Test test, 1 2 3
A professional ponderer
The coffee shop barista at my dad’s office called me Dania. But that has nothing to do with what I’m about to type. Here goes;
I’m sleepy. Normal is a privilege.
The “status quo” is comfort. Normality.
“Baseline” is earned, beneficiaries are born.
You reap what you sow but your children will not know the toil of the farmland. They reap your harvest, without the same sweats and aches. Normality is not a farce,
But sufferings paid.
It is also a decree, a test and a blessing.
The oat matcha latte is too sweet, so whilst I distract you from important Monday bulletins with arduous complaints of the little things that doesn’t matter in life – life happens like a train colliding on top of each other.
At this very moment, someone is clinging onto despair like the desperate tug of an inconsolable child. I am sipping a sickly sweet matcha latte. At this very moment, a population is stricken with poverty and hunger. I am sitting down with my legs crossed typing on my phone.
Perhaps there’s a word for this. But what use are words when the universe remains a mystery incapable of being contained in a definition.
And as honest 9–5s in front of me are playing mobile games with two cold americanos, I again realise that the physical reality awaits for no man.
Distractions comes as pace, comes as time, comes as our chase for joy and peace. It comes. And we go.
