Without prior notice, I find myself in this terrain, a land of unbounded barrenness. The scenery is devoid of color and lashes at me, the smell in the air is unmistakable – a miasma from the despair. Everything conspires to make the tangible world opaque. There would be a diagnosis of this condition if I cared to identify it. Though I never got used to this grind because no one ever gets used to extreme poverty or recurring sickness. Sometimes I scream, sometimes I cry, sometimes I scream and cry to find a way out of this ordeal. I am left to do this: summon the absurd courage to wait for the storm to pass. It is not spontaneous! My brain is hard-wired not to annihilate itself. It manipulates and compels me to create various scenarios—often absurd in my mind—to avoid self-destruction. Was it then in the “planning” to build an enormous amount of sorcery into the human brain lest a million more self-annihilate?
As long as the brain is humming along, I may not close myself off from the world. I will move around, chat, smile, cry, sleep, even sing – perform the so-called “normal” activities. But it would be insincere of me to promise that I would be happy to live and remain so for someone else, or it would be a false statement that I would do it just for myself. Why then do I get up one more time than I fall?
When a day dies in the west, and darkness covers half the earth, it whispers a song of promise to those who are listening and paying attention. Daylight will return, with nothing more than an opportunity to amend, to restart, to offer a second chance, to wash away the ill from the bygone period. It is beneficial if you can talk yourself into this lukewarm blanket – and perhaps it is the best of fortunes for the time being.