I tripped over an imaginary line, only to find that it wasn't imaginary at all...

Half past six. Lengthy sunbeams let themselves through the blinds, illuminating every particle of dust in it's path. The birds were up and about, as if running on a schedule. They wait for none. Not even their own apparently. Ruthless punctuality. A trait even humans seldom match. Even humans. The night was long, very long. Stretching well beyond the norm. The night seamlessly merged into day. I saw the last seconds of night coalesce with the first few seconds of day to form a single tick-tock. Synchronous. Continuous. In harmony with each other.


Fifteen minutes to eight. I had just enough time to squeeze in a sixty minute quasi-nap. Decent, when you compare it with eight hours of futile effort to get some shut-eye.

***

Three forty three ante meridiem. I plowed through my mind in the hope of finding tranquility. To my lack of surprise, I found none. And then, to my surprise, I was listening to Sheikh Sudais cooing the words into my ears. That was it. I was no longer here. I was transported to a warm evening in Kuwait. Ramadan of 2008. Lengthy days. Faint images of my father and I watching the Taraweeh prayers in Makkah. Joyous nights that lasted well after suhoor. 

Good days. Peaceful. I will cling onto those memories like a photograph. I am certain I can't recreate such memories even if I wanted to. Mainly because, what was previously a negligible amount of sardonicism, has grown into a whole now. Taken over. One cell at a time. And I didn't even try to stop it. 

All this while, I was under the impression that the character I projected to the outside world was the same character I projected to myself. In the past few days, I realized that it wasn't not true at all. And realizations never strike you gradually; it's always a steep fall. 

***

Humanity is fickle. Disgusting. Vile. My faith in it has eroded almost to the point of no-recovery. I see all action done to preserve it as fruitless. The damage is too severe. At one of the spectrum you have people with good intentions, trying to put together the broken pieces. Desperate to salvage something from the ruins. At the other end, you have the obstruction to these intentions, questioning everything. But they both go home to the same thing: self-destruction. We have always been our own undoing. For centuries now. We might have evolved into a more intellect being, but little has changed. The human race has successfully managed to continue the ignoble lineage of self-destruction. 

***

The mother and her daughter are out on the Drillfield, enjoying the sun. The child is playing around. Falling down intentionally to seek attention. Observing. Plucking the grass out every now and then to view it in detail, to register this new smell. She wants to disobey her mother, but fear doesn't let her go further with that plan. Pure innocence in her every step. My mind wanted to go and break her bubble: To tell her that all is not as it seems; to warn her about growing up, that she only stands to lose more than she gains. 

But she'll learn it in the only way possible. Like all of us...