Several inches from where I am lying now is the humming air-con, a few more degrees and it’s already directly in front my face. The cold gush dries my skin, causing another breakout of reddish pimples, and my eyes, which have been strained because of moisture escaping from their surfaces faster than can be replaced by my lachrymal glands. I endlessly stare at my computer screen, hoping something good and readable comes out elegantly from the blankness that is my mind.
But as in my many failed attempts, this one will most likely end in failure. Nonetheless, I’ll wake up the following day by beginning to unsettle the dust and commencing from where I’ll end tonight. This is a cycle I’ve come to appreciate and consider an important part of my becoming a mature person.
This sets most twenty-somethings apart from people of other age brackets. We are not ashamed to subject ourselves to repeated and crushing failures. We are audacious in our pursuit of something we do not even know what. Yes we are scared, very often we shiver in the corner, biting our tongue and the inside of our cheek as hard as we can, to hide our fears from other people, but most especially, from our own selves.
We are scared of tomorrow because we are uncertain, because we do not know what will become of us, or where we will be ten years, three years, a year,two months, a week, tomorrow. But what is even more horrifying than the suspense of the future is the mystery, enigma they call it, of the present and the recognition of the painful truth that we do not even know where we are this time.
I’ve been hearing people that this is a very opportune time to be young. The world is changing rapidly, faster than we’re able to grasp the concept of these changes. The experience of being in the front row while important developments are occurring before our very eyes is next to awesome.
We are witnessing the changing of guards in the bid for global supremacy, we saw the world’s economy crumble only to recover at such incredible rapidity, we saw man reaching for the sky in an attempt to prove there’s intelligent life that lurks in one of the corners of expansive universe, but more than this, to find his God.
I satisfy myself with the idea that although I sit in the bleacher of a developing island country in the Pacific whose people are still to find out how it is to be a nation, I am still a participant to some point as I am part of the vast virtual community that fills in the void we create inside our minds.
I often catch myself walking very fast going to work, almost like running, running after the train as if it’s going to be the last train, and while gasping for air, I would slow down and laugh at myself. Why am I running? I would ask. Are we speeding up because we want to achieve an efficiency level akin to that of a mechanical devise, forgetting the fundamental divide that separates us from machines, that we’re a bunch of vulnerable humans who also gets tired every once in a while.
Everyone seems to be taking part in this grand race whose end is purported to be fantastic but no one has been to and came back to tell about it. But it’s a race just as fine, and regardless of the prize, being part of the race, we’re told, is already a prize in itself. Still we question and some of us refuse to have anything to do with this grand race.
If only I can afford not to take part in the race.
Every night, before I sleep, I imagine writing something good, not for any ideal reader I have in mind, though, for myself. I do it facing the unforgiving cold of the air-con just so there is something to remind me that writing, as in all components of living, is a sacrifice.
Man loves to do sacrifices no matter how meaningless they may be.