Something of Myself

'Why do I find it so hard to motivate myself? Why do I always have to push harder? Why do I have to dig, dig, dig, dig deeper and find nothing?'

He was thinking aloud as he was walking past the Exe river just by the Mill on the Exe. £1.50 a pint - that was the price for Carling lager those days. He used to head down for a long walk by the river and by the time he arrived at the Mill, he used to be ready for 5-6 pints. Walking back was almost impossible.

He liked crying in the rain - they could never see his tears.

They kept saying, 'Life's like that honey!' but he would not give up. Disappointed, defeated and disgruntled, he walked back to his apartment. Full of bricks.

These were the times when he used to buy an international calling card. The Bangladeshi ones are always the cheapest. A £5 card would allow you to speak for about 20 minutes with your dear ones.

'Hello!'
'Hey! How have you been?'
'Yeah, cholche.'
'Had dinner?'
'No. I'll be cooking chicken in some time. How are you?'
'First class. Don't waste so much money. I know you work hard for it.'
'Yeah, but to call you, right?'
'I know, I know...you better go and cook. It must be late.'
'Ok. Take care. Be good.'
'You too.'
'Tata.'

'You have £4 and 5 pence remaining on your card. Press hash to make another call.'

He would hang up and stare at the picture that sat on the middle shelf of the book rack. He used to see it and tears welled up. Unknowingly. Unwantingly.

The pain of distance. The pain of not being able to touch someone you love. The pain of not being able to see him smiling. The pain of not being able to pat him on the shoulders. The pain of not being able to smell him. That was it. That was what caused the pain. The absence.

It's no different now. No wonder then that motivation, inspiration, and the first cousins of the same are nowhere to be found.

But then, that's life honey! :-)