Sundays have been promoted recently to the 'only day I can sleep and do whatever I want' status. Since it's the only day off during the whole year, the pressure is so big to decide what valuable thing should I do that eventually I end up doing nothing.
Today was something similar. The pigeons in our balcony woke me up at 6 and chased me to the living room where I added an extra 6 hours of sleeping, so half of the day was fucked already. After some cleaning the awesome idea came: let's go out to the seaside and write! Sunshine, gentle wind, late-autumn but still enjoyable in a shirt. So, camera grabbed, book and pen check, 10 mins and I'm at the coast.
Found a great rock, stretch a bit, sunbath, ... ready.
'God has a good sense of humor' says my father always, and as I try to write down the first word ('Vertigo') the pen runs out of ink. Pulling this joke on my only free day, when the scenery is set is at least as mean as living through the previous two months.
But my newly acquired confidence shall not tremble by such a puny effort from chance. Clicking almost a full film roll, I'm strolling up and down on the coast, singing random bitter rock songs, and thinking, thinking,...
I always believed we are getting better and wiser persons by studying. Thanks to this view, when I failed in doing or learning something, the failure left a bitter taste in my mouth. One of these things is not learning French nor Spanish despite of the chances. But then it made me wonder: do we really have to learn everything? Does studying hard make us better persons?
I like to believe that it doesn't. After the compulsory education the only thing we should know which way we'll choose. And studying/ working may help us find the way, but as Hunter S. Thompson said, I believe that truth is not being taught during the normal work hours. Life is not happening during the daily routine. Life just flows in a comfortable pace, no excitement nor adventure.
But life gets crazy and unexpected once we dare to dream, once we dare to make a move...
After the previous post I just realized that since I'm not in the compulsory education (graduating from high school), the only thing I never gave up doing was my blog. I struggled learning the guitar, drawing with coal, paying attention in class, setting up my carreer as a journalist, loving women etc. But that stupid, discursive collection of my thoughts is just not willing to dry up. And as it bloats, it's just too big to ignore. Six years is a long time and as much as I hate my inconsistency in everything (love and studies were always in a promoted position), I just realized that there is a still point in my life.
As my best friend said, the way from here just getting harder. What was a not much serious thing, just levelled up and will face much rougher criticism, complaint and possibly extinction as well. And thus, as he added, from now on I shouldnt have doubts, just walk the straight line and never look back.
I really don't know where will I end up. May I starve for years, become homeless, face constant refusals regarding what I produce. But there won't be anything sweeter than walking the way I was secretly wishing for.
As my brainstorming was over, I just realized I'm still singing, and some fishermen look at me at a really weird way (imagine a hobo-looking guy taking pictures of you while singing with an extremely false voice). Laughing out loud, after months, honestly, looking at their dumb faces I turned back and whistled all the way.
Now, with my over-confidence I made a mistake I'm usually doing over and over. I start to expect people to be wiser, more open-minded etc. In general, I believe on a sunny sunday afternoon everyone should be outside, singing and taking photos of shocked fisherman. So as I enter Forum, looking for a bag for my camera, imagine the shock of seeing the horde of zombies, spending their only free hours by crowding themselves in a giant tin, doing the same turns, spending the money, and obviously, totally lacking the willingness for taking photos of shocked fishermen while singing in a false voice (yes I'm really evil and judging, eventually I was shopping also).
It's amazing how fast my endless compassionate towards all human beings can turn into fury and hatred. Anyways, got my bag, headed out of the suffocating tin of ordinary people, the selfish self-proclaimed writer arrives home.
The sun went down as he types the last words; and as he transforms back to the ordinary guy who they need from Monday to Saturday. No problem, maybe next time a better Sunday will come. And the fishermen will cheerfully sing the false songs with me.
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