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Very Random Thoughts

13

The rain droplets compete on my windowpane.

Quick Sidenote: I read about a supreme group called the Bohemian Grove made up of wealthy men that secretly rule the world. Elliot of Mr. Robot calls them ‘The top 1% of the top 1%, the guys that play God without permission.’ These men hold annual meetings and in them, they make huge crazy wagers. It is said that on one rainy afternoon, two men placed a bet (in the millions) on which raindrop running down the windowpane would reach the bottom first. Yeah, people are that insane. So don’t complain when you lose ksh.100 to Betin, it could be much worse.

Anyway, the drops on my window never get to the bottom, a blustery wind keeps blowing them away. In my mind, I am placing bets too. If that left drop gets to the bottom first, I write 300 more words today to my short story. If not, I continue wasting time on Youtube car reviews.

Under the street lights, those light-loving flying insects hover around chaotically. I assume they all want to be the closest to the light which I really think is dumb because they are tiny and can all fit closest to the light if they had a little decorum. The descending rain is also clearest under this light and small puddles of water on the earth road reflect the white light, it’s all quite therapeutic.

I am supposed to be asleep so that tomorrow I am able to wake up early enough for church but lately, sleep eludes me. I sleep late and wake up early. I fear that I’m living a life like Trevor Reznik’s of The Machinist.

Very few cars pass by the wet highway at this time of night (2.04am). They are mostly barely sober revelers that are about to make decisions they’ll regret the next morning.

You see usually, my Saturday nights used to go like this:

    1. I call friends in the evening and ask around for night plans.
    2. They all have plans, so I’m even spoilt for choice. I eventually pick one.
    3. I prepare and leave.
    4. I meet them.
    5. Drinkers drink, smokers smoke and drunken banter kicks off.
    6. The spur of the moment gets the better of us and we decide to do something new; something slightly indecorous, out of our norm. It works out well because our mothers keep us in their prayers.
    7. I’m gyrated on.
    8. I add her number to my phonebook.
    9. I go back home and nurse my broke, hungover self.
    10. Repeat

I looked back at those vapid and awfully premeditated days and cringed at how uncreative and bound I was, how disappointingly predictable I was – that fun to me was reduced to the same activity every weekend. And this broke my heart.

But it sparked my mind up and I started thinking about life and how it’s laid down to us by unknown forces; how even when we’re born, we’re born with a debt. A debt to ourselves to be the best we can be before we depart. A debt to our parents to make them proud. A debt to God to achieve our purpose before we die. And the debt our government has imposed on us because of its hefty borrowing –  I can’t even dine in a Chinese restaurant in peace for fear they might ask for their debt. I digress, though.

I find it crazy, that we live in loops so tight that even we can’t break. Or rather, we’re too afraid to break. What happens when we break them? What happens when we stay home and listen to good music the whole night? What is this that ties us so tightly together that we can’t break out of?

We wake up in the morning, eat the same thing, probably tea and bread, and proceed on to our daily activities. And then, we repeat that the whole year, or the rest of our lives. Then we complain to everybody about how boring our life is, or how difficult it is like we’re not the ones in control of our life. All the while, spreading that negative vibe to somebody else, then another, and it eventually leads to many bitter unhappy people.

You wonder the world get shittier and shittier every day, why white kids are shooting up schools, people are selling other people in Libya, and terror attacks are on the rise? It’s the unhappy people – the need to cause other people pain so we can hide our own.

All I’m saying is, be happy. Rebel and find a way to regain control and be happy. And once we achieve that, the rest of the things will fall into place.

 

Be a darling and share this:

King

King is a mad writer on the loose. He is suspected to have lost his mind a few years after he was born. Since then, he has been writing his mind almost everywhere he can put his pen on. Someone – a government, a state, a police force, a parent, a teacher, a rabbi, a president, a sacco, a doctor, a deranged ex, a church, a therapist, or anyone with a bit of power bestowed upon them – should reprimand him and help him.

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