There is a certain visceral liberation in being spent. And tonight, I feel spent.
I realized while walking out of the gym, sweaty and sore, that though it was a Friday evening where there are bound to be questionable people all around; smokers, drunkards, young, lost people on the skytrain, an impatient bus driver – a million and one things that could go wrong – that if I were to feel to give my life, as I had felt so pathetically sympathetic to in particular during these last few days, why not forfeit it entirely to life itself.
Not life in the blue-collar lane. Not life just paying the bills and forever more paying my dues. Life as in the incomparable freedom you feel when you stare across the station platform with the backdrop of a small stretch of man monitored lake, sandwiched between two pieces of light-dotted residencies, juxtaposed against the glaring silver fluorescence of the station. When I breath my breathe solidifies into a mere-second existence, but it is not wasted, because I can feel the sharp air in my lungs so balloon up my abdomen as if you had never breathed so much before; and exhale. You feel so in tune.
Across the street before the station entrance, three young gals bid one another goodnight. They hug, and the blonde with the messy bun and short work out shorts has her back against the car. Her ride, I suppose. Somehow I thought they probably came from some uniform sport. I walk past and take note of all this in a strange and perturbing habit, I fancy it will be something I would write about. Thinking an hour prior, while all my muscles were still intact and speed walking towards my work out, I had thought of certain articles I read of ancient, forgotten civilizations. I note all this because somebody had walked on the same spot thousands of years ago, and somebody else will keep walking after I’ve left. I’ll take note of everything. As to try and captivate all this – a myriad, a jungle book – a longing to learn more; I simply don’t believe you can, and that is precisely the point. How to even begin imagining a civilization that existed in periods they marked between AC and BC, and then ET something. Quoted wrongly to be sure, but I am wise enough to at least know it was a long, long, long time ago. At least that much. Yet those fortunes, the stone/mud/brick buildings, their architecture, plain and extravagantly fanciful artifacts – I’ll bet you anything they’ll last much longer than the chair you and I are sitting on. Even the 1933 forced-shut down of the abandoned ruins of a shanty miniature city outside of Hong Kong holds a certain grotesque galore. What with their skinny maze employment of cramped tall buildings, perfectly suitable for an infestation of vile human behavior in the eyes of public authority. It seems the world is so full of things to be unheard of. Things just tend to happen and come to be that way. I wonder if those people millenniums ago were as in awe with their creation, their cities and stories as we perceive them today. Surely, they must have been proud. Was it as well horrid with the scarcity of so many vital engines in life; was the divide between the rich and even richer a terribly proud curse? What were you like indeed.
When I think of all this, I tend to forget why I write.
So I’m choosing to give my life over to life itself. If I was to be placed here, then there is simply too much to be taken, rather than some worthless selfish hole of pity; it’s a self-pronounced exhaustion. All those abandoned cities, I would like to step on the very places where markets and pioneers bustled. It is the same concept in all the various grand dilapidated ruins across the world, despite their distance. Perhaps we were all connected to begin with. I imagine I can almost feel them. Amorphous blobs. They once existed and walked before us. They, like all of us, wrote and craved images to leave a landmark. They tell stories to strangers they will never meet. To transfix a population centuries of outgrown milieus from now, just for your mere existence, I think that’s simply the greatest works in life. Certainly deserving to be the cause for due celebration on the each night we may feel a tad crabby about ourselves. So go ahead and give your life to the essence of life itself, it won’t deny you to say it’s too much.
“When we stop fighting the inevitable, we release energy which enables us to create a richer life.” -Elise MacCormick