True Blackmail cont’d

That feeling of gnawing anxiousness- only smokers know that feeling- is the defining sentiment of these past few months. It is anxiousness because we are lost and it is gnawing because the lost-ness is persistent. So you must be wondering what does this all mean, what the fuck is this all about, what the fucking hell is (s)he going on about?

Well the truth of the matter is that there are far too many fucking dreams and aspirations; like a kid in candy store, the many options are touched, tasted and repudiated. However that has not been the case lately, the drug and the elixir, the obsession and wanting have all merged to create a sense of fog that permeates the cranial lobe to cause confusion and deep despair. The only way to severe any addictive relationship is through a leap of faith and to get the fuck out of doge. But getting the fuck out of doge is rather difficult and so there I stand- lost- with a sense of gnawing anxiousness.

People may be complex but surely situations cannot be?

I thought that I was the one; the one that did not seem normal, the one with something. I thought she was the looser with nothing. But as I sit here, it dawned on me that it’s the opposite. The feeble, small and shrivelled asian kid that has managed to fuck up their life and as they predicted. I guess they were right and it is only me that knows the truth. Behind all these years of what seems like misery and pain, I know and only I know what lies beneath.

What is the purpose behind it all? I know that the sounds of these words seem somewhat melodramatic and grandiose (akin to how the titanic drowned itself in its own self pity), but those are the sentiments that are present when those feelings are felt. I cannot just accept life for what it is and be content with it. That is not the point of life. It not a fucking bus that you get on and get off when told to do so. I refuse to accept that type of accommodating and conforming bullshit. Those are the words that have lead many to live their lives in unhappy marriages, with people they can’t stand and have children that they despise. So, what the fuck am I saying and what does this have to do with the gnawing anxiousness?

Yes the shrivelled little Paki may be staring at you, but when I look in the mirror I see something different. I see the six year old riding a bike and falling; breaking the chin. I see the eight year old falling from a tree. I see the nine year old that goes to buy a poster and coming home in the backseat of a police car, because the Police did not know what to do. They had to be told to go to the hospital. I see the 14 year old, after having taken some dodgy white pill (or half of it) that was supposedly acid and crossing the street without realizing that the street was full of incoming cars. And I wonder how the 30 year old is going to be able stare into a mirror be able to live another day? The gnawing anxiousness takes over, its depth undetermined and uncontrolled. Its end only foreseeable at the end of that bus ride and what we call eventual retirement.

The plane landed in Heathrow around 10 am on that Sunday, I think. As it landed, all I could feel were butterflies. A new adventure I told myself (indeed! A fucking new adventure!). As it touched down, I had this feeling of gnawing anxiousness, like I always do. It hit me; I am alone, in a strange place with strange people. No one to help, except those peasant like cousins with bad teeth and proposals waiting at their doors, waiting for me to fuck up so that they can blame my mother and her kind. I have to fend for myself for sure or give my soul to the vultures of culture.

As the stewardess started to get the passengers ready for disembarking, I just sat there. Unable to decided what to. Did I make the right choice, did I take the right path. Or I am just fooling myself into thinking that I am capable of surviving. Like the last time. I had hoped that I would have been able to offer them something a bit more substantive. “Yes I passed, but only with a B. I hope that’s ok. Yeah I know I just proved you right, huh? “Fuck, fuck, I am not a fucking failure, you will see, I will get a good job and be able to get some where. And for fuck sakes, I am not going to be an alcoholic.” Well I guess I was right, I am not an alcoholic yet… One more year and may more pints to consume. Yes the ideal student life, twice experienced and ha, the system cheated. So fuck the bus and fuck this bullshit.

I came through immigration with ease. The guy, a bald Englishman, in his mid thirties welcomed me into her majesties bosom, with why and what questions, only fitted for the lowly palmera tree climbers found in the northern part of their former colony. The experience was not memorable though. Shame, I would have liked to remember his face, perhaps...