I haven't visited this place for a long time, it seems everything in my life took precedence over my "me time". That would perhaps account for the seemingly chaotic occurrences over the past few months and my insecure feeling that I was just the passenger in the automobile hurtling down the pathway supposedly taking me towards my destiny.
....perhaps I am just a passenger. I believe that I'm shown different paths and they all have varying consequences and rewards but ultimately I would have to choose the path to traverse.....perhaps..... perhaps not......
I have not taken time to reflect on all of the recent choices I've made and how these choices affect the various individuals in my life. I thought much about the people I've hurt in the past and those who hurt me also. I've asked for forgiveness and have forgiven those who have wronged me. I didn't need them to ask. It seems I'm looking for peace or I'm tying up loose ends.....
But...I've ignored the present and the choices I've made to "correct" the past mistakes by lead to new and "greater" mistakes in the future.
So I'm here now to think. To escape into that outer worldly realm of my mind to play out the various scenarios....to peer a bit further down those paths shown to me to see or predict some of the things to expect should I choose a particular path......
Monday, November 1, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Of things past
There was a time, a short while ago, when I would care about how many persons viewed my blogs. I took a keen interest in hit counts. For my first blog, I would make comments on other well known blogs just to get my blog's name in the lime light (no pun intended). I would place my blog's link on many sites just to generate interest in the contents of the blog.
Many people were interested in what I had to write and the photos I posted. I was quoted a few times by those in the know and apparently I was creative, insightful and talented. Apparently is the operative word.
At some point, I began to feel disconnected from my writings and I struggled to keep on going. I created other blogs to fill the gap, explore other parts of me, to recapture the real me or to operationalise the initial idea I had in mind when I first started to blog.
Little by little, I found no joy in logging in to my blogs, my various personalities have merged into a little monster who no longer cared to separate or compartmentalise the various segments of my mind. I was exposed, naked to the elements but encased in a shell. I felt the pains of rejection, betrayal, abandonment, failure and indifference all in one.
At the end of that period, I decided to escape from it all. The blogs are deleted, this one was created after their demise.
I do not care to pander for attention, I may slip an occasional tweet on twitter about a new post but I will not actively market this blog. As it doesn't matter to me if it is read or not.
100 views meant I've visited this blog 100 times.
I come, sometimes not to post but to look at my greatest treasure, the treasure held in my unworthy hands.
Sometimes I wish I could go back to the things of the past, to revisit the extraordinary places I've seen, to do things differently, to recapture my youth. But if I do that I will not be able to experience the blessings of the present, the gifts of God and the passion to express myself.
The negativity that flows out of me may make one wonder if I'm depressed or morbid. On the contrary, confession is good for the soul.
Many people were interested in what I had to write and the photos I posted. I was quoted a few times by those in the know and apparently I was creative, insightful and talented. Apparently is the operative word.
At some point, I began to feel disconnected from my writings and I struggled to keep on going. I created other blogs to fill the gap, explore other parts of me, to recapture the real me or to operationalise the initial idea I had in mind when I first started to blog.
Little by little, I found no joy in logging in to my blogs, my various personalities have merged into a little monster who no longer cared to separate or compartmentalise the various segments of my mind. I was exposed, naked to the elements but encased in a shell. I felt the pains of rejection, betrayal, abandonment, failure and indifference all in one.
At the end of that period, I decided to escape from it all. The blogs are deleted, this one was created after their demise.
I do not care to pander for attention, I may slip an occasional tweet on twitter about a new post but I will not actively market this blog. As it doesn't matter to me if it is read or not.
100 views meant I've visited this blog 100 times.
I come, sometimes not to post but to look at my greatest treasure, the treasure held in my unworthy hands.
Sometimes I wish I could go back to the things of the past, to revisit the extraordinary places I've seen, to do things differently, to recapture my youth. But if I do that I will not be able to experience the blessings of the present, the gifts of God and the passion to express myself.
The negativity that flows out of me may make one wonder if I'm depressed or morbid. On the contrary, confession is good for the soul.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
My Shell
I haven't written anything for a while. It seems like my creative juice has dried up. All that remains is the shell of a once vibrant mind. A mind that could have done anything, climb the highest mountain, walk in the most fearsome jungle, travel to outer space... Alas reality has collared me, boxed me behind the ears and set me straight.
I'm no genius, no potential was unexplored. I only said that to convince myself that I could have done better. In reality, I probably did the best I could. You tell yourself a lie over and over again, it probably would become your truth. Its hard to separate fiction from reality in such a state. Its hard to determine if you really love someone or are by their side because of some sense of duty or obligation.
How do I account for the time I've wasted dreaming big dreams, telling no promising to fulfil aspirations that are beyond my reach? Why did I think I could have reached those heights? Who fooled me? Who made me believe in myself? Critics? Friends? Enemies? Family?
A dose of the plain truth would have put me in my place earlier in life. Instead the praises, yes those false praises, the little lies, the bending of the truth, probably not to hurt my feelings have done me more harm than good.
I have a family that deserves better, not the lies I feed them to cover up for my inadequacy to provide all that they need. The cycle continues, I lie to give them a false sense of security. A hope for a brighter tomorrow, a line behind the dark clouds, they are nonexistent.
I go into my shell to keep others out, to shield my vulnerability, to mourn for my imaginary potential, to die a coward's death.
I'm no genius, no potential was unexplored. I only said that to convince myself that I could have done better. In reality, I probably did the best I could. You tell yourself a lie over and over again, it probably would become your truth. Its hard to separate fiction from reality in such a state. Its hard to determine if you really love someone or are by their side because of some sense of duty or obligation.
How do I account for the time I've wasted dreaming big dreams, telling no promising to fulfil aspirations that are beyond my reach? Why did I think I could have reached those heights? Who fooled me? Who made me believe in myself? Critics? Friends? Enemies? Family?
A dose of the plain truth would have put me in my place earlier in life. Instead the praises, yes those false praises, the little lies, the bending of the truth, probably not to hurt my feelings have done me more harm than good.
I have a family that deserves better, not the lies I feed them to cover up for my inadequacy to provide all that they need. The cycle continues, I lie to give them a false sense of security. A hope for a brighter tomorrow, a line behind the dark clouds, they are nonexistent.
I go into my shell to keep others out, to shield my vulnerability, to mourn for my imaginary potential, to die a coward's death.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Unheard Man
I've linked Thoughts of the Unheard Man to this blog after I breezed through it a while ago. I never cared to know who the author was nor am I interested in knowing who he is. What I know is that the Unheard Man is within all of us. That is why we write journals, novels, short stories, blogs, songs and all the other avenues to express that caged spirit within us.
I would love to tell some of my exbosses and colleagues to frig off, cuss out that annoying neighbour, shoot that barking dog and rooster that keep me awake most nights. I would love to scream at these people who waste my time, who promised to deliver a certain by a particular time and never had the decency to call and say that it could not be delivered. Or when you have to take time off from work to pick up an item only to find out, after you arrived at the place and waited for 2 hours, that it wont be ready until the next day.
There are many things I would love to say and do to people who annoy me but I can't. That's why I'm not only an unheard man, I'm also an angry man.
Perhaps writing a blog and letting some steam may help to ease some of the tension this anger has created. Who knows...a vent in time might save someone's life.
I would love to tell some of my exbosses and colleagues to frig off, cuss out that annoying neighbour, shoot that barking dog and rooster that keep me awake most nights. I would love to scream at these people who waste my time, who promised to deliver a certain by a particular time and never had the decency to call and say that it could not be delivered. Or when you have to take time off from work to pick up an item only to find out, after you arrived at the place and waited for 2 hours, that it wont be ready until the next day.
There are many things I would love to say and do to people who annoy me but I can't. That's why I'm not only an unheard man, I'm also an angry man.
Perhaps writing a blog and letting some steam may help to ease some of the tension this anger has created. Who knows...a vent in time might save someone's life.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Essequibo River
I sat on the verandah of the guesthouse overlooking the Essequibo River. The moon was out in all its glory, it seemed blood red and very large. After gazing at it for a while it seems like I could actually see a few round circles looking like pimples on its surface. The wind created a whistling sound as it passed through the trees just in front of the guesthouse. The water below me gently broke against the bank of the river with a lapping sound, the kind of sound a very thirsty dog makes when drinking water.
As I looked up from the river bed to the moon, a silver pathway was apparent. It looked like the entrance of a magical palace. The rippling effect of the wind on the water created step-like features that made the stairway even more enticing. The little island nearby seemed like a doormat connected to the stairway. It was surprisingly flat for an island so small.
As I gazed into the stairwell my mind began to waver, I began to think of things past. Hurtful things, harmful things. Such a beautiful sight as the one before me should fill me up with pleasant thoughts. I thought of the spirit of the deceased landlord that haunted me when I was younger. His intent was pure malice. I thought of the entity that violated me when I visited a particular location. I had heard of the “white lady” in interior locations but had never experienced any such phenomenon before.
I thought of these ghosts and entities and I thought of the remoteness of this place, this recently serene and inviting atmosphere became a postcard out of a horror movie. Huge dark clouds enveloped the moon, the stairway all but disappeared. The lapping of the water increased rapidly and the wind violently shook the trees next to me. Suddenly the rain started to fall; it drummed on the zinc roof in the most mournful manner you could think of. A few sheets were loosely nailed so the wind bore down upon them mercilessly, the ruckus created was earsplitting.
I sat there, unmoved, staring at the moon. Chills ran up and down my spine, electrifying would be the word to describe the feeling at that time. It was as if someone or something held me transfixed in that position; I could not move. It rained for an eternity, so it seemed. The cold wind made my skin icy to the touch. Gradually the rain subsided but the moon disappeared.
It took me a while to break myself out of that trance and slowly I got up from the chair. My skin was wet; I’m not sure if it was the rain or if I had perspired that much. The eeriness of the atmosphere never lifted and with unsteady legs I went to bed.
That night I dreamt of unimaginable things; I couldn’t explain the sights I saw nor relate the horror I felt. Every time I drifted off to sleep, I was jolted out of it by things unknown. At various times I was flying, running, escaping, hiding but mostly I was falling.
I woke up feeling like my life was drained from me, I was tired like if I was awake the entire time. I asked my colleagues about their night and they all agreed that it wasn’t Pegasus but it was ok for an interior location. I probed no further. We then went about our tasks that we were hired to complete without saying much to each other.
One of the local guides came up to me while we were on a break and asked if I could spare him a few minutes. I didn’t felt like entertaining anyone at that time but I obliged him. Sir, he began, I didn’t want to ask you anything in front of the others but is there a particular reason you asked if everyone had a good night sleep? I was a bit taken back by his question so I stammered out that I had some strange dreams and it wasn’t a big deal.
He grew pale as he spoke with earnest sincerity in his eyes, Sir you see things, this place is evil, you need to hurry up, get your job done and leave. I told him not to worry that I wasn’t accustomed to the bed and that was the reason for my bad dreams. With an unconvinced looked he muttered Ok and proceeded back to the other locals who were taking a break for also. I lit up my cigar and pondered on the happenings of the night.
They forecasted more rain for remainder of the week. It was a week of terror for me.
As I looked up from the river bed to the moon, a silver pathway was apparent. It looked like the entrance of a magical palace. The rippling effect of the wind on the water created step-like features that made the stairway even more enticing. The little island nearby seemed like a doormat connected to the stairway. It was surprisingly flat for an island so small.
As I gazed into the stairwell my mind began to waver, I began to think of things past. Hurtful things, harmful things. Such a beautiful sight as the one before me should fill me up with pleasant thoughts. I thought of the spirit of the deceased landlord that haunted me when I was younger. His intent was pure malice. I thought of the entity that violated me when I visited a particular location. I had heard of the “white lady” in interior locations but had never experienced any such phenomenon before.
I thought of these ghosts and entities and I thought of the remoteness of this place, this recently serene and inviting atmosphere became a postcard out of a horror movie. Huge dark clouds enveloped the moon, the stairway all but disappeared. The lapping of the water increased rapidly and the wind violently shook the trees next to me. Suddenly the rain started to fall; it drummed on the zinc roof in the most mournful manner you could think of. A few sheets were loosely nailed so the wind bore down upon them mercilessly, the ruckus created was earsplitting.
I sat there, unmoved, staring at the moon. Chills ran up and down my spine, electrifying would be the word to describe the feeling at that time. It was as if someone or something held me transfixed in that position; I could not move. It rained for an eternity, so it seemed. The cold wind made my skin icy to the touch. Gradually the rain subsided but the moon disappeared.
It took me a while to break myself out of that trance and slowly I got up from the chair. My skin was wet; I’m not sure if it was the rain or if I had perspired that much. The eeriness of the atmosphere never lifted and with unsteady legs I went to bed.
That night I dreamt of unimaginable things; I couldn’t explain the sights I saw nor relate the horror I felt. Every time I drifted off to sleep, I was jolted out of it by things unknown. At various times I was flying, running, escaping, hiding but mostly I was falling.
I woke up feeling like my life was drained from me, I was tired like if I was awake the entire time. I asked my colleagues about their night and they all agreed that it wasn’t Pegasus but it was ok for an interior location. I probed no further. We then went about our tasks that we were hired to complete without saying much to each other.
One of the local guides came up to me while we were on a break and asked if I could spare him a few minutes. I didn’t felt like entertaining anyone at that time but I obliged him. Sir, he began, I didn’t want to ask you anything in front of the others but is there a particular reason you asked if everyone had a good night sleep? I was a bit taken back by his question so I stammered out that I had some strange dreams and it wasn’t a big deal.
He grew pale as he spoke with earnest sincerity in his eyes, Sir you see things, this place is evil, you need to hurry up, get your job done and leave. I told him not to worry that I wasn’t accustomed to the bed and that was the reason for my bad dreams. With an unconvinced looked he muttered Ok and proceeded back to the other locals who were taking a break for also. I lit up my cigar and pondered on the happenings of the night.
They forecasted more rain for remainder of the week. It was a week of terror for me.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Caged Spirit
He rubbed his hands together to keep warm. He could see the vapours as he exhaled. Never had he experienced anything like this in Guyana. Ahh...Guyana, warm tropical country, home of friendly people, no worldly cares and good food.
He remembered scaling the neighbour's fence in Lusignan to "take" a few mangoes. He still chuckled at the fact that he could thief Buxton Spice mangoes in Lusignan, he thought the name should be changed for the villages they were found in. So he told himself that the mangoes were Lusignan Spice mangoes. Those were good old days, days when innocence and ignorance abound and fun was always the option. He thought the villagers created the phrase "lil bai bicycle nah get brakes" after being exposed to him.
The stolen weekend swim in the black water canal was one of his favourite past times. He wondered why they call it black water, it was always brown. He loved to see the punts loaded with cane being pulled though the canal. The older boys would tell him that the passage "was tight like a virgin" meaning it was a close fit. He didn't know what a virgin was then, and probably has never encountered one. They would usually run alongside the punts and remove sugar canes stems, it was a competition for the bravest. A few years back, one of the boys was pulled overboard when he couldn't get the cane loose and he was crushed between 2 punts.
He remembered jumping into that cold icy water in the middle of a hot day and feeling the heat of the sun drying off the water from his skin while half of his body was still in the cold water. He remembered they told him that his "seed would swell up" if he spent more than 3 hours in the water. He got out and let the sun soaked up the water from his skin, he felt like an ant under a magnifying glass. A light wind would blow across him in intervals and the temperature change would give him a fuzzy feeling inside.
He exhaled once more and looked forlornly though the vapour stained glass that separated him from the concrete jungle; feeling like the invisible prison walls and contained his wild spirit was now manifesting itself into reality. He lowered his gaze then walked back to the coffee pot, poured himself a hot cup and inhaled the steamy aroma. He took a bite out of the cold ice apple that was in his dinner bag; oh how he longed for a taste of that juicy Lusignan Buxton Spice mango, he chewed the ice apple with a discontented look.
He shook his head then went into the changing room, got into his janitorial suit, pushed the mop bucket along the floor and cried inwardly.
He remembered scaling the neighbour's fence in Lusignan to "take" a few mangoes. He still chuckled at the fact that he could thief Buxton Spice mangoes in Lusignan, he thought the name should be changed for the villages they were found in. So he told himself that the mangoes were Lusignan Spice mangoes. Those were good old days, days when innocence and ignorance abound and fun was always the option. He thought the villagers created the phrase "lil bai bicycle nah get brakes" after being exposed to him.
The stolen weekend swim in the black water canal was one of his favourite past times. He wondered why they call it black water, it was always brown. He loved to see the punts loaded with cane being pulled though the canal. The older boys would tell him that the passage "was tight like a virgin" meaning it was a close fit. He didn't know what a virgin was then, and probably has never encountered one. They would usually run alongside the punts and remove sugar canes stems, it was a competition for the bravest. A few years back, one of the boys was pulled overboard when he couldn't get the cane loose and he was crushed between 2 punts.
He remembered jumping into that cold icy water in the middle of a hot day and feeling the heat of the sun drying off the water from his skin while half of his body was still in the cold water. He remembered they told him that his "seed would swell up" if he spent more than 3 hours in the water. He got out and let the sun soaked up the water from his skin, he felt like an ant under a magnifying glass. A light wind would blow across him in intervals and the temperature change would give him a fuzzy feeling inside.
He exhaled once more and looked forlornly though the vapour stained glass that separated him from the concrete jungle; feeling like the invisible prison walls and contained his wild spirit was now manifesting itself into reality. He lowered his gaze then walked back to the coffee pot, poured himself a hot cup and inhaled the steamy aroma. He took a bite out of the cold ice apple that was in his dinner bag; oh how he longed for a taste of that juicy Lusignan Buxton Spice mango, he chewed the ice apple with a discontented look.
He shook his head then went into the changing room, got into his janitorial suit, pushed the mop bucket along the floor and cried inwardly.
Monday, May 3, 2010
The rift
I looked over the edge of the cliff
Below tufts of clouds hung suspended as if time has frozen
A few scrawny branches interrupt the seemingly smooth surface
They struggled against the hard rock and prevailed
They stood up in victory
Birds glide under the gentle wind, gracefully moving up and down
Indeed time stood still, indeed the magic is real
Below the plains gently rolled along
A few scattered trees, a herd of cattle, a hurrying stream
It seemed as if at one time the plain and the plateau were one
They struggled against each other, fought for freedom
One moved up, the victor
The other moved down, he hung his head in shame
His tears still flow
Time never healed this wound, the exposed rift lay barren
Except for the few branches who dared to hold on
Brothers mourn for each other silently within their hearts
One disguised it as a stream, the other masked his tears in the clouds
Below tufts of clouds hung suspended as if time has frozen
A few scrawny branches interrupt the seemingly smooth surface
They struggled against the hard rock and prevailed
They stood up in victory
Birds glide under the gentle wind, gracefully moving up and down
Indeed time stood still, indeed the magic is real
Below the plains gently rolled along
A few scattered trees, a herd of cattle, a hurrying stream
It seemed as if at one time the plain and the plateau were one
They struggled against each other, fought for freedom
One moved up, the victor
The other moved down, he hung his head in shame
His tears still flow
Time never healed this wound, the exposed rift lay barren
Except for the few branches who dared to hold on
Brothers mourn for each other silently within their hearts
One disguised it as a stream, the other masked his tears in the clouds
Friday, April 30, 2010
Fusion of Madness
I'm surrounded by people but I still feel alone
I'm involved in many conversations but not really a part of them
I'm supposed to be valuable but I'm treated like shit
I'm praised for my ideas but no credit is given
The uneven scale always weighs against me I never get a good measure
The silver lining has not appeared in behind the dark cloud
The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow contained nothing
The day of this dog appeared to have been given to someone else
I rant and I rave against the injustices that have befallen me
I write and I blog about the things that burden my heart
I sulk and I grumble, I'm a grouch for trivial things
I linger on the hurtful things, the misplaced trust, the failed me
Some say I'm pessimistic, others a realist
They are many who want to classify me as AntiGovernment
Should my opinion matter? Are you the authority on all subjects?
Should I accept your opinions as universal truths?
I rant and I rave, I question authority
I know one truth and I truth only
Jesus Is God, he is my Saviour
So I will speak my mind, I will not be silenced
I'm involved in many conversations but not really a part of them
I'm supposed to be valuable but I'm treated like shit
I'm praised for my ideas but no credit is given
The uneven scale always weighs against me I never get a good measure
The silver lining has not appeared in behind the dark cloud
The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow contained nothing
The day of this dog appeared to have been given to someone else
I rant and I rave against the injustices that have befallen me
I write and I blog about the things that burden my heart
I sulk and I grumble, I'm a grouch for trivial things
I linger on the hurtful things, the misplaced trust, the failed me
Some say I'm pessimistic, others a realist
They are many who want to classify me as AntiGovernment
Should my opinion matter? Are you the authority on all subjects?
Should I accept your opinions as universal truths?
I rant and I rave, I question authority
I know one truth and I truth only
Jesus Is God, he is my Saviour
So I will speak my mind, I will not be silenced
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Consequences of Drinking
“Suresh! Why you have to drink so much? You have a young daughter; don’t you want to see her grow up? You are a Christian! I will tell the Pastor what you’re doing and he will remove you from the Choir!” She continued to babble on and on, while I just listened, thinking of an excuse to cut her off. “Babe, the phone battery is going dead, I have to go now, besides the boss is calling for me again”. I wiped my brow and headed back to the table. “Boy you better control that woman of yours, she’s interrupting my mood”, Mr. Khan said as he took another sip of his Premium Beer.
Eventually we finished bar hopping at around midnight, I took Mr. Khan home then continued the long drive to Mon Repos. I thought a lot about what Sunita said, Maliha was just a few months old and I had made a promise I would change my behaviour and be a good example, a good father to her. I replayed the events of the night in my head and planned my activities for the morning. Finally, I reached home, parked the car and went straight to the guest bedroom. No arguments and no fights, that’s how I liked it.
Sunita was in a sour mood that morning but she made breakfast and packed my lunch. Maliha was excited to see me, I held her a bit in my arms as I prepared to leave home. “Should I expect you home at midnight again?” Sunita asked dryly. “No babes, I’ll try to make it home early”, I said softly as I kissed Maliha and drove off.
My first stop was the University of Guyana; I had enrolled for a program there and had to pick up my UG ID card. I had shaved and dressed neatly for once, I wanted to make sure I looked good in the photo. The security guard glanced at me as if to say morning sir, but I ignored her and continued up the stairs to the Admissions section. Everything was processed quickly and I got my ID card, I hurried down the stairs, as I needed to attend a meeting at 10:00 hrs. Glancing at the ID to make sure everything was correct, I missed my footing and fell down the stairs. I was more embarrassed than hurt, as I gathered myself and hobbled down the remainder of the stairs.
I barely made it to the bottom and asked the guard, the one I just snubbed, if I could borrow her seat. I took off my socks to see my ankle was swollen so badly it was bigger than a cricket ball. The guard and a cleaner brought ice to put on the ankle, they blamed UG for not having better steps, reassured me everything was going to be fine and advised me to go to the Medical Center for treatment.
I called Sunita and told her what happened, she was speechless. I told her not to worry and I’ll call her when I decided on my next course of action. I then called Mr. Khan and explained that I will miss the meeting due to the injury. He suggested he can take me to Balwant Singh Hospital as my medical card would get me in quickly there. I thanked him and told him I will update him later. I cursed as I limped back to my car; 100 feet never seemed so long. I flopped down in the driver seat and sped off to the Medical Center; I parked as close as possible and hopped for an eternity until I reached to door of the Center.
The medic pressed the ankle in various places to see where hurts, everywhere hurts. He then decided to remove liquid that accumulated using a syringe, I didn’t think it was a good idea but didn’t object. The man pulled out about 2 syringes of blood and I nearly fainted. I said “Doc I’m seeing blurry”. He passed something in front of my face; I thought I had to drink it so I opened my mouth. “You have to smell it not drink it” he said almost smiling at my mistake I assumed. I came to my senses as he bandaged up the ankle.
He then started talking about me needing weight loss tablets and subtly implying that the damage done to my ankle was because of my 200+ lbs. He gave me flyers and sent me on my way. I drove home and asked Sunita to take me to Balwant Singh Hospital. We waited a while at the hospital and it reminded me of the wait one had to endure at the Georgetown Public Hospital. I glanced around the waiting area out of curiosity and saw an old flame, she was pregnant.
Sunita went around completing all of the paperwork while I sat in the wheelchair. Eventually, the old flame came up and asked what’s wrong. I told her I just sprained my ankle, she looked…disappointed…no…relieved. Out of courtesy Sunita asked her what the sex of the baby was, she answered quite happily “It’s a boy! I’m so happy, I don’t want a girl, I don’t ever want a girl.” Sunita looked at me and smiled. We said nothing further and she left. Sunita nudged me “didn’t you want to tell her you have a girl?” I said to her it’s probably best to leave it as it is. Sunita mumbled under her breath but I still heard her “she probably doesn’t want a girl because of the things she has done in her life so far and she’s afraid a daughter might get those same traits”. I pretended not to hear and asked her to check on the doctor.
The doctor finally arrived 2 hrs later, sent me to get my ankle x-rayed and decided to put me in a cast. He said something about a hairline fracture. Never in my life was anything broken on me. I sulked as he made fun of my weight saying if I was lighter the damage would have been less severe. On my way home I had enough time to ponder on the 3 weeks I would be on leave. The tablets I would have to drink and all the other things that are going wrong in my life.
As I was self-reflecting, Sunita interrupted my thoughts. “Suresh, I don’t mean to kick you when you’re down but don’t you find it a little strange? A few months ago, you got kidney stones, now you fractured you foot. When will you see God is admonishing you for your bad ways?”
My foot is much better now; I still continued to drink regularly…and now I have chicken pox. It seems every time I drink I suffer some tragedy, so now I will have to stop. Ain’t life a bitch!
Eventually we finished bar hopping at around midnight, I took Mr. Khan home then continued the long drive to Mon Repos. I thought a lot about what Sunita said, Maliha was just a few months old and I had made a promise I would change my behaviour and be a good example, a good father to her. I replayed the events of the night in my head and planned my activities for the morning. Finally, I reached home, parked the car and went straight to the guest bedroom. No arguments and no fights, that’s how I liked it.
Sunita was in a sour mood that morning but she made breakfast and packed my lunch. Maliha was excited to see me, I held her a bit in my arms as I prepared to leave home. “Should I expect you home at midnight again?” Sunita asked dryly. “No babes, I’ll try to make it home early”, I said softly as I kissed Maliha and drove off.
My first stop was the University of Guyana; I had enrolled for a program there and had to pick up my UG ID card. I had shaved and dressed neatly for once, I wanted to make sure I looked good in the photo. The security guard glanced at me as if to say morning sir, but I ignored her and continued up the stairs to the Admissions section. Everything was processed quickly and I got my ID card, I hurried down the stairs, as I needed to attend a meeting at 10:00 hrs. Glancing at the ID to make sure everything was correct, I missed my footing and fell down the stairs. I was more embarrassed than hurt, as I gathered myself and hobbled down the remainder of the stairs.
I barely made it to the bottom and asked the guard, the one I just snubbed, if I could borrow her seat. I took off my socks to see my ankle was swollen so badly it was bigger than a cricket ball. The guard and a cleaner brought ice to put on the ankle, they blamed UG for not having better steps, reassured me everything was going to be fine and advised me to go to the Medical Center for treatment.
I called Sunita and told her what happened, she was speechless. I told her not to worry and I’ll call her when I decided on my next course of action. I then called Mr. Khan and explained that I will miss the meeting due to the injury. He suggested he can take me to Balwant Singh Hospital as my medical card would get me in quickly there. I thanked him and told him I will update him later. I cursed as I limped back to my car; 100 feet never seemed so long. I flopped down in the driver seat and sped off to the Medical Center; I parked as close as possible and hopped for an eternity until I reached to door of the Center.
The medic pressed the ankle in various places to see where hurts, everywhere hurts. He then decided to remove liquid that accumulated using a syringe, I didn’t think it was a good idea but didn’t object. The man pulled out about 2 syringes of blood and I nearly fainted. I said “Doc I’m seeing blurry”. He passed something in front of my face; I thought I had to drink it so I opened my mouth. “You have to smell it not drink it” he said almost smiling at my mistake I assumed. I came to my senses as he bandaged up the ankle.
He then started talking about me needing weight loss tablets and subtly implying that the damage done to my ankle was because of my 200+ lbs. He gave me flyers and sent me on my way. I drove home and asked Sunita to take me to Balwant Singh Hospital. We waited a while at the hospital and it reminded me of the wait one had to endure at the Georgetown Public Hospital. I glanced around the waiting area out of curiosity and saw an old flame, she was pregnant.
Sunita went around completing all of the paperwork while I sat in the wheelchair. Eventually, the old flame came up and asked what’s wrong. I told her I just sprained my ankle, she looked…disappointed…no…relieved. Out of courtesy Sunita asked her what the sex of the baby was, she answered quite happily “It’s a boy! I’m so happy, I don’t want a girl, I don’t ever want a girl.” Sunita looked at me and smiled. We said nothing further and she left. Sunita nudged me “didn’t you want to tell her you have a girl?” I said to her it’s probably best to leave it as it is. Sunita mumbled under her breath but I still heard her “she probably doesn’t want a girl because of the things she has done in her life so far and she’s afraid a daughter might get those same traits”. I pretended not to hear and asked her to check on the doctor.
The doctor finally arrived 2 hrs later, sent me to get my ankle x-rayed and decided to put me in a cast. He said something about a hairline fracture. Never in my life was anything broken on me. I sulked as he made fun of my weight saying if I was lighter the damage would have been less severe. On my way home I had enough time to ponder on the 3 weeks I would be on leave. The tablets I would have to drink and all the other things that are going wrong in my life.
As I was self-reflecting, Sunita interrupted my thoughts. “Suresh, I don’t mean to kick you when you’re down but don’t you find it a little strange? A few months ago, you got kidney stones, now you fractured you foot. When will you see God is admonishing you for your bad ways?”
My foot is much better now; I still continued to drink regularly…and now I have chicken pox. It seems every time I drink I suffer some tragedy, so now I will have to stop. Ain’t life a bitch!
Blog Description
This blog is another experiment in my seemingly boring life. It is not intended to thrill or please anyone but myself. I will write whatever I want, whenever I want, whitout consideration for anyone who feels offended. I will choose to publish whatever comments I want. If you have a problem with how I run my ship then walk the plank.
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