All In A Day’s Work

All In A Day’s Work

In my last post I was ranting about how I felt that I deserved a seat in an office somewhere deep in the capital’s CBD. Well, interestingly,a few days after that post I landed myself an administration job in a start up agency. The thrill of starting something new can always be likened to how I respond in all my new relationships. That honeymoon period is priceless and no other feeling can match it. Overtime, however, love begins to see and what it finds is almost always an undesirable. On the ride to work this morning, I was deep in thought thinking about how its almost hilarious that we all wake up so early every morning and wear our ‘work faces’ just so we can become camouflaged from poverty. Like a face we put on to hide our own tired, dreamless and scared face.

I miss breakfast. The kind you sit on a table surrounded by family and feast like that’s all there is to do. The kind where you stare off into space as you nimble on a fresh strand of bacon or polony or whatever it is that your new face has been able to afford you. Life is dreamy that way. But never in an office. I can’t dream of brighter days in an office. The walls cage in my imagination. Outside is where its at. With the many faces and the sea of trees. That’s where my dreams come alive. This post is exactly what happens when you put a hippie in an office! I laugh at this thought and consider for a little while on whether I can properly be categorized as a hippie. I’m not easy to box up. The attempts made to do so seem to satisfy me in their failures

I haven’t blogged in a while because (no, this is not an excuse as my boss would already be accusing) I’m flooded with inferior (Yes, I said it!) forms of writing such as business proposals, reports and strategies. This stifles the soul of my writing and reaches out to my very own. Understand how office robots are manufactured? Stifle the soul. Or don’t install programs that can be substituted for souls!

My cousin thinks I’m ungrateful, aunt says I’m lazy but my mom thinks I’m a star. They are all terribly wrong. I am grateful as fuck! Don’t administrators put in the most work in organisations? I completely adore my mother.

Yes,my thoughts are in shambles and no it is not yet that time of the month. Perhaps this is something to get used to in 3rd world countries. We all have our place.

Psychosis Tributes.

Psychosis Tributes.

Her deep hazel brown eyes open slowly…As if in revulsion against reflex she quickly shuts them again.Stillness.Then a sudden tight clench of the sheets that covered her partly frail body. She grabs at them and flinches as if in great pain. Her head begins bobbing as if moving to the tune of an upbeat song. The bobbing soon becomes violent…settles and she lies back down in an almost seductive fashion. Her eyes are wide open now. Unblinking. She releases a deep breath that can only be interpreted as exhaustion. Her golden brown curls shiver with every movement she makes. It is almost as if they are begging to be released from a crown that carries such horrendous thoughts and movements. Finally she is wide awake. In contrast to her bizarre awakening segment, she paints the widest and brightest smile.

A little girl watches her. She plasters the smile for longer and avoids scaring the little girl off.The girl must be around seven years old.She is wearing a black and white polka-dotted dress that flares wider from her body as it reaches around her knees.For some reason,her dress reminds her of a chess board.In that instance,the little girl seems to split in half and all of a sudden she actually is on a chessboard.Standing right in the middle of it.She considers calling out to the girl but remembers that she never got her name.With curses spluttered and whispered under her breath she beckons movement but finds her feet glued to the board.

Her thoughts begin to diverge for a quick comfort.It’s happening again.Just like the past few weeks.Or is it months?It really did not matter much at this point.She quickly buries her face in her hands and squarts on to the ground,whispering softly “Disappear,disappear…dis…”,over and over again.She begins to feel slightly dizzy.With the most careful consciousness she slowly slides her hands down her face and onto to mouth.She seems to say a little prayer before opening her eyes again.Now she is back in the white room.

She scans the room quickly but with apparent precision,trying to search out anything that could be familiar.She had been feeling quite new to the world recently.Everything she set her eyes on and heard brought no revelation in her mind of anything else like it.She had only read about it,but now she was convinced that she was going through jamais vu.It might be something that could easily be treated,she reasoned.

She begins to feel long fingers brush lightly on the back of her upper arm.The fingers are definitely cold.They did not hold on to her.It was a mere brush that left her with a sickening feeling that ran to the pits of her stomach. As she is about to turn her head inorder to face her monster,a loud cackle breaks out from under her bed.Her legs quickly fly on top of the bed.The thudding sound of her heartbeat and uncontrolled loud breathing seems to yell out her existence.

Loosing all form of control she lets out a piercing screech which echoes down a dark tunnel which has somehow formed in the corner of the room.She sees the silhouette that could easily be identified as belonging to the little girl with the chess-board dress. The girl is furiously motioning her to come with her. Perhaps an escape? How can a little girl be in such a nightmare? What could all this mean? Every nerve within her body tells her to stand her ground. The rest of the tunnel that is behind the little girl is now set ablaze. The urge to rescue the girl becomes a choking lump threatening to shoot out her uvula. She rashly sets herself loose and dashes for the fire glistening tunnel.

With the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end she quickly makes to grab the arm of the child and finds herself with a fistful of air. With weakening fear splattering all over her face, she collapses into her signature squat and whispers her ”chant” once more. It seems the only routine that is still constant. Within a few seconds she feels the noises and voices die down. A fresh wisp of air fondles her gently and the taste in her mouth turns bitter. An unpleasant thud continuously resonates inside her skull causing her to clasp her head ferociously. It almost seems as if her whole being is a heartbeat threatening to explode. The nurse awakens her for her meds. Finally! Relief!

At this point she almost feels a strong feeling of defiance towards the nurse. These meds can only do so much good. She was quickly deteriorating and the end was soon near. Thoughts of creating her own catastrophic end flood her thoughts then she mantains a piercing stare into the eyes of the nurse till the capsules have smoothly sled their way down her throat. A few minutes pass and with every second they menace to take her with them. The blurs thicken further and further and then… DARKNESS.

Mental Constraints : How free is a free thinker?

Mental Constraints : How free is a free thinker?

I think I’ve really changed.

My writings aren’t what they used to be before. I almost have fewer fears, lesser boundaries and less of an inclination to bother about how the next person perceives me. I doubt that it accounts for maturity, I don’t claim it at all.

It feels like a travesty of my own making, except that in his case I wholly find it to be congenial. My prognosis is that I was previously thoroughly tangled up in religion and all that comes with it. I won’t say it was my problem, I’m merely saying it was a part of the problem. My inner rebel and free thinker suddenly became so dominant all at once that I couldn’t fit in with my religious persona anymore.

My mother sees it and I sense that it scares her. I don’t blame her at all. Years of plunging a failing indoctrination must burn.
In all utmost honesty without shame, I’ve had to lie and pretend nothing has changed about me. I fail, regardless and try again the next day. What do I have to lose, you ask? Well, I used to be considerably religious and in all fairness I somehow feel that this came with a supreme amount of ‘respect’, even from my extended family. Now I guess they regard me as fool’s gold! Any attempt at expressing my new age views on enlightenment is met with chants about how ignorant I am.

This isn’t a rant, Dear Reader, nor is it a complaint. If you are like me you will find the problem that I have minutely hinted at. My writings are more authentic and truthful than they have ever been. You will find no sign of pretense and exclusion in my words. Religion has its perks,but for me these were not enough to bring me to the peace I searched for, especially when I lost my father. The circumstances of his death are probably all the more reason for me to chase after enlightenment. This is not a ‘phase’ I will outlive. I feel rather happy and at peace in this state. It’s the lie I chose to live with but still not completely defend. We all know nothing and this reality dawns on us the more that we live through each day. As a matter of fact, I undoubtedly believe that there is something to learn from everybody. The goal is goodness, isn’t it, Dear Reader?

I call myself a ‘free-thinker’ and have been called the same by others but how free am I really? With the nonchalance I ooze, who’s to say that the government, priest, Facebook troll, even that nosy neighbour will let me be free? Is it a freedom I possess within my own bubble or is it one granted by everyone making acquaintance with me?

One would chip in now and say that I have it all wrong. That I misunderstand the term and that free thinking means independence from societal norms, belief systems and fragmentations of some social institutions. They would also go on to point out that free thinking is an ability that very few possess because of deep indoctrinations that humanity gains in their diverse communities. I would find myself agreeing with all these because its pretty much accurate. After this, I would then wait, because I am aware of the various questions and situations that are to come that will bring me yet to the question of freedom. At that point I will then be forced to assess the extent of my own ignorance in order to measure my intelligence.

Confusius, anyone?