In the realm of hierarchy people naturally accept their place, simply because it was there before the dawn of time.
The beneficiaries ignore that which doesn’t belong on their rack and, every so often, desirously look at silent behinds of those they deem superior. On occasion, displaying a chilly smile, they pass on handfuls of bank notes to those who are a class below.
As heavens carry true and false yells for change, most beneficiaries couldn’t survive knowing that people are just people. Less than an inch away sits the change, tragically patient, for that eye contact between the classes never comes.
I reached out.
Over and over again,
I plummeted to unbearable grounds.
You can’t be a friend to anyone
Who isn’t befriended by himself.
Delicate and stark
Capricious and fugitive
A mistress and a betrayer
Patient like a river
Resilient as winds
Holding fates and mysteries
Ever so strongly:
Is hope the first or the last pillar
Of being alive?
The message was short so although dozy, I captured it with a single glance. It read:
“I wanted to send you at least something, so I send you this.”
It’s been over a decade since the sentence sneaked into my phone’s display one night in the wee hours, causing a perpetual smile.
Words alone may not once be enough to express our feelings. But the art of communication is about the courage to reveal that there are hidden meanings, waiting to be explored.
Following the trail of curiosity about the character of my brawny automatic pilot, I started to descend into the secrets behind a person’s behaviour. What I found at the end of the road filled with trial, unease and bewilderment was fear, or rather, a myriad of them in a rainbow-like sequence – fear of inadequacy, fear of not knowing, fear of survival, fear of not fitting in, and on a pedestal amongst them, the king: fear of death.
Deeply embedded in my self-image were lies that made up a frail spider-web of certainty, shielding me from coming face to face with fears that resided within.
(Part III – to be continued)
Read part I and part II
I got up and conducted daily routine: face, food, hair, clothes; mundane offered little comfort in the morning of anticipation. I chose jewellery to wear with hesitance, all of the world turning, for a moment, into a quivering hand.
As doubt swamped my insides, experience told me that fright was irrelevant. Behind their eerie theater masks, stakes and odds played a minor role in the movie of facing my fate.
That day, like any other, I did the only thing I could. I got ready and gave it my all.
it didn’t come from doing it right
nor making anything happen
it had nothing to do with searches
or beliefs tied to success
when I made my own skin home
and learned to roll with the tides,
as I found there was no one else I’d rather be
I met her: happiness