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Inspire, Arouse, Motivate

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Twelve Hours 2017.01.10 00:22:01
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"Twelve Hours"

A journey to accepting human vulnerability



     Twelve hours.


         I push my earphones into their rightful abode, and proceed to sink under the pensive influence of

tune. Outside, the city whizzes past, a lofty brilliant blur. For split seconds at a time I witness people go

about on their own personal undertakings. I see a man in pressed uniform, looking immaculate and

intimidating, striding down the sidewalk. I see a group of children in tattered clothes, playing tag. I see

an old couple, the woman leaning on a cane and the man carrying a pair of grocery bags. I see a little

girl in rompers, tugging on her mother’s arm. They are not related to me in any way, but my spiteful

self is relieved. They are gone in a minute. It feels good to be the one leaving.





     Ten hours.


          The landscape now is a sunset-tinted world of grassland outside the endless highway. My eyes

hungrily observe varying shades of pink and purple and fiery orange as they blend into each other to

form richer hues. I can never get enough of the sky.





     Six hours.


          My fervent sky-watching had soon made my eyelids grow heavy. My mind says a silent thanks

to whoever had taken out my earphones while I drooled several hours away. I nibble on a sandwich,

hair disheveled, not wholly recovered from the nap. The heavens are dark now, and the road less

smooth, and my stomach growls in demand of provisions. I wolf down the remainder of the sandwich;

my appetite never fails to boot my brain right up. I ogle the surroundings now. Hills embellish the

passageway ahead. Every few minutes, crudely built homes pop up, periodically reassuring me that

human civilization thrives.


          In time the barren environs begin to feel ominous. I start to miss the sight of motion. I start to

crave light and noise and action and life. In a state of apprehension I return to the more comfortable

embrace of slumber.





     Three hours.


          I wake again, but I don’t open my eyes. I hear the soft snores of my companions, so I know that I

will find no solace in my company. Instead I let my mind immerse itself in reflective half-consciousness.


     My train of thought:





         Skepticism. The constant suspicion one has against another’s words or motives. A wise attitude to

adapt in this society of deceit. It saves us a handful of tissues, and a load of good time, too. It’s become

sort of a wall of security for people, against silver-tongued thieves and swift-handed intruders. It works

effectively enough – but like all walls, it’s a barrier as well. We forget that the reason we set up these

walls in the first place is fear. The nagging paranoia that there is always a catch in everyone who comes

into our lives. Fueled by this fear, we evolve into aloof, cynical creatures. We forget what draws the line

between rats and humans. Our compassion. Our physical and emotional ties. Our universal acceptance

that we are all connected to each other, somehow, and that we do not have to be alone.



     Two hours.


    One hour.


    One minute.


          I arrive at my destination with my walls a little less impregnable than they were twelve hours

ago, when I’d felt relieved as the purposeful gait of the uniformed man faded into the distance. I think:

If humanity means vulnerability, perhaps vulnerable isn’t such a horrible thing to be.




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