Falling Into Heaven: Away In The Manger

It was hard to say for sure, but it was quite a long fall, and by the time he finally came to his senses, he could feel his back against the hard, cold floor. He could feel his arms, and the strength that was returning to him after the ordeal. Reaching out to his migraine-ridden crown, he caressed it gently, trying to ease that throbbing pain.

And there was light; the morning sun pouring into the room, its radiance gradually heating up the air enclosed within it. Trying to learn more about this strange surrounding, he screwed his eyes into focus, with his left palm shielding his vision from the light.

But he wasn’t alone. While drifting in and out of consciousness the night before, he could sense others around him. Anybody but his colleagues, he reckoned. There was no doubt that Richard and co. were totally wasted in the lounge at this time. They usually don’t come around until the effects of the drugs totally wore off around evening.

Well, at least nobody’s gonna work today.

“Aha…I see you’re awake,” a voice interjected into the silence. Very much taken aback, he was holding up the pillow in a stance, his back against the mouldy walls.

“That pillow isn’t going to do much as a shield or a weapon,” the old man joked, “but this will warm you up.”

The old man placed a warm bowl of porridge into his cupped hands. Watery and diluted, it didn’t seem to be very appetizing. He looked up and saw the old man staring at him, who as this point was already seated on a chair next to him.

“Eat up. It’s not poisoned,” the man chuckled.

He spooned some of the porridge and started eating. It was then he realised that his hands were trembling. The porridge was bland, but he was so starved that he licked the bowl clean. The old man was right, he did feel much better. Warmth started to return to his hands and his body.

“It’s not much, but we gotta deal with this. Here.”

He took a stained porcelain cup from the old man and started drinking. It tasted a bit mouldy but he didn’t care. The water soothed his burning throat. The old man was holding his water flask in anticipation, subsequently refilled the cup again.

“Don’t rush it, hush.” The manner the old man spoke to him was as if one coaxing a child not to cry, and there was some sort of authority and meekness in the old man.

Soon questions started to flood into his head. Unanswered questions. There was so much to ask, but before he could say anything, the old man stood up and walked towards the basin, cleaning both the cup and the bowl that he just used.

“You’re badly dehydrated when we found you. If you’ve woken up any sooner we would have to send you to the hospital already.”

“Thanks.” That was all he could muttered, not knowing exactly what to say.

He got onto his feet and started walking around the room. There was nothing in the room apart from a mattress, a desk and a chair; it was stripped bare. Turning to his right, he observed the old man was still cleaning the utensils, cleaning each and every one of them diligently.

He looked away when the old man finished his chores. Turning around to face him, the old man  dried both hands on a sackcloth, and beckoned him to sit.

BANG!!!

The door suddenly swung open, and through it was a young lady whose eyes set upon his for a moment or two, as he was petrified by her sudden appearance, which was then followed by a really awkward moment of silence. From his position he could see the lady starting to turn red in embarrassment, so he turned towards her and offered his hand.

“Hi, I’m Frederic, Fred for short.”

“Hey.” She stood motionless, observing him from head to toe, as if he’s bore something contagious on him, not showing any intention of returning the gesture.

“Hi, nice to meet you?? And you are…”

“Naked,” she remarked. His confused expression bade her to explain. “You’re not wearing anything.”

“Owh,” he replied. His eyes were still fixated upon hers, but he did give a swift glance at himself without trying to move his head. And true enough, he was wearing nothing apart from his yellow ducky boxer. Before he could say anything else, she remarked, “I’ll wait outside.”

Now that’s how I rock. In a yellow ducky boxer.

The old man dropped his set of clothes into his arms, gave him a gentle pat in the shoulder, and then mouthed the word “go”. He hastily put his clothes back on, walked out the door and found her leaning against the wall at the stairway. She gave a smile that he could only rate as angelic.

“Well…I must say you looked better with nothing on; you really nailed it with the boxer,” she sarcastically complimented his choice of fashion.

“Thanks.”

She looked at him as both of them travel down the stairs, putting on a surprised face on her. “Are you a Masochist??”

“Wha…oh no, no…I mean…for yesterday.”

Damn it. What am I getting so flustered for??

“Right,” she noted, again nonchalantly. It’s starting to get onto his nerves, the way this lady speaks and deals with him. But towards the end of the stairs he started to hear voices and chattering of several other people, dozen perhaps, stemming from the kitchen. There were also noises of utensils clanking against each other, as if a drumroll calling all inhabitants of the house to dine.

“It’s time lunch. Everybody’s waiting for you.”

As she said the great oak door was pushed open, unveiling a host of other beings crowded onto the dining table. Most of them were teenagers, a triplet of veterans, two men and a lady. Everybody was staring at the latest newcomer, none daring to blink.

“Uhh…porridge, with some leek. Nice. I’m starved.” A boy passed two sets of utensils to her as she sat herself comfortable at the end of the table and started to eat. Immediately the atmosphere reverted back to how it was before. All bickering and noise as they all dine in one cramped room.

“Are you waiting to be served?” She asked, as he wasn’t touching any of it.

“Oh…it’s alright. I’m good,” he replied, while observing and taking in the details of his new yet strange surroundings.

“Well, suit yourself,” was the reply and she spoke to him no more, ignoring him to himself and his empty porridge bowl.

He had been to one of these houses before; these were Victorian houses. Really old, but sturdy. This one could use some thorough cleaning. Some maintenance on the plumbering could help. There were water marks all over. The place would be flooded every time a storm kicks in. The backyard could use…

“Mister…Mister??” A squeaky voice broke his concentration from the left. It was the old lady. She sounded a bit like a mouse.

“I have some coffee, would you like some?” She asked sincerely, holding a big metal cup in her hand, with steam rising from it. “It’s freshly brewed.” She gave her best with her smile, but she’s lost most of her front teeth. She probably couldn’t afford a denture to hide that hideous smile anyway.

Being polite, he nodded and started to look around for cups. But the old lady nudged him in the arm and shoved the metal cup into his hands. She was waiting intently for him to taste the coffee. Not wanting to look disrespectful, he took a sip…and rushed to the sink and vomited the foul tar-coloured fluid he just drank.

“WHAT IN THE WORLD!!!” he bellowed. Looking furiously at the old lady. By this time all eyes were on him.

“That’s odd,” the old lady squealed, “I’m sure the workers used them only today. I took it from Costa near Bank Street.”

“YOU WHAT?? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR GOD DAMN MIND??”

“Watch your language, young man!!” one of the old man stood up glaring fiercely at him. The old lady was so shaken that she started to sob. The teenagers were all silently watching the drama unfolding before their very eyes.

“I say what I wanna say and she’s nuts!!” he shouted, “Leftovers, man!! Leftovers!! Did you get the porridge from McDonalds and diluted it with water?”

As soon as he said it, he knew it was the truth. They were all furious and angry, yet the shame he wrought onto them kept them in their place.

“OH MY GOD. Where the hell am I anyway?? Who are you people??”

Sensing no reply, he stormed out of the kitchen and went into the living room. The condition there was no better. Paint chipping off, water leaking at several spots,  and holes all over the flooring. There was barely anything apart from mattresses scattered all around the floor. The only thing that seems to work is the fireplace, burning feverishly in its place, providing warmth to the inhabitants of this badly dilapidated  house.

This is a shelter home!!

“It’s all they got,” a voice reverberated from behind. He wasn’t sure how long she has been standing there observing him. “It’s all we have.”

“We?? No…no…I’m not a homeless. I’m not a freaking failure like them. I have a life, a career, a dream. I’m different.”

“You asked me, and I brought you here.”

“I…what?? You’re nuts as well,” as soon as he finished he walked right straight towards the door.

“You asked me questions, and so I brought you the answers,” she gently replied, yet from where she stood right at the beginning, again showing no intention of stopping him from leaving or whatsoever.

“You asked, and so I gave.” Then he heard the sound of the door opening and closing behind him, and all that’s left was the sound of the cracking firewood burning in the fireplace.

Falling Into Heaven: The First Noel

Against the backdrop of a chattering office, he cautiously filled out his next day schedule, trying to put his mountain load of assignment and tasks into the best possible order. He didn’t like it one bit; the monotonous, chrome-like routine that he has to put up everyday.

Life, was drained out of him, gradually.

Marking the weekends in blue, he sighed in resignation. He’ll have to finish up the contract by Saturday night and rendezvous with the client the following evening.

AT LEAST I’LL HAVE FRIDAY TO MYSELF, FOR ONCE.

That thought came too soon, as Richard waltzed in cheerily, declared that it’s Happy Hour for everybody from the department.

“I really don’t mind…but Big Big Boss will be there,” Richard rejected his notion outright with his slightly emphatic puppy eyes.

“Wha…Since when we have a Big Big Boss?” he queried, thinking that this was just another trick play Richard pulls out of his sleeve.

“I ain’t doping ya, dude,” a friendly slap descended upon his weary shoulders before continuing, “You gotta be there.”

Before he could state his case,  Richard walked away briskly, before pausing momentarily and shot him a warning look, ”PERIOD. The attorney has no permission to state his defense.”

MIGHT AS WELL ENJOY IT SINCE IT COMES DOWN TO THIS.

Finishing up work for the week, he joined the others on the chartered limousine and headed to who knows where. There’s ALWAYS somewhere to hang out, something to go wild over, As if something in programmed into the human nature just to intoxicate oneself, once in the while. That’s the only way that people like them can forget and lose themselves in a huge mire of nothing-ness. Nothing to stress about. Nothing to worry. Nothing to be depressed about.

YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE, NO??

“Here,” once in the vehicle Dyke shoved these little satchels into everybody’s hands.”These are top grade stuffs,” he smirked, before adding,”You won’t know what hit you till you’re done. I MEAN IT.”

He played along and took the substance the usual way. But the drug was so potent that the next hour or two his vision was just kaleidoscopic, his head was so light headed as if he’s stuck in a dream state. He could feel himself stumbled across objects here and there, but eventually settled down on some kind of cushion, not before experiencing a weird falling sensation; he was falling through a deep  shaft seemingly made out of a myriad of colours.

Gradually, the nerve-wrecking sonic booms from the amplifiers encroached onto his skull. His brain was aching from inside out as he tries to make sense of his surroundings. Richard was dancing to the tune half-naked while Dyke was trying to sing while standing on his hands. The ladies, whose eyes furnished with absent look were frantically cheering them on. May, the receptionist, was holding the microphone for Dyke. Lindsey and Mariana were locking lips on the far end, oblivious to what was happening around them.

WHAT WAS I THINKING??

Grabbing a bottle of drinking water from the refrigerator, he headed towards the door, stopping only to shout into Richard’s ear. It was impossible to hear anything in that room.

“What?? All BARE?? Ain’t naked enough for you yet??” Richard laughed into the microphone hysterically.

“I said, I need some fresh air!! No…no…fresh air!!”

“WHAT??”

Taking a deep breath, he berated, “FRESH AIR!!!”

Richard showed him a thumbs up and beckoned him to leave quickly, wanting to get back to the entertainment that was rudely interrupted. He gratefully escaped from the situation, clumsily made his way out into the lounge. He bumped into several people, but he couldn’t really make out who they were.

With all his strength he made his way onto the pavement outside the lounge, and subsequently slouched himself next to a water hydrant. With a throbbing head and ringing ears, he motioned his hands to uncap the water bottle and drained the bottle dry.

On his last gulp he choked himself, and everything he took prior to that came out with it. Leaning on the hydrant, he tried to make out what was in his vomit, but his legs soon gave way. And this time he lay flat on the cold, solid  pavement.

WHY…WHAT…??

His head started to clear after his body forcibly expunged the alien and  unnatural toxic. He tried counting the stars, but stopped  because the city lights were too bright. His eyes were still yet to fully accustom themselves after being in a dark and claustrophobic room for so long. All around him were billboards and advertisements, with lights everywhere.

On the far left, He could see that over-hyped celebrity  donning mascaras and lipsticks on a large electronic billboard. A football star was showing off his latest Rolex timepiece on a roving advert, which morphed into a hot, racy Playmate posing on a super car minutes later. He wasn’t sure about the make, but he knew he would never be able to afford any of them.

SO I DON’T BELONG HERE?

Running his arm across his eyes, he tried to erase traces of his indignity weeping over something so unbecoming of an high-flying juridical executive. But his tears won’t stop, just as how he can’t stop wasting his life away.

Tuck…Tuck…Tuck…Tuck…Tuck

He could hear footsteps approaching him, which stopped right next to where he was laying. Moving his arm away,  he peered into an empty silhouette, as her waist-length hair was gently swaying with the breeze. She looked magnificent, more so because it against the bright city lights.

She offered her hand, and he, summoning all his strength, tried to reach for that glimpse of salvation. But having overtaxing himself, his strength gave out and he descended once again, down into that same shaft, but now devoid of colours and consciousness.

Of Protests & Rallys…

 

No Malaysian could have forgotten the BERSIH rallys that took place in our streets over the past few years, especially those who participated them. 20 000, 30 000 people took to the streets to protest against the unjust, biased and unfair electorate, and the protocols enacted to help the incumbent retain control over their respective constituency.

Despite denied the necessary permits to hold the rallies, the organisers persisted with their plans. Its participants, held on to attend the rallies despite the danger that they put themselves at risk at.

Tear gasses, water cannons, barricades, chaos ensured. Both BERISH and pro-government supporters claimed that the other party is responsible for the damaged caused during the rallies. Needless to say, the rallies received widespread publicity throughout the globe, with many criticising both BERSIH and the government for it’s inhumane handling of the whole crisis.

Over the years many had asked why I hadn’t attended these BERSIH rallies, or why I didn’t show support to their cause for a cleaner and fairer election.

 

Don’t you want what’s fair for yourself and your country?

 

In many ways, this country and it’s system is far from perfect, riddled with controversial policies and racial politics in almost every sector. Elections were far from transparent and cases of bribery and corruption are rampant from top to bottom. All these have become far more apparent when one (such as I)  had just returned after a 3-year absence away from this country.

 

More than anybody perhaps, I want things to be better, not because I want it to be. But because I love this country.

 

But why, why did I abstained from participating or showing support in these rallies that fight for a noble cause? Why didn’t I shout slogans or put on BERSIH badges on my Facebook account to show that I care for my country? Why did I choose against denouncing the way things are run in this country openly by displaying my support for their cause?

Why??

This is because such rallys, especially political ones, have far-reaching consequences that many are not aware of. Consequences, that in the long run will eventually cripple the country.

Revolution, though how glorious it may sound to be, has its price. At such point, Malaysia cannot really afford such a price in the name of revolution. Everybody desires better living standards, better education, better judicial system, better technologies. But at what price??

 

So my question to all BERSIH supporters; would you choose revolution at the price of stability??

 

The Egyptian coup d'état is one good example. A government elected democratically is literally thrown down from power by means of street protests and demonstrations. The numbers of casualty and damage caused by both faction (pro-Morsi & anti-Morsi) is both terrifying and saddening.

 

A government formed through illegal means is susceptible to fall through illegal means.

 

Once street protests, rallys or sit-protests is embedded into the Malaysian culture, anybody can overthrow the government just because they are the rakyat, the enlightened people that wield the people’s power. So much so that this creates a false hope in the people; If there’s enough supporters, the multitude can demand immediate change to suit their demands.

 

But I tell you, this is perverted democracy. Perverted justice.A power misused and corrupted.

 

There are means and channels that exists for the proper practice of democracy. The Parliament. The Court. The Electorate. Yes, I don’t deny that those in helm have manipulated these channels to maintain their authority and political influence. But have we exhausted all means available to strive for a better Malaysia?

ALL?

 

Street protests and rallys are the easiest platform to voice out dissatisfaction and disappointment towards the current regime. Because essentially they are just a VERY ANGRY MOB. HOOLIGANS. A little bit of fanning of the flames can cause a great fire. The government, might end up in self-destruct, having to deal with both dissatisfied multitude and international spotlight.

But nobody benefits from this. NOBODY. Even if the government were to be dissolved right away and replaced by the opposition, years later they can also be ousted with the exact means they used to secure control. If today the mob secures what they want through such means, soon protests and rallys would sprout all over the country at every single whim.

 

IS THIS WHAT YOU DESIRE??

 

You must wonder why I raise this topic out of nowhere. For the culture of street protesting/rallys has already poisoned our youths. Not long ago a group of students protested against the school for discontinuing contracts of several teachers during a graduation ceremony. These teachers (those that were laid off) led the mob crashing into the graduation ceremony to protest against the injustice that they have suffered. While the school didn’t response by employing water guns or tear gas canisters, the police were called in and electric supply was cut off to discourage these teachers from using the microphone.

What these teachers intend to achieve from their actions, I do not know. Nor do I care to learn which party is at fault. But I am absolutely distraught by the fact that these teachers manipulated the students into doing such atrocities. These teachers had breeched ethical conduct that educators should have abided to. A good teacher would never have allowed the students that they truly love to do such things. They have yet to exhaust all other means of dealing with such issue. Expressing their disappointment in a press conference would have made their cause more sympathetic and respectable.

 

For it is impossible to fight evil with evil, wrong with wrong.

 

Revolutions are always the bloodiest incidents in history. The French Revolution was characterised by execution at the guillotine, the Chinese decorated by years of civil war fought between warlords unleashed from the control of the Imperial Qing Dynasty. Revolution is probably the swiftest method to make everything right, but it is also the costliest, at the expense of the long term stability and prosperity of the country.

 

I, for one, would not like such version of Malaysia.

 

It should always be the very last resort, where all other means have been exhausted. I believe we have yet to reach that stage. There is still much that we can do. I believe that we can still educate our younger generations with love and principles that is becoming of a Malaysian. To educate and produce human resources that can identify shortcomings in the system, and overcome them with maturity and kindness.

This would be time consuming, physically and mentally exhausting. This may take decades, even centuries for such change to occur. But what is properly erected on a strong foundation will persevere against the flow of time. Which is the best way, I don’t presume that I know best.

 

But I know, with conviction, that street protests/rallys  must never become this foundation.

天长地久，还是曾经拥有？

天长地久,真的可能吗？

一手捧着包包，另一个紧握着手机，身子坐在公园里头的一座长凳上，你脸上挂着那灿烂的笑容可真沉鱼落雁。你没发现，也没发觉远方望着你的身影，你似乎对四周不闻不问。顿时一阵西风吹过，你不禁抖了一抖，双手抚摸双臂，顺手把手机放入包包。你望了手表一眼，东张西望了一番，双掌埋进暖衣两侧的口袋。

此时公园里来来去去的人不多，但沿着跑道散步的也不少。年轻力壮的，耳里塞着耳机，播放着流行音乐跑步。稍微年老些的，则一边漫步一边欣赏公园里秋天的景色。各做各的，你也不怎样在乎，偶尔对他们点头，微笑。没过多久，你又望着手表，开始有点不安。

忽然你转过身子，遥望公园四方，寻找那熟悉的脸孔。脸上挂着一阵无奈的表情，你走向湖旁，双臂放在栏杆上，遥望着对岸那对鸳鸯有如情侣一般在湖面上戏水。一时看得入神，时间好像慢了下来，你不禁微笑，显然很羡慕那恩爱又甜蜜的情景。

鸳鸯戏水，双宿亦双飞?

不一会儿，那对鸳鸯似乎不耐西风寒冷的催促，果然双双飞走，在湖面上残留它们一度风光的痕迹。觉得扫兴，你转身走回长凳，同时望着手表，脸上顿时闪过一阵不耐烦的表情。你深深叹了一口气，皱着眉头坐在长凳上，从包包里拿出手机。很熟悉地，你拇指在手机键盘上狂舞，若不是速打短讯，就是拨打一通电话。

顿时听见身后熟悉的电话铃声，你兴奋的转过来，要尽快找出铃声的源头。那旋空而绕的“滚滚红尘”曲子肯定错不了，因为是你自己设定的手机铃声。看见了一直渴望的脸孔，你心也安定下来，后双臂荡开，扑入怀中。稍微呜咽的笑声，含泪的笑颜由心而发，有如花儿含苞待放，春娇无比。时间不在流动，停顿于此时此刻。

曾经拥有，就该瞒足吧？

Bad Day

Right at this point all I could think off is how bad the day has been for me. So bad that I could barely walk 5 feet without my nose sneezing my face off. So much so that people think I could actually be Rudolf incarnated, even though Christmas is still at least 2 months away.

I brace myself against the autumn breeze, walking with my right shielding my reddened nose, the other fumbling for another piece of tissue from my side pocket. Apart from the breeze I am also avoiding bumping into everybody’s shoulders; apparently I am the only odd one out trying to head uptown after office hours.

Everything is just out to go against me today.

My nose. My clients. My superiors. It is supposed to be payday too, but hell be frozen over before I can lay my hands on it. By law they are supposed to pay on the 10th every month, but it is tradition that employees will only receive them a week later, later backdated to the date on record. This means my utility bills are always settled a week later, at the risk of my utilities being discontinued or suspension of services.

Red lights. Great. Now I have to wait for the lights to turn, right at the streets. Trying to hold my breath so that I won’t need to breathe in anymore pollutants, a hippy just walk by and stand next to me, smoking. Annoyed but unable to do anything about it, I gradually shift my body further away. He seems to notice and took offence, for he had that offended look in his face.

Rough day, mate.

My nose decided that it would like to run today, maybe trying to get some decent exercise that I have been depriving it off. The medication that my doctor prescribed really did a good job, seriously lowering the tendency for my nose to go berserk when there’s a slight increase in the pollen count. The numbers today are supposed to be good, probably 1 or 2 index higher than usual, but my nose decided to revolt anyway. Sometimes I wonder would my nose problems persist if I have them surgical removed, but that won’t make me popular with the ladies I suppose.

I swiftly pick up my pace as the lights indicate that it is safe to cross the road. Within several strides I leave the disgruntled hippy with his smokes behind. I avoid the florist, taking a detour down another street, trying not to aggravate my nose. But this means I will have to walk past my landlord. My rent is already a month behind, but the real problem is that she is a really a nice lady. A church lady. I would feel better if she would yell at me, instead she will always say it’s alright honey, next time then…and then minutes later sends me some newly baked cookies. Too good a Samaritan can really put you to shame.

She might be out at this hour. Almost time for her bible-study.

I decide that I can risk bumping into her, but I quicken my pace, thinking that this would reduce the odds of getting myself into another uncomfortable meeting. To my relief her lights are out, with no sign of life in her unit. As I turn into the corner I slow down into a walk, and take the leisure to sneeze several times. The surrounding neighbourhood is already fairly lightened up, families gathering in their dining room sharing their warm meals. I am still struggling to get myself home.

“God is good. God so love the world He gave His only son…”

Yeah right. If God is really good, I can use some good massage for my aching body, hot warm chocolate for my nose right now. If it really isn’t trouble, God, I would like to have a couple of million so that I won’t need to work my ass off for just 10 quid per hour. A model for a wife is definitely a bonus.

“…died on the cross for the sins of many…”

I must say, that old preacher has guts. For the past 5 years he has been standing outside his church preaching to everybody that thread passed his sanctuary. Not even the snow or the scorching heat would stop him. The only time he isn’t out there in the pavement is during Christmas Service and Sundays, technically which he would be preaching, as usual, in his pulpit inside the building.

I continue to walk as his voice grows faint. I resolve to myself that I will never be able to comprehend how he can do this day in, day out for years. My admiration for his resolve and determination in his passion is often overshadowed by my distaste towards his efforts of trying to convince the public that God is Love. To be honest, I don’t understand how one can carry out their duties with conviction, less work with such red hot passion.

Fool. A fool for Christ.

Then my thoughts wandered as I walk up the stairs to my door, puffing a sigh to celebrate my safe arrival at my own door. Letters in my doorsteps remind me of the errands at work; all the copying, typing and stapling. Nothing interesting apart from returning calls and e-mails. All work and no play. Apparently I’m still on probation; crucial information and important documents are off-limits to me, even though I’m already in my second year working for them.

Why?? Why in the world would a probation period last for two years?? My grades in school weren’t great, average at best. It was through a friend’s friend that I managed to secure a good. Being a nobody with no real importance, they keep kicking me from department to department. While doing so they insist that I go through the stupid probation period, and every time I do so I would have to re-enter my details, again. Apparently they’ve loss all my records on their books during the transfer. This is probably the bloody fourth time I had to re-enter all my personal records. No wonder I never got promoted; I’m probably just another new “recruit” in their database, considering how I always have to wipe their assess for them again and again.

Seriously, what are you paying Bill Gates for?? Those shitty database programmes are supposed to make life easier, not the opposite.

So pay’s always late. Yet to graduate from probation. And now there’s a rumour circulating in the office. The Boss’ son, freshly graduated from Imperial, is set to take over the department. What is wrong with the world? A young'un, barely out of his college-ish attire is set to take over the department, bypassing a whole list of senior officers. Just because he’s the Boss’ son?

So? Shall we address you as Boss Jr.??

Wondering why others are born with a silver spoon and I leading such a wretched life, I slam the door shut, toss everything aside and just hop into bed without undressing. Too tired to properly clean myself or take a proper bite, I just lay on the bed recounting what a bad day I had. Not entirely sure whether it is a blessing or a curse to come back to an empty house, I think to myself. Some colleagues are lucky enough to be welcomed home; the others constantly have to deal with divorces, child custody fights or other family issues. But right now I really hope that I am not the only living presence in the house.

Deciding that enough is enough, I reach for my flu pills in the bedside drawer. Then I notice the sleeping pills laying just next to it. They say it’s almost a peaceful death, unless they managed to get you to the hospital in time. Getting your digestion system forcefully cleared of the substance is like burning your organs inside out. But yeah, one can pass on in peace, provided that nobody interferes….

…hastily jamming my mouth full, I force myself to swallow the medicine with a glass of water. Then slumping back onto the bed, I could feel my eyes getting heavy, my mind gradually sliding off into oblivion. I wonder if anybody would miss me if I’m gone. I suppose we can always tell. I need a rest, and thank God, if God really do exist…that finally I get to have some…decent break…from all this…shit.