THE NAMELESS TAROT
Have you ever been in one of those reflective moods? Like sitting on the back of the cab, looking at people as they pass by outside and you realise something so profound that it rocks the bottom of your soul. Like a eureka moment- only you don’t feel the least bit joy in finding out about it.
A few weeks ago (when I say that these days it feels like years really), I was, yes, sitting at the back of a cab. And thinking about how I’ve been spending my days and lamenting the fact that I’ve got no time left for anything else other than work. I am not complaining, I’m ‘happy’ about what I do. I write and do creative stuff for a living. I guess some people would think that’s a posh job compared to manual labor, but that line of thought would only get you to trouble.
So anyway, I thought to myself, “Is this really it, Kokay? Your days spent in despair? Comfortable yet not feeling enough? Look at those people, living their lives as if searching for something yet not knowing what it is. What is it really that you really want to do? Work so you can pay the bills, so you could continue working? You know its insane so why keep doing it?”
And then my mind would mumble excuses even I don’t find convincing. I don’t want to be a bother to anyone, I can’t rely on somebody else. I have a regular job and isn’t that enough? In fact I am resigned to living a mediocre life. Working for somebody else, working for something I don’t believe in but at least it doesn’t make me puke in the morning. I say to myself, I don’t have the stamina to build empires or conquer the world like some people do. I only want to work behind the scenes. I just want to stay at home and watch tv or read a book. In fact, despite what advertisements encourage my generation to do – I don’t want to make a difference – at all – it’s a bother! Had I been a bit more religious, I would have been a good nun (or priest). As long as changing the world doesn’t make me leave my house then I would do it.
These thoughts run through my head everyday. Until the thought that almost brought me to tears and shook my soul from within exploded in my head.
I am dying.
My hands are getting older by the minute. That lady walking with her beautiful skin radiant against the summer sun is also dying. The man driving the cab I’m riding is also dying. Some sooner, some later. People walking like skeletons in suits and dresses. Eating, laughing, and wishing for things that they think would make them happy. And the worst part is it seems like I’m the only one who knows about it? When just now it seems so obvious. We’re all going to die so why am I the only one who seems to be panicking?
What does it mean? When the richest and the poorest of all become maggot food in the end? How do we make sense of this cruel life? I am afraid of dying. I can’t die because I’ve got lots of other things to do. I’m busy. The things I do – they are important.
I look out the window of my cab, the signs says that this McDonald’s branch serves 24/7. Could it be that I just need a good breakfast? Wonder if they serve death on the menu.