Yesterday is here.

Sulking, I went to the kitchen to fetch myself a glass of water. The day was warm and the ceiling fan was oscillating even when there was no one in the living room. The kitchen in this house has always been the dimmest room. The windows are blocked by opposing windows of the master bedroom and no direct sunlight could possibly infiltrate unless light starts to travel in awkward curved lines. I picked up the pitcher and began filling up this glass of mine which looks like an inverted triangle. I had bought it a couple of months ago because the shape’s interesting. Not saying it actually resembles a triangle. It’d be odd, no glass I’ve seen that actually has sharp corners. But enough about the glass.

I’ve been unhappy. I am unhappy with my current life. If the fortune teller who I visited three years ago wishes to claim credit for the prophecies he had of me, I will bestow him a trophy. I had gone to him that day because I was nervous about my career switch. The superstitious façade of mine had wanted to know if that was a wise choice.

Taking my right palm in both his hands on that Tuesday in 2010, he had carelessly (he didn’t actually spend a lot of time studying my palm lines) skimmed through whatever was there and said;

“You won’t be happy working. You are not cut out to work. You won’t be happy until you reach 40. You will meet someone in the future who you will love deeply but he is not going to reciprocate. During this time, it’s advisable you keep your friends around you. Otherwise you might do something foolish.”

The optimist in me argued with him as he muttered;

“That’s right. I will never be happy working for someone else because I think I’m better off running my own business. Or, I could marry a sultan and be a loving wife, full-time housewife and mother to my children. I have already met someone back then who I had loved deeply and he went away. He did reciprocate for a good two years. I have already done something foolish and it was him who sent me to the hospital. No, no friends were around because I had shut all of them out.”

On the last Sunday of July in 2013, I had recalled his words and let them fall in place. Having tried to brush my superstition aside, I questioned the credibility of these words. For everyone around me who understands me well enough, you ought to know by now that my interest in almost everything falters almost as instantly as it sparks. This so explains why I have been a chronic job-hopper because no one industry could keep me in for long. If I could be a surgeon tomorrow, I will, if not for my fear of cutting red meat.

I have a love and hate affair with the way my brain works. I love how I've garnered praises on my creativity and my ability to think out of the box. I love showing off how I can associate everything with anything and make a joke out of anything and everything. At the same time, I hate how my thoughts propagate the way that’s similar to that of an eruption of a volcano where it's seemingly hard for even myself to follow sometimes. First, the dormant side awakens. Processing information in a rather awkward slow motion, the brain digests whatever it could. And with an abrupt acceleration, it ejaculates lava and spits rocks out all in its glory. It’s uncontrollable, destructive and kills everything in its path. The villagers at the foot either die:

1. Being crushed by the falling rocks as they evacuate
2. Having their limbs burned to a state of nothingness by lava which is around 700 to 1250 degrees Celsius and eventually drowned in them
3. Having their windpipes blocked with volcanic ash and eventually suffocate
4. Being trampled over by the entire village when they trip over one of the rocks that has fallen

Now, you might have actually just witnessed how good I am at digressing and letting my imagination run wild. This bears an honest reference to what I had mentioned earlier: that my thoughts propagate not within control. Half an hour ago, I had made up my mind to write something on a serious note. I had poured myself some water in a glass that I had bought a couple of months which resembles an inverted triangle. I had settled down in front of my laptop and made up my mind to write something which is absolutely morbid, pessimistic and dark. Half an hour later now, you’re reading about a volcanic eruption and ways in which the villagers who reside nearby could possibly die.

I'm constantly hopping from one subject to another. Coherence is what I lack in my thoughts, writings and speeches. The biggest irony here is, I was once a top scorer for all my essays in school.