Zed's Rush Hour

This was written in my post-SPM year, with the intention to free my mind. 

Part 1 

You know how there are a thousand and one way to start a book? Or well, maybe more than a thousand one cause if there’s one thing in this world that is not and even if, is harder to be confined and constrained by any metal chains that exist in this world, is the mind.

Anyways my name is Zed. No I’m not a guy. The complete opposite gender if you may. My hobby is sitting at the ledge of any cliff with my legs dangling over it. I love the sweet soothing smell of the untouched air above the world. I love the feel of the fluttering wind taking a stroll around me. I love the comfort of being around grey stones and cheery greeneries, all natural zero plastic. I love the feeling of being isolated and away from earth destroyers down there in that steel and concrete skyscrapers city you see from here. I love how sitting on this rocky ledge fills me with ease and adrenaline at the same time. For the thought of peace and death surges through me every time I turn my eyes downward towards the misty landscape.

 So  anyways welcome to Misty Ledge.

 Here, no matter what time or day or year you decide to come, the view from up here will remain misty and mysterious. As if there’s a veil between reality and fantasy. Yet despite the mist and haziness, the shape and figures down there if you look carefully, remains vivid and clear. Only if you look thoroughly will you notice that the white sheet floating below obstructing your view hinders nothing at all except for your lone figure from below. I used to believe that the mist is like a guardian for those seeking for the best of both world. Those who wish for some lone time without completely hiding away from the metal and steel jungle. Those who wish to ponder over their cloudy thoughts in both the alluring invite of nature and the turbulent but enchanting contemporaries.

 The Misty Guardian. Gentle but definite.

*beep*

Ah, the sound of my watch indicating it’s about time to head for home. In other words, it’s time for me to return to my box like house right in the heart of the monstrous human made jungle. Right. I leap up from my sitting position despite knowing the danger of my actions but what is there to worry when if you worry over all the trivial and crucial things in this world, your life will be shrouded nothing but unease and misery. I inhale the crisp air around me and head home. One foot at a time, definitely not going to rush.

The reason why so many heart breaks, tears spill and fights break out are caused by plunging head on into something without proper thought. Being caught up and indulged by the heat of the moment, by the persuasive invincible particles gauging you towards  fire, you, too rushed to think.

Maybe not everything are rooted from rushing but hey, might as well ponder over that.

Hands in my pocket, sneakers now wet, I stepped further and further away from my haven and entered the reality. The place where people here mostly live to survive. People from beautifully carved locations and villages come to this concrete and steel jungle like ants attracted to a small cube of sugar. All crowding over it. It starts from one ant whom gave a signal to other ants and gradually, the cube becomes an overpopulated and overrated destination. Each ant wants a piece, but ants, they work together. They bring the sugar to their home, together, to feed their colony. Us, humans, we work for ourselves. We work to attain paper notes and jingling coins. Some to feed their family, some for their own entertainment, some for security against the fear of poverty. In short, they come here for survival. This looming 100 storeys high jungles.

After 20 minutes walking, I arrived to the place where humans run and sometimes they literally run, rushing. I can now hear what I did not hear on the ledge looking down at the serene view of this jungle which some refer as, city. I hear blaring ear defeaning honks, a buzz of different mixtures of voices, the sound of hurried feet on the asphalt ground and after standing still for a while, I hear the beautiful chimes of the calmness beneath the bustling exterior. I hear the twinkling laugh of a young girl with braided hair with eyes filled with joy after her father gave her an ice cream, I hear the faint sound of birds perching on top of a store’s zinc roof gazing silently towards the crowd, I hear the excitement in a voice across me leaning against a wall talking about a subject I have no idea of, the diamond beneath the grime.

All that, through listening calmly, from allowing my mind and senses to wander around aimlessly. For the beauties of this world does not merely come from where you think it can be found. Sometimes, something beautiful becomes more beautiful when it is mixed with other components. Although, nowadays many people are too rushed to conform to this.

*Ching ching*

 I smiled as I hear the merry sound of the chiming bell attached to the entrance door and walked in. Immediately upon entrance, a waft of mouthwatering smell entered my senses waking me up from my wandering stupor. I walked towards the counter to take a closer look on today’s patisserie’s delicacies. Smiling stupidly now as I decided on a chocolate covered oblong shaped  bun, I pointed towards it and looked up to meet eyes with the young male worker behind it wearing a dark green apron with a smiling doughnut in the middle of it. The worker smiled, nodded and fluidly move with his task.

*Ching ching*,

Now there goes the sound of my exit. No matter how much  I love my Misty Guardian and the peace of the ledge, you can’t find this soft golden baked bread with satisfyingly fine chocolate texture smoothen and stuffed on top and the middle  of it respectively with little bits of nuts sprinkled on top creating  this perfect art of delicacy.

Trudging on my now dried sneaker and a contented stomach, hand to my side now, I continued walking. Towards my square home I go.

After around 15 minutes walking, my legs are dead tired. My friends call me crazy for walking more than a half hour walk three days a week and sometimes more just to go and sit myself on the death sit with death style. I mean who in their right mine will sacrifice their beautiful morning or afternoon or day just to go tire themselves all the way to the ledge, huff and puff to get on top of it and then sit there so close to the edge with no support whatsoever and do nothing but sit and stare. Pointless they say.

Despite that I still go there. The place, that rocky place acts as my detoxifier. So that I’ll always remember to not rush in whatever I do, for this world is too short to waste its beauty.

Status of story - Pending.