We were here, and then we were no more.
Filling in each square with commitments. Labeling dates with ‘important’ conceptions. Planning with reckless abandon. Penciling in those paramount forget-me-nots.
As the date arrives, you stare at the box and realize those scribblings were drafted in vain; you’ve single-handedly obliged yourself to yet another task.
Leisure or otherwise, you bow your head and trudge through the responsibility. Perhaps you enjoy the engagement, or maybe you have to fake it; maybe you are gritting your teeth and sweating bullets. Maybe you are waiting in a never-ending line, on the verge of passing out with sheer boredom. Perhaps you’re scared, ecstatic, indifferent, dismal, calm, cool, or callous.
Nonetheless, you are working towards the obvious end-goal: triumphantly crossing off the calendar box with a big, fat, proper “X”.
When you’re 20, you wear clothes to show off your body.. As you grow old, you start wearing your body to show off your clothes..
I’ve been thinking about it. Maybe sometimes, when it starts raining the moment you leave the house and you blame it on Murphy, or karma, or chance or fate, maybe that rain is not meant for you. Maybe you are but a collateral damaged of a rain that is meant for someone else down the road. Maybe you’re just in the wrong place at the right time, but it has nothing to do with you.
You self-centered, egotistic little victim.
I shared this for the first time today. Why..?
Because if a tree falls somewhere in the Amazonian forest and no one sees it fall, no one hears it fall and no one ever knows it fell, it is impossible to say with certainty that it really did.
This tree fell, and I know it did.
“Nothing new on the Western front.”
We should return to silence, now – to the lukewarm hug of our womb-like home.
Swiftly, but without rush.
With conviction, because we need rest from this terrifying projection of an eternal present.