One day you are a child, with worries only concerning the game with your best friend, and homework, and the next prank to play with your younger sibling, and the very next day, you are no longer that boy.
The world you lived in has ended, hell has dawned upon earth, and imprisoned you with solitude that seems nothing short of eternal. This beside the debris that surrounds you, with the whisper of silence that descends just after the calamity has descended. Concrete suffocating your breath, and the dirt suffocating your vision, you think its all going to be over soon. A song comes to your mind, reminding of the momentary nature of life, befitting the situation with perfection.
But the end is not nigh - the dirt clears, taking away the sense of final settlement, and setting in panic. You begin to cry, because now there is the fear of the unknown. You are still alive, and you don't yet know in what condition. You start taking inventory. The left half of your body is numb. No extravagant pain, means no broken bones. Your right hand is free to move a little, just enough to clear the debris that is choking you.
You clear the debris, one handful at a time. Also, now that there is a little room, you notice the crack in the concrete right above your head. There isn't much you can do, but wait. Wait for the situation to simply deteriorate to the point you lose consciousness.
As that point approaches, you hear voices - a set of resolute men in uniform are here to the rescue. You figure out who they are, as your father was one among them.
They are close, close enough to hear you, looking for survivors. That is what you are now - the survivor. A great little warrior that beat the odds to the world, the severed limb of a dead body to yourself.
As you shout at the top of your lungs, the rescue squad hears you, and locates you with the help of your directions. They quickly figure out the rescue plan, and take you out of the debris.
To the world, a boy of 11 years, to yourself an old man that begs the creator to free him. No one acknowledges what you go through every day, it is not their pain to bear. You are now a bicentennial trapped in solitude, and the body of a child.
The world is your prison. Solitude its walls. The people that understood you, made you happy and were happy for you, are now gone. The world tries to pull a charade in front of your eyes, every single day, and your insides turn because of it.
Slowly, you come to terms with how things are, you learn to simply live with the pain. Every time you try to share it with someone, it is a sure shot failure. They are but children. You are an old man in a young body.
Time and solitude take their toll over the years, twisting your logic, perception, and altering your course towards physical and financial suffering. Nothing helps, as you are now numb to everything outside, except a few bitter things. The truth still hurts, sometimes. Mostly not.
As an adult, you finally give up in despair, and silence yourself to the world. All attempts to break out of the prison of solitude have failed so far. To open your mind to anyone is to bring them to the mad jungle now.
You are a simple man, and then, you are a weapon in disguise. At the end of every day, there is an urge to end the world with your rage. You have, by now, become so paranoid, that you trust no one completely. The only thing you trust is game theory - anyone who has a motive to hurt you is a potential threat.
You are now an adult in mid twenties, with no friends and family, and a man who quit intoxicating substances, because they don't take care of your unending pain. You take irrational liabilities, simply to have a mission to struggle for.
Then, simply out of curiosity, you sign up to look for a compatible partner. At the core of your heart, its a futile exercise, and you have no idea how to handle it. But you go for it nonetheless, just for the heck of it. The same routine goes on. The night job. Running away from the things you love.
You do it for a couple of years, by which time you have come to a stage above desperation. You accept your inner madness, and bear it with pride. No one dares to argue with you, as you spare nothing to hurt people. You are now a committed A***ole.
You finally decide to shut down the silly charade of looking for a partner. But the universe has other plans. You term is about to end.
On the final day, when you are about to shut it all down, you see her, and it dawns upon you - this is the one. The key to your cell. Redemption.
It reminds me of Bastille, the French prison that was breached by the revolutionaries at the very point of desperation, become the metaphor of liberation of principle, and of the human spirit.
Above everything, the human spirit looks for someone to share its hopes, joys and aspirations, and at the same time, its sorrows, regrets and despairs. It looks its mate as we look for the one to grow old with.
And all who understand this, deserve to be freed of their Bastille.
The world you lived in has ended, hell has dawned upon earth, and imprisoned you with solitude that seems nothing short of eternal. This beside the debris that surrounds you, with the whisper of silence that descends just after the calamity has descended. Concrete suffocating your breath, and the dirt suffocating your vision, you think its all going to be over soon. A song comes to your mind, reminding of the momentary nature of life, befitting the situation with perfection.
But the end is not nigh - the dirt clears, taking away the sense of final settlement, and setting in panic. You begin to cry, because now there is the fear of the unknown. You are still alive, and you don't yet know in what condition. You start taking inventory. The left half of your body is numb. No extravagant pain, means no broken bones. Your right hand is free to move a little, just enough to clear the debris that is choking you.
You clear the debris, one handful at a time. Also, now that there is a little room, you notice the crack in the concrete right above your head. There isn't much you can do, but wait. Wait for the situation to simply deteriorate to the point you lose consciousness.
As that point approaches, you hear voices - a set of resolute men in uniform are here to the rescue. You figure out who they are, as your father was one among them.
They are close, close enough to hear you, looking for survivors. That is what you are now - the survivor. A great little warrior that beat the odds to the world, the severed limb of a dead body to yourself.
As you shout at the top of your lungs, the rescue squad hears you, and locates you with the help of your directions. They quickly figure out the rescue plan, and take you out of the debris.
To the world, a boy of 11 years, to yourself an old man that begs the creator to free him. No one acknowledges what you go through every day, it is not their pain to bear. You are now a bicentennial trapped in solitude, and the body of a child.
The world is your prison. Solitude its walls. The people that understood you, made you happy and were happy for you, are now gone. The world tries to pull a charade in front of your eyes, every single day, and your insides turn because of it.
Slowly, you come to terms with how things are, you learn to simply live with the pain. Every time you try to share it with someone, it is a sure shot failure. They are but children. You are an old man in a young body.
Time and solitude take their toll over the years, twisting your logic, perception, and altering your course towards physical and financial suffering. Nothing helps, as you are now numb to everything outside, except a few bitter things. The truth still hurts, sometimes. Mostly not.
As an adult, you finally give up in despair, and silence yourself to the world. All attempts to break out of the prison of solitude have failed so far. To open your mind to anyone is to bring them to the mad jungle now.
You are a simple man, and then, you are a weapon in disguise. At the end of every day, there is an urge to end the world with your rage. You have, by now, become so paranoid, that you trust no one completely. The only thing you trust is game theory - anyone who has a motive to hurt you is a potential threat.
You are now an adult in mid twenties, with no friends and family, and a man who quit intoxicating substances, because they don't take care of your unending pain. You take irrational liabilities, simply to have a mission to struggle for.
Then, simply out of curiosity, you sign up to look for a compatible partner. At the core of your heart, its a futile exercise, and you have no idea how to handle it. But you go for it nonetheless, just for the heck of it. The same routine goes on. The night job. Running away from the things you love.
You do it for a couple of years, by which time you have come to a stage above desperation. You accept your inner madness, and bear it with pride. No one dares to argue with you, as you spare nothing to hurt people. You are now a committed A***ole.
You finally decide to shut down the silly charade of looking for a partner. But the universe has other plans. You term is about to end.
On the final day, when you are about to shut it all down, you see her, and it dawns upon you - this is the one. The key to your cell. Redemption.
It reminds me of Bastille, the French prison that was breached by the revolutionaries at the very point of desperation, become the metaphor of liberation of principle, and of the human spirit.
Above everything, the human spirit looks for someone to share its hopes, joys and aspirations, and at the same time, its sorrows, regrets and despairs. It looks its mate as we look for the one to grow old with.
And all who understand this, deserve to be freed of their Bastille.
