The Illusion of Privilege: Burden of Dreams

There are many things you want to achieve. While you understand that there are some things you should never put a benchmark on, age demands some things from us, and life demands hers too.

Here you are, scared to give up on your dreams. You don’t want to settle for a job; you don’t want to pay bills and die. You don’t want to get trapped in the rat race. But who are you to dictate your fate? 

When you hear the word “potential,” you cringe because it has been repeated so much to you that it’s lost taste in your mouth. It sounds distant and painful to your ear. It comes with a heavy weight to succeed; you remember that it’s all or nothing for you. It feeds your fear, your fear of lack, and not living up to expectations. Who gave you those expectations, you or the society? Who gave you the supposed privilege, you or the society? Are we a creation of our own illusions, our own social construct, or we are doomed to always crave a sense of purpose.

People set goals, and your goals have a higher chance of being the same as the next person’s. The only identity you have is what motivates you.

Maybe you are part of a social class some people look at as privileged, but what is a privileged life when you know what you want and how to get it but can’t have it due to things you have no control over. That doesn’t hurt as much as watching people who have it, know nothing about what they wield, and don’t even try to learn how to wield it. It fell in their lap by birthright or knowing the right people. And you, the one with high understanding have to swallow your pride and dent your self-respect just to get a glimpse at what you wish you could have.

Such is the situation of people who have bits of privileges, enough to know they are not what the outside world sees them as. Cursed are the intelligent with nothing to show for it. Blessed are the fools who need not prove what they are. The burden of talent, knowledge, and intelligence is unhappiness.

You know what you could be doing, you know what you could achieve but have nothing to show for it.

We’ve been told privilege blinds. So are you privileged or too blind to see it? Or maybe you’re just living under the illusion of being privileged.

Privileged or not, we are what we are. Destiny might have nothing to do with it. Fate might be a decider.

Either way, you keep climbing those walls. Maybe one day, you’ll join the one percent who had it all rough and came out smooth, or … maybe not.

You see all the tired faces on the street, adults with burnt-out dreams. Some gave up, and others got given up on. But, hey... you’ll be fine.

Maybe not.

Jawondo Jr.

The "SAD CLOWN" Theory

The "Sad Clown" Theory

Hi there,

Thank you for choosing to read this.

Thank you for not giving up on my inconsistent ass. Really, thank you.

Here we go;

Look around you, what do you see? Happy faces? Tired faces? Sad faces?

At your work place, school, amongst friends, what do you see? Depressed faces?

You've seen beautiful faces, happy faces, angry faces, sad faces and all sort of faces.

But, are they faces or masks?

And when the people wearing these faces communicate with their surroundings. Is that their real self or they are putting on a good show?

The truth?

The truth is we all wear masks. 

Where we differ is how well we wear them and how much of a good show we put in for the world to see. Which brings the question. Have you ever seen a Sad Clown?

You see a Clown, you expect a Clown Make up/Mask, Fixated smile and Jolly movements. But, beneath the make up is who the world might never know.

But, when we are unhappy and supposedly "chin up" "Shake the feeling off" and get on with the day. We've successfully put on our Clown Mask. We have not dealt with our unhappiness but hey, the show must go on.

Then, we start the show we have to smile, laugh and interact even when we don't feel like it. And if you suck at it, the mask slips off. We can't be happy all the time. I've explained that in my previous post(Click here for the post)

When the mask slips off. The monster beneath is shown, it comes through transfer of aggression, self pity parties  negative self evaluation, anger, and of course total vulnerability etc.

You see, beneath the mask is our Alter Ego. It is our inner personality with the rawest unfiltered passions and emotions. It is the closest thing to our usual personality. And as such when the mask slips off, the demons we've been keeping at bay with rubber chains breaks off. Though we often regret our actions and tuck them back in. The demon behind the mask patiently waits to be triggered again.

As clown don their mask and put on a show. So do we put on our various faces to hide our emotions in plain sight. We hope no one notices. And that the ones who notices are too bothered by theirs to care.

The "Sad Clown" toast

So, here's 

To taking life hits 

To broken dreams and the innate ability to keep dreaming

To the demons we're still fighting and the ones we've lost to.

To our resilience and to more resilience.....

But we forgot, there are people who will see through your mask and will genuinely care. We might need "help" and as much as the the word "help" resonates with "pity party" to a Sad Clown. It might just be what we need. 

Should we continue to hold on to what comforts or soothes us. A thing, place, person etc.

As I part with you with the golden words of the 21st Century philosopher "Bellarus Shmurdanius" in his magnum opus "Rush" where he said "Life is short, so ginger yourself. Rich, Poor, las las everybody die"

Here's my question? Can we do without the mask? Is the mask what keeps us sane or what projects an illusion of sanity? 

Someday, I'll write about you.

"Some things torment us more than they ought; some torment us before they ought; and some torment us when they ought not to torment us at all. We are in the habit of exaggerating, or imagining, or anticipating, sorrow". ~Seneca

Someday I'll write about you.
Incomplete sentences, incomplete promises. I want to write about you, without sighs inbetween connected dots. I want to tell you how memories of you come in flashes, like a distant memory been replayed in a movie. It's painful that your voice is left in a memory now.

I struggle to remember how you sound, how you laugh. Your laughter lost amongst laughters without their owners.  Memories ever so distant.

It's a year today that you left this world. You left without saying goodbye and the world moved on brother. The world... Moved on.
I...moved on, or something like that. If moving on is avoiding your brother because he looks an awful lot like you or how my heart sink everytime I pass through where you used to live. I don't know if moving on is deleting your number after many months.

I still remember, even though I wish I don't. I curse my memory sometimes. I remember how much you hated being alone and you'll invite us, your friends over. I remember your throaty laughter when caught trying to be cunny. I remember cooking with you and debating who gets to cook and who gets to wash the plates later. I remember the hours spent at the law resort, I remember the night classes in school and the pre exam revision at your place. I remember... I remember....

I remember November 7 2019. I was at the hospital with you,  before leaving in the evening. Only to be told hours later, that you are dead.
You know, death, dying, is all of this gut wrenching confusion.

You never want to be alright. You, the unfortunate being who got left behind.
The next day, you're burying a friend. You hear wors like "body,deceased,grave". You stop short at the most importune moments. You think you might be dead. You stare at the body of your once agile friend laying down wrapped in white sheets. Perhaps you are insane and this is not happening. Perhaps you are dead and this is the way things have always been. But your wretchedness is made more pitiful by the truth.

You are breathing, yet not alive. You are dying in chunks of incorporeal insanity.
My eyes are welling up now, so I'll stop with the reminiscing. I want to get through writing this.

Oh,  how I wish the family you left behind are doing okay right now. I wish... I can tell you. I wish. Your brother just passed away, I couldn't attend his burial and I haven't gone to see your Mum. I can't go through it all over again, I don't know how to console your mum who lost two sons within a year. How could I tell her to be strong, I don't want to tell her to accept fate. I can't stand the stench of hypocrisy that my words will carry as I talk to her. .

I feel numb, I felt nothing when i heard. I just stared blankly into space. It's happening again, was all I could mutter.

I remember your brother. I remember him, I remember how I used to avoid him due to his striking semblance of you. He reminds me so much of you. Sometimes, we'll bump into each other. I'll make our conversation as short as possible, so that I can hurry away quickly. And whenever I see him from afar, I wave at him and never made an effort to see him up close. I remember mustering all my courage and texted him on his birthday. How he told me he appreciates it and also chastised me for not being available both online and offline. I remember his smile, the one that brings forth the dimple same as yours. He's similar to you, maybe far too similar

I haven't brought myself to delete his number like I did yours. But, when I do, it'll be two numbers in a year.
Oh, God. I can't imagine how devastated your mum would be. I remember her, I remember what she said to me. The painful memory still etched in my brain. When I went visiting again, days after your death. In the midst of greetings, she looked at me and said "Jawondo omo mi ti kuro larin yin" "Jawondo my boy has left your midst" she broke down in tears. The people around told me to leave, so I left as I fought back my tears.

I remember you today, I remember you everytime. But, I dwell on your memories today. I thought about how I'll never really understand the love you had for me and the faith you had in me. Freely you gave your time, knowledge, money and your space consistently.
Two years ago, you told me how smart I am and how I'm going to make it. Two years gone, and I'm still trying to be deserving of those praises.

The pain of losing you is still fresh, then we lost to ur brother too. I pray your and your brother rest in peace.
I can't write anymore, I can't....
Maybe someday, I'll write about. When I'm healed, maybe not.
Rest in perfect peace. Muhammad Adnan Yusuf.
Bunyamin Yusuf. Rest in perfect peace.

Jawondo Jr
November 7 2020

HOUSE OF BALLOONS

Would you still want me, if I tell you about my demons? Of course, your answer will be yes.
You'll see me as a broken thing, a broken thing you can fix with love. So, you'll love me. Try to fix me.

You will plunge into my dark space, my chest of secrets. Then it'll break you, you'll get broken trying to fix me.
Will you still stay, or run away with the broken pieces of you. For not only will you be broken, you'll be made aware of your own demons. Because, while fighting my demons with me, they woke up yours, the ones that have been hibernating behind those sweet smiles and rich laughter of yours.

You become to me a broken mirror. Broken mirrors still reflect images but in halves. Broken mirrors still has it uses, but It'll never be called a mirror without being described as broken. I'll figure you'll be less broken if left alone without anymore damages.

I'll notice your starry eyes are no longer bright. And my arms won't feel like home anymore. My words won't soothe you anymore. And all the fake smiles make your cheeks ache. Now, you think I'm selfish and don't care about you. For, I'm not fighting your demons with you like you expected. And every effort I make to care won't matter anymore. You've spent so much energy fighting my demons for me, now that yours are here.  You rue the time wasted in mine.

So, you'll leave like others before you did. We built a house of balloons, called it a safe haven but forgot we're not immune to punctures.

A letter to you.

"Dear Reader,

I wrote this letter to you with an open heart and a caring mind. I would say, I wrote it to tell you about depression, but as anyone with depression knows, it is much more than any one word can describe.
Depression slowly takes over a person’s life to the point where they forget how it all began. It is insidious, creeping up and building up over time. Little, unnoticeable things change at first, leading to bigger changes. Then, as if out of the blue, that famous black cloud is overhead.
Depression is when everything feels too hard. When you feel so low that things you previously enjoyed no longer hold that same joy. You wonder how you ever enjoyed anything at all. You wonder what other people have that you can’t get a hold of. You find it harder and harder to get out of bed in the morning. You drag yourself through each day. You find it difficult to go to bed at night. The low is so low that it seems to take over, overwhelming you in a way that you could not have imagined beforehand.

The effort to do the small things is huge. The pressure to do anything is even bigger. People always say you should talk to someone, tell someone, but how do you put words on something so hard to even understand yourself? How do you explain to someone that you want to live your life but also you don’t know how you can? How do you explain that this no longer feels like a choice, that it controls you not the other way around?

Depression is initially a reaction. A reaction to a life that you never imagined would be yours. A reaction to stress and a seeming inability to change your situation. It is an in-acceptance of how things are or were. It is lack of self-care and a giving too much of yourself to others. It is a deep anger at an injustice or unfairness in life. It is a lack of energy to take any more of what life has for you. It is a deep sadness and regret. It is all of this and much more. We are not always aware of why it happens because of how slowly and quietly it sneaks up on us.

If you can relate to all or some of what I have written, it is no good for me or anyone else to try and make you get help. Yes, at the early stages of depression or with a mild depression things like getting out for a walk, doing something you enjoy or talking to a friend can help. But with a longer-lasting, deeper depression all of these things can feel too hard. This is also what makes it so hard to come out of it alone.

Firstly, there needs to be an acceptance that depression is a part of your life for now. And allowing of your depression to be there. Own up to it for yourself. With depression it is counterproductive to keep pretending to be okay.

Secondly, allow yourself the time needed to get through this; it does take time. There is no magic cure, but as slowly as it developed, it can slowly get better. Before depression it was hard to imagine what you are going though now, just as now it is hard to imagine ever feeling better. But don’t allow not being able to imagine a better future put you off making changes now.

Thirdly, as impossible as it seems to do, you need to get help from somewhere, be it your doctor, a professional or that person that is always there trying to urge you out of this. None of these people will do it perfectly, but they will support you, and you need to allow that to happen. There is always resistance, and *sometimes the biggest battle can be making that choice to allow others to help*.

Finally, I hope this gets easier for you. I hope you find a way out of this. I hope you get that sense of control back. Lots of people have been through depression and come out the other side. I hope you can find someone who understands what you are going through in me and the people that genuinely care about you. Hope is one of those things that disappears with depression, so for now I will hope for you until you find that hope again for yourself."

Tailor-made for you....

They told us to never look back,  we were taught sorrow doesn't last a lifetime. But we were never taught how to deal with sorrow itself. We taught ourselves how to deal with our problems. Some ran away from their problems, for the ones who fight their demons always lose. Some embraced their demons, accepting them for what they are. But they are not winners either. For they can't see past the dark cloud they are under.

Does accepting one's problem or sorrow make it go away? Nope. Accepting your demons, doesn't make them go away. If anything, they get comfortable. They revel in your anxiety attacks, insomnia, chronic depression and over thinking.

Well, should we run from our problems?
Has anyone ever succeeded in running away from their problems?
I believe running away from ones problem is like  ignoring a fire burning on your body. You can ignore it all you want, but it won't stop till it's done burning you to ashes.

It's a loop actually, I see it as running in a cycle. It revels in you popping anti depressants, your drug abuse, the liquor you drown it and sorrow you puff away. It gets worse,  when a deeper low hits you after getting addicted highs from the substances. It's like covering shit in gold. It's just a shiny shit. And when the gold is peeled off, the thing that keeps you running surfaces. So, you... get high again on people, substances or whatever you've found as a helping tool to run from your problems.

Fighting your demons, Is an overused phrase. And like a phrase is, it's incomplete. You can't fight your demons. Yes, you read that right.
And I know you've heard that enough for it to sound believable.

Okay... Check this out;

''To fight your demons is to fight oneself.
And to fight oneself is the biggest battle there is"

Know this, and know peace. Or whatever your idea of peace is. Also, know that you're not flawless, you are bound to err. As human beings we are bound to always make mistakes. Beaten oneself up over what you cannot change or not forgiving oneself for slipping into bad habits you swore off isn't going to win your demons over.

An example is a person who went through drug rehabilitation and later relapsed. Such person fought and lost, should we attribute that to brittle spirit or our weakness as humans to commit errors.
Life beats us down, and while we are down. It kicks us too. That's life. It. Just. Sucks.

Whether you're Rich, Poor, Short, Tall, Thin, Fat, White, Brown or Black.
Your life problems are tailored for you.

Fight it. Embrace it. Run from it.  They are your demons. And they are tailor-made for you.

Jawondo Jr
October 15 2020

LETTER TO MONEY

Dear Money,
      I miss you. Okay, I really miss you. Dreams about you have been really surreal. Sometimes I don’t feel like waking up if you are not in my hands.
  
Sometimes, I ask myself “Am I money crazed?”, everything I do seems to revolve around you or is it fear that drives me to you? Maybe I don’t want to be a mediocre or I’m too scared of the future. A future without you will be terrible.

You see, I’m a bit of a hypocrite. I know happiness is temporary , I know you can’t buy everything, still I chose you, sometimes I buy happiness with you even though I know its temporary. I can’t blame people who do the craziest thing for you, heck I myself do it too. For people who do demeaning things to have you, they were probably like every normal being thinking they will never do shitty things or go extra length for you.

     You are loved, I know you know that. You are harmless yet you are harmful. You might be the only thing that is very toxic but not feared. No one fears you as much as they fear your distant cousin Poverty. It’s amazing how much we fear him yet he serves as a motivation. I am not rich neither do I want to be poor. Saying I’m broke is sugarcoating not having enough, but then self deceit is a game we play to trick the mind into a sense of calm.

I love you. I really do just like the billions of people on earth and we may never mean any word or sentence than that. Yet, you choose who you want to be with. I want you, no I need you. Sometimes, I wonder what will be next for me if I finally get you. I don’t pint my happiness on you, even though I consider you as one of my source of happiness.

You come in different shapes, sizes and different value. It is like a neatly arranged bottles of poison and we are to choose one poison. Some of us chase you till death. Some catch up with you only to die early. Some you have befriended from birth only for them to lose you, Some you stay with but never satisfy them, they will always want more of you.

Like I said you are a poison, a choice we have to make in which choosing wisely is not in the options. What’s amusing is we know this, still we don’t care or should I say we do. We just don’t see the bigger picture we rather prefer to stick to “if I get the money, everything will fall into place”.

Even i believe everything will fall into place if have you. What do I know, I just miss you.

                                  Yours expecting,
                                  Jawondo Jr.