None of us, not even the most free-living of souls, would want to remain in this sorry state for good, would not want to be domesticated and be sort of pinned down to the ground. Novelty can be fatiguing at certain points. We all want to go back to a place where there is a sense of order in things, where we all feel secure and warm and feel and see the beauty behind waking up the following day and the days that follow in the same bed next to the same person.
I spent the entire morning today in front of the tube, aimlessly switching channels to recuperate from the onslaught of the previous week. I attempted to deaden my mind’s incessant worryings about the approaching week through the nefariously deadening programs on cable TV. I found the Chinese comedy shows hilariously incomprehensible, Arirang interestingly odd, the Indian soap operas alluringly ostentatious, and the American game and talk shows exasperatingly stupid.
At lunch time, instead of going to the nearest McDonald branch, I put on my aging trainers and pumped iron until around two. Feeling bored doing the routines I’ve been doing for the past two weeks, I ran back home to GA under the glaring 2pm sun.
I phoned him to check if he was already awake, but it turned out he’s still lingering in his bed recovering from last night’s outing with his friends. So I took a quick shower, went to his place, and forced him out of it. I accompanied him to the nearest supermarket to do the grocery, buy some Christmas decors, and back to his place to give his cupboards some semblance of order.
Then we heard mass.
These past months I came to realize that the entire process of domestication, the giving in to the quotidian, is not that bad after all. We all have to eventually succumb to the predictable and the known because only in this way can we give ourselves a break from the aches of the punishing what-will-bes.