It has been almost two weeks into the Ramadan. Ramadan used to be magical to me, a spiritual experience but now, I do not feel it much. Perhaps, I have rusted or perhaps, I have gotten old and matured and have lost the innocence to feel spirituality. Or perhaps, I have changed quite a lot these past few years, leaden with anxiety, depression, anger, hatred and contempt. Perhaps, the heart has built too many walls with which to shield itself from the outside world that it has grown sceptical of the world. Perhaps. There are too many perhaps. Perhaps and maybes. Those are the only two major words I use in my mind nowadays.
Life is a lot like jumping off an aircraft without a parachute. The moment one steps off the door, the only way to go is down. The eventuality is a certainty. But what gives the illusion of float is only temporary. Some people step off and never got quite used to falling off, so that they fall ungracefully, screaming even, turning round and round. Some fall in grace, seemingly to fly like a bird, winds on their faces, smiles all round. I would like to be like them, but as it is, I am struggling to keep afloat with some control. The ground is there, down there for sure and every second and minute count, to make this temporary fall, a good one. Because it is the only one. There is no returning to the aircraft. I like this flow of thought though. Everyone falls, everyone dies.