Thursday, August 14, 2008


Lost Me!


Again it is all a starving imagination that leads me on to write off my mind. Gone are those days I could put my naked thoughts in words, render them in a promiscuous passion of which I am still tainted in shame. Never again can tears ever bespeak my mind as I am just growing weary of lamenting and complaining in an abiding woe. Pray, fancy not about my willing words, nor ever do injustice to them through berating my rusty self, yet listen to my sketch of reason whose pangs of doubt has long scratched a fine heart which was a but a humble slave to all she decreed out of seeming rectitude and moral decency. Here is my desperate account of a typical day in a lonely house whose living sounds are but the tick-tuck of an old clock and the cacophony of a dying fridge. Yes, here, I am doing my MA thesis, with shattered hopes and great expectations, may one find enough reason to account for the agony long lodged deep down in my heart.

The angry glow of mourning sun just paints the room in a fierce orange, slyly revealing the darn patchworks of sorrow asleep on my bony face. Some unfinished sketches and university programs lie unkempt on the ground, more disturbingly perhaps than ever before. I should like to start over my thesis program, stitching the pieces together, supposedly to pander with an unknown desire who bid me to carry on in vain. Drained of any feasible impetus, I try to get up and to get dressed for another drag-out of a banal day. In a long minute, I am trying to bend over the sink to just wash away the belated skin of night, and there something grappled my hazy attention: The wild is creeping inside me, moving me with every stolen pulse of remembering the olden days. I try to stand up and inspect my entirety in the pale mirror whose front-door neighbor had never ceased seeing every corner of his fantasy. I look young enough, yet the child in me has long grown old for my age. A cryptic grip of cry takes over my all sensations, leaving me desperate for a hand to hide beneath. Aloof and adrift, I am searching down the depth of mirror for a face I used to know for long. I have lost me; I have lost the innocence of my youth, yet used to busy myself with an unknown fancy.

Days are not good enough to be committed to memory. Hours are lazy, my mind, hazy. Even the shadow creeps far away before it could be captured by sight. Waking up, I try walking back and forth in different corners of the house, measuring my troubled steps and at time recalling the last-night dream, if any, as a murky tale. Time to have a glorious breakfast at noon when the clock tells the time to pray, and I’m still lost in thought. A bit of leafing through books and papers makes me more curious to touch several buttons on my badly-positioned keyboard, and then erasing them all at once. It’s just called a revision, an endless one. Busy again in thoughts that take me away to the reign of boyhood, thinking of family again. Gone is time again, so I lie consumed and weary of doing nothing. Night falls; I have forgot to turn on the lamps. Fear stirs me up, prodding me to walk back and forth again in the house with a sense of anticipation, perhaps for a call or bell that may toll now and again.

I go by the mirror just to check out how much a day I have grown old. But I feel lost again. I have lost me….