I saw the ceiling darkened by the advance of the hours and, when the irises got used to the gloom, the faint glow printed on it by the streetlamp through the drawn curtains. It's as if I've been staring at ceilings my whole life while thinking about nothing in particular. Most often I found my thoughts drifting from one trail to the other, then on to something else, and later it would find its way back to the starting point. This process would go on like automation till thoughts gave way to slumber.
As I lay there on the bed in my friends' house I had a sudden feeling that my life reflects my thoughts in form - drifting from one place to the other familiarizing with and specialising in none. Where am I going and what to do next? In my case the latter conditions the former, yet it was the former that sets the goal for the latter. However, under close scrutiny it should be better described as both happening at the same time.
I have the rather unrealistic dream to write and publish travelogues, think of Paul Theroux or Michael Asher (British writer and desert explorer). Problem is, I couldn't figure out ways to get there. Two big reasons (or excuses if you insist) being: 1) domestic expectation (read: pressure) to establish a "stable career" and then a family of my own consisting of me, my wife and my children. Flagrant foul of which would result in great domestic disturbance bordering on the edge of a crusade against the offender. 2) doubt and fear of stepping into professionally unknown field at an age when your friends are happily making kids and big bucks at work. The resulting disorientation is great.
This dreadful state forces me to think quickly for even if my family should stop talking about it I couldn't drive it out of my mind. It has successfully taken over woman as my leading preoccupation. As a matter of fact, the idea of a girlfriend might even seem a bit unthinkable. These days I dedicate my time between soaking in photography and trying to figure out my career (and some other meaningless activities like staring into the ceiling), this may sound productive, but it is constantly interrupted by the inconsistency of my thoughts which has led me to my own wretchedness.
As I lay there on the bed in my friends' house I had a sudden feeling that my life reflects my thoughts in form - drifting from one place to the other familiarizing with and specialising in none. Where am I going and what to do next? In my case the latter conditions the former, yet it was the former that sets the goal for the latter. However, under close scrutiny it should be better described as both happening at the same time.
I have the rather unrealistic dream to write and publish travelogues, think of Paul Theroux or Michael Asher (British writer and desert explorer). Problem is, I couldn't figure out ways to get there. Two big reasons (or excuses if you insist) being: 1) domestic expectation (read: pressure) to establish a "stable career" and then a family of my own consisting of me, my wife and my children. Flagrant foul of which would result in great domestic disturbance bordering on the edge of a crusade against the offender. 2) doubt and fear of stepping into professionally unknown field at an age when your friends are happily making kids and big bucks at work. The resulting disorientation is great.
This dreadful state forces me to think quickly for even if my family should stop talking about it I couldn't drive it out of my mind. It has successfully taken over woman as my leading preoccupation. As a matter of fact, the idea of a girlfriend might even seem a bit unthinkable. These days I dedicate my time between soaking in photography and trying to figure out my career (and some other meaningless activities like staring into the ceiling), this may sound productive, but it is constantly interrupted by the inconsistency of my thoughts which has led me to my own wretchedness.
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