pushed to rush

I am in a rush.

My destination: unknown.

Who am I rushing to meet? What am I rushing to do?

I am not sure.

But I am in a rush.


The little gestures which I have decided, after careful thought, to do are foregone and put to the wayside. The characteristics which make up my person and set me apart from other individuals, I have tossed aside, letting myself be swept away by the cultural current that all are subjected to, but few are able to swim against. Trading away my own self, for a self that is rented from society’s Great Library of Cultural Stereotypes.

They are inconvenient. They would be awkward. They would break ‘the flow’ of things. Things had to go in a certain way, conform to a certain order, and fit into a certain mold; this would break it.

How could I let it?

Gradually, we shed the little intentions in our lives that divide us from each other.

Don’t stand out; follow the pace set by society.
Don’t seek outs; they all inevitably end in misery.

Tick like clockwork.

(Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.)

To the metronome that has been set.

(Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.)

A rhythm you shall not forget.

(Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.)

Don’t say another word.

Over here, we have a puzzle that needs completing.
As you can see, these are the shapes of the pieces that are needed.

You do not quite seem to fit the bill.

But I’m sure we could… persuade you to make some little changes.
Not just for our benefit, but for yours as well.

Or would you rather be the piece left out on the side?

I think not.

Stub yourself, squeeze those jagged edges – use force if you have to – and fit into the puzzle.

You might break a bone here and there, but hey.

At least you fit in now.


Move along. Keep walking. Come on now.

Keep your head straight; keep moving.

Why do you struggle against the current?
Is the futility not apparent?

Why are you stopping for?

What is there to stop for?

Who are you waiting for?

There is nothing.

Carry on. Let’s go now.

I refuse.


celosia in bloom

Yona by Mayumi Matsumoto; click for source.

she was
a little klutz who always trembled before long,
yet she found the courage to face her fears;
someone who struggled incessantly to be strong,
despite being on the verge of tears.

her face
is now smeared with dirt,
and her hands
are now scarred with cuts.

the frail girl who was once so spoiled
now finds simple joys in a life of toil.

she had become so unsightly.
but she has grown so beautiful.