Fuck My Life

The thing I hate most about myself is my inconsistency. I have brilliant ideas and if I am being honest I have world changing ideas and I know how to go about to get them done. I know that it won’t be an overnight task that would take me only a few weeks or even a few months from them to yield their fruits. If you want to change the world that takes years, no dynasty starts in its first generation and no empire rose in a few years. I know that every small brick you lay in the foundation is essential for the completion of the building of change that you want to build. I know these things, I know them so well that I hate the fact that I can’t consistently work on my world changing work.

I tire and get bored easily spending all the fuel and motivation I garnered to start the process in an existential essay or something as equally as self-serving. I am somewhat charismatic but that too requires constant effort and time that can be well spent lamenting how shit my life is. Many of my relationships, shit just realised that all of them, suffered me and my lack of energy to be enthused and eventual boredom. I am relatively friendly but that too requires constant effort and time that could have been spent debating myself, unfortunately family falls in the same grouping, an since I can’t be consistent to save my life or a relationship the effort is never kept up.

I like to entertain the idea that I am perhaps emotionally handicapped. Things that is supposed to make me cry I find cosmically amusing and things that are supposed to amuse me tend to enrage me. Without the effort I put in, be in it inconsistent effort, to appear inviting and well-adjusted I would undoubtedly have been unbearable to be around. I sometimes wish that I could just straight up die. Not in the me killing myself kind of sense for surely I hate myself too much to end my own life. What I mean by just die I mean just drop dead and be gone preferably while making love to someone I don’t particularly like or just to straight up explode while I am in an elevator filled with people that could be suspects for me exploding. Either scenario would be funny as Hell, but neither can be very probable because I hardly have the occasion to ride an elevator or to make love. The death thought generally only comes when I am being inconsistent in a task I ought to complete and sadly I recognise this for what it is, it is my attempt no matter how feeble it may be to escape daai-kond-se-kind consequence. Inconsistency has its own fallout; not completing an assignment = a failing grade, Ghosting a beloved = a lost friend, Not showing up for work = missed opportunities. The ingredient that my success needs most is consistency without it no matter what I do it all just fizzles out and into the oblivion of obscurity.

The few people that know me are convinced that I don’t give a fuck about anything especially opinions that are not my own. A notion that I incepted into their minds through the actions that I take, the words that I use and just my general lack of any visible emotions other than amusement and annoyance. Truth is however just like many reading this I do give a fuck about your opinion. I see this hypocrisy in me when I watch a review to tell me how I should feel about a film or an album I am not too sure how I feel about. I see it when I give a fuck when they call me an asshole, not to my face mind you but just loud enough that I can hear the comment just fine. I am a loner meaning I tend to prefer my own company but that is not the sum of who I am. In my short twenty-six years of life I have never been honest with anyone, I may sprinkle a little truth but for the most part I just tell stories. Hence my desired profession.

This aversion to the truth can be linked to my fear of completing a thing. I believe the fear of completing any one of my world changing ideas is just me being afraid that my idea couldn’t change shit and ultimately that it ain’t shit. That it was just mediocre to begin with at best and straight up sewage garbage at worst. I have this incredible talent for learning new things and because I am not consistent I never excel in any of my many talents. The crux to that is the fear I have to truly try. For if I truly try and I fail then I truly failed but if I merely try and I fail then I just merely failed. These are the lies I tell myself so I can be satisfied with the little victories. This article or whatever it is, is supposed to be me telling the truth to myself and whoever is bored enough to read it. I don’t know you but you reading is getting to know me and I think that is unfair but as soon as I entered the hand written version into the laptop this was to be the expected outcome. So on to me…

I hate knowing what my true potential is and knowing that I am unable or unwilling –not too sure which it is still investigating- to seek out my potential consistently. A friend of mine once said that good habits needs practise. How many kilometres do you have to run before you enjoy the burn? Maybe I am just overvaluing my own so called true potential. Still I feel if that was the case how come I can see a world without copyright, a world where pirating is made official and regulated by the creators. I see a world where Art and Science are taught in the same class, a world where energy and water reclamation are both so efficient that everyone has electricity and water at their houses. I see a world where everyone has a safe space to live. I see a world where taxes are used to set up a trust fund for all its citizens for their education and medical services for anyone that needs them or simply for those that want to be entrepreneurs. I see a world where greed and corruption is taboo and not a thing to be envied or even made light of. How come is it so that every time I close my eyes to meditate on or off good bud I see entire bookshelves of African authors being sold at every retailer big or small, housed in libraries or talked about and debated about at length.

If I wasn’t meant to change the world why would God give me these thoughts that proved I could? Why would he give you yours? Why is it I know what a person is thinking yet I cannot engage with them truthfully. I hate my inability to express myself outside of the written form.

I hate needing people for comfort, every compliment I get I savour it like a vampire would while drinking virgins blood. Every ‘Wow you’re good’ takes me a little further through this monotonous thing called life. I hate needing to smoke weed to make every little thing seem like it’s going to be alright. Every hit I takes me closer to who I wanna be or more straight forward the who I think I really am. I think I’d smoke less if my successes were consistent. I hate being poor and living in poverty. Thanks to my hardworking late mother I never knew that we lived in poverty. It took me until I started college five years after my mother’s death that I came to see just how poor I truly was. I was poor in money and poorer still in friends I could be honest with. Most of my so called friends were just us boasting or trying real hard to stunt on each other. They say money can’t buy happiness, I don’t know man, I once inherited 50k and those two months when I spent my bequeathed funds were  my most happiest.

Because of that limited experience I want to be a millionaire and a mentor/friend once prophesied that I will one day be a trillionaire. Scary thing is I think that he is right but the only way I can do that is if we all do that. I don’t want to write next year how much I hate my life. The truth, the real truth that the powers that be want us to overlook is that this world was made for us to succeed. Every day is a new chance to do better. You know better than anyone your needs and how to fulfil them, how to lift yourself and your family out of poverty depression and self-hate. I am sure that if you were to compare notes with the people you hang with, live with and scheme with that you will see overlapping ideas that the whole gang, fam or crew can run with. Let us join hands in making our tomorrow beautiful.

But the thing that keeps me from holding hands is knowing just how grimy mine are. I mean if I knew someone like me I wouldn’t see fit to trust them with the fate of the world so I keep my hands in my pocket when someone asks me ‘Well Barry, what do you think?’ I know the answer because I know what I think but my answer is always tempered with what I think you think the answer is. It is because I am human that I know that these thoughts aren’t just my own. The theory of collective consciousness dictates that we all share similar thoughts. Like how someone already independently thought of the relativity of time before Einstein published his theory or more plainly how you can hum a song all morning just for you to get to work and the first person you meet at the office is rapping H.A.A.M by Ye and Jay.

What I am trying to say is that we know how to solve the world’s problems just like how we know the value of a dollar. These are not ideas and ideals that come from nowhere they are the miasma that we live in and we call so aptly reality. These are the things that make up human existence government, religion, economy and education, it is our shared experiences in these things that make up or reality.

I am saying a lot without saying anything yet I know you reading this will know what I am trying to say. Your interpretation may be different from the next person, because we choose what to relate to not knowing that because of where we live, earth, we relate to everything and everyone. Still every time you see someone you assumed wouldn’t relate empathising it always surprises. The reason for that is the way we have been taught how different we are. Them dudes are lazy or them dudes are smelly and dirty, those innocent vilification of others adds up until a generation grows up believing that those statements must be right. Now you hear things like those people are all going to hell or simply I don’t understand how you can date someone like him or her.

With this I am just trying to exorcise the thoughts, beliefs and actions that keep me from liking myself. It probably won’t help in the way that I need but writing it makes me feel somewhat better. When I go to the underworld I want my heart to be as light as a feather. It is perhaps hubris of me to think that I matter to the grand scheme of things knowing how vast the universe is but isn’t being human being prideful in itself? I mean what other animal could come to believe that this entire world perhaps the universe herself was made for it to thrive? I am God but so are you. Everywhere you go you carry an entire world with you. If you can get anything from reading this know that you can do it. You can fulfil your destiny and only you can tell for sure what that truly is. So don’t be too hard on yourself person, you are just HUMAN but also you are God so what’s your excuse?