I suppose you think I’ll have a lot to say about it. On
another day, I’d have got on my soapbox and preached to anyone who’d listen,
but not now, not at the moment. Out there, in the real world, there are people
more knowledgeable, more articulate and more aggrieved than I could ever be, so
I’ll leave it to them. I won’t deny the smile, the laugh, the schadenfreude,
but does it really matter to me? Is it what I think about first thing in the
morning, or last thing at night? Is it my life?
Remember when I wasn’t sleeping? That seems to have stopped,
for now. I’ve got no reason to lose sleep. I have a job, I pay my taxes and I
have security that many can only dream of, yet I can’t dream, not in
the way others do. I exist in a dream. I live in unreality and I commute from
one nightmare to another. I have no idea how I got here, or why I chose to
come, but I made that choice, didn’t I? Well, I’m not so sure. Do we all
find ourselves somewhere we don’t want to be, unable to escape? Are we always in
control of our own destiny? With the stroke of a pen or the wave of a hand, one
person can ruin so many lives. Some people never seem to stop paying for the
sins of others, and some never pay at all. The things we love the most can be
taken from us in an instant, leaving the best of us isolated and bereft. What you love and
what I love may be the same or different. There’s no logic, no
reason; I think we are simply genetically pre-disposed to be ‘here’, or ‘here’ and ‘there’. We can’t choose what, or
who, we love, so why should we justify it or argue about it?
I’ve always been an extremist, an equally passionate
advocate or opponent, but now, after the initial supporting or disapproving
statement or gesture, that particular fire is extinguished; I haven’t the
energy or desire for a fight. When did the firebrand cease to function? I can
pinpoint any one of three or four days in any one of three or four months when I was changed. I’m
not certain what the catalyst was. All I know is that I am ‘here’, just as you
are ‘there’. I’m not saying I feel your pain. I feel MY pain, and that’s ample, but I’m a little more sympathetic than I used to be, because I know
what it’s like to feel, to love, to be alive. Perhaps we’re not living if we
can’t stand in the road and cry about something that seems trivial to others
but means everything to us? Perhaps we’re not living if we can’t point and
shout and scream and direct our vitriol at the nameless, the faceless or the
all-powerful? Is it sufficient to hope that they’ll get what they deserve one day?
Would it really matter? Wouldn't it just be enough if you or I got what we need
today or tomorrow?
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