My evenings are usually a blur. After work, when I log out and eventually face the time, the evenings mock my day. There’s a lull otherwise, if not for the mocking evening speaking to me. So I try to slip into the discomfort as timidly as I do. Wondering if I can ever make friends with the evenings. My tea goes completely cold before I begin to sip it, I have tried to catch it hot many times, but failed. I think even the tea mocks me. Now some of you may think why I am speaking of abstract concepts and inanimate objects as living beings.
Perhaps I am losing my mind. But also, my instinct to care. My voice feels like a distant dream. A dream I once had. Now, when I speak, it’s mostly stuff you could bear to hear. I cannot talk about hopes and wins and dreams and desires. Somewhere within me my voice has strangled. I know it’s not new. I suppose we are all rowing the same boat. Even our tears disappear in the ocean. Where are we headed?
My biggest confusion faces me, when I am – might I say – enjoying my cup of tea. My cold, calm everyday cuppa. The evenings… sigh. Burning slow like a candle at times, and at others, like a stormy wind. Being mocked is not new. I want to say let’s start something fresh, let’s make a home in nature, let’s dance to the nature’s music, let’s fly with the birds. Only to be reminded of the four walls that in protecting us, charge us a fee which must be paid with our lives.
I am learning to cherish the mockery now.