Muting The Many Voices

There are millions of sounds out there, sounds that sometimes are just but voices. From the sussurating of the forest leaves to the crackling and rustling of the dry leaves of the forest floor from their interaction with one’s feet or rather from just another animal having a lovely nature walk. I’m remotely interested in such sounds though, for at the thought of however musical or scary they may be, it only feels like a scratch on the surface for much greater pursuit in respect to such awaits my unflinching attention.

It’s only natural that we don’t have all the answers all the time. Sometimes we go the long distance, forming listening groups for we find some. Many times we sit tight and think hard and long, far and further and we find nothing. Once in a while, we ask people we think may have the answers. And it’s in such circumstances that we find ourselves listening to voices; other sounds. Sounds that we have ourselves invited. 

Some people may say humans are the same and maybe equal. Some people may think humans are different. I have always believed I’m different. I see things people can’t see and perhaps don’t want to see. I can cultivate controversy within my system of thought and walk out of it in the end. I represent something big I can make decisions in split second, those that spectacularly encapsulates the complexity of the multifaceted view. Decisions that spurns the imagination of the less equipped to keep up. And still, I hear voices that drive me to the edge.

The reason I listen is different, for what and why I listen is different. The reason I talk is not the same every day. I have not the slightest intention to speak because I want to say something. I talk in such a way that it seems much I say, in reality, less I say. I talk to confuse the subjects of interest not to shade light. When pressed I always react in ways I would describe as spontaneous and super as a prefix for the same word if at all such exists. My actions I’m fully aware can be pretty catastrophic sometimes.

I hate being controlled, I seriously dislike a person exercising unrestricted dominion over myself. I’d rather live in a cave as long as its unrestricted domain. And yet voices control everything I do.

I’m many times angry, angry at my father a little at my mother. Sometimes I have a hoard of reasons to, sometimes I really don’t. And my everyday routine of life, listening, listening to no stopping. We all die, but there is that voice that tells me I don’t have to wait.  It was 0800hrs when I walked into my favourite liquor store and I made my pick. Iconic in appearance and taste but with intense rich gold hue, complex and full-bodied aromas which are fruity, spicy, smoky and with hints of vanilla. Smooth and warming on the palate with a medium sweet, rich finish which offers hints of peat.

Fifteen minutes later that morning, I rolled into an empty parking space just opposite KFC Kenya. My leg was off the brake pedal, the engine was still running and my left hand was resting on the gear shifter. I could hear voices, noise in my head perhaps. But no, there was a constant surge of people from one direction to another; commotion to be precise. A word that best described what was really going on in my head. There was an awful lot going through my head.

I always knew I can be too much to humans but to my own father. I just didn’t see that. “It’s not my job to reverse your state for I have always known you to have all the classical signs of mental breakdown, but I believe I have done better.” I was sitting on a brown leather seat of a black Mercedes-Benz. And yet those words the more, pierced my skin biting shrewdly through my heart. It was as though under the rubble and there was no one to help, even as the dust filled my lungs. Oh, how I just wanted a better relationship with my father. 

After a long and gruelling battle with the thoughts ignited by the voice of the very person, I was sitting in his car. I remember it was my first and it’s not like he knew and that by itself filled me with anxiety and panic. I can clutch my fists, bite my lip but it has never escaped my knowledge that he is a force if there is a choice as to avoid, its wise to. As I crossed the road to the other side I realised how hungry I was. I’m a loner, I took to stairs and to the sitting area directly above the very counter I had ordered and was served my streetwise two.

I was reluctantly tearing through my first piece when I noted two pairs of eyes staring in my direction full of smiles and laughter. My eating habit is questionable, not the style but how often I heed to the desire, it’s almost like I never get hungry. Anyway, I compensate by drinking. And so I’m rather skinny almost to the extent emaciation would be sufficiently applied. Many times I wear a face that doesn’t know, a body that is never too sure a look that is subdued. But it’s inside that dressed self, that I read even the slightest details in humans. 

They weren’t having a problem with my looks neither was it my loneliness which I pride in for its such situations that I deduce methods to outwit my father. In fact, it was only minutes after picking a piece from my plate that I was debating whether I should ram his car onto something, just to approve his theory that I was indeed on the verge of my psychological tipping point. I wanted him to be more than right. It was my timing that ignited their concern, bemusement and eventually stirred happiness within their rather failed system of existence.
When I finally walked back to the car, I was sure of one thing. People need nutritional advice, well, myself included but on separate concerns. And there was something I proved beyond any considerations, even in cosy places it’s pretty difficult not to consider ignorance as an ex-official member. It’s such discoveries that make me laugh thinking how easy it is to be wrong in priority. How easy it is to focus on the wrong thing and so is my listening to the many voices.

Reality itself exists in the mind of the beholder. Mine is a world of distraction. It’s a punishing drumbeat of constant input of sounds and voices. Voices that follows me into my home and into my bed. Voices that seeps into my soul. As I made it out of the roundabout I could hear something telling me It’s always there; reality. And the reality was that something in my head, a voice telling me to quit, and for the first time I never wanted to quit. I wanted to mute that voice. The happiness I have learnt is not living in a palace, or just living fancy. It’s not having it all and its never about how great or better one may look. It definitely has very little to do with what one has or doesn’t. Sometimes it’s about muting the many voices. 


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