Already it is December. My, oh my, how time flies. I woke up last Saturday to discover that it was already 12 hours into December. Around this time several years ago, I’d wake up in a very dark room, curtain blocking the sunlight from penetrating. I’d smile because I was thankful to be alive. I felt blessed. There was nothing more I would ask. These days however, I’m angry, disillusioned and tired. Whereas a smile came naturally then, it’s a chore now.
I wish I could turn back time, forever savoring that blissful moment again and again and again. I wish I could just stare at the ceiling for the whole morning, knowing full well that for that day at least, I was happy and nothing would bother me. I would breathe in cool fresh air filling my pair of lungs with sweetness and then slowly releasing the air. All worries would dissipate by mere breathing. By just breathing, I was satisfied. I would just lie on my bed, breathing, smiling and eyes wide opened, for hours. It was bliss that seems so distance now.
I could hear Haydn in the background. No, it was not on the radio. It was in my head and only I alone could hear it. I had listened to him too many a time the previous night. I had closed my eyes, concentrated to the music and fell asleep over it. If I may, there was an afterimage, an aftertaste that lingered in my consciousness. And I cried before I embarked on a journey to slumber, as I am right now. I cried not because of Haydn but because of that bliss, knowing that it wouldn’t last. And I cry now, for I have tasted the fruit and I long for it. No more could I hear Haydn in the background.
Suddenly a voice, “carpe diem!”
Realizing the sun would not wait for me, I would take a walk, enjoying my time in the sun. I would stroll along the river, enjoying the breeze with an empty mind. I would imagine that I was flying amid a field where the long grasses grew just over the hill away from the clumsy ducks. Before long, I would find myself staring into the blue sky, liberated, lying on the earth, again smiling to myself. And breathing, and satisfied.
That has past and I am growing increasingly bitter now. Each day provokes anger continuously without fail. Already the anger is saturating to a point that it begins to define the opposite of bliss. I dread waking up every day. I really do. I wish I would sleep and never to wake up. I wish for liberty from physical constraints.
Let others argue for I am tired. It is the same argument over and over again. It is the same polemics, the same flaws, the same rationale, the same answers. Enough.
p/s — the early edition of this article was first published at Bolehland.
