Why did the chicken cross the road?
I remember in my first year, for no reason, I would cross the road... seconds before a car would be coming. There was something wrong with my brain telling me I had to take the risk, once, twice, all the time. The thrill of escaping pain and death excited me. More than once I would look over a bridge or the edge of a building, taking myself out as much as I dared, thinking how it felt like if I fell, the suspense so addictive. Every time I walked alone passing a few Arabs, unharmed, I would smile to myself in pride of relief.
I've always known I was reckless. 'just do it' was my unofficial motto. Risks were my comfort zone. Craziness, my preferred sanity.
Then so suddenly I woke up realizing I actually breathed, felt, and lived. So many people died crossing roads. I could actually lose an arm or a leg. Anytime and day I could go blind or truly insane. Every car that came my way, could be my speed ticket to hell. And for once, I felt the need to look a little longer.
I was stepping back from the edge, from the thrill. Watching. Listening. Life was in suspension. In lock-mode. As I just watched and watched. Maybe I was waiting until there was no sign of any danger for me to cross the road.
In caution. I am cautious. I would like to say it was because I had been in an accident before, and it gave me a hard lesson. But the truth is I was the one whom had always walked up and waited to be hit. And the car came to me in full view and full reasoning. Insane as I was, the pain surprised me. It actually hurts. Maybe I felt like I had no more bones to break? Not much blood to bleed. I was only hit maybe once or twice. No more heart to take. Not anymore.
Even in caution, in suspension of nervousness, I am at the edge of the road,....a coaster is coming, it's not stopping, please, please don't hit me. Please, please give me back my insanity. In all efforts of maturity and composure, I sometimes wish to be reckless again.
When in caution I am safe.
Yet, before then, I was kinda happy.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Friday, February 3, 2012
At least one.
Expectations.
I have this uneasy feeling of shame to disappoint a lot of people who expect me to be something I don't think I have to or want to be. This form of expectation makes me sad to think that partly, it is my fault for having potential, causing hopeful glances, extravagant ideas of chance and glory, or draft images of success in the air. And partly also because I easily feel demotivated with such pressure of interest. An inner ego I sadly have, I tend to prioritize what I want before what others expect of me. I have no idea what drives me to choose in such a matter. As I deduce simply, an alter-ego of the power struggle I think I have. No one can control me, well shucks, yeah right. And I undoubtedly have a twinge of guilt when I shut the door upon these expectations, I want to shout that I don't need this. I don't need pressure. I don't need external drive to tell me who I am or what I want to do with myself. But then again, of course it keeps coming. And builds. And grows. Of course at one point I keep hearing voices and screams beyond the door, of course I know it's still there.
Waiting.
The worst expectation I hate to disappoint, is none other than my own. Think about every time you've done something wrong and you expect yourself to be better but you just end up, again, doing the same mistake as if you haven't learnt your lesson. What does that mean? What can your human complexity answer about it? What meaning, reason or thoughtful encounter derives from such an event? Again. Nothing. Again. With this same weariness and seasoning of doubt and despair. How can one tolerate such idiocracy , such lunacy, such irrational, irrelevant and incomprehensible lack of judgement, maturity and stature.... at a moment of oblivious famine and utter lost of cause?
Who can answer?
I have no idea about God's expectation's towards me. Sometimes I think there are none. You have expectations out of need of someone/something to turn out into something. I could never disappoint God. I mean, He has the whole universe and everything in it. This is a callous self sabotage that no one can understand. And no one else can regret. Other people might be disappointed in me, but me...how else can I tell myself I am disappointed in the very body and fingers writing this context?
Fulfill at least one, please and thank you.
I have this uneasy feeling of shame to disappoint a lot of people who expect me to be something I don't think I have to or want to be. This form of expectation makes me sad to think that partly, it is my fault for having potential, causing hopeful glances, extravagant ideas of chance and glory, or draft images of success in the air. And partly also because I easily feel demotivated with such pressure of interest. An inner ego I sadly have, I tend to prioritize what I want before what others expect of me. I have no idea what drives me to choose in such a matter. As I deduce simply, an alter-ego of the power struggle I think I have. No one can control me, well shucks, yeah right. And I undoubtedly have a twinge of guilt when I shut the door upon these expectations, I want to shout that I don't need this. I don't need pressure. I don't need external drive to tell me who I am or what I want to do with myself. But then again, of course it keeps coming. And builds. And grows. Of course at one point I keep hearing voices and screams beyond the door, of course I know it's still there.
Waiting.
The worst expectation I hate to disappoint, is none other than my own. Think about every time you've done something wrong and you expect yourself to be better but you just end up, again, doing the same mistake as if you haven't learnt your lesson. What does that mean? What can your human complexity answer about it? What meaning, reason or thoughtful encounter derives from such an event? Again. Nothing. Again. With this same weariness and seasoning of doubt and despair. How can one tolerate such idiocracy , such lunacy, such irrational, irrelevant and incomprehensible lack of judgement, maturity and stature.... at a moment of oblivious famine and utter lost of cause?
Who can answer?
I have no idea about God's expectation's towards me. Sometimes I think there are none. You have expectations out of need of someone/something to turn out into something. I could never disappoint God. I mean, He has the whole universe and everything in it. This is a callous self sabotage that no one can understand. And no one else can regret. Other people might be disappointed in me, but me...how else can I tell myself I am disappointed in the very body and fingers writing this context?
Fulfill at least one, please and thank you.
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