We all have our time of day.
Sounds poetic, doesn't it? Well...almost it's something that you should appreciate more than you expect.
Scientists have even proven the fact that different people are more active, productive and have a boosted sense of physical and mental awareness in a certain part of the day. Mine is that moment when the sun is half hidden by the horizon.
Years ago, maybe 3 or 4.
10 people, maybe a little less than that number.
A place that does not exist anymore, a grassy plain with really low rolling hills. The perfect end of time and reality, the border between pain and no feeling at all. We called it the farmland because of it past use for the people who lived at this location. Once an escape of reality, now it was a dumping ground for the dirty money of building contractors. The end of time is no more and will never be nothing more but a sterile hub for false hope. We were in the center of it at that time...free for some hours before we went back to our "holding cells" we called home.
East:
Behind me was the concrete and iron prison of one of the many neighbourhoods. Those places outlining the city right before the factories and warehouses, places built in a similar pattern, the concrete psychological prisons with their own time and date and their own life and secrets.
To understand the mental cage you have to look at the big picture. It was a grey and brown ensemble of mud, cement and iron with an occasional green of a old and hard to kill tree. It was rows after rows of housing buildings, just the peoples money that communism was about to lose 20 and something years ago. Those rolls of buildings were scared by narrow and long streets like hallways in front of the cages in a maximum security institution. This whole pile of dusty and ugly buildings was surrounded by the longest and most crooked buildings of the same sort, as if it was barricaded with walls to keep whats inside from going out and keep what comes in ....IN. All the neighbourhoods in the outskirts of the capitol looked like that....those were the places that bred the state of mind of people like us.
West:
An endless plain merging with the mountain that was enclosing our hometown from the rest of the west part of the county. If it was dark enough you could see all the lights of the VIP villas and be reminded that the border between poverty and comfort is as thin as a hair and strong as titanium. But this wasn't all, the sunset blending from light blue through dark blue, purple, red, yellow, orange and the most perfect cobalt blue. That sight was able to leave anyone so drunk and high as me with no pain and no though at all.
That was the moment i realised....we are forgotten at the end of the line, looked at like we were sick and treated like scum. We never had the chance of giving the surrounding people a piece of our thoughts...we were dropped with no hope and no chance whatsoever and we kept going and going and going, as if never giving a damn about nothing.
Laughing with no happiness at all. Smiling through the pain like it was "The New Shit". Being together and still alone, with individual problems and individual ways of dealing with them....we kept dragging our sorry selves to what awaits for us in the end of the road.
Now so many years later, as the rain is drumming on the window mixing with the dirty ash colored snow, I cant even reproduce the feeling of being drunk, high and lost in its all glory, but i still remember the lessons i learned through my passage from then to now.
"Whatever happens, you keep going. You don't stop, never fall. As hard as life hits and pounds at you...NEVER FALL."
Days like this remind us to keep moving, heads low, minds with the safety off and keep fighting the war, no mater what!
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