Unwritten diary page at Old Age Home

Is this the way how life unfolds its mysteries?

I try to figure out happiness, I should strive for. I prepare a desire in my inner self to enlighten a special joy, completely unknown. And when I plan my ways, I remain quite disturbed and confused. I fear to imagine obstructions, the huddles and every forces that would come in between my struggles and unknown destination. But I have to walk this path anyway. Or do I have any other options? Why is the unknown joy so important that I completely neglect this known smile on my face, living at the moment, being happy for things I have now, why can't I see the bliss, this moment of peace?

I run hard. To get what? To achieve my goals. Why are these goals never ending? Coz, once they end, there would be no any reason for our being. And yes, I am not strong enough to break this chain of 'rat race'.

I struggle to plan how I would be struggling next to get a rewarding life. When I would be approaching the kind of living I was struggling hard for, by then, I stand tall to claim that unknown joy with expectations of eternal happiness, not knowing the hidden fact that a race would then just begin for another set of unknown happiness. The race continues but a never ending loop of unknown destination never fades out. A day would come when I would have no energy to run, but the desire for that unknown happiness would still remain. I would then be forced to sit, and watch generations running hard in the same 'rat race' loop.

And finally I have now reached my destination, 'Old age home'.

I start calculating days I remained awake to achieve this moment of idleness. I count those desires I chose to compromise for this day. I regret the path I chose, my inability to realize the result of the rat race which brought me to this level of disability.

Time clicked so fast. Wish I could go back and distract myself from this race, wish I could change my path, wish I could celebrate every single moment of happiness that I had, those moments of joy I could never see while running hard to reach today's regret. Wish I could have lived rather than always dying for a better life. Wish I could, but I can't.

When I was child, I died to be young. When I was young, I died to make a rewarding career, marry and have children. I then died to see my children grow, their career and their children. Then, I died again when my own children dumped me here to let me die on my own.

Old age home, what they prefer to say, but just a garbage for everyone who are now running hard, the rat race, still going strong.

My day begins with pain on my left knee, this leg, I walked distances carrying heavy loads on my back, earning few coins to spend for my child's happiness who has now gifted me this life of loneliness. I recall those nights I chose to stay without grains, to save for my son's expenses, to save for that unkown joy, rat race. Those savings did not buy this stick though. This wooden stick, now my closest friend, my greatest support. Unconditional support. This stick without life is closer than my children now.

I can't reach that packet of medicine, I try to extend my stick to pull in the packet but I can't. I have diabetes, no sweets allowed. How sweet my little son used to smile when I brought him toffees. Too sweet to remember those moments now, my diabetes going high, gifting me a sharp pain on my forearm. My forearms, my son's best friend when he was nine months old. He used to sleep silently on my arm. Sigh.

I struggle to pull down the curtain of this open window. Cold wind blows enough to let me shiver, I search for some warmth which is never there. And in rains, it's worst.

Time for lunch, I see four young children, they are arranging food for us today, my room mate says with a smile on his wrinkled face. My room mate, he is suffering fever since last night, with stories like mine, abandoned by his sons leaving abroad.

I watch these four youngsters who are here to feed us.

Wish they were my children. Wish I could make them understand my stories. Wish I could bless them with power to come out of their rat race loop.

'Buwa, was the food good?', asks one little girl. 'Yes, my child, too good. Bless you my child.'

But, I could not feel the taste. My tongue now no longer differiantiates a good taste. Only understands the taste of medicine.

I watch a young boy who is feeding my room mate, and this hope to see my younger son runs high. There, I fix my eyes at the highway, thousands running to win their rat race, wish I could see my son for one last time.

Sunsets. Brings another cold night. One more night of struggle, pain and tears.

My wait would continue tomorrow. My wait for death, my destination. My meaningless life, burden for my sons, even if I would die, everyone would continue their race. 'Rat race' to win happiness unknown.

'Come out of rat race, celebrate every small happiness, bring smile on your face, live a life before it's too late.'

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xnDeYWkdTdg