Swing

The boy stared blankly at the swing. The playground was all but silence except for the incessant buzz of nocturnal insects. This very place was where some of the most important female figures in his life had accompanied him. Perhaps, just perhaps, also the very place where they left him.

Now the boy was quite uncertain. He was uncertain if he could pick up the loose ends where they left him at and start things anew. Almost immediately, he knew the answer. Life was a continuum rather than bits and pieces of unresolved issues. How could the present be detached from the reference of yesterday’s past? No doubt about it. The yester years of youth, innocence and dreams were long gone, never to return again. But he was once young. He was once innocent. He was once a dreamer. In so far as he once possessed them, in so far as he once knew what they were, perhaps these intangible assets were still rooted within him.

His drunkard soul spoke no words. Anger and grief had no language. Tears had no voice even if they really did sing a chorus of sadness. Because he was sad, angry, grievous, drunk and crying; he no longer expressed himself. No longer could he communicate with the external world… and the dis-communication was bilateral. His speech was condescendence, his language was detached, his words were misunderstood. But he could shoulder the blame. Its weight was no longer heavy. Quite naturally, he knew he was at fault. But the disappointment he was no longer bothered him.

The swing was lifeless. There was just no momentum. The notions of the lover, the friends, the family, however, were swinging wildly in his head. He knew they cared as much as he did. What he did not know, was how to tell them that his world was supported by an abject bitterness which had just came crumbling down. He could rationalise why he was embittered and why he was sad. But logic and theory had no place in the realms of emotions. They were meant to be felt, not meant to be spoken of, nor discussed for that matter. Feelings were fleeting, yet concrete. They were the pillars of vibrancy which he thought formed the foundations of his life.

Alas! He was not thinking. His bleeding mind was dysfunctional at best, and the wounds, both fresh and old, were corroding his soul. He was not thinking. He was arguing. Sadly, the things which he was arguing for were matters which had not even happened. His arguments stemmed from his immense desire not to be wronged by his world. Sadly, in thus doing so, he was doing himself the greatest injustice of trying to foresee and intervene in things which did not happen nor happened yet. Hallucination.

It was almost as if he saw the swing moving. Which of course, it did not. Good Lord, forgive him. He knows not what he is doing. But then again, if there was one thing in the world he needed now, it couldn’t be forgiveness. He could not give it, and therefore had surrendered every right to receive it. In retrospect, he never needed it before. So why was he so keen to acquire it now?

Casually, he walked over to the swing and plodded gently on it. He wanted it to move. And now, it really was moving.

General Stuff...

General stuff…

The Price of Freedom and Value of Human Life.
It is in the papers today. So this man is convicted of culpable homicide and is sentenced to ten and a half years in jail (the half years for escaping while still under custody) and a generous few stokes of the cane.

Why was he guilty? Because he had stabbed a man a couple of times which resulted in the latter’s death from multiple injuries.

Why did he stab the man? Because he(the criminal) felt that he should not be paying eighty bucks for his massage which lasted less than the stipulated two hours. And he was then taunted for not having the money to pay up.

Sad.

Of course, the human interactions and dynamics going on under such a situation are far more complex, but consider the following two questions which are founded on the indirect implications of the case.

First, it makes me wonder about the monetary worth and value of a human life. In this case, it is a mere eighty dollars. This meagre sum of money is the invisible thin line that separates between life and death of this particular man. And that is probably not even a fraction of the allowance many of us get each week.

Next, what is the price of taking the life of another man? A fair proposition after looking at this case is it is a ten year jail term and some physical pain from caning. Human life becomes quite a cheap commodity because considering that the average age is 65; it is only an inhibition of freedom for one-fifth of the offender’s life.

Arguably, if we equated eighty dollars with ten years in jail as the implicit value and price of a human life, then for the accused, one year of his freedom is only worth eight dollars. Which means even the poorest of paupers like me have enough savings to buy a lifetime of freedom.

For a person who thinks that both human life and freedom are invaluable and priceless (albeit intangible), this is a rather sad revelation. Yes, I am genuinely sad.


Bad State…

Please forgive the pun, but this isn’t about anything negative in our country state nor is it about anti-nationalist sentiments. It is about the state of things in my life now.

For one, my health is gone. Failed the physical proficiency test recently, and that is evidence enough of my lack of fitness. Then the asthma attacks are becoming more and more frequent such that I more or less feel like a Ventolin addict. The solution is rather simple, kick the bloody smoke habit and things ought to improve. Yes…before any permanent long-term effects set in. But it is easier said than done.

Reason being, stress levels are rising. And I suppose I don’t have to on elaborate the directly proportionate relationship that stress and smoking levels have. Why are stress levels rising? Paradoxically, it is because I’m beginning to worry about my health and fitness levels. That’s how circular it is gets. That’s how bad it gets.

But that aside, everything seems to be rather smooth sailing including my relationship with my pseudo-sister. We have reached a compromise of sorts.

Studies wise, I’ve got two more major essays coming up before the exams proper but that shouldn’t be too difficult. Shucks…i sound like one confident bastard. Brothers, especially those from the other university, do start studying real hard. And please don’t go for massage.

Unofficial Matters

The boy aimed his cigarette butt at the drain and flicked it precariously towards the narrow opening of the water way. But the trajectory motion of the cigarette remains simply fell short of the distance. It landed two inches from the drain and continued burning deeply into the filter. The boy, unable to suffer its agony stemming from his miscalculation, walked over hurriedly and snubbed it out with the sole of his shoes. Quite unnecessarily, he picked it up and tossed it right into the drain. This time, of course, it landed straight into the drain. He felt a relief of sorts.

How could two happiness-seeking souls be kissing so passionately in one moment and revert back to being ‘normal’ friends in the next? How could two strangers acquaint for slightly more than a month and progress to become a couple of togetherness? Why not? He really started wondering… How long did Adam and Eve meet before doing ‘you know what’? *_*

The exact words she said, still burning, flashes at the back of his rather perplexed mind.

‘I think it is happening too fast and I’m scared it will soon end.’
That took him quite a while to figure out a reply. He was at a momentary loss for words. And it takes a lot to rob him of his clever eloquence. He had wanted desperately to form an argument to counter her challenge that things which happened fast would end equally fast. An accident which happens in a split second may cause the victim grief and paralysis for the rest of his life. A poem which is written in a moment of haste may be savoured for a lifetime or more. The making of a baby takes, at best, half an hour, but requires twenty years to nurture. But these dumb arguments never did arrive. (Thankfully) Besides, this was not a political science essay. This was an emotion she was referring to. Tell me (alas, I betray his identity again), what good is an argument against a normative feeling?

Oh what a shame! Oh what a shame that Time should be a constraint on the speed at which feelings should develop. Time --- he cursed at it when it refused to prolong itself long enough for him to finish his exam paper; he laughed at it when he was in his teenage youth; he cried at its heartlessness when it took his grandmother; he squandered it when he had three months of holidays; he sees it each time he looks at his watch; he feels it each day when light submits to darkness. And now, with her, he didn’t really care about it.

The most obvious flaw that made Time so despicable and ugly now, was that it was too short.

The mild scent of her fragrance still lingered in his room though she had long gone. Paradoxically, the boy began to blame Time for being lengthy, but it was only a few minutes since she had left. Time is a slut. Thank goodness it was intangible and inanimate. Or he would really have wanted to sleep with it. Relativity is a slut too.

‘Damn it’ the boy exploded vulgarly. Damn it, he missed her.