The Divine Idiocy of Nothing

There is nothing in my life to really hold your attention. People seem to like action, romance, hardship and even the occasional philosophy. Can't say I have much of that. Nothingness permeates my life. So much so that it generates everything for me, as strange an oxymoron that is.

I was kidnapped when i was a kid. Taken right from under my parents noses, right from the little gate in front of our home. A group of vagabonds. The plight of little kids is always a sympathy attractor and so there i was branded with a hot rod, gaining a scar that i still carry around. The scar still pains me now and then. It even oozes puss on days. Its like one of those injuries that you hear about that acts up now and then. The scar is a reminder for me, of what could have been. A painful reminder. But anyway by the age of 6 I was .......

I was a still born. I came into the world dead and the world brought me to life. The philosophical implications of this is profound. A persistent theory that goes around is that the world is an illusion brought into existence by our being. In other words, the fact of us being alive brings to life the world or the universe. But for me it was in the reverse. For me, the world brought me to life instead of vice versa. So I have always chosen the other side when it comes to this debate. I owe my life to it and I have formed a special relationship with it. It is my mother. I talk to to it now and then. In fact the world really started talking to me when I was 12 and locked up in my room hating my parents for being total.......

I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. Literally not figuratively, the figurative takes too much precedence it seems to me. The doctors were amazed, flabbergasted. My mom was okay with it. My grandmother had told her that how as child she had swallowed whole a silver spoon that was part of her, the grandmother's, wedding cutlery from her nostalgic day at the altar. She just assumed that it had come out with me. She told the doctors to pack it up and put it in jar. She melted it and made silver locket out of it which she hung around my neck for good luck. It's been around my neck for soo long that I cannot remove it any more. It kind of melded with me as I grew becoming a part of me. My father was always against this theory concocted by my mother. He being an educated man knew that the spoon was not the one my mom had swallowed. So he tried to reason it out. But each of his hypothesis was crazier than the next and our entire family came to believe my mothers story than any of my fathers. And so it was that...

I remember the incidence clearly. I was too young to be thrust into that kind of situation, but I am proud of my younger self for rising to the occasion. I was 11 years old at the time i believe. I was slowly coming to understand that my father was working for the government as a secret agent. I had actually heard stories that it was his job that cost him my mothers life, his eternal regret I believe. But I was proud of my dad and at what he was doing though we never discussed it. So one day while we were outside driving around in his car, a black sedan pulled up next us on a signal and shots rang out. I was scared and covering in the passenger seat but I saw that my dad was hurt and out cold. The sedan moved to the front and pulled to the side and these men in black coats with guns in their hands were coming towards us. It was instinctual, my fathers blood I believe, I hopped on to my dads lap and gunned the engine. The car whizzed past the attackers as they.....

I had always shown remarkably less empathy. I cannot be what I am not, so I embraced it. I remember the first time I disembowelled a cat. It was exhilarating to say the least. Of course cats are just the first step, from there it keeps on going up and up and up..... Look at where I am now, slowly cutting of a persons fingers as they lie screaming on the table. Well silent screams anyway, you can't scream when you have a gag stuffed in to your mouth. It feels good. I find this experience more pleasurable than sex. Ah the first time I killed a human being, it still sends a shiver down my spine. I was 17 years old and ........

I remember her clearly. she was my first love. some people say that love can't exist between children, that one has to grow up and be mature to really understand what love is. But I disagree, vehemently. Love is there, love is everywhere and it can be felt by anyone at any time.It doesnt discriminte and that's the beauty of love. It cares not whether you are a kid or an old guy. It comes unbidden and indiscriminately. I was 10 years old when I met my first love. She was a year older than me, 11 and I saw her many times on the bus as we went to school. Her hair, her eyes.... when she walked past me I smelled heaven on her. It was love with a passion that I could never describe now. I wanted to tell her that I loved her everytime that I met her. I couldn't find the courage though, that is until one day.........

I was born........ I was born and I am here and I am languishing in nothingness. Isn't that enough?

-Rohith