
Consistency is the key. To keep doing it everyday no matter what. To take time out for doing it. To keep your vision clear every moment. To visualise your dream every moment. To work towards your vision every moment. To have a single goal and not be wavered from it. To confront your fears every moment, to kick obstacles out of your way. To keep walking ahead no matter what.
‘Don’t you want to share something of your own tonight? I mean everybody else is sharing something of their own. What about you?’
‘I don’t know. Share what?’ I replied.
‘Something that you might have written? I’ve heard that you write. Or you might sing a song for us.’
‘Oh no. No singing songs for me. I love listening to them, not singing them. As far as sharing something of what I have written, I can’t do it even if I want to. I don’t remember anything of what I have written. I write in the moment mostly’ I replied.
The man heard me, laid back and continued drinking. A minute later, he said, ‘The reason I asked you to share something is that I’ve been looking at you since quite some time and I think there’s pain in you and you might want to share it.’
‘Everybody is in pain. That’s not important’ I replied with a smile.
I would like to remind you little bit of what I am. What am I. Let’s leave the question for a moment. Let’s focus on something else. On what? Let’s stop focusing on anything for a while. Let’s sit quietly for a while. Eyes closed. Breathing as normally as you can. Can you hear the faint noise of fresh rain? I can. The raindrops are falling and falling and falling, probably wetting everything. I want to walk out of my room and see. I refuse to walk out. I walk out. The rain has stopped now. I walk downstairs, stand there, watch the floor, now wet, reflecting bar lights. I look around. Drunkards everywhere getting in getting out. I scratch my beard and walk back upstairs and into my room.
Cannot help but feel guilty of not waking up early. It isn’t enough to say to myself that the body was too tired to wake up. No. I’m not convinced. It’s a lie. I could have woken up earlier, much earlier. Now, my whole day will be spent feeling guilty. It’s a crazy thing to feel guilty. It’s crazier to feel guilty about losing time. Time lost doesn’t come back.
Am I creative? I mean, I’m trying to understand for years what creation means, and what it means to create. Creating doesn’t mean, for sure, to create a copy of something that already exists. In that sense, does creation mean the act of bringing to this universe what doesn’t exist? Maybe it is so. And if so, does being creative mean being able to bring something entirely new to this universe? Maybe it is so. And if it is so, then I don’t know if whatever the hell that results in any kind of creation. But one thing is sure. Man is capble of creating beautiful things.
But lately, something has happened to man. I don’t know what. It’s like we are stuck in a loop. We are busy creating copies and copies of copies. Wait. What the hell am I doing. This wasn’t supposed to be a critique.
Talking about myself, I’m trying to write better pieces and I’m trying to click better photographs. Lately, I’ve been busy more in photography and editing than in writing and reading. I’m trying to balance both my passions. Wait what? Ridiculous. Everything that I’ve written sounds ridiculous when I read it aloud. I’ll stop right here.
No doubt the town is full of sluggish people. Nothing lets me down at work as much as sluggish people do. You can see them wasting time their time, and consequently, yours. You want to kill them but cannot. It’s frustrating at times. They’re getting paid for nothing. No doubt the world has too many sluggish people now, and no one can do a thing about it. Another one walks in. What the hell. Looks like a woman. Fucking hell. I wish I could scream right now. FUCKING HELL! Instead, I’m yawning, slipping down in my recliner, my head in my left palm. I hate a good meal. It makes me dizzy with sleep. I wish I fell asleep right now. I can’t. The work doesn’t seem to end. Too much work. Too much wastage of time and energy. It seems like something or the other has to be done about it. So I tell the woman to shut up and leave. It doesn’t work.
Nobody likes standing in a queue. Nobody likes to labour. Nobody likes to wait. Nobody likes to apologise for no reason. Nobody likes to remain stuck in boring goddamned living. Nobody likes drinking beer after whiskey. Nobody likes to work. Nobody likes boredom. Nobody likes to be stressed. Nobody likes work pressure. Nobody likes to give up on their ill-formed opinions. Nobody hates their opinions. Nobody hates their own stupid mindset. Nobody hates a glass of cold water in summer. Nobody hates lemonade or maybe mint juice. Nobody likes to hate and yet they do. Yet we do.
The liver seems to be missing. The bladder has doubled in size. The eyes can’t take in too much light. Darkness is my old friend. It really feels strange when I feel my breath. I am alive. Alive! I take a deep breath. I look at you sleeping with a severe headache, your head in my lap. Blues playing in the background. Call me the Breeze. I close my eyes, my palm caressing your forehead. It’s getting harder and harder to focus. I wish to lay down next to you, holding you in my arms, warm. There’s still some time. Night time is the only time I have for myself. What’s wrong with me! Why can’t I have just one dream. I want everything. I accomplish nothing. I’m just a cog turning endlessly in a giant machine. I’m just a slave. Night frees me. Night gives myself back to me. I didn’t realise when the song changed. It happens every time.
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