Bookmark #843

As the cold air from outside started to set in the apartment, turning the warmest blanket cold, I got off the rug and turned the kettle on. Unsurprisingly, the end of December is colder than the rest of it. Out of laziness to not brew a proper cup, I put two heaps of instant coffee in the mug and poured the bubbling, boiling water into it. I did not need to stir the water; there it was: warmth in a cup.

There is nothing outside this balcony door. The sky has turned to a depressingly light shade of grey as if this were some kind of void, and this apartment was floating in it, away from the real world. The rest of what should be there has been consumed entirely by the fog and the haze. Ever so visible, the hills have been cropped and deleted from the landscape. The houses have begun disappearing. It might rain soon, and then, it will all be alright. It is not about the coldness but the dryness. Once the rain arrives and dampens everything, the days start to feel less cold.

By two in the afternoon today, I had a headache—not a particularly debilitating one, but the one that inhibits your faculties and demands you sit in front of the TV with a blanket wrapped around you. I woke up this way, too, but how I carried myself this morning only worsened things. It began with the urgent realisation that my life was happening, that the decisions I had left on the shoulders of eventuality had not met their conditions and contingencies. It was all supposed to go to plan, but nothing did, and now, many things remain undone as tasks labelled “someday” on my to-do list.

No more, I told myself and began to write the plan for the years to come. This involved a lot of financial arithmetic and collection of hope. The latter was the hardest and grew my exhaustion tenfold, but I was able to chart a course. The last five years have brought a barrage of broken dreams, which have, in turn, postponed and delayed the rest of my life. I have danced to the whimsical tunes fate has played on its flute. I have managed to stay on my feet. But no more! I see now that this blank December sky is but a canvas, and I can see the rest of my life in it.

It seems I have learned how to dream again.

// if you want to support this walk to nowhere, you can pitch in here