I rubbed my eyes in clear disgust over my clock’s hostility. It’s November 27th and I never had an all-night’s sleep but it’s time to get up again and prepare my body for another ordinary day. An enormous cat bristles over the the rooftop of our neighbor’s house signaling that everybody’s up except for indolent beings who remain undaunted by the day’s requirements. I shouted at the cat aghast over his overbearingness of the laid-back life of the animalia kingdom. “You may never know Mr. Cat but destiny may betray you. There’s this news last night that there’s a shortage of meat in the city!” . . .(only to be embarrassed) The cat shouted back in shrill voice: “How are you today? You look grumpy and pale!”
Mr. Cat clearly scored against me. I may never know he is rejoicing at the back of his head. A fact is never understated by those who never had insecurities like Mr. Cat.
Sometimes, or if I may say always, we hoped and prayed for the better. But destiny-wise, many hoped and ended up dying in hope. Life’s philosophy, that according to Mr. Gump, is oblivious and all but passe. True, life is like a box of chocolates. But most of the time it’s only the box that’s left and you’re down to choose from empty and crumpled foils.
Today, the schizophrenic who always passes by our office was in a tight-fit denim shorts. As usual, he does his routine relentlessly: walking to and from his area; the corners of the veranda. He’s thinking deep and prostrate. I could only wish for his sanity this Christmas. But his tics confronted me intuitively. “The world’s getting bigger and better,” he jostled.
“Tell me, is happiness pervasive there?”