TIME AND TIDE

Whoever stated he or she is afraid of Virginia Woolf, my sympathy goes to you. For I too, face the brink of madness.

I awoke this morning with the thought of anticipation – anxiety, excitement and ecstasy. My procrastination was cut short when I had noticed that my clock was dead. Going out of my room, I wanted to know what time it was but failed once more in doing so, seeing the living room clock had also died. For a moment, I had a fantasy that time had really stopped; but it was interrupted by news of departing within the roots – news that I was not expecting anytime soon. Having been irritated by the mentality of being in an erratic portal, I wanted to get out of home. So I went out ready to go to the university with a craving for post-modernity when I saw a ‘kalesa’ moving about in front of me. Staring at the horse, I was attracted to the hypnotizing sound its feet produced; that’s when I saw a dead cat crushed and rotten – a misshapen figure with a distorted head, oozing internals and the stench of death.

Earlier that day, while I was afloat gazing the wonders of surrealism, I dreamt of her once more. It has been a long time since I had last dreamt of her. The intensity was that of a normal gathering; nothing sensuous or romantic compared to those which I had few years long gone ago. Of course, I did not give that much attention and meaning to the dream; for it might have just been an indication of longing, of missing, of the effects of parting. But vindication materialized as I had arrived real-time in campus – I saw this girl who had the same name as hers, and puzzling enough, perhaps the same radiation as hers; she had a beguiling effect which up to now remains inexplicable. Still now I wonder.

The day concluded as it was embraced by the fog of displease. It was not because of political turnabouts related to my well-being; it was the sense of discontent of an unfavorable decision of a body that gave benefits to themselves alone. For a long time now, I have been triggered to establish animosity against the theory and reason of seniority. Years ago when I was a junior, where I was a member of the school paper crew, the adviser explained that seniority has to rule above all; in saying so she expressed that an editor-in-chief has to have seniority. (Why would she say that, you might ask? Well, she said that someone different was supposed to be the editor-in-chief that year, but due to issues of seniority that someone different was appointed to the second highest position. That someone different is none other than your narrator.) But what does seniority have to do with it at all? Older age doesn’t necessarily entail better skills, knowledge and similar characteristics of a person. Although I respect the saying “with old age comes wisdom”, it is direct prejudice to be denied a deserved position based on age. (And oh by the way, my chance never came the next year. The school paper was scratched off from the available organizations. What a dump!)

Virginia, if you could read this, please be of guidance. Insanity is one thing I would not want to experience; but as of now I am on the brink of falling into a trance which I am bound never to escape. At times, I get certain visions of brutality, of violence, of death. My brain travels to boundless depths of surrealism as my soul sinks into depths unknown. I want to stretch time and go to vast distances where I reckon I might not reach before the tides fall and sucks me into the sinkholes of lunacy. I do not want to end up being recognized as a coot; I do not want to end up like Richard who was given an award just because he had AIDS; I do not want to end up like you who had lost all sanity even though your thoughts of the endless voids you had entered defined a culture. Please don’t swallow me.

“Who’s afraid of Virginia Woolf… Virginia Woolf… Virginia Woolf…?”

I am, Edward. I am.