I leaned back on my stinky office chair, exhausted— not my body; no, I’ve been too physically lazy to enjoy fatigue. My mind’s been a mush throughout the day, a tasteless goo of gray matter that feels like an over-chewed piece of gum. And the worst part: it has not been a productive day at all.
I stared at the accusingly bright screen of my computer, as if heaven itself was exposing how pointless my entire effort today had been. And what could I say in my defense? I cast a furtive, frustrated peek at my still empty artboard— and as it had been throughout the day, I could sense my truant brain snicker in mental silence.
I flexed my fingers. In abject surrender, there was naught to do but let my thoughts be free.
I could only hope that my puppyish mind would eventually find its way home after its scampering mood. Or bring back something interesting in the backwoods and alleys of my subconscious. Of course, one does not hope for the worst; though it does bring up the question: “Which would be worse: One who hopes and gets broken, or one who expected the worst and experiences it?”
I do hope that I will be able to finish my work tonight.
Hope. What makes us believe? Wisdom is born from experience. Experience is born from knowledge. Knowledge is born from curiosity. Curiosity is born from idea. And ideas are born from wisdom, experience and knowledge. Yet why do we believe one idea and not the other? Our generation has been witness to realizations of previously impossible ideas— and all that’s left are the improbables and the implausibles. Yet amidst these litter of intellectual leftovers, hope exists. Hope thrives. And hope creates.
I sat straight on my stinky office chair, exhausted— but I don’t mind; no, I’ve been too physically lazy to enjoy fatigue. My mind’s on a rush throughout the night, a burst of colors that feels like a forgotten piece of candy. And the best part: it still is not a productive day after all.
So I can only hope.