My uncontrollable thoughts

i dont write well, i just write what i feel. And when i dont feel, what i think.

So I figured out the reason I was feeling so sad. I was not in control of my emotions and it scared me. 

Is it really that hard to understand me? I don’t think I’ve felt like this before, probably because I always had someone to understand me; Nassi. But she’s not here right now. And it seems as if over time, she too has lost interest in me. So I’m alone. It feels as if I’m alone. I have no one to talk to but myself. And it hurts. I tried to keep this feeling at the back of my mind: in a securely shut box, in the attic of my brain. But, I guess it’s too large a feeling to hide. I actually don’t know how this is possible, to feel so lonely in such a large world. There are more than a billion people and I still feel alone. I have no one to talk to. So I’m here, writing. Right now it seems like the only thing keeping me sane. I want to scream. I want to go on a murder spree. I’m calm on the outside, but inside its total chaos. I don’t like feeling this way. I preferred it when I didn’t have feelings. Okay, I had feelings, but not from the heart. Things like this didn’t really bother me. I want to go back to then. It was a much better place. Right now, I really just want to disappear.

“The three great essentials to achieve anything worthwhile are, first, hard work; second, stick-to-itiveness; third, common sense.”

-Thomas Edison

The one thing i will never stop loving is food.


The door hissed open and I boarded the subway and was trying to find somewhere to sit. Nearest to the door was a Hispanic woman. She was small, between thirty and fifty. She looked very hot and tired. She held a worn out supermarket bag and was staring across at the window. She very weary eyes.

 I could see the homeless man lying down on the opposite bench taking up a lot of space. He was dirty, wretched and wore worn out clothes. He had long blonde dread locks almost like Rapunzel’s hair cascading down his back. As I walked past him a thick nasty scent shot up my nostrils. It was almost as bad as a skunk. Beneath him on the floor was spilt soda. By the looks of it, it was quite fresh and sticky and attracted many flies.

 Business men stood on the other side of the train talking in hushed voices, some holding briefcases, others coffee. One of them seemed suspiciously quiet. He had a full head of dark hair with eyes as blue as the sea.    

 There was a sign on the door that said “DO NOT LEAN ON DOOR” despite these instructions some people leaned on the door with heavy shopping bags. Opposite the businessmen was a West-African woman. She was tired and inert. She was clothed in a colourful dress with matching cloth tying back her enormous Afro.

 It was quite crowded but I could move around. I could here some slight background music. There was one Chinese lady who smelt of lavender in a pink floral dress holding a basket with batteries and DVDs. She kept moving from car to car.

 In one car, there were so many teenagers. One, who sat to the left of the homeless man, was listening to some heavy metal rock and roll music. It was awfully loud.

 Beside the West-African woman, was a well composed white man. He was dressed casually not cheaply. Chinos, and a blue Hollister t-shirt. He was alert. Sitting alone in the corner of the car, there sat a plain white lady. She had jet-black hair, unstylishly but neatly cut and tucked behind her ear. She was dressed in all black.

 There was a clumsy man who was heavily panting. It seemed as if he had run so as to not miss the train. He had beads of sweat rolling down his face. He carried a large backpack, which made him look like a schoolboy, yet his clothing choice- a black shirt with a blue, and yellow striped tie- contradicted this and made him look like a businessman, all he was missing was his blazer. Just as he entered, the doors thumped shut. The motors whined and the train moved on.

 As the train began to move he seemed nervous. He kept looking from left to right as if someone were watching him. The clumsy man said silent prayers. His lips moved in a long, panting, ritualistic recitation. He was odd. The background music created a relaxed mood and everyone seemed to be engrossed in whatever they were doing. I saw the clumsy man put his hand in his pocket. He seemed suspicious. A little voice in my head was screaming at me to move away. I quickly pushed my way through the crowd to the opposite end of the car.

   Just as I moved away the man spoke loudly. He seemed to be holding a yellow and black striped bullhorn. The businessmen all tried to stop him from talking because as I just realised the soothing calming music had turned into news. The man seemed nervous. He took in a deep breath and said, “I am sorry for what I am about to do but let me explain”. He took another deep breath. “My wife had a clinic here in the Glades. One night on her way back home she was robbed, tried to defend herself and was shot. She was pregnant with my second daughter. I was in a meeting but she left me several voicemails as she died.” His voice started to quiver and I could see crystal tears rolling down his cheeks. He didn’t even bother to wipe them. “I have heard my wife die over and over again and I think this is the only option.” He brought out a big red button and put his hand over it. “To bomb the place and we all die”.

 As soon as he said this, there was total commotion. The train had just stopped but the door seemed to be taking longer to open. Even the homeless man was up and alert. The suspiciously quiet businessman was standing and shouting.

 I opened the door to the other car and quietly slipped through. I was scared and anxious, just like everyone around me. I had a wife, a daughter and two sons waiting for me at home. I could not die like this.


What possesses people to behave this way? I understand common sense is not common-to-common people, but as a learned person you should be able to tell what is good and what is bad, what is right and what is wrong, what you should do and what you shouldn’t do. These are things you should just know.

“Knowing and feeling are two different things, and feeling is what counts.”

-Francis Lelord

Fixed. theme by Andrew McCarthy