I like to travel, read, write, dance and pretend. At the moment I am suffering an insufferable phase of self-aggrandizement, premature maturity and lack of wit.
If you think you can help me out of this funk, write me at idaman.z@gmail.com
I've grown to know myself quite well, and that unintentional sigh I make when drinking coffee, that restlessness that stirs in the region of my stomach while I read a report at my desk, those are signs of bigger things - they hint at a yearning that is desperate and constant. And that yearning, it seems, has caught up with me. It is telling me that I don't have much time at this particular stop, that my heart would not surrender so quickly to routine and normality. It is telling me that I shall run again soon, and it would be futile for the rational, reasonable person in me to resist.
The world is not getting any younger. The cracking noises my joints make in the morning when I stretch myself out of sleep remind me that I am merely mortal, and soon I shall no longer be a Bright Young Thing, if ever I was one.
I must go soon, if my soul is to be saved. But let us wait till the year ends, I tell my giddy feet - we need provisions, and we need reassurances that once we embark on a long, long journey, there would be somewhere a safe harbor, a nest to go home to should our hearts and minds and bodies are injured.
I am gathering courage again. This time, it would be an actual journey where I would not be taken care of. This particular adventure has emergency breaks, safety nets - I am safe, cocooned in the dull but warm embrace of corporate chicanery.
I will NOT do this until middle age. I will escape, and to hell with conformity, to hell with comfort, to hell with capitalism!
