Born Dead

And here it is, life inexperienced by me. It seems that me is not compatible with this thing called life. I feel like I died the same microsecond I was born. The second this male surgeon pulled me out of my mother’s womb precipitately as if done by habit. As if hundreds of other women were spreading their legs apart waiting patiently-screaming as though they are being excruciated by a demon from the inside, you could hardly identify a cry of suffering than of pleasurable relief -for this one and only surgeon to rid them of that pain, that painless pain that caused them much suffering since they conceived their children, since she conceived me. My first minutes on earth, first lungful of air..first unusual staring at the unsual creatures.. Humans. I cried like any other child was born and will be born. The time I felt, believed that I am no longer a foetus, that soon I will carry a life..a life of freedom and responsibility, a responsibility I would regret taking later in adulthood, a responsibility that is inevitable..that is impossible to avert in order to be the owner and the responsible of your own liberty.

“How he looks like?”, my mother said wearily as if she had been just rescued of a war battle. “He is so handsome, look..look at him”, I heard this voice before..that was my father who said delightfully with teary eyes, his eyes are such glassy that I could see my reflection on them but I couldn’t recognize me either. He was holding me tightly in both of his arms, he was uttering consonantal sound into my right tiny ear; after he counted my fingers in case there is more or less, a custom he always do. I was caught in a dazzling whirling of new various blurred voices, images, figures and scents floating out in an unharmonious symphony, symphony I was not accustomed to; yet some of it are vaguely known to me, so I cried again and again until my father bent over my mother’s bed to transfer me to her soft hands..I was really waiting to meet her  passionate face. “come to your mommy ..you ..my little boy..I know you hungry”, I recognized that voice too, that’s was my mother’s..tears harshened her voice..I am too familiar to it when I was curled up inside her belly. That is the first voice that welcomed me into my first home, uterus, and the same voice greeted me to nutrify from my mother’s breast, It’s the sound I love and bored with at the same time. As I was between her breast, I was watching successively my father through the brink of my left eye. He was staring out of the window of the room and dried his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. Then, he came back..kept looking at me with a touch of pride... tears of joy..full of happiness...and then at my mother. The look they exchange for each other implied: ‘Look at what we achieved..this is what adds meaning in our life’, only both know that for sure without even express it in words. Poel Coelho one said “It’s the simplest things in life that are the most extraordinary”, and that was one of those things. Actually, having me was special to them, but too average to me.  

I wish I could come before, at the right nick of time and tell them to stop it, tell them that the whole thing is meaningless, tell them that they will give birth to a loser, hopeless, afraid, sick,  self-loathing, ugly, depressed, dysfunctional, flabby, physically distorted, pessimistic, paralyzedly imbecile not capable of facing life. You wish you could have aborted me.  I wish we could be rational spermatozoa with the free will, and the ability of taking decisions. I would decide not to carry my way to the ovum, The female reproductive cell, and to be thrown in vacuum instead. Not to exist at all. I would look back at them with thankfulness ..and..rubbed out of existence.

And here I am dear reader, scraping slowly my pen on this poor paper writing to you about the moment of my birth and watching regrettably my youthfulness fleeting away of my fingertips slowly as a handful of sand carried away by the wind. As far back as I could remember..and until this moment, I spent most of my life between these four walls, rotting out in cobwebbed; deadly silent room observing life passes me by swiftly, yet I am afraid of jumping out of my comfort and join..I just keep watching life untried by me.

I see a very little bit of life, but not enough for the human curiosity and well-being.

I thought that being young is the life stage at witch everybody aspires to stay. Which is true. Yet I do not feel like I am alive. In fact, I feel like I am an old young person dying while standing on his feet. I am either curled myself together under the bed sheets staring into space or walking down the road wears black and listens to Johnny cash why he used to always dressed in black.

I guess there is nothing to be white about in this life.

The most of me is lost..lost under cultural limitations, religious restrictions, obligations, duties, material excess, parental censorship, the whole f*****g spectrum twists my arms and puts blindfold on my eyes. I am subjugated to these principles, enforced to conformity, suppressed by the so called infallible religious authority. Parents, I feel like I am only version, projection and externalisation of themselves. Their safety and security procedures they take is what erode my vigorous freedom and energy..energy will never find an outlet in this quite; domestic; protective luxurious life they made for us. Their extra concern and care is what drifted my life into fear, dried my appetite for living. I want to go and tell them that I want danger, hazardous, adventurous course of existence, I need many possible ways of experimenting with life that is still within my grasp. Just let me live the life I want.  But all these words are unrealistic since I am too ashamed, very reticent about myself, never said much, and even if I could, they seem too farther away to communicate to them theses incommunicable emotions. I can only speak to the nonjudgmental paper, and conceal this grudge, indignation, and humiliation gently underneath my empty, hollow crystal heart. Now I believe in what Thoreau said even certainly under different circumstances: “ Here is life, an experiment to a great extent untried by me”