Very late at night, when my weary eyes are too feeble to plow forward in the pages of a prized book resting on the nightstand and when I run out of football games to watch, out of boredom, out of inner loneliness and the need to be in touch with the hordes of humanity, I regrettably venture and switch the box to World News. The depressing reel overwhelms my decency and fuses with a stagnant but lurking melancholy in taking command of my somnolent mind. I react defensively, projecting an attitude of insouciance. It's as if nothing really matters anymore. I lose sight of my race, but more damaging is the prospect of losing sight of me.
Feeling trapped, the purpose of life, if any, becomes a blurred concept. Looking around reinforces the dismay. People are hungry, poor, miserable, and sick. Fellow human beings are, at this very same moment, in the process of suffering and agonizing.
A sedated voice echoes in the confines of the skull, preaching but betraying a vague sense of a lost conviction. "We were meant to suffer", it whispers. "We need to live the void of darkness to value the light at the end of the tunnel", it pathetically hisses.
I rebel, and silently yell back, "we didn't ask for no god-damn tunnel, no fuckin' void, no shitty light".
Here we are though, whether we like it or not. Minds stuck in the fragile vehicles of our bodies. Letting days go by. Glimpsing fleeting moments of joy. Perpetually entombed in sadness and sorrow. We march ahead, knowing only too well that we've been dying since the day we were born.